Mauri Ola

HINEMOANA BAKER

Hinemoana Baker (Ngāti Raukawa, Ngāti Toa Rangatira, Te Āti Awa, Kāi Tahu, Ngāti Kiritea nō Tiamani me Ingarangi) is a writer, musician, producer, editor and teacher of creative writing. Her first book of poetry, mātuhi | needle, was published in New Zealand and the United States in 2004, and her new collection was released in July 2010. She has produced two albums of original music – one solo and one with her duo, Taniwha. As well as this she has released two CDs of spoken word with field recordings that she calls ‘sonic poems’. One of these, Gondwanavista, was released in 2009 during her time as Arts Queensland Poet in Residence. More information about Hinemoana is available at www.hinemoana.co.nz.

Last Born

I am the last born

I move through the crowd with my shiny red wheels

I bring with me large animals and flaming spikes in cages

I am the last born and I know who I want to vote for

I know the identity of the figure in black

Low prices are written all over my face

I am the last born and I have a long following

Everything and everyone is my elder

I move through the relatives in my green leaves

I eat canoes and drink inlets

I have a beard and a small fat crab inside my shell

I am the last born the pōtiki the teina

Everything breaks its back over me but there are

Many ways to build from scratch and in spite of the fact

That every fourth corner of the land has been walked

Over I make everything ready, being the last born

I am desired at each event, to lay down the

Cow leather, to direct people to the location of

The demons, the devils in the tarmac

We all bite something for a living

I know not to rave and shout when I reach these places

I bring children with me, just the right number

Of pumpkins and I sing completely out of tune

Buying up all the land around with my lucky sand dollars

Still

A baby who dies in the womb

must still be born.

Your mother pressed your knee

through the skin of her belly

and you didn’t push back.

Now she must bear down,

grip with her fingers,

which will feel the loss

of your tiny grip –

five snail-shell fragment

fingernails sharp as paper.

Your mother makes a fist

around herself.

Push now, the midwife says.

Your mother turns to Kuan Yin

who is eager to help:

half seated, one foot on the floor

and leaning forward

the goddess says, Please,

is there anything I can do?

But the room with the cradle is there;

her milk will come in

and after the incineration

your fingernails will sift

to the bed of a stream

with your skull

and the still whole

head of your femur

no bigger than the tip

of your mother’s finger –

the stream,

the waterfall,

the stream again.

Sound Check

you sound just like that woman, what’s her name

she sings that one about the train

check one two one two check check

ka tangi te tītī tieke one two

she sings that one about the train

can i get another tui over here

ka tangi te tītī tieke one two

my secret love’s no secret any more

can i get another tui over here

at last my heart’s an open door

my secret love’s no secret any more

that sounds choice love what a voice

at last my heart’s an open door

you got a voice on you alright