Jacqueline Carter is 35 years old, living on Waiheke Island and mother to her son, Te Whaiti-nui-a-Toi Te Reke, and her daughter, Te Au Aio Ani Mereti. Through her paternal grandmother she is Te Patuwai of Mōtītī (a hapū of Ngāti Awa) and Pākehā of mostly Irish descent; through her paternal grandfather she is Ngāi Te Rangi and Pākehā of English and Irish descent; and through her mother she is of English and Irish descent. She is currently teaching te reo Māori at Waiheke Primary School.
Nothing like a lone-standing nīkau
in the middle of some paddock
owned by some Pākehā
to make you feel mamae
Surrounded by maunga
who serve to remind you
that once that whole paddock
had that same sense of tapu
It’s a bit like that urupā
in the middle of that reserve
that used to be a papakāinga
till some Pākehā had it burned
So consider yourselves warned:
It’ll take more
than
a change of name
a chopping down of trees
a burning down of whare
to make us forget
our tīpuna remain.
Dear X,
I was reading about Ōrākei today
and you’ll never guess
what in the midst of everything
Hugh Kawharu said
about our beloved Rautara St …
Yip, you guessed it
It seems that in the 1930s
the Crown put a road through
one of Ngāti Whātua ki Ōrākei’s
only two cemeteries
and that, my dear, was Rautara St …
We used to joke
As to whether it was rau tara
or whether it was rau tāra
and I won’t explain the difference
for people who don’t speak Māori
But now what I think
and I’m finding this more and more
and it won’t be the last time
I say this I’m sure
What was before our homes
Our backyards could all be
Full of bones
And all the Queen’s horses
And all the Queen’s men
Will never put any of it
Together again!
for Foreshore and Seabed
First it was the land
Now it is the sea
I mean
Don’t forget
That these are people
Who (unlike us)
Still take the hearts
Out of dead human beings …
So
If 20,000 people
can’t bring them to their knees
If 20,000 people
can’t bring their hearts to feel
Then sure enough
like everywhere else
War will come
to make them bleed …
It’s half past midnight.
I sit on your porch
drinking wine you wouldn’t finish
and smoking cigarettes you wouldn’t light.
There’s a storm rising.
Out the back
the bones
of a tākapu drying.
On the stove
a pot
of kiekie dyeing.
In my heart
a falling
in love
firing …
I don’t suppose
I will ever tire
of things the colour of
blood red wine
of wine itself
of coming and going
with the tide.
And I think it’s good
for those
who are used
to making
to be
of being
created
E Rongo,
whakairia
ki runga
kia tina!
Tina!
Haumi e!
Hui e!
Taiki e!