Born in New Zealand in 1953 into the Kāi Tahu, Kāti Māmoe tribe, Brian lives near Rotorua. He has written, directed and acted in five history plays (South of the Titi Islands, Motupohue, A Mutiny Stripped, Boultbee, Hiroki’s Song) set in the South Island and in 2009 finished Maranga Mai: Radical Maori Theatre in the 1980s, a book about the play Maranga Mai, a seminal work of Māori theatre from 1980 to 1981 that he directed, co-wrote and acted in. His book of poems and songs, Aotearoa, was published in 2003 and a book of plays, Te Waipounamu, Your Music Remembers Me, in 2007.
sometimes the softest whisper
would deafen the storms that were coming
our lovemaking swelled the silence
rippling like an angry wind
the ripples felt like waves
on the surface of our dreams
there was sweat
& on the leaves
of the flowers
you could hear sweet music
when the flowers were opened
by the melancholy moon
& the graveyard sun
i’ve been thinking about you tonight
& the women who loved me until their love died
since you left the party hasn’t stopped
& it’s taken just about all we’ve got
we gave them kai &
carried pots of pūhā & meat
up the steps of the fleahouse
we stood our tents across from ngāti pōneke marae
& were arrested
we waited in court
with our sisters from the sunset
who steer the jap sailors up to their rooms
with honey-tongued japanese –
shit it was so pathetic
wake up wake up
to the blue tatts on our kids
their hands arms & faces
look like a rotten kai
the rats have eaten
stick your ear into their party
get smashed stoned drunk to the bottomless funk
they sway to asleep & waking, zunk !
& wake up wake up
when the shit’s falling thick
take a piece of wood &
shove it up the tiko hole of justice –
put a sharp point on it
like an old throwing spear
aroha your brothers & sisters
for their good heart
& hate the laws that
cut them down &
squash them into pulp –
wake up wake up
thirty standing round a blue & white zephyr
thirty men in jackets that read Black Power
thirty minds bent like an iron bar
thirty with burning black sight
thirty with a stone in the guts
thirty smashed hearts
thirty gangs knit the broken-minded boys
with knives of fear
steel fists of mana
heavy boots of bone
black parents of heavy chain
shaven headed boys sitting in the railway station
shaven headed boys going to ōtaki
shaven headed boys going to see their girlfriend
shaven headed boys herded to the pub
shaven headed boys made to get drunk
shaven headed boys herded into a stolen car
shaven headed boys driving under a truck
shaven headed boys going to the funeral
suddenly the doors were blocked
suddenly a small group covered the doors
suddenly the sāmoans moved &
suddenly they were holding michael taingahue
suddenly mark godinet swung &
suddenly the sixteen year old stopped protesting
suddenly the boy’s mouth stopped roaring
suddenly the boy’s head went slap!
suddenly they lifted him off the steps
suddenly they buried him in taranaki
shaven headed boys herded out to stand in the rain
shaven headed boys initiated into the gang
shaven headed boys eat the gang sandwich
(a man lowers his jeans &
drops his shit between two pieces of bread
for the new boy &
he eats the sandwich)
i know i have four more days to live
as i dreamt the other night
i am to be hanged
tēnā koe te whiti
they will not try you these pākehā
they break their promises
think of me
tēnā koe te whiti
a pākehā came to defend me
on the day before the trial
there were no friends
tēnā koe te whiti
i asked the court when i could speak
they said after the lawyer has finished
i was not asked
tēnā koe te whiti
i waited for them to ask me
the judge put on his black cap
to pass sentence on me
tēnā koe te whiti
bob, what haven’t i told you?
that tony fomison once described you as that ego-less poet
& the Sāmoan at wellington or auckland railway station
called you that guy who’s always reading a book …
i already told you that!
i’m feeling good after your visit is all
you walked to meet us … i was a bit jumpy –
i’d just yelled at my son on the lake
(in front of his friend)
then i saw the guinness you’d brought
shining on the table like a gang of fleas
we hugged
i have your benediction next to me in the caravan –
don’t be so disgruntled
you should know by now
that cold mountain
is anywhere & everywhere
– alongside verlaine to rimbaud (1872)
& volcano by derek walcott
i love you e hoa
soon – two weeks – i’m going to māori heaven (te kaha):
i’ll go like a man … an ape!
like a hairy fuck-up carrying all the gifts (cohen, mingus,
sullivan, lorca, murakami etc.) you ever sent me
& my guitar
hey bob, i’ll be singing in the beer tent
breathing all over selwyn …
getting him to play you don’t know me
which i’ll sing like a whale or a tibetan monk
while hone gives the thumbs up from the corner
& para passes round the rum (which
we drink from the cap à la pule)
you wanna come?