Born in New Zealand, Apirana Taylor is of Ngāti Porou, Te Whānau ā Apanui, Ngāti Ruanui and Ngāti Pākehā descent. He is a poet, novelist, short-story writer, playwright, actor and painter, who tries to earn a living as a freelance artist, but currently teaches creative writing at Whitireia Polytechnic. Apirana has won awards for his poetry and drama and is currently working on a manuscript of two of his plays to be published by Pohutukawa Press. His publications include five books of poetry, most recently Te Ata Kura: The Red-tipped Dawn (2003) and A Canoe in Midstream (2009), both published by Canterbury University Press; two books of short stories, He Rau Aroha and Ki Te Ao; and one novel, He Tangi Aroha. He has been the writer in residence at Massey University and Canterbury University, and he has toured Europe reading his poetry, which has also been translated into German.
tangiwai weeping water
weeping water tangi
water tangi weeping
tangi weeping wai
weeping wai water
wai water weeping
water weeping waitangi
weeping waitangi tangiwai
waitangi tangiwai weeping
slap suck slap suck
slap slap suck waves lap
slap slap lap lap
around the jetty
in the night
roads in Taranaki
zigzag and snake their way
over the bitter earth
they seldom run straight
roadmakers
paid compensation
only when they ran the roads
through Pākehā land
they didn’t pay
if they pushed their roads
through the tattered remnants
of Māori land
hence roads crazily
snake and zigzag
through the province
the liars’ road
is never straight
how it must’ve stuck in their gullets like a fishbone
to have their plans foiled by a black little one-eyed
monkey called Tītokowaru
he could count his fighting warriors
on his fingers and toes
if he counted old women and children
Cameron gutted Taranaki
opened it up like a can of beans
he knew the cause was unjust
in search of honour glory riches and fame
they came Whitmore, McDonnell, von Tempsky
the Kai Iwi cavalry
their dreams lie buried on the battlefield
a bullet shot von Tempsky
he got a street named after him
Maxwell, his sabre thirsting for the blood of more
children, was shot on his horse charging again
blood and butchery
Whitmore, McDonnell, got hollow victory
meaningless medals empty fame
Tītoko’s army, old men, women, warriors and children,
unbeaten, melted away, a fight over a woman they say
breaking of tapu
eat the rocks, chew and choke on the bones
sings Tītokowaru jailed in his cave
her hair is so long
you could plait it all the way to the moon
and weave it with a sprinkling of stars
she writes poetry
as only the muse can write
when she smiles
she melts the heart of God
‘I’m from Te Arawa,’ she says
she shows me her litany of scars
they climb like ladders
up the insides of her wrists
deep savage cuts to the bone
speak of her youth and the countless times
she sent herself along the path of the spirits
and sought the solace of Hine-nui-te-pō
she swam the lake
but her lake was of fire and death
broken bottles drunken fights
smashed families shattered and scattered whānau
and she made it
she crossed the troubled water
and found her tāne who loves her
more deeply then the heart can tell
in the lost city
they raise many fine children
with aroha