Born and raised in Tonga, Konai Helu Thaman was educated both there and in New Zealand, where she gained her BA in geography at the University of Auckland and trained as a teacher. She taught high school in Tonga before going on to further study: gaining her MA in international education from the University of California in 1974 and in 1988 a PhD from the University of the South Pacific, where she has lectured ever since. There Konai has been director of the Institute of Education, head of the School of Humanities and pro vice-chancellor. She currently holds a personal Chair in Pacific Education and Culture and a UNESCO Chair in Teacher Education and Culture. Konai has published five collections of poetry: You, the Choice of My Parents (1974), Langakali (1981), Hingano (1987), Kakala (1993) and Songs of Love (1999), had one collection translated into German (Inselfur, 1987) and her work is studied in schools throughout the Pacific. Konai is married with two adult children.
for Adam Curle
today we come together
to read and sing of peace
lay aside our differences
there’s no need to explain
define or defend our theme
question our ancestors
about their silent dreams
no need to blame the rain or pain
for crying on the phone
no need to ask how far the tide
will come and meet our bones
when all is said and done
you’ll have to give up soon
the things that make you what you are
the things you think you own
a spouse a house
a child a friend
the land your customs
even the pain
for when you’re left with nothing
only wings to lift you up
you’ll see how fast your soul is trembling
freedom trapped in a cup
seize it now hold it tight
have no fear you’re there
let me whisper no I’ll shout
peace is in the air
we cannot see
far into the distance
neither can we see
what used to stand there
but today we can see
trees separated by wind and air
and if we dare to look
beneath the soil
we will find roots reaching out
for each other
and in their silent intertwining
create the landscape
of the future
dear feifaia
i have your picture
on my wall
just above the light switch
your face
a mixture of joy and sadness
weaving hope and anxiety
into a royal garland
a story-line traces
our origins
among bitter-sweet messages
of old
it hurts me
to remember
how she went to be offered
back to the land
how you helped her
to live and die
how you tried to see
her beauty in death
green radiance
of a forgettable dawn
how many times
have you died
from tattooed hands that torture
and countless unseen wounds
opening through nodes
that connect our sorrows
to the harsh strokes
of society
tear-stained tapa
soaked in blood
continue to flow
from the over-filled kava bowl
of our rulers
their quick acceptance
of your sacrifice
still bleeds
of time
i have been thinking
over what you did
that dark day long ago
i still don’t believe
that a king was worth it!
sir some people are sad
because of your words
and actions
that is why i bring you
this cup of kava
from your neighbour’s soil
it contains the tears
of workers, farmers, miners
fisherfolk who go down
to the depths of adopted
seas for food
many have lost their jobs
robbed of opportunities
to make a profit
here, take it anyway
symbol of suffering and sorrow
of women
in the fields
in garment factories
at home where children
cry out their fears and frustration
take it, sir, it is yours
ah, but you see, sir
for some this cup is full
of hope
when you drink it you
will know your victory
like the kava it comes
of people’s hopes in the land
their collective confidence
will lift you up
their new-found pride
will bloom around you
while they wait
for their duty-bound son
to bury his weapons
and liberate their souls
and by the way, sir
i hope that as you drink this
you will remember
that when the dawn breaks
no one can shut out
the light