An Urban Trilogy


1.
Along the veins of Queen at 8,           
newspaper boys’ harp
of crumbs,
their hands thumbing at the bones,

their faces are slight,
to resemble
the weep of ferns,

Whiro’s blue light is starting to drain
the sun hitting the hills to
unfurl the fingers of Rangitoto.

2.
At 12 noon with the sun standing tall,
the sky’s as fat as an ocean,

suited men are plucking the flesh
from their teeth,
with breath as plump as plums,
their belly’s too full to envision Tane,
unable to sleep for
the constant clipping at his limbs.

the steel ribs of construction have been
left protruding,
the hammers now cooling,

3.
It’s high tide at 7,
and Tangaroa pulling up his blue
shroud,
rests under the black silk of
a long shadow,

and I hear breathing…….

the low swooping sound of  Whiro
closing in,
smothering the hills with his  mother’s 
tears,

Our sun has now reclined
Curling up tight to once again dream of
Hawaiki.

 

The F. A Krull Letters (a contemporary transcription)

(Dedicated to my father and Whakapapa)

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad
(In the footprints of others, I welcome your past)

On Thursday the 27th of January, 1859 ‘The Equator’ navigated
the straits into Wellington harbour,
the bluff rounded where we anchored & slept last night
I remember the smoke that rose up into
the lap of god,

We stood on deck with flowers,
waiting for the wind to bring us in,

the westerly gently pulling at our fingertips,
drifting the ship southward toward the
snow,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

When the sun lowered and squinted her eyes,
our evenings were spent marvelling at the fires
in heaven,
stretched like Indian silk of the east,
the horizon laden with ink and the blood of
last years wars,

Chief Epuni restless at the loss of his father’s cloak,
to be passed through the channels of his whakapapa,
his people now trading their mokos for
gun shaped iron,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

With a dark face & full moko, his mat was interwoven
with Albatross feathers,
sharks teeth were hanging from his ears &
on his chest he wore an idol as his talisman,
in one hand a battle axe, the other a club of greenstone

Te Wiwi’s father was only at peace when he slept,
I heard his ancestors mourn from the
clay floor,
huddled together in the centre of the whare,
huddled together but not for warmth,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

Arriving at the inn, 2 travellers traded stories of
the East,
an open window to the Catholics and Protestants
snapping at each others heels for souls,
their beloved empire threading vines under the
Southern Oceans,

But at night as they slept,
the bush matted with a shade to cool the eyes
wound up through the Rimutakas
and down into the Waiarapa where Chief Te Turuatakiti
bore his people upon his brow,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

When Doctor Rothe fell off his horse & drowned amongst
the arms of the Rangitikei,
his wife and children sat amongst the iwi to imagine him
as a child,
his German heritage blended with the Maori earth,

a Tangi sweeping the valleys for a dead white man,

We slept in our little cottage last night,
our provisions tight at 2 pounds a week, but father
we are so glad to be home,
the sun has been kind and ‘The Equator’ has now left these
shores,
leaving behind the sailors to trade their sea dogs life for
a glimpse at prosperity,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

I am told there are no roads or even tracks into the plateau,
135 miles protect Lake Taupo from the Pakeha,
The Maoris join the yearly caravan toward these healing hands,
the warm waters of god, erupting 60 feet
closer unto heaven,

I am afraid to go alone as the inland hostilities
toward the white man frighten me,

I feel the heart of Aotearoa rests in these hands,
cupped in the warm earth,
the natives continuing to migrate further up north,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

On the 14th of April the Governor general arrived in Wellington
to a cool reception,
the superintendent stern in his stance,
his back turned from the grace of the government,

the ‘Radicals’ are bare-faced and rude toward the
‘Constitutionals’ in manner,
I am not proud of our politicians, but still they grow

several hundred Maoris gathered to catch a
glimpse of ‘Te Kawana’
one woman in a sweeping
velvet habit, bare headed with a clay pipe between her lips,
her reverence was overwhelming,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

Only 80 miles away the Maoris are at war with
each other,
Chief Tomiona is reputed to be a handsome man,
responsible for the massacre of 500 from another Iwi,

the government fear him for his education,
judiciously ruling his tribe toward civilisation,
he understands the failings of his people & has mastered the
tools of the white man,

we pray for a peaceful home by the waters edge,
but silence seems a virtue beyond humanity,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

The fuchsias in the front of the house are in full bloom,
the acacias fresh and vigorous,
the summer sky a heavenly blue when the sun goes down
under the ocean,
the peaceful valley of Paikakariki now in the possession
of the government,
the day ending at 5 but rising again at 7.15am when the
Irishman wakes as a native with
white skin,

Schreitend in den Fussspuren anderer, heisse ich Euch willkommen auf Euerem Pfad

The years are now crawling up my back and I am an oldman
to the eye,

My family and I moved to St Johns Hill, Wanganui when the
bank folded from under us in 1878,
we remained ever since and I shall die in this place,

I have lived my life in this country, but the outbreak
of the war rendered my services forgotten,
ours peers amassing us all under the German flag to
eventually rename ‘Krull’ to ‘Oakland Ave’

I have now seen two faces and I trust neither,

the roads have been built but the Maoris appear to have
faded from brown to grey,

I was born in Germany but my family remain with
me in here New Zealand,

(Fredrech died a naturalised man,
bringing us all home under the wing of Rongowhakata
his vessel still anchored in Whanganui-a-tara)

© Ben Kemp.  All Rights Reserved.