by Albert Wendt
Bone-man twirl like a top’
Into the sanctuary of the pigpens I fled
as if I too had been pillaged of bone
to fashion a mockery of bone
(2)
‘Leave me here to dissolve to earth!’ he begged
as I lifted him out of his bed of blood
that evening in the savage emptiness of malae
Wrapped him in tapa
and to the dreaming mountains carried
him like a bride
Trapped wild pigs and of their bones
and one skull built a new frame
for his flesh
And as he healed in my embrace
we slept in the murmuring of Pofanau
when Tagaloa reshapes maggot into person
(The world is afloat in our unstill eyes
All is an amniotic tide changing
Dreaming is the continuing of our waking)
I woke to the startled emptiness
in my arms: he was gone into
a morning forest webbed with mist
and glittering dew as hard as tears
into that dimension where unfulfilled spirits
refuse the way to Pulotu
In the unravelable maze of mountains
I stalked his long sad silence as he searched
for new verse for vengeance he was never to exact
Today he still wanders the Atu’olo —
his sorrow is the mournful noon cooing
of the pigeon and the tava’e’s eternal circling
(3)
‘To win you must catch a rhythm
a way a beat no one can imitate
Learn from everything’ the Lulu advised
For the passing of ten breadfruit seasons
I watched learned caught first the sea’s
creatures moods and swings
Then sky stone river creeper bird
tree dew lizard ant beetle
All their languages I trapped
But each time I returned to Lulu
and sang him my new songs
he echoed them exactly back
(A song is not invented It simply is
It is caught fished up out of the sea
of all that is and will be)
In the river that was dream I was flyingfox
hovering in the white stillness
and the stench of acid fire
above a strange reef of cloudhigh dwellings
with millions of eyes and fissured
with deep chasms like dry riverbeds
I flew lower and in one of the chasms
black youths in exotic hides gyrated
to a black singing box
to a beat I’d never heard
like the rapid shatter of rain
or branches breaking in strong wind
to a voice chanting an imagery
both savage and hypnotically direct
muscled like jabbing spear arms
And in that gifted flow of dream
I netted their imagery and beat
in my upsidedown flyingfox head
‘I’ve come to meet the one they say steals
the bones of songmakers!’ I challenged
from the eye of their dawn malae
(Around me they were waking)
I called again and they emerged
to circle me with ridiculing laughter
Suddenly through them like a wave strode
the Tuimanu’a and Alopese propped up
by his talking staff (such arrogant beauty)
‘Don’t be foolish — you’re too young
to die!’ said the Tuimanu’a (They laughed
and jeered — a clatter of fat hens!)
‘Watch’ Alopese said and then played his flute
and out of his dark fale hopped
the grinning one-legged Bone-man
At Alopese’s command the Bone-man rushed
at me as if to attack (they laughed)
but I refused to retreat
‘I can’t be refused — it’s the Law’
I reminded the Tuimanu’a ‘So be it
if you want to die’ He answered
The Bone-man sat beside his haughty master
‘You set whatever rhyme you please’ Alopese said
so sure of easy victory
‘Are you sure sir?’ I asked
‘On any topic set to any patter beat —
I know them all’ he laughed
My cunning flyingfox heart leapt
I had him in the net closing in
My tongue could taste his blood
In the To’elau were Mulialofa’s love songs
and the scent of pua scent of
mosooi scent of pig scent of woman’s sap
scent of my life’s total stretch
as the La grasped my shoulders
and raised me to my uncourageous feet
‘Gather round kings and aristocrats of our land
and listen to my brand new beat’ I began
my attack ‘I’m a holy rock ’n’ roller
looking for a seat in Lord Tagaloa’s
ferocious band I’m a holy rock ’n’ roller
eager for revenge
‘So c’mon Alopese and your toothlessly
scared Bone-man there’s a new beat rolling
through this nobody land
‘C’mon Alopese put up your voice
put up your heart put up your everything
I’m going to win them all
in this one-sided contest’
Stopped abruptly like a club blow
Caught a blink of panic in Alopese’s eyes
We waited for him to repeat to leap
He chuckled pretended there was nothing wrong
Bone-man jumped up to his one leg
and tried to scare me again
‘You want to dance Bone-man
so dance to my rocking beat from
the land of the acid dead
I’m a holy rock ’n’ roller eager for revenge …’
My song snared him and spun him
round up and down like the black
youths in the vibrating chasm
backslides headspins turtling
until his sinnet joints snapped
and he was a heap of bones at Alopese’s feet
‘Defeat him!’ the Tuimanu’a ordered
His Lord of War His Taulaaitu His Second-
Self His prize Shadow and Echo
Alopese couldn’t He tried and tried
but my beat wasn’t in his knowing in
his air or in his future
Each time he tried and failed
his talking staff withered and the Tuimanu’a
and His people withdrew the protecting circle
leaving him naked without mana
shelter for his pride a stranded fish
kicking for breath on lacerating coral
to be speared even by inexpert children
taken home and roasted on coconut embers
and eaten by toothless grandmothers
(Revenge is sweet and out of the To’elau
I sucked Mulialofa’s love and victory
as I watched Alopese die that day)
‘Your demands?’ the Tuimanu’a asked
(Some chiefs always pretend extra aristocracy!)
‘His voice is all I want’ I replied
I’ll not follow the usual twist of
the revenge tale and say Alopese
then melted into a grovelling coward
No flaw of fear even when they trussed
him up like a pig and exposed
his gifted throat to the Tuimanu’a’s knife
No sound of fear as the knife dug in
and slit across and blood bubbled
up to the blade and skilled hand
that lunged in and down through
gullet into the sacred depths
of chest hear
t and moa
Grasped the kicking voice on fire
and wrenched it up and out
into the circling gasping air
I knelt and the Tuimanu’a’s red-
flowing hand unclasped and covered
my in-sucking mouth releasing
Alopese’s voice his mana to surge
like Tagaloa’s breath that gave us life
down down
into all that I was am
and will be in the Unity that weaves
winner and loser
conjurer and conjured
artifice and reality illusion and fact
in the fatal game in the endless dreaming of the dream
(4)
Tonight I catch again the homeless wailing
of the Pig-man in the sad mountains
of my soul
Tonight Alopese’s arrogant fluting
and the Bone-man’s clicking dance measure
the faulty pulse of my heart
(We exist in the sacred water
gathered from the Fafā I’m a long
remembering but have deciphered
little from that water cupped
in the desperate hands of my skull
and dribbling away unreturned)
Tonight Mulialofa Alopese Bone-man
Pig-man and the holy rock ’n’ roller
That I inelegantly was
dance again around the healing
togo fire burning as slowly
as the last rising dawn
That is enough
enough warmth for an old man
about to bathe in the waters of the Fafā
5
War Correspondent
(1) The Offer
Vela’s fame was instant on Alopese’s defeat
Every Tama’aiga wanted him as personal historian
(We hunger after chroniclers who mirror our vanity
and grow fatly opulent on the rewards
our vanities provide them)
Thin yaw-footed neglected all his youth
Vela knew a fat offer when the most paramount
of Tama’aiga the Tuimanu’a made it
As was customary Vela refused it at first
but not too adamantly
Tama’aiga don’t beg in public so Tuimanu’a
invited Vela into his fale and on His knees
offered him His favourite wife (out of twenty)
Alopese’s harem and title — after all he was
now Manu’an with Alopese’s mana
Yet unwise in the world’s bartering
Vela refused his patron’s favourite and Alopese’s
identity but accepted the envied post of chronicler
in a solo he composed on the spot
to inflate his patron’s already bloated ego
(I’ve not been able to find that solo
and couldn’t persuade Vela to recite it
to me ‘I’m now so ashamed of
such lying flattery’ he keeps
insisting ‘I sold my integrity for material comfort’)
(2) A Celibate Sacredness
In a fale in the shadow of Foafoalagi
the Sacred PalmGrove heart of his patron’s compound
Vela awaited a sexual abundance but no one dared
intrude after the Tuimanu’a declared him tapu
too sacred even for women’s fondling
His servants haggard old matai
and spies followed him everywhere scraping up
his sacred shit so no one could use it for sorcery
A celibate caged in his sacredness
Not a fuckable creature in sight
Only the Tuimanu’a and His taulaaitu
(shrivelled like ancient fau) visited
Boring old men brewing war and Atuahood
preparing Vela to record their
glorious vanity
So out of his trapped nights he fished
the Lulu to talk with: ‘The quest for power drives
men mad so escape now’ Lulu warned ‘Don’t forget
you’re anchored in flesh’ ‘But what use is the anchor
if I can’t relieve it of lust? I’m sick of dry hand-jobs’
‘War is a feast a feeding of kings the sport
of atua and aristocracy’ said the Tuimanu’a
and a war Vela’s first interrupted
his dry monotony of hand
A war which he called:
(3) Taua o le Taeao Fua (War of the Naked Morning)
This war was Vela’s first assignment
as chronicler but let’s pause here —
we’re getting ahead of our tale — and return
to that war’s source: Tuimanu’a Fa’aola
Spiritual Overlord Son of Tagaloaalagi - with - the - Intestine
now an old body refusing to shrink
hurling His young warriors into Saveasi’uleo’s
insatiable gob and gobbling up
teenage wives to keep death at bay
(Power is our sweetest aphrodisiac)
The Tuimanu’a’s sixtieth war planned and executed
Each war chronicled to be re-enjoyed
in the telling and the retelling
and in that giddy spiral He’d be
remembered He hoped forever
Being atua He never fought in the wars
Being indispensible He had to be protected
(Let the dispensible be Saveasi’uleo’s fodder)
Tuimanu’a Fa’aola Grand Director
of the Drama and the Feeding
And here’s how Vela recorded
that war for his patron’s vanity:
The hour was right Our Lord and taulaaitu
have consulted our atua through Foafoalagi
the Sacred Conch and the omens in the air
earth wind and sky were on our side
To war! To war!
For seven anae seasons our troops
had trained under our Lord’s expert command
their bodies incredible in muscle and speed
Such ferocious beauty is ready to test Saveasi’uleo
To war! To war!
In the bay still as the waters of Vaiola our Fleet
of war alia were giant tanifa loaded with
warriors weaponry and our atua’s blessings
eager for war ready for the sacrifice
To war! To war!
Our Lord was ready ‘Lift Him up Bear Him
to His seat of victory! His shadow will melt
our enemy away like dew! His magic
club the Uluta’eto will feast on their skulls’
To war! To war!
Into Safele Bay we broke like black tanifa
swarming onto the beach and the sleeping
enemy the Aiga Safele while our Lord
watched from his alia
To war! To war!
The Safele army was foolishly defiant
They stood their ground
Their women and children also willing to die
but our courageous warriors couldn’t
be denied as they advanced
‘Stab Parry Cut Weave Turn!’
‘Stab Parry Cut Weave Turn!’
We broke their solid wall
Cut their troops into scatters
we surrounded clubbed and speared
Our warriors so beautiful in their erect nakedness
in their oiled tatau glistening
‘Stab Parry Cut Weave Turn!’
Our Lord’s strategy deadly correct
‘Pursue Pursue Club Cut!’
‘No one must escape they must pay!’ our Lord
had commanded And now from His alia
He smiled to witness his plan succeeding
Saw the enemy scattering falling
Heard the piercing cries of their dying
He wept in victory shouted to the La:
‘See again the mana of your most hum
ble servant
To you I dedicate this glorious victory!’
To our supreme Tagaloaalagi He offered
the head of Safele’s leading ali’i
When He strode ashore the enemy grovelled
for mercy in their dirt
Being a true aristocrat He cut the women’s
and children’s bonds
For the men He ordered the ultimate price
In Safele’s malae a pit was dug
filled with logs and set ablaze
The conquered warriors were clubbed and thrown in
to become sizzling smoke the ravenous La
and our atua swallowed for breath
Our merciful Lord Tuimanu’a Fa’aola
wept to see such a beautiful sight
How He wept to witness such courageous death!
The War of the Naked Morning will always
be remembered as our Lord’s most glorious victory
Our Lord is the mightiest of Lords
War is His game War is His sport
May the atua bless Him forever
May They feed His mana with blood
Long live Lord Tuimanu’a Fa’aola!
Immediately after Vela recited to me that chronicle
he wanted me to record how he really felt:
(4) Walking
The War Dead walk they walk like weightless
mountains across the night bay
The stars are white pua discarded over
the black curving waters
The War Dead my Dead walk
They walk and the unquiet waters wince
under their footsteps that cut
wounds that spark briefly
like fireflies and drown
My War Dead walk the bay
Seven weeks since the war ended
Seven weeks of their pacing my dreams
Seven weeks of their refusing to
turn west to Falealupo and the Fafā
I’m bursting with their evil load
My days have been incessant crapping
to evacuate them and I’m melting away
in foulness my servants scrape up and hide
(Poor stinging arsehole oozing blood)
