HIKA AKE AU I TAKU AHI

I Now Generate My Fire Lake fingers tumble the pumice in a long lament. Tonight I lie with the old women and my supple rimu scales the lean flanks of Pirongia. The lost canoe deep in the sands of Kawhia, is not more lonely than Rangiaho. I fear the fairy woman of Pirongia; the frosty clematis with tendrils that ensnare. I will gather dry wood for the failing fire, fan the embers into tongues of flame, that he may see the hearth flush and, remembering gentle valleys and trout speckled streams, break from the fairy fetters, and swiftly as a mountain torrent find the long lake shore. Kathleen Grattan

The Challenge Papa te whatitiri i runga i te rangi! Hikuhiku te uira! Gone are those hot days when the battle-field Jogged with the shouts of the haka, and the click and thrust of the taiaha. Gone are the kuia, And the koroheke with his tokotoko His ancestry he recites. My ancestry … Whano! Whano! Haere mai te toki! Haumi EEE! Hui EEE! Taiki EEE! Now— only I am left To wonder what was theirs. I too can recite ancestry I too can haka I too can sit and wonder. Sit and wonder Loud crashes the thunder in the sky! The lightning flashes! John Barrett