Тонга - маленькое островное государство в Полинезии с населением чуть больше 100 тысяч. Английский - один из официальных языков (наряду с тонганским), так что найти книгу оказалось реально, купила дешево на Google Play Books. Стихи на английском, но с частыми вкраплениями слов из местных языков, как это часто бывает у поэтесс Океании. Уже прочитав, я узнала, что родилась и выросла она все-таки в Новой Зеландии, но так и быть, засчитаю ее себе за Тонга :)Ее отец с Тонга, а мать - белая, а такое смешанное происхождение нередко порождает внутренний конфликт, и это находит отображение в ее стихах.
Например, в таком:
"Virgin Loi"
looking back,
do I wish I had a Tongan mother
who guarded my chastity
with a bible in one hand
and a taufale in the other?
instead of my pale, polite, palangi mum
who gave me the freedom to choose
and understoof that all the rest of the girls I knew
used tampons
do I wish I'd had a Tongan mother
who put the fear of God himself into me
so that in the heat of many moments
I'd say No
I'm worth more
let's see the rock
buy me shit
and treat me like a princess
(until after we're married
and then I'll be your baby making
black eyed doormat)
those Tongan girls
I see them stare
see my skin half palangi fair
I watch your nostrils flare
I see you sio lalo
I know the coconut wireless
is so efficient
that I cannot get away
with what's actually true
let alone what is pure libel
once I thought I had a choice
and a right to choose
and I believed that ignorance
wasn't bliss
and experience
led to wisdom
I see you sio lalo
so what, I say
I won't wear white on my wedding day
cream suits me better anyway
I say
laughing on the outside
but on the inside
my hymen is broken
("Loi" - liar.
"taufale" - метла.
"palangi" - самоанское название для белых и вообще иностранцев.
("Loi" - liar.
"taufale" - метла.
"palangi" - самоанское название для белых и вообще иностранцев.
"sio lao" - смотреть сверху вниз.)
Карло Мила часто посвящает свои стихотворения женщинам - безымянным и известным, а иногда и своим родственницам.
'Savai'i Sorceress'
don't get your hands caught in my hair
were the last words I threw at you
in a flying goodbye
deliberate words
your eyes landing on curls
tangled / a web / a nest / a net
thrown into the wind
wrapping around you
don't go standing on any star-mounds
late at night in savai'i
or I might call your name
like a chanting eel from an underground cave
trying to catch you
stay away
don't let me be
the last thing that creeps into your mind
and spreads
before you go to sleep
like the vine that wraps itself
elegantly
like a boa
around rainforest branches
dripping glossy leaves
smothering the forests
in upolu
with such style
and tropical panache
because I'll never tell the truth
that the laugh I throw between us like a handful of coins
is no longer
completely
my
own
stay away
don't
be
witched.
(Savai'i, Upolu - названия островов Самоа.)
А это стихотворение посвященно Аннетт Сайкс, новозеландской активистке, которая борется за право маори на самоуправление.
"Annette Sykes Visits: Ahi Kaa"
Annette picks up stones
and bangs them together
to make fire
we are the stones
they are the stones
Annette rubs sticks together
to make fire
we are the sticks
they are the sticks
you know what they say
about sticks and stones
regardless
she chooses
to be a keeper of the fire
(Ahi Kaa - "хранительница огня")
А вот стихотворении на интересный мифологический сюжет. Мауи-тикитики-а-Таранга - маорийский культурный герой. В поисках бессмертия он пытался пройти через тело богини ночи и смерти Хине-нуи-те-по. Превратившись в червя, он проник в ее вагину, но богиня убила его обсидиановыми зубами, которые росли в ее влагалище.
"Legendary"
You are my Maui-tikitiki-a-Taranga
demigod to me
trickster of the heart
I just hope I’m pulling you in
because you could slow the sun for me
Maui
you could have
every finger of my fire
but remember
I am woman
and I do not doubt
that you will die
between my legs
Хороша у нее и любовно-эротическая лирика, местами очень даже откровенная.
(Savai'i, Upolu - названия островов Самоа.)
А это стихотворение посвященно Аннетт Сайкс, новозеландской активистке, которая борется за право маори на самоуправление.
"Annette Sykes Visits: Ahi Kaa"
Annette picks up stones
and bangs them together
to make fire
we are the stones
they are the stones
Annette rubs sticks together
to make fire
we are the sticks
they are the sticks
you know what they say
about sticks and stones
regardless
she chooses
to be a keeper of the fire
(Ahi Kaa - "хранительница огня")
For Aunty Olive (98th Birthday)
You are the living flower
in the chain
of frangipani
that links us
all the way
back
to Sale’aula
Do your dreams carry you
across the lava fields at night?
Can you dive into the molten memory
where what is forgotten
becomes fluid again
and flowing?
Can you reach into
the black lava rock
and touch the tender green
that once grew
full of hope?
Can you remember for us
the stories silently
woven
into the finest of mats
by graceful
and hard-working hands?
hands like yours
hands like ours
back across an ocean of
swelling sea
back through a century
of memory
You are the living flower
in the chain
of hardworking
and graceful mwomen
who came
all the way
from Savai’i
to weave
a new future
for us all.
For Ida
(first Pacific woman judge)
Once I wrote
that we are the seeds of the migrant dream
the daughters supposed to fill the promise
hope heavy on our shoulders
we stand on the broken back of physical labour
knowing the new dawn has been raided.
But
we are the seeds of a much greater dream
that goes back across oceans of memory
a vision still held in the hands
of humble men buried in humble villages
who chant clear our paths
with every lost breath.
Ida, you have spoken of the sacrifice
of language lost, and the cost,
of success in the palagi world
and you have wrapped your son safely
in fa’asamoa
he rests in a nest of language
learning to tame words
that flew like wild gulls
far beyond our understanding.
‘This is the sacrifice of my generation’
you said
‘but it will not be his,
this is where the sacrifice stops.’
The gulls cirle
and nest
and our sense of selves
rests.
You touch a vision
clasped to the breast
of humble women buried in humble villages
who still sing
across oceans of memory
in words that our children will be able to hear.
А вот стихотворении на интересный мифологический сюжет. Мауи-тикитики-а-Таранга - маорийский культурный герой. В поисках бессмертия он пытался пройти через тело богини ночи и смерти Хине-нуи-те-по. Превратившись в червя, он проник в ее вагину, но богиня убила его обсидиановыми зубами, которые росли в ее влагалище.
"Legendary"
You are my Maui-tikitiki-a-Taranga
demigod to me
trickster of the heart
I just hope I’m pulling you in
because you could slow the sun for me
Maui
you could have
every finger of my fire
but remember
I am woman
and I do not doubt
that you will die
between my legs
Хороша у нее и любовно-эротическая лирика, местами очень даже откровенная.
"Missed"
I am not one
to dramatically promise
that I will never love again
but you were automatic as milk in my coffee
didn’t realise how essential you were to me
until you were gone
waking up without you
brings tears to my eyes
five years after Ieft you
I still don’t like my coffee black.
"One night standing"
"One night standing"
we built
a bivouac with our bodies
limbs locked fingers furled
tongues tied arms curled
we managed to keep out the rain
"Leaving Prince Charming Behind"
For a while I thought we were living the fairytale
but sadly I realised that this the myth
and you were so busy believing
that we were living the happily ever after
I don't think you noticed for a while
I'd rejected the role of princess in your production.
I am Rapunzel with her dreadlocks shorn
tyring to pull down the tower with broken nails
cursing your name.
I believed you the architect of my isolation
and it didn't matter
what you tried to do
the poison apple was lodged firmly in my throat
and not believing in glass slipper
redemption
I worked my own midnight magic for all it was worth
red blood, white cloth
mirrors on the wall.
My poor dark prince on your gallant white horse
the shoe didn't fit
your kiss couldn't wake me up
to your way of thinking.
I transformed myself into
a beautiful dragon
you felt honour bound
to slay.
"The H.Series" (fragment)
a sure sign that I like you
is that I found your jealousy
strangely appealing
instead of feeling affronted
as an independent woman
a sure sign that I like you
is that I can kiss you with my eyes open
a sure sign that I like you
is that I braved your breakfast table
instead of slipping out like a thiefess
in the night
the surest sign that I like you
is that I am not thinking too hard
about all the reasons why we might not work
I’m just gonna let us muck it up ourselves
and let it run its own bloody minded
disappointing course
"Today: Embracing Newness"
strawberry yoghurt on my tongue
billie holiday in my ears
sleep heavy in my eyes
rain on my window
and you are everywhere
in the sweetness of the fruit
in the lyric of her voice
in the dream of my halfsleep
in the lick and the sadness of the rain
I breathe in your breath
and remember the hot sticky words
you whispered when I came
when we made love
I wanted to pull you harder into my body
our bodies separated us somehow
I wanted to pull you into me
yes
and today as I walk in the harsh light of day
I realise as I walk through work corridors
I carry your frame
within mine
I can feel your heart beneath my ribcage
bursting to break through
А вот ее стихотворение, посвященное отцу:
"Today: Embracing Newness"
strawberry yoghurt on my tongue
billie holiday in my ears
sleep heavy in my eyes
rain on my window
and you are everywhere
in the sweetness of the fruit
in the lyric of her voice
in the dream of my halfsleep
in the lick and the sadness of the rain
I breathe in your breath
and remember the hot sticky words
you whispered when I came
when we made love
I wanted to pull you harder into my body
our bodies separated us somehow
I wanted to pull you into me
yes
and today as I walk in the harsh light of day
I realise as I walk through work corridors
I carry your frame
within mine
I can feel your heart beneath my ribcage
bursting to break through
А вот ее стихотворение, посвященное отцу:
"Wednesday Afternoon"
(for Maka)
my father is ‘having fun’
clarning the floor
he uses the plugged in sink as a bucket
wears rags on his feet
and shimmies to a cleaning beat
he asks me to read the label
on the bottle for him
he wants our floor to shine
and laughs when (surplices)
it does
this is how I will remember him
moonwalking across our kitchen floor
rags under his feet
‘that’s how my mother taught me’
he says
‘but I never take any note
it take me forty years to do what she say’