Arthur,
I like this a lot. It is the sort of poem I could read on a long train
journey, sampled line by line while I look out the window and dream
of far places.
At least you had the skills ( in poetry) to do justice to the places that
you visited.
Kumaras are sweet potatoes. People in New Zealand new them by that name too.
No doubt the Polynesian influence. Better baked than boiled.
Pikininis are infants. I remember from PNG pidjin. My favourite PNG pidjin
was "Yu no ken baggarupim". Translated as "Fragile. Handle with care".
You have stimulated me to post an early poem of mine on PNG (maybe
tomorrow). But don't take it as a competition.
Your poem makes it sound like you tried betel (with lime and ginger to go)
you saucy devil.
Colin
----- Original Message -----
From: "arthur seeley" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Wednesday, February 19, 2003 9:36 AM
Subject: New Sub:Ship Makkit at Patutiva
> Colin's 'Market' has encouraged me to blow the dust off an old poem.
>
> Ship Makkit at Patutiva
>
> Tilleys hiss in moth-drummed globes of light,
> kumaras glow like rubies, couched in grass,
> drinking nuts piled, brown and plump as Polynesian breasts,
> tapioca, starlight-white, snows on glossy leaves,
> fists of bananas bunch on blushing mangoes;
> char-grilled pink-cheeked job fish, rich seams of meat,
> arrayed for viewing in the hot and yammering market,
> close to the jetty and the sleek lagoon.
>
> Black hands, swift as spiders, fiddle and arrange,
> leaf-waft intrusive flies away from translucent melon
> and oozing plush-fleshed paw-paws ranged over
> treasured calico, chequered and chintzed and willow-pattern blue.
> Eyes, bright with betel, dart and compare,
> secret whispers fix prices, gossip, story and snigger
> behind the black fans of hand and leaf
> and always the anxious harking for a distant greeting
> down the long warm slumbers of the night.
>
> The swaying sentinel, palm-perched at perilous height,
> tears the night with his shrill cry," Uminao! Hem cam noa ia!"
> and a sigh settles on the market, like a lover on his bride.
> The hush explodes with shouts and squeals of laughter
> from the hip-wriggling pikininis' bare-arsed jig,
> the wafting leaves increase in speed as the night bulges
> with the whale-wide, low-watt-light-swung, rust-scabbed,
> tyre-swagged, hulk of the Islands' ferry,
> as it sidles and nudges, with lumbering grace,
> into the web of a dripping puzzle of ropes to mate with the jetty.
>
> Deep pound of diesel mutes to a murmur and the sides clank down.
> Light and people spill into the mill of the market,
> silhouettes till lamps define them and then they melt into the crowd.
> Diesel, sweat, paraffin, trodden earth
> and slapping sea thicken the air.
> I sit with friends on long logs beside the stalls
> apart from this press of strangers.
> We chat and smoke the black tabac in resinous clouds;
> spit betel-blood to roll in the dust,
> watch the women at their toilsome tasks of trade,
> play-act the constant hunt for change, parcel fish in banana leaf,
> bundle the kasava and nali nuts, sift and twist the powdered shell.
>
> The bull-blare of horn informs
> and the Uminoa departs.
>
>
> We watch her leave, thinning down the moon -path, fading, gone,
> then fold the fragments, shake and close the cloths with loving care,
> scold heedless, past-it pikininis with sharp words and long sticks.
> Lamps disperse, float up the hill and will-o-the wisp along the shore;
> canoes down-doppler in fast farewells;
> cash is counted, tucked and put to hoard.
> All over the village lights burn a while, then dowse,
> one last raucous peal of laughter, a dog responds with indignation,
> then, slowly, silence and the moon folds Patutiva into sleep.
>
>
> Arthur W Seeley
>
> Notes. Patutiva is a stopping place for the inter -island ferry of the
> Solomon Islands.
> Ship makkit is a weekly market held to catch the passing trade of the
Ferry
> which always arrives at night.
> Uminao is the name of the old ship that is the ferry.The name might
> translate as 'All of us'
> 'Uminao hem cam nao ia ' is Pidjin for 'The Uminao is here!'
>
>
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