Matahiwi
has been the focal point of the New Zealand poet laureateship since the honour
was first established at the suggestion of John Buck and his Te Mata Vineyard
roughly 20 years ago. The laureate’s
tokotoko (talking stick) has been carved, in all but one case, by Haumoana
artist Jacob Scott, and presented with due ceremony at the marae.
One off-shoot of this, important because of the award’s connection with the Te Mata estate, is that the laureate receives gifts of the finest Te Mata wines – a practice that took its idea from the British Poet Laureate’s receiving an annual ‘butt of sack’ (barrel of sherry).
One off-shoot of this, important because of the award’s connection with the Te Mata estate, is that the laureate receives gifts of the finest Te Mata wines – a practice that took its idea from the British Poet Laureate’s receiving an annual ‘butt of sack’ (barrel of sherry).
 |
Group in front of the house, Te Mātau a Māui. Seated, Tom Mulligan on left, and CK Stead.
|
Matahiwi
is a beautiful little marae a few kilometres out of Havelock North, down a long
road, paved but hardly wider than one lane, and in countryside full of orchards
and vineyards which at this time of year are in full glorious production.
Our
group of marae visitors – the laureate and his family (a party of fourteen),
three of the Laureate’s poet friends (Chris Price, Greg O’Brien and Paula
Green), and students from local schools, and others, were led on to the marae
with the usual exchange of karanga as we approached. I was shepherded by Cellia Joe from the
Alexander Turnbull Library, and our group was seated on one side of the
wharenui, under a kind of porch, and on the other, under a matching porch, were
the marae people, their kaumatua, Tom Mulligan, who made the welcoming speech
in Māori and in English, staff from the ATL who had spent the night on the
marae, Chris Szekely, the Chief Librarian, and Peter Ireland.
Lee
Kershaw-Karaitiana spoke for the visitors, a speech in Māori of great forcefulness,
eloquence, and (I detected – in the word rangatira) hyperbole when it came to
the great worth of the person about to be honoured.
 |
| The visitors coming onto Matahiwi marae on Saturday morning. Poet Laureate CK Stead (white shoulder bag) walks beside Lee Kershaw-Karaitiana. |
The
lead party (myself with Kay and our three children Oliver, Charlotte and
Margaret, Chris Szekely, and my three invited poets) then moved on to the
paepae. The presentation of the tokotoko
was preceded by a short extract from my poem SCORIA and a brief explanation of the
carver’s thoughts and materials. He had
in mind, he said, that this was a stick for a ‘scholar and a gentleman’. He had been working in South East Asia, and
had taken his materials locally. The
wood is black ebony, hardwood, and the beautifully carved handle is of water
buffalo bone, a smoky colour somewhere between white and cream. There is a circle of silver below the handle
and a silver ferrule. My name and the
date and details of the award are inscribed.
The whole effect is almost ‘old world’ and distinctly elegant.
The
tokotoko was blessed in a beautiful oration/poem in Māori by Ngatai Huata, who
towards the end of her reading involved the whole gathering calling on us to
follow her in repeating its final phrases, and describing the position of
laureate as one awarded to a person who was toi kupu rongonui. This I felt was another great honour. Kia ora Ngatai!
In
making my speech of thanks, I regretted my lack of reo Māori, but I saluted the
marae, its wharenui which takes its name (and the carving over our heads) from
the hook (Te Mātau) with which Maui dragged up the land under our feet. I saluted the ancestors of Ngati Hawea, and
the people themselves. I acknowledged
and thanked John Buck and Te Mata, the Alexander Turnbull Library, Kay and our
three children and their partners, and our seven grandchildren, six of whom
were present; and then also my fellow poets, two of whom, Chris and Greg, had
been in my Creative Writing class at the University of Auckland (its first) in
1984. All I could claim about them was
that they had arrived with what seemed fully formed talents, and that they left
after a year with talent intact and undamaged.
They have since gone on to publish outstanding collections of poems, and
both made their mark as arts administrators.
Likewise my fellow Aucklander, Paula, has published fine collections,
and beyond that has played a significant part as an educator, both through her
poetry blog, and as a visitor to schools.
Cumulatively these three have done massive work for the cause of poetry
in New Zealand over the past two or more decades, and I felt my hand as
laureate was immensely strengthened by their presence.
 |
| Poets and family on the paepae. From left: Poet Laureate CK Stead (holding his new tokotoko) and his wife Kay, Oliver Stead, and Paula Green. |
Where
I grew up there were three principal maunga in sight – the nearest, ‘in your
face’ so to speak, was Maungawhau; to the east was Maungakiekie, and to the
west Owairaka. We had Pakeha names for them – Mt Eden, One Tree Hill (which
should now be No Tree Hill thanks to Mike Smith’s chainsaw vandalism), and
Mount Albert. But the Māori element
persisted. My primary school was
Maungawhau. My secondary school was Mt Albert
Grammar but the suburb (its name up on the front of the trams) was
Owairaka. And if you wanted to get to
the parkland around One Tree Hill you could go via Maungakiekie Avenue. I knew the Māori form of the name Auckland
was Akarana; and that the Ngati Whatua knew the region between the two
harbours, Waitemata and Manukau, as Tamaki-Makau-Rau. That was popularly translated as ‘the place
of a thousand lovers’. But as I grew
older and learned a little of our pre-history I realised that the aroha was not
just of the people for one another. It
was for the place – the region, the isthmus – a place worth fighting for and
fighting over. Those three maunga of my
childhood, with their characteristic indentations, were defended pa. They were warrior sites; from time to time
war zones.
Some
of this I said in my speech; and I suggested that the same aroha expressed
itself now in high house prices and gridlock at rush hours. We were the place of a 1.5 million lovers;
but it was still my whenua – the place where my imagination had taken root and
sometimes had taken flight.
 |
Left to right: Musician Robbie Duncan, poets Chris Price, CK Stead, Paula Green and Greg O’Brien at Poets’ Night Out.
|
That
is why this welcome on the marae, the presentation of the tokotoko and all it
symbolised, seemed to me a wonderful moment at this late (and no doubt last)
stage of my career as a writer. I was
immensely honoured and touched – and I’m sure everyone could see that I was.
My
son Oliver, who is also a curator at the Alexander Turnbull Library, sang a
powerful waiata, and that brought the presentation part of the morning to an
end.
What
came next was organised by Marti Smith, a local poet and school teacher. There were readings from each of the four
poets (Chris Price accompanied on the guitar by her partner Robbie Duncan), and
then performances of high quality – singing, violin, and guitar – from students
at local schools. There was also a poem
from a local student (she was absent, ill, but a school friend read it for her)
which she had written, it was said, in protest at the idea that a laureate
might be required to write poems to meet public occasions (something the New
Zealand laureate is not in fact required to do, though he/she might choose
to). The image was of a bird, and the
poem asked did it need to be taught to fly, or does it just fly because it’s a
bird? This struck me more as a telling
rejection of the idea that the writing of poetry can be ‘taught’ than of the
idea that poems can be written to order.
Poets write poems because they are poets, just as birds fly because they
are birds: this was the message, I thought, and effective as an argument because
the poem itself was so graceful, so beautifully turned.
 |
| The crowd of 150 for Poets’ Night Out at the Havelock North Function Centre. |
The
afternoon was free. Some slept, others
climbed Te Mata Peak. In the early
evening we all ate at the Pipi café whose owner, Alexandra Tylee, is a poet and
poetry aficionado. From 7.30, at the
Havelock North Function Centre, I read with Chris (accompanied by Robbie
again), Greg and Paula, an event publicised as Poets’ Night Out. We were supported by the wonderful voices of
Taylor Wallbank, Emanuel Fuimoano and LJ Crichton, three students aged 17 and
16 who are products of Anna Pierard’s Project Prima Volta. The boys gave a sort
of ‘Three Tenors’ opera performance and a display of great talent for the
future.
Marty Smith was M.C. for this
reading which had been organised by the Writers in Wineries Charitable Trust, a
group mainly of women – writers, booksellers, librarians.
Next
morning we returned to the marae for poroporoaki and breakfast, more speeches,
and a general reflective and grateful korero.
Talking to Tom Mulligan I was struck by how pleased he was that all my
whanau had come back for breakfast.
This, even more than their presence at the event itself it seemed,
signalled our warmth and gratitude and that the role of the marae in the whole
process of the Laureateship had been taken seriously, as indeed it had.
- C.K.
Stead
Images by Joan McCracken and Lynette Shum
No comments:
Post a Comment