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(revised)
I was told
kākaho was the proud one
spurning the love of pingao
as she wistfully sought his plumes
waving in the wind
exalted above the sandy ridge
and with her rich toothy, green grin
dragging her vines ‘cross hot sand
not an introduction she’d planned
but that wānanga is wrong
isn’t it Mr Tī?
the light that reaches over Ōwairaka, Maungawhau and me
casts long shadows where we stand
and you demanded I shoot you, not kākaho, early afternoon
‘the light is more flattering’
a rustle in your messy top
broad, bright fluttering green leaves
as you casually explained
heroic
I want frontal, central, imposing
and if the shoot doesn’t give it
use Photoshop
you know, more than the Nor-Western motorway
I am Te Atatū
Don’t worry Mr Tī, I replied nervously,
there will be no rivals – not even kākaho
I have followed your client brief to the t…
harakeke sits at your feet submissively
and proud kākaho (toetoe stem) has been banished
to the edge of Waitematā’s cloak
outside the shot
oh and one more thing: a small detail I must confide
I squinted up his textured trunk towards the sun radiating
behind his crown
him looking down murmuring a deep single syllable ‘ae’
and then softly, so softly one could barely hear it
above the chirp of matata and the squeeky toy twittering of the tōrea
a shake began
leaves clattering nor-wester
and around his trunk
a ghost hand massaging wīwī and coercing marshland grasses
I cleared my throat, perhaps a little self-consciously now
if you look closely at the photo
there are kāroro moving around your crown
they were squawking and laughing at me trying to get the shot
He said, no
they are admirers singling me out.
S O M E N O T E S
This is a revised post from 10 June 2018 and concerns two things – conservation and conceit against a backdrop of images taken on one of a couple of waterfront walks at Te Atatū ‘sunrise’. The dialogue is based on quite a different indigenous story concerning the native plants kākaho and pingao which similarly occupy the threshold domain between Tangaroa (the sea) and of Tāne (the forest). There are no sand dunes in the tidal mudflats of Te Atatū so I have singled out the most prominent native on location – tī, the native cabbage tree – for a more narcissistic version of the role kākaho demonstrates in the traditional story of unrequited love.
The setting is suitable for love but perhaps not self-love. The Waitematā tide was in and there was a view across to Chelsea Sugarworks, Northcote and further to the East – the Viaduct and the three Tāmaki maunga (ko Maungawhau, Maungakiekie and Ōwairaka) rising in the distance behind the rumbling northwestern motorway as it heads towards the Rosebank, Avondale turnoff and further on the Te Atatū turnoffs.
My short dialogue involving Mr Tī had been brewing for quite a while since I first encountered the delightful story of pingao and kākaho in a publication produced by weavers who harvest the native fibre for their mahi ringa (tukutuku, kete and whāriki) and who also belonged to Ngā Puna Waihanga during the 1980s. I once accompanied a ranger in the Kaipara to gather the material for a meetinghouse, involving tukutuku utilising pingao, called Ihenga in Rotorua that celebrated ancestral traveller’s connection to the large northern harbour and to sites around Te Tai Tokerau. Weavers who use the material, as with those utilising harakeke, are intimately involved with the maintenance and care of the sedge and its surrounding ecosystem. Utilising the ‘eyebrows’ of Tāne means they must care for their resource if they are to access the beautiful sedge for their work. It is important to note here that perched in such a vulnerable position this plant continues to exist in an increasingly fragile state on New Zealand coastal sand dunes. As I understood it these weavers were exemplary kaitiaki, truly practitioners of the whakataukī:
Manaakitia ngā tukemata o Tāne ‘caring for the eyebrows of Tāne’
The following account of kākaho and pingao is one of a number that tell the compelling love story:
‘From her home she [i.e. ko Pingao] looked up to the land and saw the young and handsome kakaho dancing on the sand dunes. Each time the kakaho made his appearance Pingao became more and more enamoured. Finally she asked permission from Tangaroa to leave the sea to meet her lover. Tangaroa granted her permission with words of warning that she would never make it.
However driven by blind love, she left the seaweed and crawled across the hot sand. As she struggled up she began to call to the kakaho – but he was interested only in himself. He was in love with his own shape and did not answer pingao’s calls. In desperation she called back to Tangaroa, who could do nothing but shower her with spray. And there on the sand dunes, the pingao remains to this day.‘ Rangitane wānanga
For those sceptical regarding nature speaking. It’s not so much that nature talks perhaps more that we should listen. In my version singling out the tī is appropriate as it is a special tree whose name is contained within that of my Te Uriroroi affiliation with Porotī. It was there (outside Whāngārei on the way to Kaikohe) that a special ceremony was held to marry our ancestors with Waikato women and the cutting of the tī was the sign of the tomo ‘marriage negotiations’. This may relate to the raids of southern tribes on Whāngārei (Ōparakau, Parihaka, 1828) in retaliation for the raupatu conducted by Hika and our ancestral leaders who accompanied him in Tāmaki, Waikato and in Hauraki. So my choice of images is, as with any tribally based Māori, biased. Murua mai āku hara nei ne!
