©ClaireGriffin 2016
torn apart
12.02am was a lesson in humility
who am I
to think the earth
could feel my pain
and make the heavens
weep with me
she is not a reflection of my emotions
she is her own sovereign being
and last night she tore herself apart
there is a fury
she has held in check
grief she has suppressed
pain she has denied
last night
all was unleashed
pent up energy released
her heart broken open
and spread before us
there is a madness in her rage
she rends her clothes
and tears her hair
she breaks her own body
and lays it at our feet
she has become a distorted, twisted thing
my beautiful country
you have torn yourself apart
what are you telling me?
we may be homeless
she is broken
we may be confused
she is broken
we may be distraught
she is broken
it may be her only way
to shake free from us
my beautiful country
you have torn yourself apart
what are you telling me?
she has called on her power
the wild pulse of life
to tear open her own skin
to bleed rivers enough
to flood the land
and lay bare the truth
she is not gentle
she is not kind
she is a wild thing
who tolerates us
she is more Lillith than Eve
she is Papatuanuku grieving still for Rangi
she is Persephone rising after slaughtering Hades
she is Mis raging in the wilderness
she is telling us
she owns her body
she owns her pain
and she can cast us off
in a heartbeat
©Claire Griffin 2016
And then came this… just when I was in the heady space of imagining the significance of a rare astronomical event… On 14 November a 7.8 earthquake hit.
I had to face my sentimental wishful thinking, my need to personify the earth as a beneficent mother. She is not a reflection of my emotions. She is her own sovereign being, and this morning she tore herself apart.
The previous poem was put on hold, and this seemed so much more appropriate.
super moon
the eye of the universe draws nearer
she turns towards us
watching side on
like a great white whale
surfacing, curious, yet wary
she brings a gift to us
her own body, her luminous skin
she has come from the depths of space
to show what it looks like to be whole
she has come to bring light to our dark night
she has come to bring hope
she has come …
Monday is the night
of the perigree full moon
a supermoon
our pain, our cries of disappointment
and anger have been heard
and we have woken the spirits of our world
©Claire Griffin 2016
I was working on this almost three weeks ago, and was planning to post on Monday 14 November, the night of the supermoon.
However, Sunday night, early Monday morning, New Zealand was hit by a major earthquake, and my notions of a benevolent moon seemed naïve and sentimental. I’ve been a bit distracted ever since.
I never really finished this – but it fits with a few pieces that have emerged from the events of the last few weeks.
12 November – revised 1 December 2016
tears in the sky
it has rained for three days
rain and fog and mist for two
and yesterday – more rain in a day
than usual for the whole month
the land itself was grieving
for the ones who’ve left us
for voices silenced
for songs unsung
Te Ihorangi and Hinewai
are the gods of rain and mist
male and female together
holding us in their embrace
as mist lay heavy on the hills
cloaks woven of all the tears
we’ve shed these last few days
these last few months
crying with us
until we are ready
to stand and turn our faces
to the sun
©Claire Griffin 2016
In this land, rain is often interpreted as a sign of grief, as if the land itself is crying in recognition of the passing of a great leader. This is an extract from the lament, ‘E pā tō hau’, for Te Wano of the Ngāti Apakura tribe:
E ua e te ua e taheke
Koe i runga rā
Ko au ki raro nei riringi ai
Te ua i aku kamo.
http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/tawhirimatea-the-weather/page-4
Citation: Basil Keane, ‘Tāwhirimātea – the weather – Rain’,
Te Ara – the Encyclopedia of New Zealand,
http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/tawhirimatea-the-weather/page-4
(accessed 13 November 2016)
Full story by Basil Keane, published 12 Jun 2006
darker (r.i.p. L.Cohen, sincerely)
tears fly
like a thousand birds
into a midnight sky
I hold your voice
in the palm of my hand
my skin vibrates
with every breath
your words surround me
confront and shelter
the essence of what it means to be male
expressed in every husky rumble
and nuanced vowel
my very bones are shaking
as your low tones reverberate, resonate
my dreams are waking
from the dread I’ve carried
that you’d soon be gone
its been nothing but rain and fog
for two whole days
while you climbed the stairs
to your tower of song
I’ve lit a candle
I’ll keep it burning
I don’t want it any darker
©Claire Griffin 2016
R.I.P. L.Cohen draft
Tears fly like a thousand birds into the midnight sky
I hold your voice in the palm of my hand, my skin vibrates with every breath
Bass notes reverberate, my bones are shaking
Words surround me, my dreams are waking
From the dread I’ve carried that you’d soon be gone
It’s been nothing but fog and rain for two days, while you climbed the stairs to your tower of song
Giving thanks to one of my poetic uncles
broken glass
today was a stormy day of the heart
needing to move, to put distance
between my heart, my soul
and my daily life
standing on the rocky edge
looking out to sea
watching the waves coming
inexorably into shore
rock pools beckoned and I walked further out
looking through still water with a surface like glass
starfish and sea lettuce, neptune’s necklace and limpets
patiently waiting for the incoming tide
but the calm waters didn’t match
the turmoil I felt
the waves of emotions
needed something stronger
when sudden unexpected rain
struck intensely from behind
choosing not to run, I was drenched in seconds
standing still, with one hand holding back my hair
I stood and watched
as heavy rain broke the surface
all life beneath now an impressionist’s dream
then, just as quickly, rain stops and ripples spread and settle
when the liquid glass shattered
I drank the fragments
they cut through anger to release the tension
touching the wet rocks, I am centred in this turbulent landscape
I am the rain, the rocks, the fragile sea-life
I am the squally wind
heart-settled, soul-free
I watch the sea birds
ride the updrafts
and wish I had wings
©Claire Griffin 2016
Reading Tyler’s poem “Drop by drop” and discovering the lines
“All my worries fall away, I am a storm cloud”.
They seemed to express perfectly how I was feeling today.
Entering the landscape always helps me recover equilibrium,
but it took becoming part of the storm for it to work today.
The land reflected my feelings back to me,
and then I was able to release them.
Thanks for the inspiration Tyler 🙂
https://tylerpedersen02.wordpress.com/2015/12/13/drop-by-drop/
the green inside
there is a place that lives inside me
a space between trees
low hanging branches
overgrown grass
glimpses of sky
cool, damp and quiet
the sound of a stream nearby
the grass is deep, vital green
and when I lie down
it surrounds me
and I see nothing
but clouds shifting
liquid jade between
I am invisible to all
except birds who watch
from high behind the leaves
beetles climb the grass stems
a bee lands on my hand
surrounded on three sides by trees
the fourth side opening into the light
I remember the sadness of leaving
walking out into the sun
the loss of place
revisiting is bittersweet
© Claire Griffin 2016
the cloak of shadows
a cloak is suspended
from a high ceiling
just inside the entrance
of a dimly-lit room
I cross the threshold
this cloak of chains
is dark and hard
and I swear the air turns cold
I read a date – 1860
the past confronts me
the pain is palpable
and I am silenced
shadows move between the links
invisible hands raised
to hold me at a distance
I’m barely breathing
there are voices
in the shadows
I move aside
and they begin to speak
© Claire Griffin 2016
image and information: http://www.pataka.org.nz/ngahina-hohaia/
“Te Kahu o te Karauna – This is why I won’t stand for the national anthem”
– a metal chain korowai (cloak) sculpture by Ngahina Hohaia,
from the exhibition “Tools of Oppression and Liberation”.
This piece refers to the oppression of the peaceful settlement at Parihaka.
beach memories
I recognise the mindful way
each foot is placed
stepping over
walking around
careful as she walks
the sandhill path to the beach
I feel the rhythm
the slow quiet pressure and release
as each foot falls and lifts
hands brush through
grasses that grow tall
along the edge of the path
marram grass and lupin
toetoe* and spinifex
each stroke a caress
a hand in a lover’s hair
I reach forward into her touch
and bend away
eager and shy
trusting
the rhythm changes
feet run over sand
land heavily after jumping
over driftwood and seaweed flotsam
until the sea is reached
then all weight is lifted
as she floats and drifts
and still, there is a sense of her
as waves bring her back in
to scuff feet against the sand
and I wash over, tasting her skin
when she leaves
my salt kisses
drying in her hair
wind and sea
smooth her footsteps from the beach
and I hold the shape of her
the weight of her
memory embedded
encoded in roots
lying deep below the surface
waiting
© Claire Griffin 2016
*toetoe = tussock grass (pronounce as “toi toi”)
invisible necessity 