The Legend of the Seven Whales

Seven whales one night went out
They were to return by dawn:
Their master told them, ‘Be back here,
When the bellbird heralds the morn.’

So out they went on a merry spree
And alas were late returning;
As they headed towards the open sea
A light in the East was burning.

Bad fortune marked these fellows gay,
Ne'er more could they be free.
They're turned now into seven hills
Facing towards the sea.

This legend comes from the Wairoa district, the names of the hills being Hikunui, Iwitea, Korito, Takitaki, Onepoto, Tahutoria and (there is an element of doubt about this last name) Tuhara. They may still be seen from the main highway between Gisborne and Wairoa, about seven miles out of Wairoa.

Now another selection of poems from those sent in last year by Northland College pupils.

Storm

Rain …
The sound of rattling tins
and thunder roaring
Like a drum booming
Lightning …
A car crashing over the bank.

Kawa Cherrington

Athletic Sports

Feet pounding on the ground
Like a herd of stampeding bulls.
Fast-moving figures of the athletes
… swiftly moving deer.
Racers reach the tape.
Take it, like a man dying
of thirst in the desert.

Tima Pou

Waterfall

Like an express train
The roar of a waterfall
reaches my ears.
Spray.
Reaching out,
like uncountable hands,
then falling down the mountain,
in a mist,
in uncountable gallons,
Falling
into massive heaps of foam.

Taupaki Mohi

Creek

Sitting on a bank, surrounded
by thistles and gorse,
I sit staring and think—
think about this river which flows by
With a slight trickle of moments.

Robert Tana

Wind

Wind!
blowing sand in my eyes.
Shivering! shivering all through the day,
falling, falling! —
like rocks as they fall from a high peak.
Growling! Biting! Falling!
The sand—oh! how sore!

Taka Whiu

Athletic Sports

Pounding of feet …
Natives pounding corn for flour
White, light clothing …
Flags flopping on board ship
A cool drink …
Soothing and relaxing, like
fat millionaires in mansions.

Wiremu Andrews

Storm

Window-panes shake as the thunder bangs
with anger
Lightning flashes across the world
… a searchlight flicked on and off.

Wiremu Andrews

Tree

Bare tree,
You are like a thin, bony man
You are weak and thin,
All alone,
Poor sick old man.

Anon.

Death

Dark.
Everlasting blackness.
Feelingless …
Unaware of surroundings,
Unaware of the crying,
Unaware of the thumping dirt
like a cloudburst tumbling on tin roofs.
Then light—
Entering Heaven? Maybe Hell.

Frank Waa

Creek

Reflections, shapes, colours …
An art gallery.
Slimy weeds,
like eels,
moving and swaying as if dancing to a tune.

Rankin Marsh

Death

Wailing of apes.
Breaking of branches,
As, like a flood, they come.
Cries of monkeys—
Swinging wildly from limb to limb …
Then, suddenly, as if hit by a bomb
The animals are silent.
Slowly,
Thumping his chest like a boxer,
The Conqueror comes forward
to be crowned King of all apes.

Fred Broughton

Tree

Like a lonely stork
Against the moonlight sky
With its branches erect
Like an eerie hand poking the starry sky
It shadows itself on the sinister ground
And stands there,
Forever.

Marara Pou

Cold

Standing stiffly against the stone wall,
Teeth chattering, bones rattling.
Watching the clouds rush by,
As the rain teems down.
Whispering whistles round the corners.

Kathleen Solomon

Rain

A pencil tap on a book.
It jumps on your head.
It rolls down your nose
—like a fly tickling your leg.

Laurence Reihana

And now a poem from Richard Te Haara, of St. Stephen's College, Auckland.

The Sea

The sea
of motion and rhythm,
The sea
moaning, roaring, thunderous
The sea,
ever whispering,
never ceasing, never dying, long living,
So immortal,
‘Onward o mighty waters, carry the spirits
of our Tipuna back to their homeland.’

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Last year, Rangi Faith, then head boy at Tetmuka High School, won for the second year in succession the school's literary prize. Below are three of his poems. The first, ‘To a Mountain’ was published by the Timaru Herald.

To a Mountain

O ageless one,
My heart beats to see you rise
From the enveloping green of a valley deep,
Enshrouded, entangled in mist and bush,
And scarred by wind and rain and age
Still standing
Still.

O endless one
Who knows no pain,
No cares, no anguish, no beating heart,
But only a rain that beats and scars
And only a sun that heats and marrs
Your beauty.

O ageless one, secure is your world
Of changing moods,
Where the swift breeze caresses with fingers so cold,
Where the sky eagle haunts the towering crag,
Where the wild beasts roam, free and fleet,
And the cascade falls like a handful of gems
To your feet.

O careless one
Who laughs on Man and Time,
Laugh not
Your time will come,
Your heart will beat,
Your granite tears come rolling down,
And slowly, slowly wear away
The splendour I have seen today.

Cat

Patient, sphinx-like
It waits:
Muscle-tense, tail slack,
Split eyes fixed in stare,
Ears pointed stiff,
Body long, tapering, smooth
Like stone—
Hewn with cunning hand.

Hark! A flutter of sound
In still air.
Feline eyes mirror the bird
As it hops.
Stops,
Listens—small head on side,
Tail lively with fanned colour
Like some exotic dance, movement filled:
Eyes keen,
It stoops, pecks, stands again—
Listening—
Insect struggling, weakening
In tenacious beak,
Then gone—gracefully executed
In deep silence,
Save leaves rustling, falling,

The sphinx too
Is silent—
Like mossy stone in grass,
But tense—the moment is near:
Cramped body eases, slightly.

Claws unsheath, — supple curves,
Then lightning fast
One strong long bound
It stikes swift;
A blur of ebony
And all is over.

The law is still strong
Even here
In the steel world.

Reflections on Rain

Soggy wool, parted in the middle
Swept cleanly down the sides.
Muddy under the belly,
Hanging like a fringe over the face and eyes;
The weight is felt—
One quick violent movement of the body and head
And the droplets shower off
In a fine spray;
Then the teeth plunge again into the fodder

To give warmth to a body half-frozen
By snow and rain,
Slashed by an unrelenting wind
Sweeping off bare, bleak granite
And sodden bush.
The grain is crushed flat—
The farmer's trial is in many different ways—

The inundation of rich land,
The residue of useless silt;
Communications cut—the flooded road,
The poles swaying in the wind,
Clinging desperately to the earth—
Futile efforts.
The hungry unpredictable river,
Fed by crumbling banks and incessant rain
Flows on—
The stone-wall, the farm-gate, the homestead
Pose no barriers in its journey to the sea—
A course predetermined by the contours
Of the farmer's own land
And the natural gateways of valley after valley,
The metal road and dirt track
And every insignificant gully.

Rain then, is the frustrating factor;
from humble beginnings—the heavy, spaced drops
Flinging mud like small eruptions;
Then the coalescing into a controlled deluge—
Trickles becoming pools, overflowing into braided streams—
Potentially dangerous,
but carrying the element vital to all Life—
Water, a paradox

The following essay and poem are written by Sharon White, aged 14, of Maropiu District High School, Northland.

Kaihu

Kaihu is like a lake on a sunny day,
calm, peaceful, or in one word, serene.
The only things that remind you of the town are the general store, garage and the local hotel.
Kaihu has changed over the years at one time there used to be people bustling about.
But there weren't enough jobs so people left to go to the towns and cities.

The younger people here now just stay until they're old enough to go out to work.
They eventually get married and only return during the holidays or when a relation dies.
One day is much the same as the other here until Friday arrives.
The hotel is surrounded by cars until everyone leaves to go somewhere for a party.
Saturday afternoon is the same as Friday.
Then Sunday comes and once again everything is serene.

The Maori
Yesterday and To-day

Through the years the Maori is changing as he is getting accustomed to the European way of life. Gradually he is losing the old traditions of his people. He is selling the land that has been passed down to him after many generations, land that has been fought for by great warriors of the past. The family heirlooms are being sold to Europeans to buy food and clothing, and other luxuries money can buy.

Out in the country the Maori isn't losing his traditions so quickly. He still obtains much of his food from the land and sea.

The Maori is asked, ‘Why do you not clear your land and grow on it grass instead of all the bush and scrub covering it now?’ But why should he clear away the bush that provides the home for the pigeon and the shade for the tasty kewai that lurk in the shallows of the streams, and is the garden of the old medical herbs.

The old hui-house still stands there now but it is very old and shabby. The hinges of the doors are rusty, and the paint is peeling off the dilapidated boards. There are no carvings, for the old carvers are dead and gone; buried underneath the cracked old tombstones in the cemetery on the hill.

In the city the Maori has to adapt himself to the European way of life to survive. He must go to work to get money to buy food and clothing for his family.

But though some Maoris are forgetting their old customs, other youngsters are learning the old arts and crafts so that they may carry on the traditions handed down to them from their forefathers. Then in years to come they can pass their knowledge on to their descendants.

Nowadays, the Maori is becoming someone in his country. No longer can the European cheat the Maori because of his lack of educa-

tion. There are more Maoris becoming lawyers and teachers. And Maoris are proving themselves equal to the European in cultural activities. Those such as Kiri Te Kanawa, Howard Morrison, and Inia Te Wiata are well known for their achievements in the field of music.

The duo Lou and Simon is a very good example of Maori and European working together as a team. The times have gone when they were two very different races, for now they are one people, working and playing as brothers, regardless of race and colour.

None of the Maoris think of the times when a man of the Ngapuhi tribe could not marry a woman of the Waikato tribe. A man will marry a woman no matter what tribe she belongs to. This is good for it brings together all the tribes of New Zealand. Even better than this is the fact that many Maoris are marrying Europeans, drawing closer together the two peoples of New Zealand.

It is unfortunate that men such as Steve Watene and Tiri Katene have died because they were well known for the work they did while in Parliament. But as the elders die the younger people take their places, for it is the boys of today that will be the men of tomorrow.