Claudia Jardine
A gift to their daughters
‘Textile manufacture’ is the sound my mother makes when she tries to speak with a needle held between her lips.
Ancient Greek written sources share a common view of the female domestic role as one that occurred indoors, with the key concern being the effective organisation of the oikos.
Oikos means something like family.
Central to this domestic role was the processing of raw materials into usable forms, and so women are often depicted as closely associated with not only domestic work but also its tools.
My grandmother combs wool to knit clothes for her thirteen great-grandchildren. No one asks her to.
I should tell her about the pots that show women carding wool against their naked shins.
Scandalous and entirely impractical.
Recent scholarship on the loom weight makes a strong case for the close examination of material culture as a means to explore the interpersonal relationships of women, their domestic labour and the spaces they worked in (underrepresented, repetitive, determined by the season).
It does not take long before I find rooms filled with women working.
The haberdashery is busy.
My mother and I weave through the crowd to the tidy shelf with the needles.
I have a habit of pulling on loose threads.
Nā Claudia Jardine
He oha ki ā rātou tamāhine
‘Whakanao papanga’ te reo o tōku hākui i a ia e ngana ana kia kōrero mai me tētahi ngira e mau ana ki ōna ngutu.
Hei tā ngā tuhinga tahito o Kariki he ōrite te whakaaro mō te mahi a ngā wāhine o roto o te kāinga, ā, ko te aronga nui ko te whakahaere mauritau i ngā oikos.
Ko te oikos he mea pēnei i te whānau.
Ko te pūtahi o tēnei mahi tara ā-whare ko te huarahi hei huri i ngā rawa mata e taea ai te whakamahi, nā konei ka auau te whakakitea ko ngā wāhine he ringa mahi i te kāinga me te ringa mahi taputapu.
Ka heru wūru taku kuia hei whatu kākahu mō āna mokopuna tekau mā toru. Kāore tētahi i whakahau atu i a ia kia pērā.
Me kī atu pea au ki a ia mō ngā pāta e whakaatu ana i ngā wāhine e paraihe wūru ana ki ō rātou tāhau tahanga.
Heitara ana, ā, he koretake rawa.
Nā tētahi rangahau nō nā tata nei mō te taumaha o te anga raranga e mea nei kia āta tirotiro i te ahurea papanga hei tūhura i ngā whanaungatanga whaiaro o ngā wāhine, tā rātou mahi tara ā-whare me ngā wāhi i mahia mai e rātou (te tokoiti, he auau te mahi, he mahi ā-kaupeka).
Kāore e roa ka kitea he rūma kī tonu i ngā wāhine e mahi ana.
E toritori ana te toa tui kākahu.
Ka nukunuku haere māua ko taku māmā i te mātoru ki tētahi pae e noho nei ngā ngira.
Hanga ana taku tō mai i ngā miro tāwēwē.
X X X
Khadro Mohamed
20 daughters of the east
the 1st daughter was only 6 when she realised she held the entire universe in the palm of her hand. the milky way snaking around her wrist, stars sat in the centre, a million moons dangled off each finger.
the 2nd daughter is dead before the morning light turns her yellow, she joins the earth a day later, her ghost travels through me
the 3rd has a name that sounds a bit like an earthquake. there is a rumble when she breathes, so she avoids it altogether.
the 4th trails the edges of the Nile looking for the remains of cleopatra
the 5th has skin like honey, covered in a layer of fire
the 6th is threaded in our blood, her lineage ours to share
the 7th was born in a field, skin smelling of lavender.
the 8th is our mother the 9th appears in all of our
nightmares
the 10th is in an eternal spring
the 11th is just concept, hanging from the trees
the 12th is having dinner with her children
the 13th is sitting alone at a restaurant
the 14th is having her first kiss
the 15th is running through a blooming sahara
the 16th is crying in the Nile river
the 17th is carrying the sun in her pockets
the 18th is questioning her ancestors
the 19th is learning Arabic
the 20th just wants to forget it all
Nā Khadro Mohamed
Ngā tamāhine 20 nō te rāwhiti
e ono tau noa iho te tamāhine mātāmua ka mōhio kei tōna kapu ringa te ao tukupū katoa. ko Te Mangōroa e kōpekapeka ana i tōna whatingaringa, he whetū i noho rā i te pūtahi, he miriona marama e tāwēwē ana i ia matimati. ko te tamāhine tuarua kua mate i mua i tā te haeata whakahuri i a ia kia kōwhai, ka hono atu ki a Papatūānuku i te aonga ake rā, ko tōna kehua ka haere mā roto mai i ahau
ko te tuatoru he ingoa tōna ko te whakahua ānō nei pea he rūwhenua. he haruru ina tuku hā ana ia, nō reira ia e karo atu.
ko te tuawhā ka whai i ngā tahataha o te Nile hei rapu i ngā whaipara o cleopatra
kei te tuarima he kiri ōrite ki te mīere, uhi ana ki tētahi papa ahi
ko te tuaono e tuitui ana i ō tātou toto, ko tōna kauhou nō tātou
hei tuari
ko te tuawhitu i whānau mai i tētahi pātiki, ko te kiri he kakara
lavender.
ko te tuawaru ko tō mātou kōkā ka kitea te tuaiwa i ō mātou moepapa
ko te tekau he manawa whenua
te tekau mā tahi he huatau, tautau ana i ngā rākau
te tekau mā rua e kai tahi ana me āna tamariki
te tekau mā toru e noho moke ana i tētahi wharekai
te tekau mā whā me tana kihi tuatahi
te tekau mā rima e oma ana i te sahara e puāwai ana
te tekau mā ono e tangi ana ki roto ki te awa Nile
te tekau mā whitu e hari ana i te rā ki ōna pūkoro
te tekau mā waru e ui ana i ōna tūpuna
te tekau mā iwa e ako ana i te reo Ārapi
ko te rua tekau ka hiahia noa iho kia wareware katoa
X X X
Kiri Piahana-Wong
Tappa
I am holding a letter addressed to my Chinese grandfather, Mr D. L. Wong, c/o Wong Jauw, 15 Chung Cheng Road No 15, Lane 666, Taiwan, Taipei. When I open the envelope there is nothing inside it. There is Chinese text on the front that I can’t read. I didn’t know that he even went to Taipei. My grandfather (‘Tappa’) comes to me in fragments. I remember his voice, but it’s the voice of an old man, raspy and slow, speaking his second language. I remember his clothing, his favourite pale blue v-neck jumper, and the way he always smelled faintly of pine wood from the fire. I see him shaking his head over my inability to use chopsticks and advising me to ‘just use fork’. When I hold a tiny cup from the green tea set he gave me, age eleven, I remember him. I remember him, but I did not know him.
Nā Kiri Piahana-Wong
Tappa
E pupuri ana au ki tētahi reta ki taku koroua Hainamana, ki a Mr D. L. Wong, c/o Wong Jauw, 15 Chung Cheng Road No 15, Lane 666, Taiwan, Taipei. Nō taku tuwheratanga i te kōpaki, kāore kau he aha i roto. He tuhinga Hainamana kei mua, kāore i te aro i a au. Kāore au i mōhio i haere ia ki Taipei. Ka tae putuputu mai ngā maharatanga o taku koroua (ko ‘Tappa’) ki a au. E mahara ana au ki tōna reo, engari he reo nō te koroheke, he wharowharo, he pōturi, e kōrero ana i tōna reo tuarua. E mahara ana au ki ōna kākahu, ki tōna tino poraka, he ōrangitea, he koeko nei te āhua o te kakī, me te āhua anō o tōna kakara iti e rite nei ki te rākau paina kua kainga e te ahi. E kite ana au i a ia, e rūrū ana tōna māhunga i taku kore mōhio ki te whakamahi i ngā tīkape, me tana tohutohu mai, ‘whakamahia noatia te paoka’. Kia pupuri au ki tētahi kapu iti nō te kohinga kaputī kākāriki nāna i homai, tekau mā tahi ōku tau, ka hoki aku mahara ki a ia. E mahara ana au ki a ia, engari kāore au i mōhio ki a ia.
X X X
Robert Sullivan
Pupurangi Shelley
I am a kauri snail kaitiaki, look on my green spiral shell, ye mighty, and despair. I admit I’ve eaten noke or native worm sushi but I am a hundred millimetres long and move at 0.013 m/s through the Whirinaki, the Tai Tokerau, Waitākere and Kaimai ranges to reside outside New World Gate Pā, Pak’nSave Ruapekapeka and the Ōhaeawai Four Square, teaching our kids their history at 2 a.m., or thereabouts, distributing udon noodles from the dumpsters so our kids can save the noke. I miss most my kauri trees with their big trunks that sing with the wind and admit they stretch taller than my tall tentacles. I tell the tamariki our whānau whakapapa goes for 200 million years beyond the Treaty of Waitangi and James Busby picked up our tūpuna in a tentacular blink twice giving us his surname, Paryphanta Busbyi Busbyi, making it all about him. Aroha mai, sorry, I must eat and run.
Nā Robert Sullivan
Pūpū rangi Shelley
He pūpū rangi, he kaitiaki ahau, titiro mai ki taku anganga kākāriki e tōrino nei, e mārohirohi mā, me tō aurere. Āe, kua kaingia e au te noke, me kī, te sushi noke māori, heoi, kotahi rau mitamano taku roa, e 0.013 mitamano/hēkona te tere o te kōneke i ngā pae maunga o Whirinaki, o Te Tai Tokerau, o Waitākere o Kaimai hoki kia noho ki waho o Ao Hou i Pukehinahina, o Pak’nSave i Ruapekapeka, me te Four Square i Ōhaeawai, hei whakaako i ā tātou tamariki i tō rātou hītori i te 2 karaka, i taua takiwā pea, kia tuari atu i ngā kihu parāoa udon mai i ngā ipupara nui kia ora ai i ā tātou tamariki te noke. Ko te mea e tino aroha ana ahau ko ōku rākau kauri me ngā tīwai kaitā e toiere ana me Tāwhirimātea, āe, ko tōna tāroaroa ka toro ake i ōku ake kawekawe roroa. Ka kī atu au ki ngā tamariki nō ngā 200 miriona tau i tua atu o Te Tiriti o Waitangi tō mātou nei whakapapa, ā, nā Te Pūhipi ō mātou tūpuna i rarau atu i tētahi kimo kawekawe rā me te tapa mai ki tōna ake ingoa whānau, ko Paryphanta Busbyi Busbyi, hei whakamana i a ia anō. Aroha mai, me kai au, me kōneke atu.
X X X
Tina Makereti
funny little ugly baby
she wants the world to be beautiful. she wants that angle of sunlight falling through trees just so on the dog. she wants all future dogs to be warmed by it. she wants mediocre men to discontine their mediocre policies, lie down under trees and dream their infant selves back into the world. she wants to ask, how will you keep them sheltered? how will you feed them? oh but she wants to lie down too. she wants to never again be told how to be | how not to be | how to think | how not to think. she wants to never again be told how to Māori by pākehā women who think they know. they don’t know. she wants to go away and sit in temples that remind her that time is tall and her portion of it is short. she wants to catch trains catch trains catch trains and never smell petrol fumes again. she wants the toxic aunties to soften because there is nothing to be hard about anymore. she wants the aunties and her daughters and her sisters to be able to whāngai themselves back into existence as newborn babies, soft and gurgling, mouths wide open, spitting up the universe.
Nā Tina Makereti
pēpi nēnene, pēpi paku, pēpi weriweri
hiahia nōna kia ātaahua te ao. hiahia nōna kia whiti pērā mai te hana o te rā mā ngā rākau ki runga ki te kurī. hiahia nōna kia mahana ngā kurī katoa. hiahia nōna kia whakamutua e ngā tāne koretake ā rātou kaupapa here koretake, takoto kau i raro i ngā rākau me te moemoeā kia hoki mai ō rātou ohinga ki te ao. hiahia nōna kia ui atu, me pēhea koe e haumaru ai i a rātou? me pēhea koe e whāngai ai i a rātou? auē hiahia nōna kia takoto hoki. hiahia nōna kia korekore rawa e kī mai me pēnei | me kaua e pēnā | me whakaaro pēnei | me kaua e whakaaro pēnei. hiahia nōna kia korekore rawa kia Māori ki tā ngā wahine pākehā e mōhio pōhēhē ai. kāore rātou e mōhio. hiahia nōna kia haere atu, kia noho ki ngā temepara e whakamaumahara i a ia he teitei te tāima ko tōna wāhanga he poto. hiahia nōna kia hopu tereina, hopu tereina, hopu tereina, kia kore ai e hongi anō i ngā au penehīni. hiahia nōna kia ngāwari iho ngā kōkā tāoke i te mea karekau he mea kia mārōrō tonu. hiahia nōna kia whāngai mai ngā kōkā me ōna tamāhine, ōna tuāhine i a rātou anō ki te ao nei hei pēpi hou, e kōmāmā ana, e kokō ana, hāmama ana ngā waha, e tuhaina ake ana te ao tukupū.