It's the end of season three. School's out - forever. Angel is leaving - also, apparently, forever. The mayor has just turned into a giant principal-eating snake, and the school has been exploded. There are firetrucks and ambulances everywhere, sirens screaming. In the midst of all this, Giles tries to make intelligent coversation, but Buffy's mind is not functioning on the higher levels. The only words she can string together are, “Fire bad. Tree pretty.”
If it had been me, I would’ve said “Tree pretty. Fire pretty. Ooooooh fire!”
Fire is incredibly beautiful, as anyone who’s gazed into a campfire for hours will know. But it can also be dangerous.
One of the most terrifying memories from my childhood is one of watching television at home. We turned off the sound during an ad break, and heard voices in the distance. Just for a moment I thought that it was people laughing. Then came the chilling realisation that they were screaming. We ran outside, only to see the house across the stream completely ablaze. And, just for a split second, I was thrilled. Not in a “this is good” way, but in a “this is exciting and I like exciting” way. I’m not sure which memory is scariest, the first flash of realisation, or the instant of thrill.
I think some boys are a little bit like fire. I see them and I say, “Oooooh pretty. I want.” But boy, they can burn. And I’m not even talking about abuse or anything. I’m talking about nice boys. Well, actually, no I’m not; most of the boys I fall for seem to have a dark side… so really I’m talking about charming boys.
For some reason my taste in women is completely different. I tend to go for women who have a lot in common with me, who are kind and respectful and intelligent and thoughtful. Usually writers. And often with accents. But always, thoroughly nice. It’s not that women can’t burn, I just don’t seem to go for the fiery ones.
Anyway, speaking of boys, recently I showed one a poem that I wrote, and his response was “wow.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or burst into tears; the last time I showed a boy my poetry and he said “wow” he went on to kiss me, and then he sent me a rather nasty email. To be fair, he did apologise a couple of days later, but there were many tears before the apology. Then he stopped talking to me altogether. Ok, so I did say that if he wanted to get rid of me the best strategy was probably ignoring me, but I didn’t think he’d actually do it!
Anyway, the poem in question this time is one that I am quite pleased with. I wanted to post it on my blog straight away, but I wanted to see how he reacted to it first. Apparently, after I gave it to him, folded up, he forgot about it, and only found it a few days ago. And yes, he is a boy of the “Boy cute. Fire pretty” variety. But… I don’t think he would be interested… so I’m probably safe from burns etc. The approach I am going for is an attempt at very mild flirting that could be construed as gestures of warm friendship. That way if anything goes wrong I can pretend nothing happened. See? See me being careful around the flames?
What are the chances that he’s reading this? Oh well, my new resolution, as of this week, is not to censor my emails based on what other people might think… unless someone might get hurt unnecessarily. I’ve been editing out so much lately, I’ve almost run out of things I can say.
Anyway, the poem. In our landscape class we had to write a poem about a creature/object/element from the natural world, and we had to bring into the poem “the least natural thing” we could think of. It had me stumped for a while, but in the end I started writing a poem about a ruru that I saw on the Heaphy track. It was when I got lost in the caves with a scary American guy (see 100 things number 27). We found our way out of the caves, but couldn’t find the track in the darkness and mist, we were stumbling around in the dark, trying not to fall into any deep holes in the limestone. Suddenly this pale creature flew towards us… it was amazing. I didn’t know it at the time, but in some Maori traditions ruru are the spirits of people who have died, and that’s exactly what I thought that night… this was a spirit. It flew so close that I could actually feel the air moving from its wing beats. It was a powerful moment, and one I’ve tried to capture many times in poetry, but I’ve never succeeded. At least not according to Alistair Paterson.
So I started writing the poem about the ruru, and I wasn’t sure what to bring into it, but I figured something would come. I started fishing around on the Internet – an infinite source of poetry. I began looking for information about the spirit/ruru connection… then I found a site explaining that the puukana (the wild staring eyes in the haka) imitates the wide-eyed stare of the ruru. So I did a Google search for puukana (actually for pukana, because the net isn’t very macron friendly yet) hoping to find out more. Browsing through the pages of results, I found a picture of this guy who I’ve been getting to know recently. (I really want to link to the picture but I’m trying not to name anyone in this post). It caught me by surprise, as though it was an important moment, like the flash when the ruru flew towards me. My heart fluttered a little. And I said, Thank you, I have my poem now.
E Ruru
We woke in a nowhere world
of limestone tunnels
mist and lichen
trailing from the trees
the ground dissolved
under our feet
we heard a sound
like a child crying.
All night
the creature followed us
like a pale shadow
a hungry spirit.
*
Restless
I reach out
follow a bright strand
weave through cyberspace.
Ruru
Hine-ruru
Puukana
You.
*
I am startled
by your wild eyes
face darkened
with the moko.
*
On the phone my father
tells me he was startled
by a low flying ruru
that almost crashed
through his windscreen
as he drove into the valley
but I am still thinking
about meeting your eyes
my heart quivering
like the puurerehua
that whirs
into the night.