HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SONG OF MY HEART

                                                                           

The babiest of all my children, the last born...

Here she is with her nieces, all precious jewels to me.

Presents and celebrations will come later.

Right now, I want to hug you, cuddle you, cradle you and rock you in my arms, like the day you were born.

Happy Birthday, song of my heart!

100th POSTING

                                                                         

Thank you Sean R. Ova for your poem, 'Trees', which marks the 100th posting by The Anuki Country Press.
                                                                   
                                                   

Trees. 

By: Sean R. Ova

 

Through a historians eyes,

Trees long gone speak of yester – men. 

 

Through an architects eyes 

Trees erected with nail and bolt express 

Man’s frame of mind.

 

Through an economists eyes 

Logs strain and bend to stabilise the kina.

 

Through eyes of piety

Trees are sacred temples of a dwelling.

 

Through a medical practitioner’s eye,

Trees provide herbal remedies.

 

Through an astronaut’s eyes,

Trees adorn an otherwise bare earth.

 

Through a conservationist’s eye, 

Trees are the lungs of the world.

 

Through an anthropologists eye,

Trees reveal a people’s lifestyle.

 

Through my Melanesian eyes 

Trees are brothers that support 

Many generations.

 

Through the loggers eyes

Quantity over – night.

 

Through a trees own eyes,

 

Quality growth over a million years.

A POEM BY SEAN R. OVA

From my collection titled ‘ Headugu’ (260 poems)

                                                                       

 

By: Sean R. Ova

 

Taliu … way out to sea lay a string of wonderland,

 

Desolate in the purifying and bathing sunshine

 

There eyes feast a homemade demand,

 

For the reefs below the waters stand grand.

 

 

 

I should say, hey ! everyday is gay

 

As the sky glows wide blue and cool waters play –

 

Once inside it you’d simply forget –

 

There’s an outer world to regret.

 

 

 

No people live in this motherland

 

Who fends for herself at night, and

 

Below indolent fishes feed on her white sand.

 

Yet beloved; I’ve stolen sight of her naked; first hand

 

 

 

Ambient breezes every time come in curls

 

While the gulls’ shy borne squeak teasingly as do girls.

 

Exciting those blissful beach rich shrubs into sway

 

Wishing I murder my travelling and stay.

 

 

 

But sunsleep enters this dreamscape; not withstand

 

The sheer remorse of seeing her no more

 

A rare island pearl in all tropical expand

 

Vanish; here spoken as second - hand.

 

 

 

In a day if ever you‘d there land

 

Go then there… as far as your eyes stand

 

For she is but an abode for souls to disband

 

So memories hidden are flung to the woken sender

 

GOROKA EXCELS

                                                                         

My good friend, Nelson, at Yonki Dam. He drove us from Lae up to Goroka and back.

I’m sitting here, at home, lounging away over a glass of some California wine, the cheap sort, mind, and reflecting on that trip to the Highlands recently. Such a beautiful country this, what with the right climate and all. No wonder the Americans find it hard to leave, with so many settling here for good.

Some of the spectacles would include the Yonki Dam, a South Korean masterpiece in engineering.

Other spectacles include markets which are good to visit and the things sold there are always affordable as compared to markets in the coastal areas.

Goroka township, at the time of my visit, appeared lay back somewhat, the only areas of activity being the market place and the sports fields.

In all, it was a beautiful country to visit.


Keep an eye out for more on GOROKA EXCELS at Soaba's Storyboard.

Literary Revolutions and Transitions in Papua New Guinea

                                                       

Literary revolutions and after    

There is a tendency in every third world country that revolutions spring up every now and then, and often in the form of military coups, one after another. The objective of such revolutions is to rid of an old regime. But the outcome of each remains the same: the new replacing the old. The very people for whose rights such revolutions are fought see no remedy beyond the fact that even they remain the same old underdogs through and through. Nothing happens by way of improved infrastructure, social reform and cultural redemption.

By the same token, literary revolutions abound – particularly within the world of media. And the focus of attention is on those handling cultural enterprises through the supplementary pages of well-established major dailies. It is those individuals that come out to the scrutiny of the reading public as men and women of power. The positions they occupy as editors of such supplementary pages therefore carry a great sense of responsibility. And the onus is on them: to publish or to perish.

An editor sitting behind such supplementary sections of a newspaper has very much the same responsibilities as a TV or film producer. It is up to that editor to ensure that his/her newspaper sells. If an editor is seen to be performing rather poorly then the management of that newspaper has the prerogative to fire that editor on the spot. If, however, it is deliberated somewhat that the same editor has been hired on the basis of a contract with the management of that particular newspaper, or some other mysterious arrangement, then that is yet another story. But nine times out of ten, and ethically speaking, that is, he/she should be fired – with or without a contract in place.

In Papua New Guinea such circumstances surrounding supplementary editors and their given management personnel do not readily apply, notwithstanding the fact that their associations are not usually conspicuous. This is a poor indicator if a newspaper wishes to maintain its credibility as an important daily to the society within which it has been licensed to operate as a newspaper at all.

Now we all read the National newspaper. And we all read the Post Courier. Behind these two important dailies we are also aware of who is doing what as a journalist, as an editor, sub-editor or a supplementary editor.

By supplementary editors we mean those taking care of weekend magazines of a daily – quite an important enterprise – real estate and associated company supplements, health, education, women and youth and, of course, cultural programs such as literature, art and music. A newspaper must make itself accommodating enough to cater for all these segments of a society which allows that newspaper to operate and profit at all. And that newspaper must be willing to answer that society’s needs that way at all times, failing which might set us into thinking that even that reputable newspaper’s lot may not be a happy one after all.

That brings us to the question of finding a reasonable kind of association between supplementary editor and management of a newspaper. While that editor strives to keep the society informed of all aspects of its own activity and existence the management must ensure all this is properly focused and in place. And the editor must be well versed in what he/she is dealing with, be it real estate, cultural activities or other. Here, of course, it would be nicer if some focus lay on both parties ensuring a fair representation of cultural activities of that society.

But we must stress on seeing a happier kind of relationship between editor and management of a given newspaper. If the relationship between the two parties is poor, or corrupt in many places as we well know, then the resultant product seen on the supplementary sections of a newspaper will be found wanting. The quality will turn out disagreeably repugnant for the intelligent reader and in many cases simply force even an inexperienced reader to flip over to cartoons, word puzzles and gambling lift-outs. This will mean precisely that because of this poor relationship, albeit lack of communication, between editor and management, the artsy and intellectual needs of the society will be left unanswered. That can also allow a newspaper to become more of propaganda than anything else.

What the whole of PNG media needs right now are those editors of supplementary editions who know their stuff, who snoop around for the best there is that the society itself has to offer. And a very attentive kind of management of each newspaper which can respond readily and positively to what these editors propose to publish.

At this point, some crucial questions need to be asked and answered. Why is there so much lack of cultural representation in the pages of the National and the Post Courier newspapers, particularly in the weekender supplements of each? What happened to the Writers’ Forum of the National Weekender? What is Post Courier doing about representing Papua New Guinea writers, both new and established? What is Post Courier’s story on its lack of coverage of the Crocodile Literary Competitions, an important event for Papua New Guinea writers observed in September of each year? And what is the National’s story regarding the same, especially after sacking several worthwhile writers and columnists for reasons that are too frivolous to mention here? As far as culture and the arts go why are both newspapers so ill-informed, so stubbornly insensitive and illiterate to and about the cultural undertow of the very society they claim to be serving through media?

Indeed these questions need answers. Literature and the arts remain the main backbones of cultural, economic, industrial and political development, albeit revolutions, transitions, transformations, evolutions and change. Both the National and Post Courier must see to it that these important questions are answered successfully for Papua New Guinea. Storyboard could not have thought of a better title for our article than this.

                                                                     

First published in Keith Jackson’s PNG Attitude, 2013.

THE NATIONAL HAUS KRAI THROUGH THE EYES OF THE POET

 

                                                             

                   

 

Poetry plays an important role in so many ways. In times of war, upon the hour of sorrow or at a much happier occasion. Such poetry, or should we say poetic utterances, abound in Papua New Guinea. Poems by Papua New Guineans wishing to reflect upon all that is happening around them in their country. Whether it is about the persona relaxing along the shorelines of a rural setting, or the plight of women throughout the country, or simply Prime Minister Julia Gillard’s visit to Papua New Guinea, these utterances come to us as strikingly gentle as ever. Each one calls for attentive reading, its sense of humor, its sense of melancholy or foreboding, and it is well that Papua New Guinea poetry overall should sound that way.

 

We bring to our readers a special poem for an important occasion, and that is the National Haus Krai of May 15^th, commemorating in total grievance the lives of those women lost upon our own shores and due to certain social ills that a government makes itself too powerless to control. The poem is “Thoughts of an Old One” by Seli Garap. We are pleased to re-print the full text of the poem here, with the author’s kind permission.

 

 

THOUGHTS OF AN OLD ONE

 

I am an antique, an artifact

My kind are rarely reared, a fact

In a society, to love and protect

In my time, mothers to Respect

My era, safety for women but perfect

In this day and age of disrespect

The western influence side-effect

Now my granddaughters I must over-protect

Society’s willful neglect?

Let us with our forefathers’ values resurrect

Let the National Haus Krai take effect

Let not in vain be the lives wrecked

Papua New Guinea let us unite and reflect

Long have we slept and our women wept

“Women Arise” PNG, stand up tall, not to accept

 

 

OTHER POEMS OF NOTE THIS MONTH

 

Prosing A While

 

I woke up by the sleeping seas

In a hut under a coconut tree

Listening to the waves calling my name

The daylights were slowly waking too

I reached out for my pen on the coconut mat

An began to pour out my dream

On a leaf of a dirty old paper

 

Stretched a tired arm

Yawned a baby’s yawn

And smiled my sleepiness away

The sun would shine

Oh yes it will

The Lord gives with reason   

 

Then the birds started to sing

Such glorious tunes never heard before

Danced on the branches nearby

Joy

           

Danced on the branches nearby

Joy

Yes I felt joy

Peace

Yes I was at peace

 

By Marie-Rose Sau

 

 

Untitled

 

Look into my eyes

Far across the skies

The frequency ties

Come look into my eyes

There’s no surprise

We cannot disguise

Chemistry may not be wise

Just look into my eyes

Desire burns and fires

A thousand replies

Let me surmise

I will devise

A plan wise

You will look into my eyes…

 

By Seli Garap

 

 

HAIKU

 

Red-head chick arrives

A big splash in the water!

Roads temporarily sealed

 

By John Vada

 

 

Prayer

 

I’d rather ride the six-foot wave out there

Than be intimidated by its roar

As it crashes on the beach here

So master of the wild billows

Teach me to swim out there

Beyond the shallows

 

By Steven-Senior Ilave

 

 

In reply to “Prayer”

 

Calm the waves

O master of wild billows

For ocean waves rage all over me

Throw me a lifeline

The peaceful shallows

May my feet rest!

 

By Roslyn PuruPuru

 

We thank the authors for their kind permission to reproduce their work here. All copyright including world rights remain with the individual poets represented above.

 

                           

DOBORO IN ALOTAU

                                                                                     

                                    

from Storyboard diaries

by Russell Soaba

Our flight to Port Moresby on 29^th December 2012 was disrupted. It was a late Saturday afternoon flight, PX 959, and since it was a peak period it was hardly surprising that the Air Niugini plane did not turn up at all at Gurney Airport.

We had to get back to town for the night.

Late that evening we went in search of PMV or bus owners to negotiate transport to the airport for the next morning’s flight. No PMVs or buses operated on Sundays, we were told.

Since we were from Cape Vogel we felt it was appropriate to find a bus owner from that region of the Milne Bay Province. A relative recommended Doboro and we felt relieved. She said we could find the owner somewhere at Goilanai.

Off we went to the Goilanai Heights.

This is a posh area of the town. Much of the middle level management populace can be found there. A lot of Rabarabas live there, including the famous Kedu Gloria who helps us occasionally with both land and sea transport.

Almost every door we knocked on knew Doboro. Storyboard was amused that just about everyone there addressed him with politeness as Doboro as well. Indeed, it is a privilege to be addressed as Doboro in Alotau.

The word doboro means old man, but it is used traditionally as a term of respect for the elderly and men of rank. When used in social etiquette it has a special ring to it and is often said with a slight bow.

After having covered the whole of hilltop Goilanai a resident advised us that we could find Doboro at a beach residential area called Small Wagawaga. It meant crossing the Goilanai Bridge and walking another kilometre or so. We did. And as we did so we saw new realty estates springing up here and there such as those by Raven Real Estate, a popular housing enterprise with clientele comprising private and government business houses.

But our trip bore no fruit as we did not exactly know where seaside Wagwaga residential area was and we had to turn back because it was dark. At the bridge we came upon a taliu, meaning a wantok from Misima. We taliued or parlez vous’d a bit with him and he offered to take us to the very house where we could find Doboro. So we turned back to retrace our steps and what a blessing that turned out to be.

We found Doboro surrounded by a large family set down to dinner. The dinner was served and all was waiting for Doboro to say Grace. He in the meantime was absorbed in his copy of the Post Courier.

Our taliu escort introduced us and looking up from his paper, Doboro said, “Ah, yes, I know you very well, Doboro.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Doboro,” said Storyboard and that was it.

After saying Grace he let his family settle down to dinner and we talked. His name we learnt then was Kevin Buyarasi.

Kevin spent many years working for private construction firms in Lae. He first went to Lae in 1970 having completed his apprenticeship at the KB Vocational in Alotau the previous year. His earlier education was observed at Menapi Primary School and being himself from Mapouna in the Dawakerekere area of Cape Vogel that would have been quite an achievement for him and his people in those days.

Kevin Buyarasi spent about 32 years working in Lae. It was during those years that he met his Mailu wife, Shirley. Together they have ten children, the first being around 28years old and the last around 8 or 9. And such well-mannered young men and women the children are.

In 2009 he felt ready to quit and travel back to Alotau where he had hoped to settle and start up a business. That dream paid off and by 2010 he started running the little and humble Doboro bus service in Alotau town.                                                                            

We left Kevin to supper with his family after making an arrangement for us to meet at the Nako Fisheries, Sanderson Bay, as the pickup point from where he could take us to Gurney Airport.

When we awoke and clambered down the Nako hill the next morning we discovered that Kevin and Shirley and a son were already waiting for us. We checked our watches and we realized we had almost slept in and we could miss our flight to Port Moresby. It was Sunday and Kevin and Shirley had to be back in town for Church service with their family.

Nonetheless, it was an enlightening conversation we had with Kevin while driving up to the airport. Starting up a business is indeed difficult at first but one learns to get by, he explained. The vast green landscape before us as we drove along looked more like a green desert after the oil palm trees were felled for new ones to be replanted. It was quite depressing what with all those trees missing. That in order to start up a business one needed to know where one stood with capital, what strings to pull if any and that sort of thing. We learn to get by and that is all that matters.

Yet, what really made us feel comfortable as we drove along to Gurney Airport was that very rarely do we have people from Rabaraba running businesses in Alotau town! Witnessing Doboro Kevin Buyarasi run a small bus service was and is exemplary enough. We feel proud about this. He is our source of encouragement and no matter the odds, no matter the setbacks, political, social or otherwise, he strikes us as someone more than determined to enable us all to move ahead.

As Kevin and Shirley drove back to town for Sunday service after dropping us we wondered if there would be more licences given to our people to similarly participate in businesses in the town itself. Storyboard himself could not help but wonder amusedly if even he could be granted a licence to operate a PMV from Alotau to Awaiyama one day.