THE JOY OF POETRY

                                                           

The joy of feeling poetic about all that surrounds us... be it the weather, the atmosphere, sounds of nature, voices in the distance... or simply silence in a semi-rural urban setting. But most times it is that feeling that poetry says it all for us... we love the word freedom, don't we?

Oh for the love of freedom

Of that I write

A fullness of being

Like the blossoming of a flower

As the sun rises in the East

That liberty is sung

In emblamatic trills

By the Bird Of Paradise

Arise ye sons of this land

Oh for the want of freedom

Have many perished

Yet we sit inhibited

While our freedom is trampled

By greed and ignorance

Our forests are taken

As nature cries out

And the land screams

Your freedom! Your freedom!

Take not for granted

Oh for the sake of freedom

Must we stand united

To experience an expansion

In the infinity of our being

From mountain to sea

We are yet to find

The meaning of freedom

The price that was paid

Our past waits for justice

While our present anticipates


Copyright 2014 by Mlee Tee Kendi

WONDERLAND: OUR CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOPS

                                                                             

We conduct creative writing workshops through the social media as a way of encouraging our literature students to discover what the world outside may think of their work. A lot of our students are new to the world of arts and letters, many never having the chance of reading literature in high school. But they come to us with a great sense of enthusiasm and this is the thing that encourages us in turn to regard their work with care. In the long run we realize we must do something in favor of their talents not only for their own benefit but also as a way of giving them the opportunity of developing what we have now come to recognize as Papua New Guinea Literature. Your comments on each student’s work would be highly valued.

The following is an example of the sort of feedback we would like to see.

A Review of ‘Wonderland’ (poet un-named). Wonderland is a poem posted by Russell B. Soaba on Facebook as a means for soliciting comment toward the works of his creative writing students at the University of Papua New Guinea (UPNG).

While the request by Russell Soaba on Facebook is for comments, it is my choice to do so in the form of a brief review as I wish to give the exercise full justice as opposed to cursory commentary.

‘Wonderland’ (a title which I suggest be changed) is a short poem to be celebrated for several reasons. This is the voice of a University of Papua New Guinea first-year creative writing student – thank God the institution offers the course at this level! It is evidence the university recognises that creative talent and voice is present in its students prior to arrival at university. It is also evidence the university is committed to cultivating such voices into what may be a collectively confident and vibrant voice representative of the nation of Papua New Guinea and indeed, the Pacific. Nowhere is such an activity more important than in this nation given its diversity of tongues and its pressing contemporary problems – such complexity needs voice and writing is its most powerful medium. Creative writing is its most appropriate and necessary medium for if this is not recognised and nurtured, Papua New Guinea’s stories will be told by outsiders. Yet, here it is, one young voice taking form under the tutelage of a master. This is reason enough for celebration.

This voice is young, raw, containing grammatical errors (as has been pointed out by other commentators on Facebook), obviously an attempt, and lacking in confidence: but far from being its weakness, these are the reasons for its beauty. The poet is already a poet but has not arrived at this knowledge. This student already possesses what creative writing instructors struggle to teach or build into students: an eye for the world, a compassionate eye. Not every writer possesses this.

While the rudiments of grammar need improvement and its leaning toward clichés ought to be reduced if not eliminated, the poem already has a pit: that core at the heart of self-expression; that solid, hard pit at the heart of a ripe fruit; that stone pit that harnesses flesh and holds the entire DNA of a botanical species. In a poem, the pit carries its soul. In ‘Wonderland’ the poet articulates the pit, the soul of the poem; then hurriedly dresses it with frills, unnecessary words and lines – a feature of his or her insufficient confidence.

Allow me to explain. ‘Wonderland’ is a poem of only about eight lines or less. In its current form it comprises twenty-one lines, which in my assessment, has thirteen lines that are not needed. Following is the full poem with twenty-one lines as it appeared on Facebook:  

 

WONDERLAND

 

Sun emerges the eastern horizon

Fogs engulfs the entire Huli valley

All nearby woods all silent

Except Ega Alua with the help of other species

Sings the sweetest melodies in praises

Meanwhile mums too all ready awaken

Melodies of singing tumbunas would be heard in every house

Mums do so, while preparing breakfast

The only favourite penalia hina (kaukau)

Days are always quiet and calm

Human yellings and laughter could be heard rarely

What are wonder

My wonderful land – Hela

Where my amplicle cord is buried

Where my flesh will decompose

Your memories would alway vivid

I wish to fly over to you, but

Situation does not allows

Would it be Ok?

Would it be possible?

I will only come after four years.

 

In my view, the poem does not begin until Line 13: ‘My wonderful land – Hela’; this is the powerful first line to draw one into the poem. The preceding lines, while descriptive of the area and its daily life, is unnecessary; a distraction from the pit of the poem. I would even remove the word ‘wonderful’ as the soul of the language itself reveals to us that Hela is wonderful, making the word redundant, an unnecessary appendage that disturbs the flow of the poem.

Really, the poem begins at Line 13 and concludes at its given end but I would suggest that Line 16: ‘Your memories would always[s] [be] vivid’ be removed to avoid cliché. So the whole poem would read:

 

My Hela!

Where my umbilical cord is buried

Where my flesh will decompose

I wish to fly to you

But situation does not allow

Would it be okay

Would it be possible

I come after four years?

 

When it is reduced to these lines, even a foreigner such as I can feel the agony of the poet. I can almost touch the heartbreak of the poet’s inability to visit his or her home until a lapse of four years has occurred – and it is a tragedy. The greatest thing about this poem is the poet is seeking both an apology and permission from the sacred land itself, from the world that he or she calls home. This is the soul, the pit of the poem.

The question one may ask is: What happens to the other lines? My response is: They make another poem and it is important to not include it as part of the one extracted above. So if the poet is creating a portfolio of poems, these could be part of the section on Hela in the Huli Valley of Papua New Guinea. The lines on sunrise, woods, bird and insect song, early morning cooking fires, singing women and local delicacies are rich and if corrected for grammar with the removal of clichés, would become a powerful poem as well; and if placed next to the extract above, would make Hela tangible for readers. These lines need further working to allow us as readers to feel, smell, see, taste and hear the life of the Huli Valley, and Hela in particular.

My word to the young poet is: You are young but old in spirit. You carry your homeland and your people well in your thoughts – do not cloud it with too many words. Have the confidence to shed decorative words and stick to the soul of each idea you carry. You are already a poet. Do not be afraid of this. Embrace it. The world will know the Huli Valley and its many beauties and tragedies through you if you stick with it and persevere. Take criticism well but in the end, hold your own. Hold your own with confidence.

 Mary D. Rokonadravu

Fiji

31 August 2014

THE MAN FROM MID-WAGHI VALLEY

                                                                      

From the diary of an old villager to town:


JOE MANGI

An unsung hero not many people hear and know about. But he is one of those responsible for UPNG’s fight against the dual salary structure of the entire public service and many private firms operating in Papua New Guinea. 

 

He’s known simply as Joe Mangi. He comes from a region of the country, the mid Waghi Valley, where people carry Toyota land cruisers on their shoulders over boggy and muddy patches of roads and place them on dry soil for easy driving instead of the other way around…  

 

In the 1980s and 1990s Joe Mangi, along with the other members of the National Academic Staff Union, led the UPNG administration into agreeing to certain terms and conditions currently dictated by the Salary Monitoring Committee – that all should get equal pay for the same amount of work, such as the expatriates and the nationals. He won his case as the then President of NASA, but he would be displaced, obviously, for political reasons.

 

Today, public servants right across the board and across the country enjoy some of the benefits of what Joe and his colleagues had fought for – DMA, field and risk allowances, accommodation allowances, the gagging 7.5% phenomenon,  anything to get closer to bridging the gap… The fight continues. The dual salary system still exists. But those greedy scavengers within the public service itself know how to manipulate the system to fatten themselves up as individuals while the rest of the entire workforce suffers. And will continue to suffer so.

 

One fine day, we will all receive equal pay for the same amount of work we do. But for the moment my expatriate colleague gets thrice more than what I get even though we do the same amount of work. Come Christmas holidays and he travels in style to Vienna, to Paris, to Dubai, to Tokyo, to Toronto and Beijing or Cairo. UPNG pays all of that. And here I am, stuck in this little hole as always, not knowing where the next dough will come from for me to feed my family….

 

We need only thank people like Joe Mangi for taking that initial step successfully in fighting for equal pay for the same amount of work done. A long time ago, it was the women predominantly who suffered that terrible economic fate. Today, we are all in the same boat, wherever we are, in whatever country we find ourselves in...

 

 

 

...and here's the funny part 

 

A lone traveller, a kind of globe trotter, and a very, very rich one at that, comes to the Waigani Campus one day and in her capacity as academic and researcher asks for board and lodging. She is granted a room which she shares with a 4^th year student in Literature. Next, she asks if she can enroll for the basic law degree, a program that runs for 4 or 5 years. UPNG checks her credentials and decides to reject her application on the grounds that she already has a PhD degree in another area.  Her English is perfect, her Spanish pretty much the same and her Japanese just as good. She appeals. UPNG still says no. Her roommate says, “Let’s go see the old villager. May be he can help.” But even the old villager’s advice to the influential hierarchy goes unheeded. So everybody gives up. And that’s that. End of the story.

 

Then the literature student goes to the old villager again and says, “Sir, I would like to publish a book. It’s a kind of tri-lingual affair. Would you be able to help?”

 

“Gladly,” said the old villager, “if that is the last straw in our so-called fruitless endeavors. Now I must wonder what UPNG was thinking when it rejected your roommate’s application for a law degree.”

 

Today, the book is published. Its contents appear in three languages: English, Tok Pisin and Spanish (Argentinian). It enjoys a good number of hits around the world. But that is the way of internet publications.

 

As for our collaborator on the book: she is happily married to a fine young man and is indeed happy in her home of origin, Japan. Ah me, oh my… if only UPNG could have some kind of foresight, even hindsight… how much that basic law degree would mean to the world, especially if it came from UPNG, the premier university in the Pacific!

FROM THE DIARY OF AN OLD VILLAGER TO TOWN

                                                                    

I happened to be at Central Waigani, Friday 5^th April, 2014, and what I saw there fascinated as much as intrigued me.

Fascinated because the place looked new, there were rumors it just opened up as part of that great family supermarket idea from CPL.  And intriguing because when I finally got to looking at what was inside I was taken aback somewhat by the vast selection of goodies at the groceries and, most important to me, the assortment of wines at the supermarket’s “liqueur land”.

The new building I soon discovered would become known as Waigani Central. Could that be an assumption on our part that we have a new architectural rendering and topographical landscaping arrangement bound to become known, simply, and should we say, the Graceland of Port Moresby city? Oh, but one doubts if we could be wrong there.

Over the last six months or so that I have ventured from my humble village surrounds to this part of the country’s sentiments of urbanity known as Port Moresby city, I have seen many sites and heard stories attached to each. There were stories of new buildings cropping up here and there; and there were stories of who was doing what with such and such. I tried interviewing as many as I could from the laymen up to those who claim ownership of these so-called new buildings in town. But rarely have I heard one as enchanting as the grand CPL (City Pharmacy Ltd) idea of the family supermarket.

“Ours is the ideal, sir,” a simple shop assistant would quip, handing over a cup of coffee at Bon Café. “And if you’re looking for a weekend family hide out,” a cleaner would join in, “Waigani Central might be the place to consider, sir.”

Surely the whole country has changed much over the years. And surely again each city is slowly taking up that urban idea of the metropolis in so many different forms.

But for the moment I began liking this new family supermarket idea coming from CPL. Gone are the days of BP’s, Steamships, Bank of New South Wales and related coastal trading enterprises throughout the land and its humble rural islands. Those were the days when the villager stood back and marveled at new buildings that came up or simply stood in awe whenever names such as Queen Emma of the South Seas were mentioned. But to us, all this, what we see now, seems to be beckoning us, asking us for our participation, as it were.

Here everyone is invited along, to view the range of medicinal remedies displayed, the groceries and their variety of offerings, the cinemas (space permitting, we assume), and the eateries at various sections of the new Waigani Central set up. I may get the chance to visit other centres of our country in due course. But for now CPL of Port Moresby seems to appeal as much as intrigue me somewhat.

Every new company that sets up shop in town has its principles and ideals to pursue. As ordinary as we are, and according to the climate of varying opinions of the times that we live in, we might feel, let us say, a little left out. But I doubt that would be the case with CPL. Somewhere in the not so distant future someone within the management of this vast business enterprise might say: “All right. Let’s have enough of this – this profit-making palaver and other hang-ups. Let us rather go visit schools, hospitals, sporting facilities, churches and charity homes, and share our ideals and business sentiments with them.” 

                                                                              

SCATTERED BY THE WIND

                                                                    

Available first semester of 2014 at the UPNG Bookshop, University of Papua New Guinea.

About the book

 

Scattered by the Wind remains today one of the most popular plays in Papua New Guinea. It has been produced several times by notable directors such as Peter Trist, William Takaku, Arthur Jawodimbari and Sophie Naime. The social and religious sentiments felt in this play are those of Papua New Guinea of the 1950s.

Set in the remote villages of Pem and Tototo the play deals with the theme of change and this is reflected on the lives of a traditional and religious family whose head is a simple Anglican priest, Father Ronald Keda. The focus of the play is Father Keda’s and his wife Anna’s anxiety on the effect of change on their children—Ben, James and Eulalia. Free-spirited James shuns the religious beliefs, obedient Ben follows his father’s footsteps and confused Eulalia eventually takes after James.

Looming at the background is the village of Tototo and all its norms of traditional livelihood and existence. Christian beliefs and traditional norms come into loggerheads ultimately, and what ensues is a tragedy that the parents had never imagined.

About the author

Russell Soaba was born in Tototo, Milne Bay Province, in 1950. He received his education in Papua New Guinea, Australia and the United States of America. He teaches literature at the University of Papua New Guinea.

CAPTAIN COOK AND DINNER ISLAND

                                                 

So who gave Samarai Island the name “Dinner Island”?

 Was it Captain James Cook? Captain John Moresby? Or Captain Luis Vaez de Torres?

Captain Luis Vaez de Torres might have as he would have been among the first European explorers to sail past that island in the seventeenth century. Captain James Cook would not have had as there are no records available of his venturing anywhere near the islands of New Guinea in his time as explorer. That leaves Captain John Moresby the key figure in the speculations that he probably was the name giver.

A brief quiz was conducted through a Facebook group Alotau, Milne Bay Province with the following poser:

How well do you know your province and your history? Assuming this were a million dollar question, what would your answer be to this:

Who gave Samarai the name Dinner Island?

Was it Captain James Cook in 1779 (a)? Captain John Moresby in 1873 (b)? Or Captain Luis Vaez de Torres in 1606 (c)?

 

Just type a, b or c.

26 people participated in this quiz. 10 said A. 12 said B. 2 said C. 1 said “none of the above” and  1 probability.

Those who chose A were noted to be keen observers, often with a light-hearted sense of humor and most important of all, overwhelming love for their home province. They’d embraced the quiz as a worthy gesture of community service to their province. Said one of the participants in this segment of the quiz: “I love history… It’s better to learn from each other about the history of our province…” These probably depended too much on popular opinion and fable as much as oral history and further assumed that Captain Cook rhymed with Dinner Island.

Those who chose B were noted to be careful observers, somewhat scholarly types who were sure of the answer they gave. Some insisted they were right, courtesy of Google and the encyclopedias.

Those who chose C were noted to be more than keen observers but that their speculations depended on creativity such as when history gives one the opportunity to let the human imagination get carried away. They would make great historical novelists.

So eventually, and speaking officially, that is, the answer anticipated was B. It was Captain John Moresby who was recorded to have named the island “Dinner Island” in 1873.

The rest was left to speculation and the eye of that keen observer who says, “I am rather interested in what is not there.”

 

BOUGAINVILLE'S GREAT EXPECTATIONS

                                                            

A review of the film Mr. Pip

 

The Papua New Guinean soldier wants to know who Mr. Pip is. His men round up the villagers who are then severely interrogated. A little boy, as slow a learner as Mr. Watts is (for that is Mr. Pip’s real name), says he knows where Mr. Pip is. The boy points out a house and a white man is brought forward. The white man soon realizes the dilemma of fiction and discursive information and in the process of differentiating the two for the benefit of the soldier and his men, he, the soldier, shoots him twice on the chest, calling him a liar and a spy. His body is then dragged to the back of a house and hacked to pieces. To the soldier Mr. Pip is never that fictitious character from Charles Dickens’ novel, Great Expectations, but a master-mind controlling the BRA. The soldier’s next task is to find Mr. Charles Dickens himself and similarly execute him.  

 

Or so goes the story of this film, Mr. Pip.

 

When Lloyd Jones set out to publish the novel Mister Pip in 2006, he probably had in mind the Bougainville copper mine as not only the largest mine in the world in 1988 but also a complex multi-billion dollar corporation from which much would be expected, all at the expense of the ordinary Bougainville islander and those that came to live on that island. Schools and other government service agencies on the island were shut down, the people had nowhere to turn to but unto themselves for all possible means of survival as just a few meters next to them was a war raging between the BRA and the Papua New Guinea armed forces. But it was to the people themselves that all bruises and trauma of that war were left, with so many desolate hours of “great expectations” lying ahead of them somewhere in the distance of an unseen future. And the resultant revelation for all of that would be nothing but an abandoned crater, a hole in the ground not worth fighting for.

 

The journalist Sean Dorney looked at Bougainville and offered extensive reports over ABC and other media publications of atrocities on the island and for which he was threatened or deported.

 

But this film, Mr. Pip, needs to be understood not so much as a report on what happened on Bougainville as to its insistence on asking some of the greatest questions of literary merit since time immemorial, especially on the plight of ordinary people in extremely difficult circumstances. Miss Xzannjah Matsi and Hugh Laurie join forces to give not only Bougainville but also the whole of Papua New Guinea the best of performances since Abert Toro’s Tukana and the William Takaku-Pearce Brosnan portrayal of Man Friday. The casting was excellent and the use of organic material in the form of raw village talent deserves commendation. Who can judge between character and real life? Who can boast of who’s who in Hollywood or Bollywood but a remarkable piece of literary rendering of ordinary humanity on film, the big silver screen, like this one? There, and only then, do we hear voices of the masters, like Charles Dickens; like Mr. Watts aka Mr. Pip; and that little Buka girl that snaps out of a reverie, out of the strangeness of a long dream just to learn from the wisdom of the crabs and Mr. Dickens that home is where we all want to be and certainly not a thing to be ashamed of. Mr. Pip, the only white man in that village perishes. The other villagers, including Matilda, barely manage to escape. And when they do, there is much to look back to as reminder. In essence, the civil war was utterly senseless.

 

The film also carries some historical references, through dialogue, character flash backs and certain locations of filming, that trace and reflect upon those famous yet now forgotten black birding voyages of the 18^th and 19^th centuries. The island of Bougainville has once upon a time been a gold mine of black slavery. Not a single 19^th century British novel, be it Dickens or Jane Austen, passes by us without a slight mention of slave trade whether from Africa or anywhere else such as the Pacific islands. Both the author of the novel and the film makers have been careful enough to remain faithful to their historical research data, by sparing us a little of that information. In this film, Mr. Pip, in particular, we are given the opportunity to trace those black birding voyages, when Matilda (the character Xzannjah’s portraying) makes her way from Bougainville to the Solomon Islands, to Australia and finally to Great Britain where she inherits part of a house that belongs to Mr. Pip. Matilda, of course, turns down the offer when she remembers she could not, much as she might have, save Mr. Pip from the PNG soldiers. She inherits rather a copy of Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations.

 

This is a good film. Get to see it soon. 

This review posted simultaneously by Soaba's Storyboard.