The European muses over his place in the new New Zealand.
***
Loudmouth collects 15 years of page and pub poems from one of New Zealand’s most dynamic young writers.
lyrics
Baggage
I’m imported from an Old World of atavists
and anti-hijab jabs from prescient presidents;
continent of all-conquering currency.
My plane disclaims its Eurocargo on lava tarmac.
We’re ethnic riffraff, scraps scraped off a plate. Wide-eyed,
I salivate at all this ripe-to-colonise space–
I drool like Conrad
when he saw the necklace-lain Congo jewel.
Every Mangere mangrove here should move
aside so I can stake my Tricoleur til I’m secure
I heard the settlers changed
their name to New Zealander or Pakeha
From European: such insurgency! A slap, a speed
hump, but it can’t stump the rules of retrospect
which state that history, if sealed, congeals, and cannot
be contested or repealed. So, I lug my luggage with me
In case I must declare identity.
The hotel shuttle is a quarantine. Each passed pub’s
a Celtic, Welsh or English embassy, but
I’m excluded from the hubris,
I’m just noxious ambassador
for Ferdinand, Wilhelm, Windsor, Louis.
Decamping here, establishing my principality, I seed
elms, firs, chestnut trees, appleseeds.
I hug the oaks, all damp and England-old;
I clutch a pocketful of francs.
I long for the Louvre, thirst for the Danube.
But, needing residency, I slide my Heineken aside
and drink a Steiny, let my tongue absorb the way you talk:
accent of parrots, cheese, beaches, wheat, and frosted skis,
And islets, quad bikes, estuaries;
ANZACs, Allies swathed in Swanndri,
Baled hay, udders stuffed with curds and whey
Hawke’s Bay Chardonnay, manuka tea. I swallow
spiteful eyefuls of the Sky Tower. Downunder Eiffel.
I obfuscate my origin, I carry mere inflections
on my tongue. My flag, my baggage can be boxed,
unlocked upon May Day,
Queen’s Birthday, Bastille Day,
exhumed when they’ll ask me: Mate, ya Kiwi?
And my mouth’ll empty.
No rugby fealty or passport can talk for me.
I’ll search my carried baggage, check the mirror.
Then we’ll see:
Croatia, Polynesia, Asia
are connected by a common sea
Uninterrupted by nationalities. Europe was a squeeze
So this refugee begs residency, because you need
my exotic biscotti and without the expanses landed in the Treaty, people like me
wouldn’t have room to breathe.
Michael Botur is a New Zealand poet and fiction writer of European heritage. He is author of ten books and has won a bunch
of bigshot writing awards.
'Loudmouth: Page and Pub Poems' collects 15 years of spoken word verse from one of NZ's most dynamic young poets. Perfect for anyone who loves the personal mixed w the political, a little bit of hip hop and plenty of attitude. www.nzshortstories.com...more
Poet Douglas Kearney and composer/producer/drummer Val Jeanty link up for a a compelling LP that feels like the written word come to life. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2021