Three Tongan

Poems

By Konai Helu Thaman

Tongan writer Konai Helu Thaman, in the two poems on the right, speaks of her experiences in America—as she did in The Encounter (August MANA). Below she remembers a Tongan picture show.

The cinema

“ HOLIUTI” . . . the glaring letters Sprawl across the unpainted walls; The laughter and noise Of children half naked In body and mind Waiting, anticipating The hideous eyes of guns And blood The lens bringing these Closer to their young Innocent eyes.

Inside they giggle and tickle One another Embarrassed at the embracing, The long drawn-out kisses Rehearsed many times But the children do not know; Words, what do they mean?

The sounds of guns and sirens Make sense . . .

Well done! “Malie!”

Deafening shouts annoy Europeans who sit upstairs Drinking Cokes, frowning at The ignorant natives And fanning themselves impatiently.

The show is over There is a faint murmur, “Ti ’eni”; There is a rush for the only exit The children, half asleep Hurry home to the warmth of Their soft tattered tapa Under which they will dream Of rich palangis and brave cowboys And will wake, laden with the wounds Of Time.

A longing

Cars. Noise. Sirens.

People never stop to chat Or even say “hello”, Where are they all hurrying?

This thing says “Expire”

Wonder what it means.

“Great Sales” a sign says And above it another spells “Woolworths”.

I walk in, and “Clearance” is everywhere.

I buy some things, I cannot remember now Except that a lady with a painted face Gives me some blue stamps.

“I have no letters to post” I say But she ignores me And gives me my change.

I reach out to open the door But it opens before I can touch it — They work miracles here in America.

There are cars everywhere I cannot find my friend . . .

Maybe she is gone forever What colour is it, I can't remember; God, please get me home There are lots of people here No one sees me.

Hey people, I am lost; I am here We are all here And we aren’t.

A working relative

I always expect too much From people I know.

But how can you remain calm and unaffected When your husband is sleeping At the back of my friend’s car Every night?

Tomorrow he will pass the same road And will not notice it; Daily he makes his trip On an endless Freeway, Groping for treasured bills To build you that new fale palangi; The stale sweat on his tired brow Cools his homesick fears.

He is too busy now; He forgets to remember his time is up; The authorities catch up with him And on to L.A. International they take him.

But along the way he remembers That new dress you had asked for; The other women will have new overseas dresses too; But it’s too late now, my friend.

He will never return to the Golden Land.