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P​ō​neke

by Ruby Solly

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1.
Te Kōkī 02:39
I te ata; bird song pours down this valley. We walk gently here on land that belonged to Kāti Ira who we as Kāti Māmoe were woven with in this place of Aro. In this place of focus on what is ahead, on what is behind. We pull potatoes from our lawn, fingers soft in the earth. We live here on the last patch of native reserve. Te Āti Awa now here while our ancestors have travelled ā-wairua to new places to rest while we tend their seedlings that still grow for new mouths.
2.
Waimāpihi 03:16
E Kui, You are a people weaver Kāti Māmoe, Kāti Ira, Ngai Tara, soar within you. It makes sense, e Kui that you bathed in the pool that holds together all of these streams, all of the veins that flow ever gently to the sea. Your name sake trapped now beneath the first settler street that became a settler city. But up in our hills your waters still flow. Under our concrete we hear you but only when we press our ears to the ground.
3.
Karaka - Tau 02:00
E koro, thank you for telling me how karaka do not grow by the ocean by their own hands. Thank you for showing me the trees our Kāti Māmoe tupuna planted in this place. They still grow strong for us. I return here when you have gone. Deep in this plantation I watch pīwakawaka move between poison berries unaware that time has moved that the waves we can hear are cars by the shore.
4.
Tōku Tūpuna, you brought the seeds for this place all the way across the pacific. in your hand. You the man of weaving worlds; Ruawharo te tōhunga o Takitimu waka. Now here we are in a landscape that deafened settlers with the rolling of whales. Massive bodies pressing each other as if to create worlds. I stand feeling the ihi, the wehi, the wana of your children bubble under my feet in a space that now is only this one world with nothing under its’ waters but space.
5.
Urupā 04:34
Bring us your dead, bring us your bodies, and we will put them to rest under one blanket of earth. We can be an urupā, we can be a house of life, we can be a cemetery. So bring us your bodies, bring us your dead. and we will put them to rest under one blanket of earth. Bring us your cars, bring us your horns, and we will take your dead and we will take your bodies, all three thousand, and pull the blanket from over them. They are wrapped together now in the arms of lovers they do not know. Bring us your bodies, for to us they are just the dead.
6.
Te Aro Pā 03:58
Ki te mana whenua o Taranaki Whānui, o Ngati Ruanui; we see you still. I te ao tāwhito, you were pushed and pulled and every time I walk these red bricked streets I see them, moving your boundary lines. They pressed against you, firm hands slowly gripping you tighter and tighter. Until you let your breath fall and sold the land from under you. Now the young dance on your memory. How bitter sweet to move freely in places where your homes were made smaller and smaller until they were gone.
7.
Whātaitai, I stand atop Matairangi where you sung yourself home as a great bird. Here in your standing place I too mourn all the bodies I no longer live within. Here a white bird takes up a piece of sky, sings its mechanical hum all the way back to the islands. Whātaitai, we travel now not in song but in sound.
8.
Matairangi 02:39
a new frond unfurling inside you. Phyllis, you are felt here; kēhua floating towards the light but never making it before the horns send you back below ground. Back Into your bones found crawling towards a light that became smaller and smaller until for you the tunnel had no end.
9.
Somes 02:23
I’m sorry, but this land is a waiting room. The stagnating wairua evaporating to slow mists in trapped houses filled with chlorine. Sulphur clouds In the air. This is a rugged purgatory for what you did, for what you didn't do. See the places where the guns sit; concrete, cold, empty and waiting for a war that never arrives.
10.
Matiu 04:02
E pāpā, kei hea koe? I slashed my breasts until the rocks were red for you. You name an island for me. Isn’t this what all fathers do? Put their children out to sea, watch them grow roots into the expanse, and claim our new spaces for themselves. Then leave us to bleed our red soil into the waters they use to leave us behind.
11.
Koukou 01:43
I te pō; i whakarongo au ki te tangi o ngā ruru nei. Koukou, they say. Koukou. My tūpuna is named for this sound. Perhaps for her wide eyes in the night, perhaps for the Wai-Koukou where birds would drink back in the old lands of Kāti Māmoe. Would she lie on the banks with snare at the ready as the birds would circle round the deep waters from the Waimāpihi, from Te Puni, from the hills of this place? Or perhaps she would sing only at night knowing that her voice travelled home best in the black liquid of night. Koukou, I say to her. Koukou.

about

Tēnā Koe,

Thankyou for picking up Pōneke. It’s lovely to meet you and to have the chance to korero about this place that we get to call home in te ao hurihuri.

For me this project weaves together a lot of pou that I depend on in my life; whakapapa, te taiao, taonga puoro, and the use of our instruments as extensions of our voices, and all of the voices that live and sing within us. Whakapapa is a beautiful thing. It allows us to know ourselves through our ancestors, and it helps us to weave connections between all the people we come across on our journeys. The more we know our whakapapa, the better we can connect to all the people, things, events, and places we come across within our lives.

Pōneke is a love letter to not only our city, but to all those who have lived here, have shaped this place, and have been kaitiaki of all the facets and layered histories of Wellington herself.

In te ao Māori, I see time pulled around us like a korowai. We are layered in it, kept warm by the triumphs and resilience of our pasts and the hope of our futures. We are living in the present, past, and future all at once, and move between them. These recordings and paintings show how this looks from within me.

Te taiao, ngā atua Māori and their children are active players in these piece. You will hear us all playing together. It’s a privilege to be able to add to the music that is already around us all the time in this place.

I hope this offering helps you to see this place with fresh eyes.

Till we meet again,

Ruby

credits

released June 5, 2020

Ngā mihi nui to all those who have mentored and supported me with my journey into ngā taonga puoro. Specifically to Al Fraser, Ariana Tikao, Sam Palmer, Rob Thorne and Tamihana Kātene, with extra thanks to Al who also mixed these recordings. Thanks to Lee Prebble for mastering skills and to my test listeners, readers, and viewers. Ngā mihi nui to all who have supported me with time, advice, instruments, and much much more. Ngā mihi to Daniela Butterfield, my partner and the biggest supporter of my work as well as an avid enthusiast of history be it good or bad. She is also made the beautiful map of Pōneke. Thanks to Loz Wooton for her managing and media expertise and to Sebastian Lowe for his amazing films that accompany the project. And a resounding thank you to the mana whenua of Pōneke, and to all the iwi of this beautiful place; past, present, and future.

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about

Ruby Solly Wellington, New Zealand

Ruby Solly (Kai Tahu, Waitaha, Kāti Māmoe) is a musician, writer and taonga puoro practitioner living in Pōneke, Aotearoa. Her first album 'Pōneke' explores the hidden histories of Wellington as well as the part that the environment plays within the recording and composing process. ... more

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