Patricia Prime & Catherine Mair: Uretara Estuary

on the stop bank
wandering with the shadows
cast by clouds

We walk beside the estuary taking photographs of bird life: shags, herons, ducks, Canada geese, pied stilts and bitterns. Along the stop bank we meet a rat-poisoner and his wife laying bait among the reeds. "None of the bait has been taken," he says, "so we must be doing some good." About a kilometer along our path we come across a houseboat. A boy greets us from the top deck where he's fishing. In a small tree a thrush sings his heart out: his song never faltering as it changes from high to low, from a warble to a stream of sound.

calm lagoon—
a blue heron's
sudden flight

On the jetty across the river Christine tricks us into thinking she's a statue standing so still holding the long handle of her white-baiter's net. It is tempting to shout out, "Have you got any? How are they running?" But white-baiters are a secretive breed and rarely admit their success. We hope the bread we carry to feed the ducks isn't viewed as sustenance for the water rats. Coming towards us along the grassy path edged by flax is another walker with two fluffy white terriers. We pause for a brief chat about the pleasant change in the weather from yesterday's wind coming off the snow.

Look! there it is—
the bittern sculpture
on the opposite bank

It's a brisk walk back to the car. When we touch our cheeks, which feel hot and stinging, we find they are cold.

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime

Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand

and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: The Ring of Fire

Well what are we moaning about? We knew the forecast was poor. For goodness sake, it's not a tsunami! Think of Samoa—beautiful Samoa where many of its villages and resorts are a tangle of coconut palms, corpses and mud. "Talofa," they used to greet us, golden-skinned young women and men in their colourful sarongs. "Talofa," as we skipped down for breakfast.
.

hugging her teddy bear
she enchants
strumming guitarists

Friends, Heidi and Sam and their two children are asleep in their fale when they hear a noise like that of a jet plane zoom in from the sea. They look out to see the ocean receding. "Tsunami," Sam yells. "Get out quick, run to higher ground." They leave everything behind: passports, money, credit cards and clothes. Grabbing Misha's doll and Jake's toy car they run for their lives. The small girl clings to her father's back, while Jake is cradled in his mother's arms. When they reach the top of the hill, they are startled to see the devastation below. Where there once were sandy beaches, shelters and palm trees, there are piles of debris.

tidal wave—
a pleasure yacht
parked against a tree

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime

Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand

and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: Chinese Checkers

.

On my arrival the remnants of a party: balloons on the veranda, a piece of chocolate cake in the pantry, birthday cards on the dresser and toys spread over the floor. The children play with cars on the carpet, making roads and roundabouts with coloured clothes pegs. Later I offer to baby-sit the children while my friend and her daughter visit great-grandma. They decide to take the oldest boy with them.

.

wide-eyed she welcomes her visitors

.

The youngest two occupy themselves with the road works, but when they become bored I play "Hangman" with them using simple three- and four-letter words. Next they want to play "Chinese Checkers," which lasts until they realize they are going to be beaten. As we play hide-and-seek in the bedroom, a Selwyn's friend spies us through the window. When the resthome visitors return it's time for dinner.

.

in the bath

four arms, four legs,

a monster

.

Next morning the family packs up leaving the house empty and quiet. Thistledown floats across the rain-drenched sun deck.

.

folding the washing

we find a pair

of boy's socks

.

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: DESERT CAMP

When my uncle sailed on the Rangitata with the first echelon for Egypt, he left his farm in my parents' care. Their first task was to build a cottage for sharemilkers. Wick and Betty were a fine Maori couple with four children of similar age to us. We used to love going down to the tiny cottage to watch Betty groom her girls' hair. How we admired those bouncy, black ringlets.

in the porch
a milk billy
hung from a nail

The young man wrote home about his experiences of the wartime camp in the Egyptian desert. He described the dirt tracks beside which huts were erected, wells dug, and the transient army camp which grew into a city like no other. He told us the Maadi camp sported cinemas, bars, canteens, chapels, libraries, sports fields, a swimming pool - even an ice cream and meat pie factory.

in his photo
soldiers in 'lemon squeezers'
beside the Sphinx

He wrote in a postcard, "The ramshackle cinema, named Thomas Shafto, near the entrance to the camp, is the first building we see on our return to Maadi from the Western Desert."

veteran's parade . . .
one less companion
to greet

*lemon squeezer—nickname given to the Kiwi soldier's pointed hat.

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: FOREBEARS

I swish back the curtains. There's a drowned cabbage-tree silhouetted against the sea-grey sky. Rain forms a mini-waterfall from each sword-like leaf. At the supermarket I notice sunflowers propped in a bucket. Sunflowers! for a rainy day. Sunflowers to brighten Mum's room at the resthome.

an afternoon
for videos—which?
reading glasses at home

The chapbook "Molly's Room" lies on the table. The photo collages remind Duncan of his great-grandparents who arrived in New Zealand in 1870 to set up shop in Remuera (now one of Auckland 's high-end shopping centres). He recalls how an uncle 'married' a Maori girl and fathered five children before his lawful wife arrived from Britain and he fathered another seven with her. The Maori 'wife' returned with her children to her whanau, but one daughter remained with her father. Missionaries taught her to play the piano and eventually she became a concert pianist.

seaman—
his scarred hand
fingers the pages

Skeletons in cupboards. The ambiguity of surnames. How, why—our father, your father?

family wedding
duskier skins
on one side of the church

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
and Auckland, New Zealand
.

*whanau—family

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: KETCHUP

.

The Canadian poets have arrived at the motel. They've been invited for a pot luck lunch to meet several New Zealand haiku poets.

decorated
with daisies
her summer hat

Conversation piece—the jar of salad dressing turned and examined.

label
on the mayonnaise
"made in Canada"

Sausage rolls with tomato sauce intrigue our guests and they experiment with the "squirt" bottle.

on his plate
a red smear
and flakes of pastry

Having discovered our mutual passion for tennis, we suggest they stay for dinner and watch the men's final. By 2.30 a.m. we're propping our eyelids open with matchsticks.

after five close sets
empty wine bottles
by the back door

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime

Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand

and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: PURPLE IRISES

A daughter-in-law brings spring flowers for us to take to the rest home.

wrapped in damp tissue
three purple irises
on her night stand

Molly's in the exercise room. When she's ready, I help her to the lounge where the other ladies are having morning tea. "I'll go and fetch your tea," I say. The tea trolley is parked outside Molly's door. "Who's it for?" questions the officious tea lady. "It's for Molly. She's in the lounge. May I please have a cup for me and my friend?" "No, you can't. It's for residents only." I return with the solitary cup. Along comes another carer. "What no tea for you? I'll get you some." She returns a few minutes later with two cups of tea and a ginger slice.

"I'm glad it didn't land on you!" The pot plant bursts like a bomb at the feet of an elderly woman. "What's that strange sound?" asks a lady beside me. "It's the carer slapping a cushion to remove the dirt," I reply. I ask her how long she's been living in the rest home. "I only come for a day now and again. I've a huge family: two daughters and five sons to look after me." She reminisces about life on the farm, bringing up two babies while her husband served in Egypt. Her long-term memory is excellent.

The woman with the Dutch accent asks, "What's your name?" She says she has Parkinson's and finds it difficult to talk. She says how thick her tongue feels, like a barrier in her mouth. I'm thankful that although I was diagnosed with the same illness sixteen years ago my tongue is not affected.

Some instinct makes me examine Molly's arm. Her left forearm is mottled with bruising. I check her right arm. The bruising is worse and there's an ugly haematoma between her wrist and elbow.

I summon a nurse, who brings in the night book. She reads the treatment Molly received the previous evening. "Her arm was bandaged and it should be bandaged now," she says. "I'll do it straight away. She will need to see the doctor later on." Gently she applies a pressure bandage to the bruising and straps up Molly's forearm.

bruises on her arm
more startling
than one on mine

As we leave the rest home I notice that the croquet lawn is covered with cherry blossoms.

in spite of the gale
croquet players
line up balls and hoops
.

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: ENCOUNTER

Outside the village store we are accosted by two Maori men. One is quite handsome with a facial tattoo and hair in a topknot. He wears knee-high boots and a black leather coat though it is sweltering. His face is surly and his eyes dart between me and my friend. The other man is slim and has several teeth missing. He is friendly.

“Where youse from?” he asks. We reply, “Auckland and Katikati.” “Gee, I thought youse were foreigners.” “No, we’re touring the East Cape, heading towards Gisbourne,” I tell him. “Foreigners! No, we’re true blue kiwis,” asserts my friend Catherine, launching into a haka stance with outstretched arms, quivering fingers and lolling tongue. “Ka mate, ka mate,” she chants. “Yikes!” he says, leaping backwards. Then he decides he’d like Catherine for his girlfriend.

exiting the store
Selwyn and Merv
offer to sell her

As usual, I remain composed in the face of this tomfoolery.

on the doorstep
our groceries
in a cardboard box

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: THE CHINESE WOMAN'S HOUSEBOAT

.

Snake-like and patient, the white-faced heron waits amongst reeds at the river's edge – strike! an insect or tiny fish wriggles in the bird's slender throat.

silently
on the outgoing tide
a log's movement

On the other side of the river, wetlands form a tidal lagoon. A pied stilt dips momentarily into shallow water.

Two girls echoing Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn sit fishing from a small jetty.

blue crocodile shoes
nudge the Uretara's surface

Nesting boxes are strung out across the inlet like upended matchboxes. In spring these will be full of nesting birds safe from predatory hawks, rats, dogs and cats.

a pair of black swans
fly into land …
sound of wing beats

The piece de resistance is the ramshackle barge with its picket fence and interior stairs leading to the 'fly-bridge', furnished with an ancient sofa and chairs.

cutting the mooring rope
boys push the houseboat
into mid-stream

floating on oil drums
the Chinese woman's hide-away
freshly tethered

A man carrying three bags of groceries meets us on the path. We stop to talk about the old woman's dream. He's lived here only a few months and we regale him with stories about local identities.

after launching
from the river snag
the shag's wake

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime

Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand

and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: FRIGHTENED SPARROWS

.

Something rustles in the flax beside the river while magpies quardle ardle doodle in the gum trees above.

This still autumn morning, a bevy of dogs in the park. Zak, the maltese terrier, gambols around our legs yapping for his mistress to throw his rubber quoit.

Voices have a hollow drifting quality - dogs meet on the bridge, their tails as frantic as hands clapping at a rock concert.

You wouldn't imagine looking at the river's tranquil surface that days ago flood waters rushed down from the Kamai ranges towards the sea, flattening grass along the banks.

.
a solitary heron
wades into
its reflection

.
Developers have left a grassy track that skirts the old pond. It leads back to the house without going down to the road. We make our way through weeds and wildflowers, take a short cut around a neighbour's property and climb a bank towards the homestead. In the reeds, mallards call to each other.

.
losing my footing
I grip a fern frond
frightened sparrows
.

.
by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: SUE & KIT'S ANGELS

.

You can never tell what's at the end of a road until you reach it. Sue's place is a revelation. The dishevelled angel on top of a totem pole is one of many surprises.

Sue and her husband are working on a book about cemetery angels; taking photographs, tracing inscriptions, tracking down sculptors, discovering the provenance of the statues.

childlike angel
face buried in a hand -
her matted stone hair

So many angels. Their mute stories are of drowning and death. Particularly poignant are the children.

silhouette
against sunset
an angel points to the sky

Kit plays a DVD of angel photographs they have gathered from cemeteries throughout New Zealand . Many of the cemeteries have been neglected and Sue is part of a conservationist group which aims to restore them to their former state.

two little boys
drowned in the same accident -
one statue pristine
the other allowed
to gather golden lichen

An arm stretches up and fingers curl over the cross's horizontal member. Another statue is even more beautiful festooned in cobwebs. But it's the soles of two feet, black with age, beneath a draped hem which convey most.

still perfect
an angel's wing, a dimpled arm
and a rainbow

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime

Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand

and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: IN ADMIRATION OF YOUNG MEN

.

Will the poem be featured in the newspaper this afternoon?

Stepping on the heels of our shadows we pass beneath the crisp leaves of pin oaks. Cattle on the opposite river bank bawl their anxiety at not being given a fresh break of grass.

The two boys we saw this morning riding their scooters along the haiku pathway now cut tracks on a muddy sandbar.

.
on a finger of sand
unruffled
gulls gather

.
In matching life jackets, a father and son in a 'wash services' ute roll backwards down the boat ramp and off-load their yellow dinghy. Plodding through the mud, they load fishing gear and outboard motor.

.
tentative dip
of the learner's oars

.
Kneeling on the platform's edge a group of little girls admire the skill of boys skipping stones. Turning their backs they race towards the carved sea-elephant and clamber up its smooth side.

Outside the backpackers' hostel two flags and two lines of flamboyant boxers flap in the sea breeze. While they wait for their washing to dry the youths toss a ball around. Demonstrating his dexterity one lad spins the ball on a fingertip.

We walk up the slope from the river and stop at the gas station to buy the local newspaper. Pausing on a high street bench we read our poem 'Admiration' …

.
in faded T-shirts
old shorts
and earth-caked boots
the young men
own the world

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
and Auckland, New Zealand

Catherine Mair: LOW TIDE

from the marae they wade waist-deep across the cold grey channel which veins the sand. for generations they’ve known the hiding place of kai moana beneath muddy sand and sea grass

wet cloth stretched –
clunk of shellfish
into a bucket

a woman tells a child – “leave the little ones”. youths play around with an old ‘bomb’ – chuckle like mud pools. we haven’t forgotten the sea elephant who flopped his girth onto the boat ramp. boaties and fishermen scratched their heads beneath towelling hats; didn’t venture too close

high in banksia
bellbirds show off
their range of notes

____________________________________

Notes:

marae - a meeting place
kai moana - food from the sea
banksia - is not a Maori word; there's no 'b' in the Maori alphabet. It is an Australian tree, named after Sir Joseph Banks

Catherine Mair,
Katikati, Bay of Plenty, New Zealand
first published in shadow-patches, 1998

Catherine Mair & Patricia Prime: CHASMS, HOLES, INDENTATIONS

It’s a detour, a sudden inspiration. “Let’s go to the mine and return via the beach, so the dog can have a run. We’re going to look at a big hole in the ground,” I tell three-year old William.

wire caged
on the slope’s crest
a giant dump truck

From behind a high safety net we stare down into a vast hole. “Don’t let me fall down there,” he pipes.

“There’s big boys,’ he says, pointing to some children having their photo taken in front of the gaping hole. He peers down into the quarry through the wire mesh. “Dump truck, hooge,” he tells us. On the noticeboard I read that in 1999, 97,000 oz of gold and 700,000 oz of silver were taken from the mine, most of the profit being returned to Waihi township. What will become of this small community when the mine closes in three years?

A dozen terraces below thumbnail-size men stand in a midget group while beetle-size machines labour up the chasm’s slopes to higher levels. Aeons ago this Waihi terrain would have looked as Rotorua does today.

Leaving Martha Mine we drive in the land cruiser to Waihi Beach. Across the green-blue ocean on this winter’s day Tuhua Island looks grey and bleak. “What’s that noise?” questions the child. I tell him it’s only the sound of breaking surf.

Further down the beach a child paddles dog-like on all fours through the shallows. Dogs are only allowed to cavort on the sand between March and November. Understandably.

low-tide mark –
using the garden trowel
to dig a hole

“Shall I throw this in the sea?” asks William, showing us a pinecone he’s found. Sasha, the dog, “fetches” the pinecone from the edge of the waves and after several minutes playing with it, destroys it with her teeth.

on the sand
a piece of driftwood
its anchor-like shape

The boy finds a bleached stick that he decides he’s taking home. The dog leaps around waiting for him to throw it. “NO!” he shouts. “NO, Sasha!”

over sand serrations
scarpering claws
of blue crab

We climb the half-round wooden steps of the track from the beach.

tipping sand
from our trainers
before climbing
into the land cruiser
the tailgate snaps closed

by Catherine Mair and Patricia Prime

Catherine Mair: A COLLABORATIVE HAIBUN

Collaborative writing for Pat and me is a very enjoyable sharing and communicating practice. Mutual experiences are heightened and recorded. In this particular haibun, “Chasms, Holes and Indentations,” the focus shifts from viewing a huge open cast mine in Waihi, to Waihi Beach itself. Much of the ‘story’ concerns three-year-old William’s reactions to both scenes. A small child’s perceptions are fresh and in sharing his responses and activity the day out is sharpened for both of us. The ‘fun’ of collaborative writing is the second dimension brought to the exercise by two minds. Because writers have their own ‘DNA’ a new slant is contributed by both writers, which if blended successfully, creates a lively piece of writing.

Catherine Mair
Bay of Plenty
New Zealand
2007