Te Tohunga/The Poi-Dance
III
THE POI-DANCE
Out of the semi-darkness of the wharepuni a shrill voice is ringing, and soon is accompanied by other voices and by clapping of hands, beating time for a poi-dance.
Discordantly the first voice pierces the bustle, and laughter there is, and moving and shifting, to make room for the dancers, for the girls and the young women.
Graceful figures dressed in piu-pius come forward, coyly and laughing, with whirling of pois[1], taking up their positions, and all is clamour of getting ready for an amusement, highly enjoyed by spectators and dancers.
Like clock-work hands are clapping all the while; the shrill voice is dominating the chorus, and all the old women and the men, squatting around in a circle, settle down to an inexhaustible song.
In two rows stand the dancers, light in their eyes, grace and laughter in every movement. Ngawai is leader, Hine-te-haka, “the maiden of dance”.
A sharp cry falls from her lips, and is answered by the dull thud of the pois, caught in the open left hand after being whirled around the head.
Four times whirl the pois through the air, and four times, perfect in time, follows the dull thud, while the song is going on and the clapping of hands. Now another sharp cry comes from Ngawai’s lips and rhythmically the bodies of the dancers begin to move: slowly, into graceful positions, while the dried flax-strings, which form the piu-pius, are clapping against the naked limbs, and the play of the pois commences. An uninterrupted whirling around the heads, around the shoulders, in the out-stretched arms, now through the air, before the breasts or behind the backs, beaten again and again with the dull thud upon hand, head, shoulder, or floor under the rhythmical movements of the bodies, the soft stamping of the bare feet, the slapping of the piu-pius and the clapping of hands, ending again in the four times repeated thud in the open hands.
Enjoyment is in the eyes of the spectators, and happiness seems to enliven the monotonous song; the clapping of hands sounds joyful, and the bosoms heave quicker.
Like wonderful birds flutter and whirl the pois around the heads, musical is the rolling movement of the arms, the bendings and turnings of the figures, the crashing of the dry flax-strings of the piu-pius against the bodies: precise are the movements, the thuds of the pois sound as if cast by a single arm; the rolling, lifting, and stretching, of the arms, the movements of the heads and shoulders, hips and legs, as if from a single body.
Quicker grows the clapping of hands, louder shrieks Ngawai, fiercer become her movements. She stands opposite the dancers: she leads, and all follow her movements.
A short cry, a hiss, a head thrown back, a wild yell, call forth ever new, ever graceful, ever circling, combinations, bendings, and turnings. Whirling, circling, slapping, stamping, becomes the dance; rolling arms, back-bending heads, moving hips, and heaving breasts—fiercer yet grow Ngawai’s shrieks, swifter her movements, undistinguishable the mass of the ever-whirling pois. Full of laughter and grace is every movement of the vast living body of weaving, rolling, and bending, figures; joy is in every face, light in the eyes of all. Like black waves floats the hair around the heads, the bosoms heave quicker and quicker, and the breathing mingles with the song of the spectators—: a vast, beautiful, ever-moving body is the whole, with its ever-circling pois.
A loud and joyful cry—and all is over, abrupt, with one thud.
In the sudden silence the dancers flutter about, and settle on the ground like a swarm of birds; loud is the applause, and Ngawai, with laughing eyes and quick-heaving bosom, stands before us, and drops the little poi at our feet.
TRADITION
Listen who will deny the truth of the old gods? Who can deny the truth of the Sun-god, Maui?
Everyone is asleep in the whare-puni, asleep, too, is Ngawai.
Murmuringly had Matapo recited how the world was created; deep into the night had he muttered the wisdom known only to himself and a few still living Tohungas, the wisdom of generations of gods and ancestors and heroes of Hawaiki. Then he, too, had dropped off to sleep, and everything is loneliness and blackness, for Hine-nui-te-po has finished her great repast, and has devoured the world once more. Only the fire splutters now and again with flickering life, and answeringly a dim sparkle springs forth from the eyes of the old ancestor.
Once, ha, once the gods were living at Hawaiki; they were the ancestors of mankind; they are human beings in the faith of the Maori people, heroes, who were the authors of super-human deeds.
How is it possible for Maui to fish this great and beautiful land out of the ocean? Maui, the hero? But, is not Maui the Sun himself? And is it not the Sun who destroys the darkness of night so that the eyes of man can see the land—: Te-ika-a-Maui, or Maui’s fish—swimming on the endless ocean?—
Ah, in the dark nights, whilst bending over the fire, was it in the hearts of the sages and dreamers of generations where these heroes were born; unshakable grew the faith in them, and with the growth of generations upon generations it became the Truth.—And is it not Truth?
The birth of Maui at Mahiku-rangi
Is not yonder, with the dawn of the morning, the god commencing his great daily work again? Is he not preparing to lift out of the ocean of darkness this great and beautiful land again, his fish, Te-ika-a-Maui?
O, who will deny the truth of the old gods?
Who can deny the truth of the Sun-god, Maui?
Te Ra, the Sun, is the son of Rangi, but Maui is the Sun-god of human creation; he is the binding link; through him alone is it possible for man to understand the wonder of the golden Sun.
Hine-nui-te-po, the goddess, once devoured Maui, as the Darkness nightly devours the Sun, and now keeps enclosed the world. But even now the Sun is wandering through the caves of the lower worlds—Te Po—to receive new strength in its fires, and Hine-nui-te-po is lasting upon the earth, and the hearts of the Maori-people are filled with fear and horror whilst the Sun is still hidden by the east and Maui, the great hero, is not yet born with him at Mahiku-Rangi.
The last sparkle of the fire has died away and the pawa-shell eyes of the old ancestor are swallowed by the Darkness.
O, who will deny the truth of the old gods?
Who can deny the truth of the Sun-god,
- ↑ A poi is a small egg-shaped object made of raupo (reed) and dried, hanging on a little flax-string.