blogs blogs blogs blogs blogs blogs
hinemoana's iowa blog
hinemoana in the outback on a steamtrain
hinemoana's tour blogs
hinemoana's new album blog
more links and photos in hinemoana's september '10 newsletter
follow hinemoana on twitter: @hinemoana
friend hinemoana on facebook
_________________________________________________________________________
Iowa Blog: A Maori in the Midwest
Hinemoana Baker was chosen as one of 38 writers from around the world to participate in the 43rd International Writing Program at the University of Iowa, USA.
Chapter 2: Progress
Me at Public Space 1, Iowa City. Gotta Presenting at 'Work in Progress' Festival
love Photo Booth.
Kia ora!
I've just finished my first presentation as part of the International Writing Programme, here in Iowa City. It was part of the 'Work in Progress' Festival 2010, and I thought I'd post my talk, along with the sound sketches I played In Front Of The Public today. Hope you enjoy.
*
WORK IN PROGRESS PRESENTATION - WiP FESTIVAL 2010
Hinemoana Baker
Friday 15 October, 2010
Tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa. I te tuatahi, kei te mihi atu ahau ki nga mana whenua, ki nga iwi na ratou tonu nei tenei whenua. Kei te mihi ki a ratou kua wehe, haere atu ra. Ka huri ki a matou e tu ora nei, tena tatou katoa.
In the first instance, I greet the traditional owners of this land. In the second, I greet the dead, I farewell them, then I turn and greet us, the living. Tēnā tātou - this we are.
Gondwanavista Excerpt by hinemoana
Excerpt from 'Gondwanavista: An Outback Soundwalk' (Arts Queensland/Queensland Writers Centre, 2009)
That clip from is from a recording called 'Gondwanavista: An Outback Soundwalk', begun during a residency I held in Australia in 2009.
My name is Hinemoana Baker, I'm from Aotearoa New Zealand - which I've seen described in a headline as 'The Land That Vowels Forgot' - so I'll speak slowly. My tribes are Ngati Raukawa, Ngati Toa Rangatira, Te Ati Awa, Kai Tahu, Ngati Ingarangi - English - and Ngati Tiamani - Bavarian. The way this played out in my childhood was as a sometimes bewildering mix of rugby, yodelling and trips to the marae, the traditional communal Māori living and meeting space. And a seemingly endless supply of cousins.
The way that it has manifested in my work in the past is as content, as subject, as infuriation, as navel-gazement, as propulsion and passion and politics. The way it manifests in my work currently is through the creation of a character called 'Nothing Nothing', who featured in the clip I just played you, and about whom I'll speak more in a moment.
For me, the phrase 'Work in Progress' is basically a polite way of saying that considering this work fills me with even more agonising self-doubt than would be the case with the stuff I've actually published or released. 'Work in Progress' pretty much describes everything I've made, as far as I'm concerned, even the stuff that might read or sound like a bought one. 'Work in Progress' makes me want to apologise for everything that's about to come. It's my ego - this is my first presentation as part of the International Writing Programme, so I would rather be rolling out My Hit Singles than my Hits and Misses. Nevertheless.
I am a writer, and a musician - and recently my musical bent has led me towards a wider appreciation of sound in general, of sonic art, of so-called 'noise', and some explorations of how to include text with that. I have no formal training in these areas. As a musician I have produced several albums myself, and I have experience working as a radio features producer. I remember being maybe seven years old, listening to my father's cassettes of Louis Armstrong, and being absolutely enchanted by how Louis' voice, his trumpet, his very story-telling, changed for me so palpably when I cranked up the bass knob or the treble or - magic beyond all previous magics - both at once.
The real story began, though, when my partner commenced her post-graduate study in Sonic Arts at Victoria University in Wellington, and I vicariously met folks like John Cage and Karlheinz Stockhausen. I was especially taken with the work of Hildegard Westerkamp and her 'Soundwalks'. Westerkamp speaks about soundwalks as 'any excursion whose main purpose is listening to the environment. It is exposing our ears to every sound around us no matter where we are.' Westerkamp reinforced what had already become, through my radio work, an abiding love of field recordings.
So for a while now I have been experimenting with different ways of combining text with itself, with voice, with field recordings and other more self-consciously arranged sounds like music.
This next track is from a CD called 'I Can See Fiji'. The text was written and is read by another poet, Teresia Teaiwa and then conflated, cut up, collaged and otherwise mutilated (with her full permission and encouragement, bless her) by me.
01 Ohiro Road by hinemoana
Ohiro Road from 'I Can See Fiji' (Fiery Canoe Productions, Wellington, 2008)
'I Can See Fiji' was produced in 2008. This year and last year I find myself, as a woman of mixed Maori and non-Maori heritage, for whom issues of sovereignty and indigeneity are paramount personally, spiritually and politically, living for some months during writing residencies in countries where those stories are actively silenced, historically and today, arguably, far more than they are in New Zealand. The sense, both here and in Australia, of histories and atrocities denied, untold, or at best poorly told has been at times physically choking for me. It seemed impossible to respond to what I was experiencing and seeing - and not experiencing and not seeing - in Australia with the poetic voice I had created up to that point. A new one was necessary. The character 'Nothing Nothing' - Kore Rawa as she is called in Maori - came along when I was asking for how to express these feelings and journeys in a way which was not rhetorical or didactic, and which would allow for the play of imagination and the sound of language. I have found she helps me say what I feel needs to be said.
I am writing some Kore Rawa poetry here in Iowa, but in the spirit of experimentation I thought I'd play you some more sound sketches that I've been working on since I arrived. I'm very interested in the way we may or may not privilege meaning over sound when we read and write, and in the tension between those things. We want words to *mean* things - poetry that plays with language for the sake of the sounds the words make is sometimes seen as obscure or pretentious (at least in New Zealand). Since I got here, instead of recording myself reading my poems, I've started using recordings of found text, and selecting and arranging them as music, where the sound is as important as the meaning, if not moreso. So, in this first sketch, for example, I'm still trying to use some of the principles of composition - there's a slow build-up of instruments, there's tune, there's tension and release, there's even a solo in there - but all of this is done with found voice audio. I've called this sketch 'Destination'.
Destination by hinemoana
Sound sketch, Iowa 2010
This next sketch is from a Skype conversation I had with my partner in New Zealand - and again, here I'm interested in how privileging sound rather than meaning can play with our need for clarity in language - the word snippets draw you in and then the door is closed again, and you're forced to receive the piece as sound, as fun, as music.
Skype Mix by hinemoana'Skype Mix'
Sound sketch, Iowa 2010
And finally, this sketch, which I've just called 'Carry On'.
Carry On by hinemoana
Sound sketch, Iowa 2010
Chapter 1: September
Some people in America are very sporty.
It could be true that New Zealanders are more physically active than other nations. I'm not going to google it, but writer Penelope Todd (who was an IWP participant in 2007) said when she and her group went to Lake MacBride, a picturesque if man-made lake not 20 minutes from Iowa city, the same thing happened to her as to me - she was the only one who swam. Well, initiallly at least. She managed to 'coax in Bulgaria and Hungary, too'.
Lake MacBride. Golden Bay sand. (No, Wellington, not literally.)
Her theory is that writers in other countries use their heads a lot - as all writers do - and their bodies less than we do. I like this idea. I like the idea that although I may not have published 27 books, and I only speak two languages (three at a pinch, though that 5th Form Prize for Oral French which made my peers laugh so when I was 14 seems an age away now) I can jump in cold water and do some freestyle without a second thought. See me go! In the actual water, getting wet! So you were shortlisted for the Booker Prize/Orange Prize/Man Asian Literary Prize and your first movie script will be produced in 2011? Pfft. I can do overarm.
Despite the best efforts of United Airlines, who delayed us for 12 hours on top of an already gruelling long-haul flight, my fellow Kiwi David Hill and I - and our luggage, miraculously - arrived among our 36 other new writing friends here on Sunday 30 August - or what the Northern Hemisphere truly believes to be Sunday 30 August (how is the future, New Zealand?) It's now been over a month since I left New Zealand and it's been a blur of queues, embarrassing currency gaffes and smiling faces, of spotlights and saxophones in Pittsburgh, of literature and lunacy in the bookstores, lecture-rooms and night-spots of Iowa City.
On my way to Iowa I stopped in Brisbane to see a performance by this year's Arts Queensland Poet in Residence, emily xyz.
emily xyz and myers bartlett at QPF '10
Last year it was me up on that stage. And although the timing was tight to get my US Visa in Auckland, spend the night in Brisbane and get to Iowa in time, I couldn't resist the opportunity to see emily, and her performance partner Myers Bartlett, perform live in the Southern Hemisphere.
I was so glad I did. I found the new work emily's written in residency very moving - an almost chanted, echoing conversation between the living and someone gone who's still in the house, a ghost, a girl, a child? Also very emotional to see the Brissie whanau again - Jules, Graham, Jodi, Sheish, John, Ivan, Marisa aka Bremen Town Musician, Thomas...all of you. Thanks for making me welcome all over again on my whistle-stop jaunt. Again, I have to say that the Queensland Poetry Festival is an extraordinary oasis of honouring the word, te whakatairanga i te kupu, in an incredible venue, with production values to die for. Long May She Sail.
But Iowa. Iowa City. In fact, around here it seems to be called 'The City of Iowa City'. It reminds me of Hamilton, in a way. Not so much the town - although it is very much a university town, with a big river running through it, and lots of farmers in the surrounding area... But I remember Tejopala Rawls, comedian and man of letters from Hamilton, doing a whole routine around what's known amongst Hamiltonians as the Bridge Street Bridge.
I guess it's easy to talk about the things that meet the stereotypes. Yes, to a certain extent, it does feel like walking into a TV show - the accents, mainly. But instead of feeling like I'm living in some kind of hyper-reality, since the day I arrived I've felt very real, very much like flesh-and-bone in the streets and buildings here. I think a large part of that is the speed at which things move here - which is about the same as the speed things move in Paekakariki. No-one's in too much of a hurry. That said, things happen *on time*. An important lesson in punctuality was driven home the other day when I arrived six minutes late for my first yoga class. I could see through the glass door that the class had begun, but there were only three women in there, so I was sure I'd find a spot without disrupting things too much. As I was taking off my jacket and shoes, I saw the teacher moving towards the door, no doubt to open it and welcome me. She opened it a crack.
'The class starts at 9 o'clock,' she said.
'I'm sorry I thought it started at 9.15 - ' I whispered. She was already closing the door.
If you want to know more about the area I'm living in, and it's surrounding states, cornfields, plains and prairies, I think you could do worse than listening to that fantastic radio show 'A Prairie Home Companion'. What Garrison Keelor and his team do is very skillful and immensely entertaining - he's satirising, yes, but he's one of the locals, so what he does also feels full of love and respect. With the exception, obviously, of the yoga teachers, the people here are extraordinarily polite. They're famous for it, apparently, and it certainly has affected me. In stores, in the International Writing Program, in the streets and at the swimming pool, have been extraordinarily polite. 'Thank you,' you say, when you've made your purchase. 'You're welcome,' they invariably say. And there's this thing where instead of saying 'Put your bags over there,' someone in the airport or a guest-house would be more likely to say 'Why don't you go ahead and put your bags down over there, ma'am.' I must confess to loving this free and frequent use of formalities. Haven't quite got the hang of it myself, but I don't think I've uttered a swear word in five weeks. Which, for those closest to me, will be close to unbelievable.
I live in Bostick House, built in 1851, and part of a collection of historic homes now used as accommodation.
The first place I lived in here - accidental over- Now I live on the top floor of this building
exposure of top floor :-)
So far no regular writing routine has emerged for me - not even a regular blogging routine. The first week was orientations and welcome events, the second was Pittsburgh, where me and 3 other Global Poets (including the amazing Yusef Komunyakaa) performed with the Oliver Lake Big Band (more pics and links here) and the last two have been like moving house and starting a new job in the middle a 24-hour a day literary festival. Today, however, I leave for Wyoming - me and some of the other writers are to spend a week on a dude ranch near Cody. We'll be riding horses and hiking, a few of us will be white-water rafting and fly-fishing, and a few of others (no names shall be mentioned) will be soaking in the outdoor hot-tub and eating freshly caught fish. All of us, I hope, will get a chance to see some wildlife - the area is home to black bears and grizzlies, and buffalo, elk, bison... it'll be amazing, I'm sure. I'm very much hoping to get down to focussing on the *writing* aspect of this writing residency from now on, and hoping this will be greatly helped by being under the wide-open skies of Wyoming.
And one of the other things I'm hoping to do while I'm there is to explore the Native American story a little more. I have been shocked and saddened at how invisible the First Nations cultures, and more importantly, respect for those cultures, is in general here. Perhaps it's just where I am, but this pamphlet, which I found on the front counter of my local grocery store, is one of the only things with any Native American reference I have seen since I've been here:
Apparently these are available in New Zealand, too.
I've already ranted on Facebook (click the image above) about why this has upset me so much, so I won't repeat myself. But I must say, I'm really looking forward to meeting some more folks here with an indigenous focus and analysis. It's not that people here aren't political, necessarily, and most of those I'm meeting are, of course, pretty left-wing. But so far only Laura Fish and I have really connected about those aspects of US history that it seems most people want to forget: the genocide of the First Nations people and their animals here, and the many consequences of that down through the decades, and how those people and their cultures live today, in and outside of their traditions. I don't want to make it sound like there are no Native Americans here, and that they're all just sad victims. I know shit has happened here, but I also know for sure (even without really having met anyone here yet) that there will be resistance, preservation and restoration going on, with language and culture, as much as is possible, just like there is for native people I've met from everywhere else.
So when I get back from Wyoming, I'm looking forward to hanging out for a while at the LNACC, the Latino and Native American Cultural Centre on campus here at the University of Iowa. It's kind of a drop in centre, apparently, so I'm gonna head on over for a bit of a whanau buzz. Will let you know who I meet, what I discover and learn...
For now I'll leave you with one of the most beautiful moments I've had since I've been here, and it happened in an unlikely location. Because our flight was cancelled from LA on the way over, I got to spend the night by myself in Washington Dulles Airport. Just me, the friendly cleaners, and an even friendlier cockroach who somehow landed on me from above and crawled up my sleeve just as I was dropping off. And although I hadn't been looking forward to the prospect of a night alone in a strange airport, as it turns out It was a peaceful time, a wonderful respite from the harried journey. Particularly engaging (ouch) was this bank of yellow payphones:
While I was trying to sleep they started making a strange kind of music - one of them would ding, and then another, and then two together, and the pattern seemed to be entirely random and spontaneous. I picked up the hand-pieces one by one - perhaps someone was trying to call? But there was no-one on the line. They were just, I don't know, saying hi? Welcome to Dulles? We're here for you if you need us? A delicate, tinkling powhiri for a girl far from home. Click the 'play' button above, and crank up the volume to hear them do their thing...
hinemoana's iowa blog
hinemoana in the outback on a steamtrain
hinemoana's tour blogs
hinemoana's new album blog
more links and photos in hinemoana's september '10 newsletter
follow hinemoana on twitter: @hinemoana
friend hinemoana on facebook
_________________________________________________________________________
Iowa Blog: A Maori in the Midwest
Hinemoana Baker was chosen as one of 38 writers from around the world to participate in the 43rd International Writing Program at the University of Iowa, USA.
Chapter 2: Progress
Me at Public Space 1, Iowa City. Gotta Presenting at 'Work in Progress' Festival
love Photo Booth.
Kia ora!
I've just finished my first presentation as part of the International Writing Programme, here in Iowa City. It was part of the 'Work in Progress' Festival 2010, and I thought I'd post my talk, along with the sound sketches I played In Front Of The Public today. Hope you enjoy.
*
WORK IN PROGRESS PRESENTATION - WiP FESTIVAL 2010
Hinemoana Baker
Friday 15 October, 2010
Tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa. I te tuatahi, kei te mihi atu ahau ki nga mana whenua, ki nga iwi na ratou tonu nei tenei whenua. Kei te mihi ki a ratou kua wehe, haere atu ra. Ka huri ki a matou e tu ora nei, tena tatou katoa.
In the first instance, I greet the traditional owners of this land. In the second, I greet the dead, I farewell them, then I turn and greet us, the living. Tēnā tātou - this we are.
Gondwanavista Excerpt by hinemoana
Excerpt from 'Gondwanavista: An Outback Soundwalk' (Arts Queensland/Queensland Writers Centre, 2009)
That clip from is from a recording called 'Gondwanavista: An Outback Soundwalk', begun during a residency I held in Australia in 2009.
My name is Hinemoana Baker, I'm from Aotearoa New Zealand - which I've seen described in a headline as 'The Land That Vowels Forgot' - so I'll speak slowly. My tribes are Ngati Raukawa, Ngati Toa Rangatira, Te Ati Awa, Kai Tahu, Ngati Ingarangi - English - and Ngati Tiamani - Bavarian. The way this played out in my childhood was as a sometimes bewildering mix of rugby, yodelling and trips to the marae, the traditional communal Māori living and meeting space. And a seemingly endless supply of cousins.
The way that it has manifested in my work in the past is as content, as subject, as infuriation, as navel-gazement, as propulsion and passion and politics. The way it manifests in my work currently is through the creation of a character called 'Nothing Nothing', who featured in the clip I just played you, and about whom I'll speak more in a moment.
For me, the phrase 'Work in Progress' is basically a polite way of saying that considering this work fills me with even more agonising self-doubt than would be the case with the stuff I've actually published or released. 'Work in Progress' pretty much describes everything I've made, as far as I'm concerned, even the stuff that might read or sound like a bought one. 'Work in Progress' makes me want to apologise for everything that's about to come. It's my ego - this is my first presentation as part of the International Writing Programme, so I would rather be rolling out My Hit Singles than my Hits and Misses. Nevertheless.
I am a writer, and a musician - and recently my musical bent has led me towards a wider appreciation of sound in general, of sonic art, of so-called 'noise', and some explorations of how to include text with that. I have no formal training in these areas. As a musician I have produced several albums myself, and I have experience working as a radio features producer. I remember being maybe seven years old, listening to my father's cassettes of Louis Armstrong, and being absolutely enchanted by how Louis' voice, his trumpet, his very story-telling, changed for me so palpably when I cranked up the bass knob or the treble or - magic beyond all previous magics - both at once.
The real story began, though, when my partner commenced her post-graduate study in Sonic Arts at Victoria University in Wellington, and I vicariously met folks like John Cage and Karlheinz Stockhausen. I was especially taken with the work of Hildegard Westerkamp and her 'Soundwalks'. Westerkamp speaks about soundwalks as 'any excursion whose main purpose is listening to the environment. It is exposing our ears to every sound around us no matter where we are.' Westerkamp reinforced what had already become, through my radio work, an abiding love of field recordings.
So for a while now I have been experimenting with different ways of combining text with itself, with voice, with field recordings and other more self-consciously arranged sounds like music.
This next track is from a CD called 'I Can See Fiji'. The text was written and is read by another poet, Teresia Teaiwa and then conflated, cut up, collaged and otherwise mutilated (with her full permission and encouragement, bless her) by me.
01 Ohiro Road by hinemoana
Ohiro Road from 'I Can See Fiji' (Fiery Canoe Productions, Wellington, 2008)
'I Can See Fiji' was produced in 2008. This year and last year I find myself, as a woman of mixed Maori and non-Maori heritage, for whom issues of sovereignty and indigeneity are paramount personally, spiritually and politically, living for some months during writing residencies in countries where those stories are actively silenced, historically and today, arguably, far more than they are in New Zealand. The sense, both here and in Australia, of histories and atrocities denied, untold, or at best poorly told has been at times physically choking for me. It seemed impossible to respond to what I was experiencing and seeing - and not experiencing and not seeing - in Australia with the poetic voice I had created up to that point. A new one was necessary. The character 'Nothing Nothing' - Kore Rawa as she is called in Maori - came along when I was asking for how to express these feelings and journeys in a way which was not rhetorical or didactic, and which would allow for the play of imagination and the sound of language. I have found she helps me say what I feel needs to be said.
I am writing some Kore Rawa poetry here in Iowa, but in the spirit of experimentation I thought I'd play you some more sound sketches that I've been working on since I arrived. I'm very interested in the way we may or may not privilege meaning over sound when we read and write, and in the tension between those things. We want words to *mean* things - poetry that plays with language for the sake of the sounds the words make is sometimes seen as obscure or pretentious (at least in New Zealand). Since I got here, instead of recording myself reading my poems, I've started using recordings of found text, and selecting and arranging them as music, where the sound is as important as the meaning, if not moreso. So, in this first sketch, for example, I'm still trying to use some of the principles of composition - there's a slow build-up of instruments, there's tune, there's tension and release, there's even a solo in there - but all of this is done with found voice audio. I've called this sketch 'Destination'.
Destination by hinemoana
Sound sketch, Iowa 2010
This next sketch is from a Skype conversation I had with my partner in New Zealand - and again, here I'm interested in how privileging sound rather than meaning can play with our need for clarity in language - the word snippets draw you in and then the door is closed again, and you're forced to receive the piece as sound, as fun, as music.
Skype Mix by hinemoana'Skype Mix'
Sound sketch, Iowa 2010
And finally, this sketch, which I've just called 'Carry On'.
Carry On by hinemoana
Sound sketch, Iowa 2010
Chapter 1: September
Some people in America are very sporty.
It could be true that New Zealanders are more physically active than other nations. I'm not going to google it, but writer Penelope Todd (who was an IWP participant in 2007) said when she and her group went to Lake MacBride, a picturesque if man-made lake not 20 minutes from Iowa city, the same thing happened to her as to me - she was the only one who swam. Well, initiallly at least. She managed to 'coax in Bulgaria and Hungary, too'.
Lake MacBride. Golden Bay sand. (No, Wellington, not literally.)
Her theory is that writers in other countries use their heads a lot - as all writers do - and their bodies less than we do. I like this idea. I like the idea that although I may not have published 27 books, and I only speak two languages (three at a pinch, though that 5th Form Prize for Oral French which made my peers laugh so when I was 14 seems an age away now) I can jump in cold water and do some freestyle without a second thought. See me go! In the actual water, getting wet! So you were shortlisted for the Booker Prize/Orange Prize/Man Asian Literary Prize and your first movie script will be produced in 2011? Pfft. I can do overarm.
Despite the best efforts of United Airlines, who delayed us for 12 hours on top of an already gruelling long-haul flight, my fellow Kiwi David Hill and I - and our luggage, miraculously - arrived among our 36 other new writing friends here on Sunday 30 August - or what the Northern Hemisphere truly believes to be Sunday 30 August (how is the future, New Zealand?) It's now been over a month since I left New Zealand and it's been a blur of queues, embarrassing currency gaffes and smiling faces, of spotlights and saxophones in Pittsburgh, of literature and lunacy in the bookstores, lecture-rooms and night-spots of Iowa City.
'And now I realise I'm living like a trucker does
although I haven't got the belly
And though she followed me to California all the way
I only wanna watch the telly.'
- Luna, 'California (All The Way)
although I haven't got the belly
And though she followed me to California all the way
I only wanna watch the telly.'
- Luna, 'California (All The Way)
On my way to Iowa I stopped in Brisbane to see a performance by this year's Arts Queensland Poet in Residence, emily xyz.
emily xyz and myers bartlett at QPF '10
Last year it was me up on that stage. And although the timing was tight to get my US Visa in Auckland, spend the night in Brisbane and get to Iowa in time, I couldn't resist the opportunity to see emily, and her performance partner Myers Bartlett, perform live in the Southern Hemisphere.
I was so glad I did. I found the new work emily's written in residency very moving - an almost chanted, echoing conversation between the living and someone gone who's still in the house, a ghost, a girl, a child? Also very emotional to see the Brissie whanau again - Jules, Graham, Jodi, Sheish, John, Ivan, Marisa aka Bremen Town Musician, Thomas...all of you. Thanks for making me welcome all over again on my whistle-stop jaunt. Again, I have to say that the Queensland Poetry Festival is an extraordinary oasis of honouring the word, te whakatairanga i te kupu, in an incredible venue, with production values to die for. Long May She Sail.
But Iowa. Iowa City. In fact, around here it seems to be called 'The City of Iowa City'. It reminds me of Hamilton, in a way. Not so much the town - although it is very much a university town, with a big river running through it, and lots of farmers in the surrounding area... But I remember Tejopala Rawls, comedian and man of letters from Hamilton, doing a whole routine around what's known amongst Hamiltonians as the Bridge Street Bridge.
I guess it's easy to talk about the things that meet the stereotypes. Yes, to a certain extent, it does feel like walking into a TV show - the accents, mainly. But instead of feeling like I'm living in some kind of hyper-reality, since the day I arrived I've felt very real, very much like flesh-and-bone in the streets and buildings here. I think a large part of that is the speed at which things move here - which is about the same as the speed things move in Paekakariki. No-one's in too much of a hurry. That said, things happen *on time*. An important lesson in punctuality was driven home the other day when I arrived six minutes late for my first yoga class. I could see through the glass door that the class had begun, but there were only three women in there, so I was sure I'd find a spot without disrupting things too much. As I was taking off my jacket and shoes, I saw the teacher moving towards the door, no doubt to open it and welcome me. She opened it a crack.
'The class starts at 9 o'clock,' she said.
'I'm sorry I thought it started at 9.15 - ' I whispered. She was already closing the door.
'I am a rock bottom riser
and I owe it all to you.'
' Smog, 'Rock Bottom Riser'
and I owe it all to you.'
' Smog, 'Rock Bottom Riser'
If you want to know more about the area I'm living in, and it's surrounding states, cornfields, plains and prairies, I think you could do worse than listening to that fantastic radio show 'A Prairie Home Companion'. What Garrison Keelor and his team do is very skillful and immensely entertaining - he's satirising, yes, but he's one of the locals, so what he does also feels full of love and respect. With the exception, obviously, of the yoga teachers, the people here are extraordinarily polite. They're famous for it, apparently, and it certainly has affected me. In stores, in the International Writing Program, in the streets and at the swimming pool, have been extraordinarily polite. 'Thank you,' you say, when you've made your purchase. 'You're welcome,' they invariably say. And there's this thing where instead of saying 'Put your bags over there,' someone in the airport or a guest-house would be more likely to say 'Why don't you go ahead and put your bags down over there, ma'am.' I must confess to loving this free and frequent use of formalities. Haven't quite got the hang of it myself, but I don't think I've uttered a swear word in five weeks. Which, for those closest to me, will be close to unbelievable.
I live in Bostick House, built in 1851, and part of a collection of historic homes now used as accommodation.
The first place I lived in here - accidental over- Now I live on the top floor of this building
exposure of top floor :-)
So far no regular writing routine has emerged for me - not even a regular blogging routine. The first week was orientations and welcome events, the second was Pittsburgh, where me and 3 other Global Poets (including the amazing Yusef Komunyakaa) performed with the Oliver Lake Big Band (more pics and links here) and the last two have been like moving house and starting a new job in the middle a 24-hour a day literary festival. Today, however, I leave for Wyoming - me and some of the other writers are to spend a week on a dude ranch near Cody. We'll be riding horses and hiking, a few of us will be white-water rafting and fly-fishing, and a few of others (no names shall be mentioned) will be soaking in the outdoor hot-tub and eating freshly caught fish. All of us, I hope, will get a chance to see some wildlife - the area is home to black bears and grizzlies, and buffalo, elk, bison... it'll be amazing, I'm sure. I'm very much hoping to get down to focussing on the *writing* aspect of this writing residency from now on, and hoping this will be greatly helped by being under the wide-open skies of Wyoming.
And one of the other things I'm hoping to do while I'm there is to explore the Native American story a little more. I have been shocked and saddened at how invisible the First Nations cultures, and more importantly, respect for those cultures, is in general here. Perhaps it's just where I am, but this pamphlet, which I found on the front counter of my local grocery store, is one of the only things with any Native American reference I have seen since I've been here:
Apparently these are available in New Zealand, too.
I've already ranted on Facebook (click the image above) about why this has upset me so much, so I won't repeat myself. But I must say, I'm really looking forward to meeting some more folks here with an indigenous focus and analysis. It's not that people here aren't political, necessarily, and most of those I'm meeting are, of course, pretty left-wing. But so far only Laura Fish and I have really connected about those aspects of US history that it seems most people want to forget: the genocide of the First Nations people and their animals here, and the many consequences of that down through the decades, and how those people and their cultures live today, in and outside of their traditions. I don't want to make it sound like there are no Native Americans here, and that they're all just sad victims. I know shit has happened here, but I also know for sure (even without really having met anyone here yet) that there will be resistance, preservation and restoration going on, with language and culture, as much as is possible, just like there is for native people I've met from everywhere else.
So when I get back from Wyoming, I'm looking forward to hanging out for a while at the LNACC, the Latino and Native American Cultural Centre on campus here at the University of Iowa. It's kind of a drop in centre, apparently, so I'm gonna head on over for a bit of a whanau buzz. Will let you know who I meet, what I discover and learn...
'John he's kicking out the footlights
The Grand Ole Opry's got a brand new band
Lord let me die with a hammer in my hand
I dream a highway back to you.'
- Gillian Welch, 'I Dream a Highway'.
The Grand Ole Opry's got a brand new band
Lord let me die with a hammer in my hand
I dream a highway back to you.'
- Gillian Welch, 'I Dream a Highway'.
For now I'll leave you with one of the most beautiful moments I've had since I've been here, and it happened in an unlikely location. Because our flight was cancelled from LA on the way over, I got to spend the night by myself in Washington Dulles Airport. Just me, the friendly cleaners, and an even friendlier cockroach who somehow landed on me from above and crawled up my sleeve just as I was dropping off. And although I hadn't been looking forward to the prospect of a night alone in a strange airport, as it turns out It was a peaceful time, a wonderful respite from the harried journey. Particularly engaging (ouch) was this bank of yellow payphones:
While I was trying to sleep they started making a strange kind of music - one of them would ding, and then another, and then two together, and the pattern seemed to be entirely random and spontaneous. I picked up the hand-pieces one by one - perhaps someone was trying to call? But there was no-one on the line. They were just, I don't know, saying hi? Welcome to Dulles? We're here for you if you need us? A delicate, tinkling powhiri for a girl far from home. Click the 'play' button above, and crank up the volume to hear them do their thing...
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