BY LEONARD FONG ROKA
Nem’makaa [1]…
the magic little boy
loves blowing his kovi [2]
high in the black hills.
Lusts listening erect
those sinking, rocking sacred echo go
rolling
bumping
crushing pellucid quake!
through the deepest valleys to the kunu’nava [3]
that legend house heat
of mystic chastity
scaring away the owl spells
like clouds fading dying
due to no adoration dogma,
but just chatting o
laughing away’d his trespasses.
the magic little boy
loves blowing his kovi [2]
high in the black hills.
Lusts listening erect
those sinking, rocking sacred echo go
rolling
bumping
crushing pellucid quake!
through the deepest valleys to the kunu’nava [3]
that legend house heat
of mystic chastity
scaring away the owl spells
like clouds fading dying
due to no adoration dogma,
but just chatting o
laughing away’d his trespasses.
O magic.
The magic…the magic little boy
who blows across ranges
tunes of strangeness…
anew
mysterious
tempos that retrieve
the blood of virgos;
o chaste magic little girls
from the initiation of kunu’nava.
The magic…the magic little boy
who blows across ranges
tunes of strangeness…
anew
mysterious
tempos that retrieve
the blood of virgos;
o chaste magic little girls
from the initiation of kunu’nava.
Amazed.
Shocked in disbelief
and inclined to the verses
of joy sweating, burning and glowing they sing:
‘o magic…
the magic little boy
come…o come…
come you magician
of a hundred rivers and slopes.
Come kiss this cone
sharp breasts and
caress them to fire
and fetch your share of dreams
and power.
Shocked in disbelief
and inclined to the verses
of joy sweating, burning and glowing they sing:
‘o magic…
the magic little boy
come…o come…
come you magician
of a hundred rivers and slopes.
Come kiss this cone
sharp breasts and
caress them to fire
and fetch your share of dreams
and power.
Come… o come…
come disqualify my holiness.
Smear my lips
with that spell of mystic oils—
the surge of your pride—
that pride…o…pride.
come disqualify my holiness.
Smear my lips
with that spell of mystic oils—
the surge of your pride—
that pride…o…pride.
O magic…
magic …the magic little boy.
Come…o’ii bakaa [4] nem’makaa,
the heir of my menstruation genesis…
oh boy, o.
Boy of my happiness and heritage.
Come!
O come…by
the taboos of your forefathers
pay your homage
to the night owners—
o killer of souls—
who keep the door of the kunu’nava
as owls of death.
magic …the magic little boy.
Come…o’ii bakaa [4] nem’makaa,
the heir of my menstruation genesis…
oh boy, o.
Boy of my happiness and heritage.
Come!
O come…by
the taboos of your forefathers
pay your homage
to the night owners—
o killer of souls—
who keep the door of the kunu’nava
as owls of death.
Death. O death…
In the dark canopies, it’s death.
In the dark canopies, it’s death.
Death it is, my magician
Of a hundred rivers and slopes.
O magician,
homage the spells over and over
with the magic flutes
from the blackest hills and peaks of fog.’
Of a hundred rivers and slopes.
O magician,
homage the spells over and over
with the magic flutes
from the blackest hills and peaks of fog.’
To the verses, the boy yodels: ‘o owl spells,
care for my womanhood, I am the boy…and
she owes me the powers.
Pleasures.
Joyful dances
and wisdom potions of rain making –
seasons and life—and prolonged love making nights.
care for my womanhood, I am the boy…and
she owes me the powers.
Pleasures.
Joyful dances
and wisdom potions of rain making –
seasons and life—and prolonged love making nights.
Secure my life,
my good servants of the kunu’nava,
she’s the cuddle of my loins…
fattened by the first produce
of the land and seasons.
my good servants of the kunu’nava,
she’s the cuddle of my loins…
fattened by the first produce
of the land and seasons.
She is the pride of me, the foreigner.
O magician of a hundred rivers and slopes.
O magician of a hundred rivers and slopes.
She was, o gods
hidden from the eyes of moons and suns…
those broth spillagers.
hidden from the eyes of moons and suns…
those broth spillagers.
O, owls
in the canopies of death,
caress my spirit amidst those virgins
initiating to the mysteries
of womanhood and
child bearing pains
after naked sleeping of joy.
in the canopies of death,
caress my spirit amidst those virgins
initiating to the mysteries
of womanhood and
child bearing pains
after naked sleeping of joy.
O owl spells,
spirited clouds and fireflies,
care for my joy in the kunu’nava.
The artery of my testimony.’
spirited clouds and fireflies,
care for my joy in the kunu’nava.
The artery of my testimony.’
O magic,
the magic little boy
of a hundred rivers and slopes.
the magic little boy
of a hundred rivers and slopes.
The magic,
the magic little boy…
He blows
the melodies of dance
to the nights and spirits til dawn.
Sweating erotic hearting
and lust pains blowing to the great land—
peoples of experience—of women
and smeared thighs,
you’d had it all before the kunu’nava.
the magic little boy…
He blows
the melodies of dance
to the nights and spirits til dawn.
Sweating erotic hearting
and lust pains blowing to the great land—
peoples of experience—of women
and smeared thighs,
you’d had it all before the kunu’nava.
The bright sun is over the sea
coming to rage my heart,
dry to emptiness.
My tender of dreams
and moisture of pride, oh impatient
magic little boy.
Company the magic,
to the house of kunu’nava.
Have me sink and lost
between the lost thighs
and bring forth womanhood of big buttocks.
coming to rage my heart,
dry to emptiness.
My tender of dreams
and moisture of pride, oh impatient
magic little boy.
Company the magic,
to the house of kunu’nava.
Have me sink and lost
between the lost thighs
and bring forth womanhood of big buttocks.
O womenfolk,
of skill and endurance
bring
to the fall of spirited nights
o’er the majestic kunu’nava
and her fountain of life…
that erotic life so long.
of skill and endurance
bring
to the fall of spirited nights
o’er the majestic kunu’nava
and her fountain of life…
that erotic life so long.
Dance in joyful moaning…
o magic, the magic little boy…
Shout and scream and roll…
and cry:
‘o mother earth
dance with me to the gate
of magic and wonders of miracles and gods.
Mother,
mother earth
dance with me to the gate of magic and wonders
of miracles and gods.
Mother…o
mother earth
blow your flute to the kunu’nava,
sleeping like skull
under the azure sky.
o magic, the magic little boy…
Shout and scream and roll…
and cry:
‘o mother earth
dance with me to the gate
of magic and wonders of miracles and gods.
Mother,
mother earth
dance with me to the gate of magic and wonders
of miracles and gods.
Mother…o
mother earth
blow your flute to the kunu’nava,
sleeping like skull
under the azure sky.
Burn…crackling
must be your superstitious torches…
Quaking beds are beds
to warm the fingers of power
and caress those cone breasts and sweet lips.
must be your superstitious torches…
Quaking beds are beds
to warm the fingers of power
and caress those cone breasts and sweet lips.
O mother earth’s boy!
The magic,
the magic little boy.
He dances and dances for the gods and spirits
under the magic of kunu’nava.
The magic,
the magic little boy.
He dances and dances for the gods and spirits
under the magic of kunu’nava.
Words in the language of Kieta
1 - Nem’makaa- a teenage boy
2 - Kovi- bamboo flute used for singsing kaur
3 - Kunu’nava- initiation huts for girls at menarche
4 - O’ii baka- oh (in pleasure)
2 - Kovi- bamboo flute used for singsing kaur
3 - Kunu’nava- initiation huts for girls at menarche
4 - O’ii baka- oh (in pleasure)
Note: As of 18 October 2011 this poem was in Keith Jackson & Friends: PNG ATTITUDE (http://asopa.typepad.com/asopa_people/2011/10/the-magic-of-kununava.html)
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