For Hawai'i and Mahealani Perez-Wendt

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There are a lot of reasons that I’m writing about Mahealani Perez-Wendt. One being I love the Hawai'i. I spent a couple of weeks really seeing the Big Island. I camped, hosteled, slept on the beach, shopped at farmers markets, and ate food off trees. It took me a while to understand my Hawai’i experience was not typical. There were no hotels, tours, or swimming with dolphins. Instead, I traveled with a Hawaiian fisherman in a dinged up boat from Puna out to where lava rolls into the sea from Kīlauea. Perhaps my understanding of the expectation of redemption, which lingers throughout Perez-Wendt’s poems, comes from seeing the destruction and the formation of new land on the island. I encountered many Hawaiians who believed in ‘Aina (land) or who were in someway waiting for the land to wake up or take over again. As if to reclaim the bones that Prez-Wendt writes about in “Burry our Hearts at Wal-Mart, ect.” And as hard as it is to believe in the idea of ‘Aina and renewal in this global-industrial age of capitalism, I will say there was something powerful in watching that land fall in to the pacific. Something powerful in knowing that there used to be houses, churches and graves where the lava was flowing. And knowing that for everything it has destroyed it has created new land.  There is something in the way the speaker evokes anger, hope and expectation in “Papahanaumoku” that is haunting and reminds me of being on the island. Words like rutted, broken, and bloodied--convey so much anger, but then slip into softer sounds as the speaker sings out to Papahanaumoku, the mother of the land.

In many of Perez-Wendt’s poems I see complex calls to action, anger, indignation, and a search for space that is elusive. In “Calvary At Anaeho’ Omalu” the title holds the idea of war and a duality of place. Anaeho’ Omalu is a scraded place on the Big Island, full of ancient fish ponds and shrines where people still leave taro offerings, but is also where the bulk of the tourist hotels are located from the Hilton to the Mauna Kea. The hotels butt up against the ruins, and are built over them, and at times the poem seems to read as battle cry with its chant like arrangement:

           

            ‘Ano’ai aloha e

            ‘Ano’ai aloha e

            ‘Ano’ai aloha e

            In a hotel lobby

‘Anaeho’omalu swimming,

            I feel tethered and hammered through

            Wild among dark branches

            Snared by voices on angry winds

However, the poem ends with beautiful and sorrowful vowel sounds that also read like a mournful song. And while there is no peace the poem--it is not without hope as the speaker is still standing--still singing.

Hope this post made sense--feeling tired or flewish I can't tell.