cold spring rain and hone tuwhare

march 20th marks the spring equinox. a magic time in some respects as it marks endings of a sort and beginnings of another sort. many cultures throughout history have acknowledged, celebrated, even built their calendars around the march equinox. the bahai calendar begins on the vernal equinox. zoroastrians celebrate this day as a holiday, as well as being a holiday in azerbaijan, afghanistan, india, turkey, zanzibar, albania, and various countries of central asia.

here in southern ontario it’s a bit of a non-event, with mention being made through the media but there’s no real celebration as such. this comes from many years of seeing winter nominally “end” and then watching the meteorological expressions of winter continue unabated.

that having been said i welcome the very idea of spring as it spreads the notion far and wide and most especially inside my head and heart that its big brother “summer” is not far away!!

spring is full of little “wow” moments - the first crocuses, birdsong, buds, the return of smells - not always pleasant - but a welcome change from the narrow field of olfactory experience the canadian winter provides. so the first “wow” of spring left my mouth when i came across the poetry of new zealand writer hone tuwhare this morning. i really love how this man writes.

tuwhare was of maori heritage apparently inheriting his father’s gifts as a storyteller. he was in his late thirties, early fourties when he was first published but immediately created a sensation across new zealand for the highly individual and yet accessible content and form of his writing.

coincidentally we’ve had a fair bit of rain the last couple of days and to acknowledge and celebrate that fact, here’s my favourite tuwhare poem entitled “rain” . . .

i can hear you
making small holes
in the silence
rain
if i were deaf
the pores of my skin
would open to you
and shut
and i
should know you
by the lick of you
if i were blind
the something
special smell of you
when the sun cakes
the ground
the steady
drum-roll sound
you make
when the wind drops
but if i
should not hear
smell or feel or see
you
you would still
define me
disperse me
wash over me
rain

to read more of tuwhare’s writing you should visit here.