Wayfinder Poem by Jan FitzGerald

Wayfinder
Homage to the early Polynesian navigator

This waka I guide with chant and song 
for this is the whakapapa of past voyages,
the voice of my ancestors 
who went fishing for islands.

We leave at dusk, our eyes fixed 
on landmarks behind us.
By looking backwards,  
I chart the way forward.

I observe the stars in Tane's Basket.
Each one known by name since childhood.
Each one cloaked in a different brightness.

I recall the clouds that name an island,  
reflections that warn of reefs or shallows.
Some clouds mirror the island beneath.

Each wind brings its own song 
to the rigging, hangs up a cloak feathered
with many scents.

Migrating birds show me the seasons.
I study curlew, plover, long-tailed cuckoo.
The albatross studies me...
At dusk birds fly in straight lines 
to their island.

If I sleep and stray off course,  
I am woken by drumming under the hull.
Each current has its own rhythm.
I adjust to the rope that trails 
the original path.

I know the waves 
that mark the approach to each harbour,  
like the way hair flows on the back of a dog.
As each one breaks against the bow,  
it tells of distance or nearness.

When Hoaka, the crescent moon, rises 
she scares the fish away, being the first moon 
bright enough to cast a shadow.
When Muku is in the sky,
it is a night of good fishing.

I give the first of my catch back to Tangaroa,  
not knowing if the shadow below 
is hammerhead or taniwha,  
not knowing if I anger or appease him

if tonight is the night I will catch an island.