The Story of Hawaii (Illustrated Edition). Fowke Gerard

      Nana i eli aku ka lua i Hu'ehu'e a a.

      He lua i Hu'ehu'e, ua ena e Pele.

      Ke haoloolo e la ke ao,

      Ke lele la i-luna, i-lalo;

      Kawewe ka o-ó i-lalo, i akea.

      Eli-eli, kau mai!

      [Translation]

      Song (In turgid style)

      A pit lies (far) to the East,

      Pit het by the Fire-queen Pele.

      Heaven's dawn is lifted askew,

      One edge tilts up, one down, in the sky;

      The thud of the pick is heard in the ground.

      The question is asked by Wakea,

      What god's this a-digging?

      It is I, it is Pele,

      Who dug Mihau deep down till it burned,

      Dug fire-pit red-heated by Pele.

      Night's curtains are drawn to one side,

      One lifts, one hangs in the tide.

      Crunch of spade resounds in the earth.

      Wakea 'gain urges the query,

      What god plies the spade in the ground?

      Quoth Pele, 'tis I:

      I mined to the fire neath Kauai,

      On Kauai I dug deep a pit,

      A fire-well flame-fed by Pele.

      The heavens are lifted aslant,

      One border moves up and one down;

      There's a stroke of o-ó 'neath the ground.

      Wakea, in earnest, would know,

      What demon's a-grubbing below?

      I am the worker, says Pele:

      Oahu I pierced to the quick,

      A crater white-heated by Pele.

      Now morn lights one edge of the sky;

      The light streams up, the shadows fall down;

      There's a clatter of tools deep down.

      Wakea, in passion, demands,

      What god this who digs 'neath the ground?

      It is dame Pele who answers;

      Hers the toil to dig down to fire,

      To dig Molokai and reach fire.

      Now morning peeps from the sky

      With one eye open, one shut.

      Hark, ring of the drill 'neath the plain!

      Wakea asks you to explain,

      What imp is a-drilling below?

      It is I, mutters Pele:

      I drilled till flame shot forth on Lanai,

      A pit candescent by Pele.

      The morning looks forth aslant;

      Heaven's curtains roll up and roll down;

      There's a ring of o-ó 'neath the sod.

      Who, asks Wakea, the god,

      Who is this devil a-digging?

      'Tis I, 'tis Pele, I who

      Dug on Maui the pit to the fire:

      Ah, the crater of Maui,

      Red-glowing with Pele's own fire!

      Heaven's painted one side by the dawn,

      Her curtains half open, half drawn;

      A rumbling is heard far below.

      Wakea insists he will know

      The name of the god that tremors the land.

      'Tis I, grumbles Pele,

      I have scooped out the pit Hu'e-hu'e,

      A pit that reaches to fire,

      A fire fresh kindled by Pele.

      Now day climbs up to the East;

      Morn folds the curtains of night;

      The spade of sapper resounds 'neath the plain:

      The goddess is at it again!

      This mele comes to us stamped with the hall-mark of antiquity. It is a poem of mythology, but with what story it connects itself, the author knows not.

      The translation here given makes no profession of absolute, verbal literalness. One can not transfer a metaphor bodily, head and horns, from one speech to another. The European had to invent a new name for the boomerang or accept the name by which the Australian called it. The Frenchman, struggling with the English language, told a lady he was gangrened, he meant he was mortified. The cry for literalism is the cry for an impossibility; to put the chicken back into its shell, to return to the bows and arrows of the stone age.

      To make the application to the mele in question: the word hu-olo-olo, for example, which is translated in several different ways in the poem, is of such generic and comprehensive meaning that one word fails to express its meaning. It is, by the way, not a word to be found in any dictionary. The author had to grope his way to its meaning by following the trail of some Hawaiian pathfinder who, after beating about the bush, finally had to acknowledge that the path had become so much overgrown since he last went that way that he could not find it.

      The Arabs have a hundred or more words meaning sword--different kinds of swords. To them our word sword is very unspecific. Talk to an Arab of a sword--you may exhaust the list of special forms that our poor vocabulary compasses, straight sword, broadsword, saber, scimitar, yataghan, rapier, and what hot, and yet not hit the mark of Ms. definition.

       Mele

      Haku'i ka uahi o ka lua, pa i ka lani;

      Ha'aha'a Hawaii, moku o Keawe i hanau ia.

      Kiekie ke one o Maláma ia Lohiau,

      I a'e 'a mai e ke alii o Kahiki,

      Nana i hele kai uli, kai ele,

      Kai popolo-hu'a a Kane,

      Ka wa i po'i ai ke Kai-a-ka-Mna-lii,

      Kai nu'u, kai lewa.

      Hoopua o Kane i ka la'i;

      Pa uli-hiwa mai la ka uka o ke ahi a Laka,

      Oia wahine kihene lehua o Hopoe,

      Pu'e aku-o na hala,

      Ka hala o Panaewa,

      O Panaewa nui, moku lehua;

      Ohia kupu ha-o'e-o'e;

      Lehua ula, i will ia e lie ahi.

      A po, e!

      Po Puna, po Hilo!

      Po i ka uahi o ku'u aina.

      Ola ia kini!

      Ke a mai la ke ahi!

      [Translation]

       Song

      A burst of smoke from the pit lifts to the skies;

      Hawaii's beneath, birth-land of Keawe;

      Malama's beach looms before Lohian,

      Where landed the chief from Kahiki,

      From a voyage on the blue sea, the dark sea,

      The foam-mottled sea of Kane,

      What time curled waves of the king-whelming flood.

      The