X.—THE HULA PA-ÍPU, OR KUÓLO
Reading edition
The pa-ípu, called also the kuólo, was a hula of dignified character, in which all the performers maintained the kneeling position and accompanied their songs with the solemn tones of the ípu (pl. vii), with which each one was provided. The proper handling of this drumlike instrument in concert with the cantillation of the mele made such demands upon the artist, who was both singer and instrumentalist, that only persons of the most approved skill and experience were chosen to take part in the performance of this hula.
The manner of treating the ípu in this hula differed somewhat from that employed in the ala’a-papa, being subdued and quiet in that, whereas in the pa-ípu it was at times marked with great vigor and demonstrativeness, so that in moments of excitement and for the expression of passion, fierce joy, or grief the ípu might be lifted on high and wildly brandished. It thus made good its title as the most important instrument of the Hawaiian orchestra.
In the pa-ípu, as in the hulas generally, while the actors were sometimes grouped according to sex, they were quite as often distributed indiscriminately, the place for the leader, the kumu, being the center.
The vigor that marks the literary style of the mele now given stamps it as belonging to the archaic period, which closed in the early part of the eighteenth century, that century which saw the white man make his advent in Hawaii. The poem deals apparently with an incident in one of the migrations such as took place during the period of intercourse between the North and the South Pacific. This was a time of great stir and contention, a time when there was much paddling and sailing about and canoe-fleets, often manned by warriors, traversed the great ocean in every direction. It was then that Hawaii received many colonists from the archipelagoes that lie to the southward.
Mele
(Ko’i-honua)
Wela Kahiki, e!
Wela Kahiki, e!
Wela aku la Kahiki;
Ua kaulu-wela ka moku;
5
Wela ka ulu o Hawaii;
Ka’u wahi kanaka;
Ka hei kapu a ke alii,
10
A o Keawe
Ke alii holo, ho-i’a i kai, e-e!
[Translation.]
Song
(Distinct utterance)
Glowing is Kahiki, oh! Glowing is Kahiki! Lo, Kahiki is a-blaze, The whole island a-burning. 5Scorched is thy scion, Hawaii. Kahiki shoots flame-tongues at Olopana, That hero of yours, and priest Of the oracle Hana-ka-ulani, The sacred shrine of the king— 10He is of the upper heavens, The one inspired by Keawe, That tabu-famous Keawe, The king passion-fond of the sea.
Mele
PALE I
Lau lehua punoni ula ke kai o Kona, Ke kai punoni ula i oweo ia; Wewena ula ke kai la, he kokona; Ula ia kini i ka uka o Alaea, 5I hili ahi ula i ke kapa a ka wahine, I hoeu ia e ka ni’a, e ka hana, E ka auwai lino mai la a kehau. He hau hoomoe ka lau o ka niu, Ke oho o ka laau, lauoho loloa. 10E lóha ana i ka la i o Kailua la, i-u-a, O ke ku moena ololi a ehu O ku’u aina kai paeaea. Ea, hoea iluna o Mauna Kilohana, Na kaha poohiwi mau no he inoa. 15Ua noa e, ua pii’a kou wahi kapu, e-e! I a’e ’a mai e ha’i.
[Translation.]
Song
CANTO I
Leaf of lehua and noni-tint, the Kona sea, Iridescent saffron and red, Changeable watered red, peculiar to Kona; Red are the uplands Alaea; 5All, ’tis the flame-red stained robes of women Much tossed by caress or desire. The weed-tangled water-way shines like a rope of pearls, Dew-pearls that droop the coco leaf, The hair of the trees, their long locks— 10Lo, they wilt in the heat of Kailua the deep. A mat spread out narrow and gray, A coigne of land by the sea where the fisher drops hook. Now looms the mount Kilohana— Ah, ye wood-shaded heights, everlasting your fame! 15Your tabu is gone! your holy of holies invaded! Broke down by a stranger!
The intricately twisted language of this mele is allegorical, a rope whose strands are inwrought with passion, envy, detraction, and abuse. In translating it one has to choose between the poetic verbal garb and the esoteric meaning which the bard made to lurk beneath the surface.
Mele
PALE II
Kauó pu ka iwa kala-pahe’e, Ka iwa, ka manu o Kaula i ka makani. E ka manu o-ú pani-wai o Lehua, O na manu kapu a Kuhai-moana, 5Mai hele a luna o Lei-no-ai, O kolohe, o alai mai ka Unu-lau. Puni’a iluna o ka Halau-a-ola; A ola aku i ka luna o Maka-iki-olea, I ka lulu, i ka la’i o kai maio, 10Ma ka ha’i-wá, i ka mole o Lehua la, Le-hú-a! O na lehua o Alaka’i ka’u aloha, O na lehua iluna o Ko’i-alana; Ua nonoho hooipo me ke kohe-kohe; Ua anu, maeele i ka ua noe. 15Ua mai oe; kau a’e ka naná, laua nei, e-e, Na ’lii e o’oni mai nei, e-e!
[Translation.]
Song
CANTO II
The iwa flies heavy to nest in the brush, Its haunt on windy Ke-ula. The watch-bird, that fends off the rain from Le-hu-a— Bird sacred to Ku-hai, the shark-god— 5Shrieks, “Light not on terrace of Lei-no-ai, Lest Unu-lau fiercely assail you.” Storm sweeps the cliffs of the islet; A covert they seek neath the hills, In the sheltered lee of the gale, 10The cove at the base of Le-hu-a. The shady groves there enchant them, The scarlet plumes of lehua. Love-dalliance now by the water-reeds, Till cooled and appeased by the rain-mist. 15Pour on, thou rain, the two heads press the pillow: Lo, prince and princess stir in their sleep!
The scene of this mele is laid on one of the little bird-islands that lie to the northwest of Kauai. The iwa bird, flying heavily to his nesting place in the wiry grass (kala-pahee), symbolizes the flight of a man in his deep-laden pirogue, abducting the woman of his love. The screaming sea-birds that warn him off the island, represented as watch-guards of the shark-god Kuhai-moana (whose reef is still pointed out), figure the outcries of the parents and friends of the abducted woman.
After the first passionate outburst (Puni’a iluna o ka Halau-a-ola) things go more smoothly (ola, ...). The flight to covert from the storm, the cove at the base of Le-hu-a, the shady groves, the scarlet pompons of the lehua—the tree and the island have the same name—all these things are to be interpreted figuratively as emblems of woman’s physical charms and the delights of love-dalliance.
Mele
PALE III
(Ai-ha’a)
Ku aku la Kea-aú, lele ka makani mawaho, Ulu-mano, ma ke kaha o Wai-o-lono. Ua moani lehua a’e la mauka; Kani lehua iluna o Kupa-koili, 5I ka o ia i ka lau o ka hala, Ke poo o ka hala o ke aku’i. E ku’i e, e ka uwalo. Loli ka mu’o o ka hala, A helelei ka pua, a pili ke alanui: 15Pu ia Pana-ewa, ona-ona i ke ala, I ka nahele makai o Ka-unu-loa la. Nani ke kaunu, ke kaunu a ke alii, He puni ina’i poi na maua. Ua hala ke Kau a me ka Hoilo, 15Mailaila mai no ka hana ino. Ino mai oe, noho malie aku no hoi au; Hopo o’ ka inaina, ka wai, e-e; Wiwo au, hopohopo iho nei, e-e!
[Translation.]
Song
CANTO III
(In turgid style)
A storm, from the sea strikes Ke-au, Ulu-mano, sweeping across the barrens; It sniffs the fragrance of upland lehua, Turns back at Kupa-koili; 5Sawed by the blows of the palm leaves, The groves of pandanus in lava shag; Their fruit he would string ’bout his neck; Their fruit he finds wilted and crushed, Mere rubbish to litter the road— 10Ah, the perfume! Pana-ewa is drunk with the scent; The breath of it spreads through the groves. Vainly flares the old king’s passion, Craving a sauce for his meat and mine. The summer has flown; winter has come: 15Ah, that is the head of our troubles. Palsied are you and helpless am I; You shrink from a plunge in the water; Alas, poor me! I’m a coward.
The imagery of this mele sets forth the story of the fierce, but fruitless, love-search of a chief, who is figured by the Ulu-mano, a boisterous wind of Puna, Hawaii. The fragrance of upland lehua (moani lehua, a’e la mauka, verse 3) typifies the charms of the woman he pursues. The expression kani lehua (verse 4), literally the sudden ending of a rain-squall, signifies the man’s failure to gain his object. The lover seeks to string the golden drupe of the pandanus (halo), that he may wear them as a wreath about his neck (uwalo); he is wounded by the teeth of the sword-leaves (o ia i ka lau o ka hala, verse 5). More than this, he meets powerful, concerted resistance (ke poo o ka hala o ke aku’i, verse 6), offered by the compact groves of pandanus that grow in the rough lava-shag (aku’i), typifying, no doubt, the resistance made by the friends and retainers of the woman. After all, he finds, or declares that he finds, the hala fruit he had sought to gather and to wear as a lei about his neck, to be spoiled, broken, fit only to litter the road (loli ka mu’o o ka hala, verse 8; A helelei ka’pua, a pili ke alanui, verse 9). In spite of his repulse and his vilification of the woman, his passion, still feeds on the thought of the one he has lost; her charms intoxicate his imagination, even as the perfume of the hala bloom bewitches the air of Pana-ewa (Pu ia Panaewa, ona-ona i ke ala, verse 10).
It is difficult to interpret verses 12 to 18 in harmony with the story as above given. They may be regarded as a commentary on the passionate episode in the life of the lover, looked at from the standpoint of old age, at a time when passion still survives but physical strength is in abeyance.
As the sugar-boiler can not extract from the stalk the last grain of sugar, so the author finds it impossible in any translation to express the full intent of these Hawaiian mele.
Mele
PALE IV
Aole au e hele ka li’u-lá o Maná,
A e hoopunipuni ia a’e nei ka malihini;
A mai puni au: lie wai oupe na.
5
He ala-pahi ka li’u-lá o Maná;
Ua ulu mai ka hoaloha i Wailua,
10
He mea e wale au e noho aku nei la.
Noho.
O ka noho kau a ka mea waiwai;
O kau ka i’a a haawi ia mai.
Oli-oli au ke loaa ia oe.
15
He alualu hewa a’e la ka malihini,
Kukuni hewa i ka ili a kau ka uli, e;
Kau ka uli a ka mea aloha, e.
[Translation.]
Song
CANTO IV
I will not chase the mirage of Maná, That man-fooling mist of god Lima-loa, Which still deceives the stranger— And came nigh fooling me—the tricksy water! 5The mirage of Maná, is a fraud; it Wantons with the witch Koolau. A friend has turned up at Wailua, Changeful Kawelo, with gills like a fish, Has power to bring luck in any queer shape. 10As a stranger now am I living, Aye, living. You flaunt like a person of wealth, Yours the fish, till it comes to my hook. I am blest at receiving from you: 15Like fire-sticks flung at Ka-maile— The visitor vainly chases the brand: Fool! he burns his flesh to gain, the red mark, A sign for the girl he loves, oho!
Mele
PALE V
(Ai-ha’a, a he Ko’i-honua paha)
Kauhua Ku, ka Lani, i-loli ka moku; Hookohi ke kua-koko o ka Lani; He kua-koko, pu-koko i ka honua; He kna-koko kapu no ka Lani; 5He ko’i ula ana a maku’i i ka ala, Hoomau ku-wá mahu ia, Ka maka o ke ahi alii e a nei. Ko mai ke keiki koko a ka Lani, Ke keiki he nuuhiwa ia Hitu-kolo, 10O ke keiki hiapo anuenue, iloko o ka manawa, O hi ka wai nui o ka nuuhiwa a Ke-opu-o-lani, O ua alii lani alewa-lewa nei, E u-lele, e ku nei ma ka lani; O ka Lani o na mu’o-lau o Liliha, 15Ka hakina, ka pu’e, ka maka, o Kuhi-hewa a Lola— Kalola, nana ke keiki laha-laha; Ua kela, he kela ka pakela O na pahi’a loa o ka pu likoliko i ka lani O kakoo hulu manu o o-ulu, 20O ka hulu o-ku’i lele i ka lani, O hiapo o ka manu leina a Pokahi, O Ka-lani-opu’u hou o ka moku, O na kupuna koikoi o Keoua, o ka Lani Kui-apo-iwa.
[Translation.]
Song
CANTO V
(To be recited in bombastic style, or, it may be, distinctly)
Big with child is the Princess Ku; The whole island suffers her whimsies; The pangs of labor are on her; Labor that stains the land with blood, 5Blood-clots of the heavenly born, To preserve and guard the royal line, The spark of king-fire now glowing: A child is he of heavenly stock, Like the darling of Hitu-kolo, 10First womb-fruit born to love’s rainbow. A bath for this child of heaven’s breast, This mystical royal offspring, Who ranks with the heavenly peers, This tender bud of Liliha, 15This atom, this parcel, this flame, In the line Kuhi-hewa of Lola— Ka-lola, who mothered a babe prodigious, For glory and splendor renowned, A scion most comely from heaven, 20The finest down of the new-grown plume, From bird whose moult floats to heaven, Prime of the soaring birds of Pokahi, The prince, heaven-flower of the island, Ancestral sire of Ke-oua, 25And of King Kui-apo-iwa.
The heaping up of adulations, of which this mele is a capital instance, was not peculiar to Hawaiian poetry. The Roman Senate bestowed divinity on its emperors by vote; the Hawaiian bard laureate, careering on his Pegasus, thought to accomplish the same end by piling Ossa on Pelion with high-flown phrases; and every loyal subject added his contribution to the cairn that grew heavenward.
In Hawaii, as elsewhere, the times of royal debasement, of aristocratic degeneracy, of doubtful or disrupted succession, have always been the times of loudest poetic insistence on birth-rank and the occasion for the most frenzied utterance of high-sounding titles. This is a disease that has grown with the decay of monarchy.
Applying this criterion to the mele above given, it may be judged to be by no means a product wholly of the archaic period. While certain parts, say from the first to the tenth verses, inclusive, bear the mark of antiquity, the other parts do not ring clear. It seems as if some poet of comparatively modern times had revamped an old mele to suit his own ends. Of this last part two verses were so glaringly an interpolation that they were expunged from the text.
The effort to translate into pure Anglo-Saxon this vehement outpour of high-colored phrases has made heavy demands on the vocabulary and has strained the idioms of our speech well-nigh to the point of protest.
In lines 1, 2, 4, 8, 14, and 23 the word Lani means a prince or princess, a high chief or king, a heavenly one. In lines 12, 13, 18, and 20 the same word lani means the heavens, a concept in the Hawaiian mind that had some far-away approximation to the Olympus of classic Greece.
Mele
Ooe no paha ia, e ka lau o ke aloha, Oia no paha ia ke kau mai nei ka hali’a. Ke hali’a-li’a mai nei ka maka, Manao hiki mai no paha an anei. 5Hiki mai no la ia, na wai e uwe aku? Ua pau kau la, kau ike iaia; Ka manawa oi’ e ai ka manao iloko. Ua luu iho nei an i ke kai nui; Nui ka ukiuki, paio o ka naau. 10Aone kanaka eha ole i ke aloha. A wahine e oe, kanaka e au; He mau alualu ka ha’i e lawe. Ike aku i ke kula i’a o Ka-wai-nui. Nui ka opala ai o Moku-lana. 15Lana ka limu pae hewa o Makau-wahine. O ka wahine no oe, o ke kane no ia. Hiki mai no la ia, na wai e uwe aku? Hoi mai no la ia, a ia wai e uwe aku?
[Translation.]
Song
Methinks it is you, leaf plucked from Love’s tree,
You mayhap, that stirs my affection.
There’s a tremulous glance of the eye,
The thought she might chance yet to come:
5
But who then would greet her with song?
Your day has flown, your vision of her—
A time this for gnawing the heart.
I’ve plunged just now in deep waters:
Oh the strife and vexation of soul!
10
No mortal goes scathless of love.
A wife thou estranged, I a husband estranged,
Look, the swarming of fish at the weir!
Their feeding grounds on the reef
15
Are waving with mosses abundant.
Thou art the woman, that one your man—
At her coming who’ll greet her with song?
Her returning, who shall console?
This song almost explains itself. It is the soliloquy of a lover estranged from his mistress. Imagination is alive in eye and ear to everything that may bring tidings of her, even of her unhoped-for return. Sometimes he speaks as if addressing the woman who has gone from him, or he addresses himself, or he personifies some one who speaks to him, as in the sixth line: “Your day has flown, ...”
The memory of past vexation and anguish extorts the philosophic remark, “No mortal goes scathless of love.” He gives over the past, seeks consolation in a new attachment—he dives, lu’u, into the great ocean, “deep waters,” of love, at least in search of love. The old self (selves), the old love, he declares to be only alualu, empty husks.
Mele
O Ewa, aina kai ula i ka lepo, I ula i ka makani anu Moa’e, Ka manu ula i ka lau ka ai, I palahe’a ula i ke kai o Kuhi-á. 5Mai kuhi mai oukou e, owau ke kalohe; Aohe na’u, na lakou no a pau. Aohe hewa kekahi keiki a ke kohe. Ei’ a’e; oia no palm ia. I lono oukou ia wai, e, ua moe? 10Oia kini poai o lakou la paha? Ike aku ia ka mau’u hina-hina— He hina ko’u, he aka mai ko ia la. I aka mai oe i kou la manawa le’a; A manawa ino, nui mai ka nuku, 15Hoomokapu, hoopale mai ka maka, Hoolahui wale mai i a’u nei. E, oia paha; ae, oia no paha ia.
[Translation.]
Song
Ewa’s lagoon is red with dirt— Dust blown by the cool Moa’e, A plumage red on the taro leaf, An ocherous tint in the bay. 5Say not in your heart that I am the culprit. Not I, but they, are at fault. No child of the womb is to blame. There goes, likely he is the one. Who was it blabbed of the bed defiled? 10It must have been one of that band. But look at the rank grass beat down— For my part, I tripped, the other one smiled. You smiled in your hour of pleasure; But now, when crossed, how you scold! 15Avoiding the house, averting the eyes— You make of me a mere stranger. Yes it’s probably so, he’s the one.
A poem this full of local color. The plot of the story, as it may be interpreted, runs somewhat as follows: While the man of the house, presumably, is away, it would seem—fishing, perhaps, in the waters of Ewa’s “shamrock lagoon”—the mistress sports with a lover. The culprit impudently defends himself with chaff and dust-throwing. The hoodlums, one of whom is himself the sinner, have been blabbing, says he. His accuser points to the beaten down hina-hina grass as evidence against him. At this the brazen-faced culprit parries the stroke with a humorous euphemistic description, in which he plays on the word hina, to fall. Such verbal tilting in ancient Hawaii was practically a defense against a charge of moral obliquity as decisive and legitimate as was an appeal to arms in the times of chivalry. He euphemistically speaks of the beaten herbage as the result of his having tripped and fallen, at which, says he, the woman smiled, that is she fell in with his proposals. He gives himself away; but that doesn’t matter.
It requires some study to make out who is the speaker in the tit-for-tat of the dialogue.
Mele
(Ai-ha’a)
He lua i ka Hikina, Ua ena e Pele; Ke haoloolo e la ke ao, Ke lele la i-luna, i-lalo; 5Kawewe ka o-ó i-lalo i akea; A ninau o Wakea, Owai nei akua e eli nei? Owan no, o Pele, Nona i eli aku ka lua i Niihau a a. 10He lua i Niihau, ua ena e Pele. He haoloolo e la ke ao, Ke lele la i-luna, i-lalo; Kawewe ka o-ó i-lalo i akea; A ninau o Wakea, 15Owai nei akua e eli nei? Owau no, o Pele, Nana i eli aku ka lua i Kauai a a. He lua i Kauai ua ena e Pele. Ke haoloolo e la ke ao, 20Ke lele la i-luna, i-lalo; Kawewe ka o-ó i-Ialo i akea; Ninau o Wakea, Owai nei akua e eli nei? Owau no, o Pele, 25Nana i eli ka lua i Oahu a a. He lua i Oahu, 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; 30A ninau o Wakea, Owai nei akua e eli nei? Owau no, o Pele, Nana i eli ka lua i Molokai a a. He lua i Molokai, ua ena e Pele. 35Ke haoloolo e la ke ao, Ke lele la i-luna, i-lalo; Kawewe ka o-ó i-lalo, i akea. Ninau o Wakea, Owai nei akua e eli nei? 40Owau no, o Pele, Nana i eli aku ka lua i Lanai a a. He lua i Lanai, ua ena e Pele. Ke haoloolo e la ke ao, Ke lele la i-luna, i-lalo; 45Kawewe ka o-ó i-lalo i akea. Ninau o Wakea, Owai nei akua e eli nei? Owau no, o Pele, Nana i eli aku ka lua i Maul a a. 50He lua i Maui, 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. Ninau o Wakea, 55Owai, nei akua e eli nei? Owau no, o Pele, 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, 60Ke 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; 5The 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, 10Dug 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, 15What 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. 20The 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? 25I 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; 30There’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, 35To 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, 40What 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; 45Heaven’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 50Dug 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; 55A 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, 60A 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: 65The 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, 5Nana 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; 10Pa 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; 15Ohia 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. 20Ola 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, 5From 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 sea up-swells, invading the land— Lo Kane, outstretched at his ease! 10Smoke and flame o’ershadow the uplands, Conflagration by Laka, the woman Hopoe wreathed with flowers of lehua, Stringing the pandanus fruit. Screw-palms that clash in Pan’-ewa— 15Pan’-ewa, whose groves of lehua Are nourished by lava shag, Lehua that bourgeons with flame. Night, it is night O’er Puna and Hilo! 20Night from the smoke of my land! For the people salvation! But the land is on fire!
The Hawaiian who furnished the meles which, in their translated forms, are designated as canto I, canto II, and so on, spoke of them as pále, and, following his nomenclature, the term has been retained, though more intimate acquaintance with the meles and with the term has shown that the nearest English synonym to correspond with pale would be the word division. Still, perhaps with a mistaken tenderness for the word, the author has retained the caption Canto, as a sort of nodding recognition of the old Hawaiian’s term—division of a poem. No idea is entertained that the five pále above given were composed by the same bard, or that they represent productions from the same individual standpoint. They do, however, breathe a spirit much in common; so that when the old Hawaiian insisted that they are so far related to one another as to form a natural series for recitation in the hula, being species of the same genus, as it were, he was not far from the truth. The man’s idea seemed to be that they were so closely related that, like beads of harmonious colors and shapes, they might be strung on the same thread without producing a dissonance.
Of these five poems, or pále (páh-lay), numbers I, II, and IV were uttered in a natural tone of voice, termed kawele, otherwise termed ko’i-honua. The purpose of this style of recitation was to adapt the tone to the necessities of the aged when their ears no longer heard distinctly. It would require an audiphone to illustrate perfectly the difference between this method of pronunciation and the ai-ha’a, which was employed in the recitation of cantos III and V. The ai-ha’a was given in a strained and guttural tone.
The poetical reciter and cantillator, whether in the halau or in the king’s court, was wont to heighten the oratorical effect of his recitation by certain crude devices, the most marked of which was that of choking the voice down, as it were, into the throat, and there letting it strain and growl like a hungry lion. This was the ai-ha’a, whose organic function was the expression of the underground passions of the soul.
