The beat of the poi is known as the heartbeat of Papatūānuku (Earth Mother) From Tāne Māhuta (Guardian of the Forest) came Harakeke (Flax) Then came Raupō (Bulrush) And Muka (Flax Thread) And Taura (Rope) And Here (Cord). And Awe (Plume) These are the origins of the poi. Throughout Aotearoa, each iwi have their own stories, their own history and their own expression of what poi means to them. Some of the oldest stories of poi in Aotearoa come from Taranaki where traditional poi in religion and passive resistance remain today. When I was growing up, we returned to Parihaka. As I neared my teens, I began hearing the stories of that time. It's not that I'm fussy when I'm asking people to learn the poi, but for me they have to have a genealogical link to the poi, cause they don't get it otherwise. They don't get, I believe that we carry the emotion of that time, and people don't get, or cannot imagine what it was in that time and I believe when we sing, when we do those poi, it's sort of like that 'through the veil'. We're providing an entry point through the veil for people to touch on that emotion from that time. How can you smile when you're portraying someone in chains trying to look behind on the boat, looking for the mountains and wondering are his women and children being raped? They've sacked the pā. Who's going to look after them? So you know, people don't - unless you genealogical link to it and they've done a bit of working through it - they just don't get what we're trying to sing. I saw everything my father would describe how they did the poi and why they did the poi They would poi until there were tears. The drums - when you heard it, the sound would touch your soul. When you hear the patter of the poi, the many beats of the poi, you understand that the pain the women felt back then lives on, it lives on in the collective consciousness of Taranaki, but the historic pain lies especially heavy in Parihaka. Why do we use the beat of the drum when we perform the poi? Why would we? It is, after all, a Pākehā instrument. It was the instrument the soldiers would use to herald their arrival at marae throughout New Zealand. Our ancestors knew it meant the soldiers were coming to shoot them all dead. That's one issue people have, even today, aye, the young people remark 'that's a Pāhekā thing!' It's a drum to remind us. And I said, well, you need to understand how the kuia saw it. It was evidence. They'd hear it, they'd see the dust rising, and when they heard the drum, they'd begin to sing. As they hid, waiting, they'd listen, not knowing whether they'd live to see the sun rise again or die. That's the significance. For me, I'm honouring our women of that generation when I stand to do poi. I'm honouring our ancestors and it's a gift that I have that I am able to transfer to the next generation. For me, that's what our poi are. They don't have a lot of expression as what the modern poi do, but for me, they are very quick to be able to tell people a story and know that it's something different and something to listen to, this is worth your while listening to and so I love our poi, and I'm honoured that I'm part of the group that will continue to carry it. So that's a vision that I have, is that we have people that we've given them the strength to stand and just poi people on to the marae and use the poi as that journey. Te Arawa are known for their poi in tourism, but the essence of poi still comes from the heart. It's my world. The poi is the ball of knowledge for me. I think of my grandmother. She exemplified the women of home, of Te Awahou. I'm doing what the elderly women did at that time. By doing the poi today, we're emanating their actions, what they told us and we keep them in our heart by doing poi. It was where they could actually be feminine – their unique feminine style. The beats, the rhythm, bringing it to life, understanding what we're doing. Whether we're gonna go up, down, and everywhere else, when we hit a beat, you're saying something different. You can feel it within your heart, or you should do. When I think of the poi, I found it hard to hit a poi for a start, and then we had to make the poi before we even begin to learn the poi. I think the biggest one here is about the history behind it, In terms of our oral histories, we refer to the heavens. The source of all substances. Poi derives from there, from the gods who provide for us. I think that's the biggest one that we have here. That's what we believe, and you know. We gather the raupō (bulrush) and the harakeke (flax), all the resources. And who do we pray to? We pray to the gods. And then the elderly women told us 'go into the forest and get the green moss from out of the forest'. What sort of a moss is that? But I remember I was told, because we lived in the forest, not far from the forest and I said 'what do we put it in?' and they went 'raupō!' And where do we get that from?! She said 'in the water.' 'Oh, okay… Where's that?' So we went to get it. Pulled all the raupō out which took a long process, so we did it in stages so that we had the raupō drying at different times, so that we can use it. You get it, you strip it, and that's one of them I can see hanging up here. Like that. That's part of the raupō, but it's green and when it dries, you scrape the inside, and you wrap it around the poi and you keep all the moss in that way. I said 'and how do you tie it?' I said 'with the flax.' Plenty flax around. So my grandmother would be doing the washing, I'd be on the bank practicing my exercises, first with the socks, rugby socks. While I'm doing that, my grandmother's asking me 'what do you see?' And of course - I see the river, the shapes of the leaves, and I'm going aw yeah, well I can see the sun coming through the trees. Okay, I'm a village kid, mischief, wouldn't listen, when I did stand up, I had the wrong stance, my feet were all over the place, so my grandmother would say ''well, come to the riverbank.' So in the river I'd go, and it was incredible. It made me feel so free. I didn't click at first, but I've sure got it now. It's where we get the creation of the poi – by the river, the environment, the trees, even the sound of our birds, the butterfly too. When you witness the women performing the poi, you are bearing witness to the natural environment of Rangiwewehi in its entirety. As you see the gentle flow of the water, you see the fluid actions of the women, the sway of the trees. You hear thunder when the poi slaps hard. When it slaps gently, you hear the pitter-patter of the rain. And so it is that when you see the women of Rangiwewehi perform the poi, you are bearing witness to the environment of Rangiwewehi, from the land to the river's mouth. There's something ethereal about such a woman. When you see a woman, her skin slick with oil, feathers in her hair, wearing her costume, her poi flying, her eyes alight like so, to see such a woman, brings joy to the heart. When I see my darling performing the poi, I am instantly aroused. That's the power the poi has over me, even if only for a fleeting moment. This kind of stimulation also epitomises the stimulus in our environment, like this grand tree standing before us. As the saying goes, arousal of that kind, sure is pleasurable. These things need to be said, because this type of banter is seldom heard these days. Pākehā might look askance and protest at such comments, but we have the right to banter. Hopefully if our children are taught right, our poi will live on. If it's been explained, what I've just explained to you, it'll keep it in their heart. But then you gotta find somebody who can tell them, don't you? That's mine because I do this a lot. It's Māori tradition. And I continue to do that. Like Ngamoni - She's doing her book, and so am I. It's something that is done day and night. That's that. Because if we don't, then what? It will all be lost. Our children carry on the teachings that have been handed down to myself and a few others in Rangiwewehi, and they uphold that gift. Tāmaki Makaurau, a place where urban life has influenced a new generation. The styles are very different. The styles are mixed. We are from all over, and so there's different styles from each iwi or hapū and I think that it's wonderful that we can accept all that, and I think that we have to, to allow our form to grow. It's a vehicle for women to express our views on something, to express our femininity in a particular area and the evolution of poi that's happening at the moment, it's quite provocative. You see a lot of body movement now, and poi actions are starting to become quite simple because the body's starting to talk now. It was really hard because it was the first time we've ever had a fast, upbeat poi and it was hard to put actions to. And the message in 'Taiea Te Tū' is that you don't have to put everything out on the table for a guy, you know? You can still hold yourself with dignity and still come across as interesting to somebody. Poi is the theatrical item. It's multi-layered. It's almost like the one where all the lights and the smoke machines come out and you can go from a slow-paced to a fast-paced and then back again. And it's also another vehicle. As Māori, we personify things within our environment, and I can look at the poi at the nationals, and people personify birds, people personify mountains. That's a very Māori thing to do. There's so many possibilities of moves. Whether you're the one doing it, or whether you're watching them do it and you really find more of a deeper appreciation to poi and not only that, but to the work and effort that others put into poi. But in saying that, I think that poi can be used for therapy. Poi can definitely help the mind and the body at the same time. Now, more males are being more involved with poi more than usual, I think and people are being able to identify that the male influence within poi is more dominant and more identifiable nowadays, it's absolutely amazing. Beats. It was all about beats, footwork, head flicks. It was pulled off when you've done it right, when you haven't overdone it. Because it's important we evolve in our art form, and we've gotta keep moving forward and pushing boundaries, but remember the underlying motivation as well. The meaning behind the lyrics are of the utmost importance. They are the heart of it. What is of beauty is the different people from each iwi who live together in Auckland and they bring their own meaning of their own compositions, of their iwi or hapū and we live it here in Auckland and of course it teaches our children all about it. It's not just one. 'Oh, that's Te Arawa. Oh that's so-and-so.' In Auckland, you see it all. I'm looking at all the youth at this time. They're great innovators, they're great creators and they're not afraid to do anything. But in the meantime, too, they still need someone a bit wiser than they are. Having to judge the poi has taught me a lot in my judging as to the fine points of poi, a beautiful art form of our Māoritanga, and we must hold on to it. I want to leave it for them (the next generation) to speak for themselves. The future is theirs. Now, maybe even tomorrow, I'll be gone. They are leading now. It's what I'd like our children to know. Don't forget who you are and where you're going to.