A compost fever dream

I started playing with words while studying vocab today and accidentally wrote my first poem in Tonga. It’s probably chock full of grammatical errors but I’ll just claim poetic license. Unfortunately I can’t figure out how to insert audio I recorded, but here’s Tonga text, followed by rough English translation:  

Cilotoyota

Ndalikulota kuti ndalikuyota

A ndaluba kuyuba

Nibazovu batonga 

Balikupanga 

Coongo a cizongo

Kujata bulongo

Bandiamba:

“Amutwe twe a mutwe

A mutwe buci  mu busu wa mapusi

A mabbusu mu busi

Amulange! Mwakanga makanda

Mutali muyanga 

Muyandwa uyanda miyanda.”

Basibbuku nkobali bakabbuka kutuka tuuka a mabbuku 

Ponya ndabuka.

Ndilayota nindilalota

Ambweni , ndiza leza 

Kumangolezya balicesya

Bazuza, babweza mamango

 nimwezi ubala a babala 

 nyenyezi nci zilayamba

Bakwamba camba a jamba

Baamba mabbala mbuli

“Kamwamba, ndaboola”

Babbala imbula nci ibola

Ponya leza babamba mbolezi ambi

A kafumbwa mafumba

Ndayota nindalota

——

Fire-warmdream

 I was dreaming that I was getting warm by the fire

And forgot to hide myself

When Tongan elephants were making

Noise and woven bowls

To hold soil

They said to me: 

“Could you please pound the ashes and your head,

And pound the honey into the pumpkin flour

With your shoes in the smoke

Look! You’ve friend the rinds

Don’t be stupid

A beloved person needs roots”

The headman, who was there, appeared to put books and small insects on his head

Then I woke up.

I am warming myself by the fire while I dream:

Maybe, perhaps God

Is humble in the evening

He runs and gets mangos

While the moon shines and he counts/reads

The swimming stars

He scratches he chest with the hoe

Says some words, like “what’s up, I’m coming”

He carries the rotting imbula plums on his back

And then God makes other compost

With any type of dung.

I have sat by the fire while I’ve dreampt

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