Chelsea Hepi, Tainui Tauroa, Ranui Isaacs, Eden Nuku, and Chareef-leen Reti
(FINAL WINNER)
Te Kura Kaupapa Māori o Te Ara Hou in Napier
Translation (Te Moenga Manawa Kiore) from English into te reo Māori of The Death Bed by Siegfried Sassoon
Te Kura Kaupapa Māori o Te Ara Hou in Napier
Translation (Te Moenga Manawa Kiore) from English into te reo Māori of The Death Bed by Siegfried Sassoon
Te Moenga Manawa Kiore
Hinamoe ia ka rongo tonu i te haumūmū i taupūtia ponitakatia i a ia anō, maupū i te pūkeke o ngā pakitara. Ka rewa pērā i ngā hīhī hūmenga Hāro ake rā, tīkorikori ake rā, i ngā parirau o te moe. Ngū katoa me te wehikore; ko tōna ākau ira tangata E pōhutuhutu ana i ngā karekare Māhina-kore o te mate. Nānao tētahi i te wai ki tōna waha I horopū, tē ātete; i nguru noa, i rere i te pākurakura o hinapōuri Kia ngaro atu te kakapa-ā-taru Me te mamae o tōna taotūtanga. Wai- marino noa, papa pounamu e pāheke ana ki ngā pā. Wai – ko Te Ara Reikura mō tōna waka. Kua taiapangia e ngā manu rōreka me ngā ataahanga ō ngā ota ō Tāne. Me ngā tae pīoioi o te Raumati e pōteretere ana ki raro, I tautau te hoe māoriori, i mapu, i moe. Maruāpō, me he pūkerekere o te hau i te waari, I purea te ārai hei ānau pīataata. Te Pō Kerekere - I kāpō ai; tē kite i ngā whētu. E tīramarama ana i waenga i ngā wairua o ngā kapua hūmenga. Ngā kōpurepure tae rerekē, waiporoporo, ngangana, kākariki. Teretere me te māwhe i ōna karu e toromi ana. Ua - I rongo ia e ngaehe ana mā te wheuri; Kakara kore, kohara kore te pūoro i rāranga kia whakakōtahi Hāuaua mahana ki runga tonu i ngā rōhi; kōpatapata ana kia waiwai te ngahere; ehara i te ua kaku e tārake ana ki muri iho i te whaitiri, engari he maungarongo e māturuturu ana, He ngawari, he pōturi hoki tana hari atu i te manawa ora. I nuku, i neke, kātahi ka rongo ai i te ngārara whakamoka nei e tūrakina ana i tōna moemoea ko ōna matikara e taurapirapi ana, ko ōna niho rei e tetē ana. I tōna taha tētahi; takitaro, i takoto wiriwiri ai i te ngarotanga atu o te aparangi rā me te mōhio ko te Ringa kaha ō Aituā tēnā i whakatata mai, i okioki mai nei, whetē noa mai nei. Whakakā ngā rama, tū pārekereke ai i te moengā Nama atu ōu kānohi hōmiromiro, tō toto mahana, tō hiahia kia ora. Kōrero atu ki a ia, whakakenakena ia, ka karokaro pea koe kia ora tonu ia. He taitamariki tonu ia; e matakawa ana ia ki Te Pakanga;me pēhea tana mate Ki te ora tonu ngā kaiwhakahaere koroheke? Engari, ka whakautua e Aituā; ‘Māku ia’. Nā, i haere ia, ā, i ngū te pō Raumati; Ko te mū, ko te āhuru mōwai; ko te ārai o te moe. Kātahi, ki tawhiti, ko ngā pū e pakō ana. |
The Death Bed (1916) – Siegfried Sassoon
He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls; Aqueous like floating rays of amber light, Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep. Silence and safety; and his mortal shore Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death. Someone was holding water to his mouth. He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped Through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot The opiate throb and ache that was his wound. Water – calm, sliding green above the weir. Water – a sky-lit alley for his boat, Bird-voiced, and bordered with reflected flowers And shaken hues of summer; drifting down, He dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept. Night, with a gust of wind, was in the ward, Blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve. Night. He was blind; he could not see the stars Glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud; Queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green, Flickered and faded in his drowning eyes. Rain-he could hear it rustling through the dark; Fragrance and passionless music woven as one; Warm rain on drooping roses; pattering showers That soak the woods; not the harsh rain that sweeps Behind the thunder, but a trickling peace,. He stirred, shifting his body; then the pain Leapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and tore His groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs. But someone was beside him; soon he lay Shuddering because that evil thing had passed. And death, who’d stepped toward him, paused and stared. Light many lamps and gather round his bed. Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live. Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet. He’s young; he hated War; how should he die When cruel old campaigners win safe through? But death replied: ‘I choose him.’ So he went, And there was silence in the summer night; Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep. Then, far away, the thudding of the guns. |