Scenic Dream

Daryl Crimp - cartoonist/author:
"The sorry saga of 1080 use in New Zealand
is full of intrigue, mystery, lies, deceit,
cover ups and corruption that has not only
divided a nation, but pitched New Zealand
onto the world stage where our little
country, cloaked in it's pathetic Clean
Green facade, is being mocked by a more
enlightened world. All the ingredients of a
top international political thriller? It is just
that and Kate Winters has captured the
essence of the 1080 saga and woven into a
story rich in character, fast in pace and
intense in suspense.
While the novel is a work of fiction, the
story that unfolds is born of real events."

Haere ki te wai - a poem na rapata

some people seem to know which living things are best
which should be protected and which should be the pest
they say the forest's dying and possums are a crime
and poison is a magic bullet, just in time
I think the earth's our mother, our father is the sky
a possum is our brother and a plank is in our eye
ancient forests vanishing to factories and flame
all across the wounded earth - the beasts are not to blame
I'm listening to the waterfall, I'm listening to the rain
I'm thinking of a mountain stream that's flowing to the plain
I'm thinking of the things I learned from those first here
when Tane ruled the wilderness and all the streams were clear
if there is a sickness, a journey to begin
if there is a trouble, if there is a sin
kneeling at the waters edge, washing skin and hair
healing and protection are offered to us there
after the poisoning, after the rain
kneeling at the waters edge, will it be the same?
I've listened to the arguments: "The job must be done
we have to find an answer - there's really only one
poison drops are practical, poison drops are cheap
you can't put people on the ground, its far too steep
young people nowadays haven't got the guts
we can't supply the tracks for them, we can't supply the huts"
I was in my twenties when possum skins were gold
we took them in the winter, seriously cold
over in the Leslie, stripping off the furs
going up the ridges and going down the spurs
we left a lot of campsites, we blazed a lot of track
we made a bit of money and we knocked the possums back
in the Urewera, 1998
Iwi said to government "Forget the poison bait
the forest is our basket, we like our water clean
and we get a lot of visitors who don't think poison's green
in the Urewera, 2001
trappers working on the ground - the job is being done
I'm wondering if science is really all we need
I'm thinking it is fortunate that Iwi disagreed
those who represent us and ponder what is best
listen to the scientists but don't forget the rest
ample use of pesticides is not exactly new
they told us it was safe enough other times too
I'm thinking with my fingertips, I'm thinking with my breath
I'm thinking life is sacred, and so is death
I'm thinking of a poison drop a river valley long
from Hoary Head to Glover's Flat - I'm thinking it is wrong
I'm thinking of the people here who didn't get a vote
and Te Waikoropupu Spring with poison in her throat
our forest is a web of life we barely understand
and still we try to fix it up with poison in our hand
can't we knock the possums back without the poison bait?
perhaps we need to find out - perhaps we need to wait

From 'Scenic Dream or Silent Nightmare?'
By Robert Jenkin (Rapata) with kind permission, thank you for
letting me use your beautiful poem in my book.