^{On viewing Gauguin's Mana'o Tupapa'u ,The Spirit of the Dead Keep Watch}

The chill of violet around you,
Olympia of Oceania, you lie pito down:
a burnished, brown body like mine, draped
over white sheets. And for the moment,
I can't move ⎯ How did we get here?
Your framed face turning toward mine,
I see a pleading in your eyes, on your lips
                                                                      a moan of dread.

            Quickly I struck a match, and I saw Tehura,
            immobile, naked, lying face downward on the bed:
            Feet crossed at the ankle, hands palm down, eyes
            inordinately large with fear.

I draw closer to you, mounted on the wall ⎯

            Never had I seen her so beautiful, so tremulously beautiful

see waves of dark hair tucked
behind your delicate ear, pulled
violently from your face, neck.
Your seduction rendered ⎯

            With a scattering of flowers,
            completely naked, waiting for love. Indecent!

through brush strokes of bronze:
arching your back, lifting your chin to meet
                                                        a ceaseless stare.

            She seemed not to know who I was, and I too
            felt a strange uncertainty, in this half-light ⎯

Behind you, the spirit of the dead,

            a dangerous apparition only she could see

more his than yours, looms in black, stares⎯

            I was afraid to move. Might she not take me for a tupapa'u?

blankly, unbending. In its hand,
the spark of a bud lights the tiares⎯

            Yet, such coppery beauty, gold skin ⎯

on your mattress, each blossom opening
                                                        into a glorious sneer.

            ... and the night was soft, soft and ardent, a night of the tropics...

E Tehura, my pokiʻi,
in your face I see my own,
the same curves and shadow twisting
into a sad silence. I know
this is not who we are, not Why or How⎯

only smoke from flailing ghosts, tricks
of fading light, only the wash of gold paint over
                                                        this rotting wood frame.

 

^{Italicized stanzas are excerpts from Paul Gauguin’s autobiography, Noa Noa, translated by O.F. Theis (1920), selected letters and journal excerpts.}