DL: What role do you think poetry can play in expressing marginalised voices, especially in the context of the Pasifika and queer communities?

RLP: I think a lot of people who are put in the margins are naturals at storytelling. I guess we have to be, in a way, otherwise who else would tell our history or our truths in a way that honours where we come from?

I think poetry is another form of being able to go beyond the margin – to take up the whole page. I remember I did a 12-week paper in Wellington through Victoria Uni’s International Institute of Modern Letters, taught by Victor Rodger. It was a creative writing paper from Māori and Pasifika narratives, and it was hugely impactful on my writing.

I was lucky enough to have my portfolio marked by Tusiata Avia, and she gave me the advice to take up more space on the page – to write myself into the story more: ‘Tell me about how you experience the world and why.’

Through sharing that part of ourselves – however much you want to share – we open to the richness of who we are, what we are made up of, and how that honours our Elders and those who have helped set the path on fire.

DL: ‘Zapelu Kidz’ and ‘Ballad of my Bloody Brain’ demonstrate a really creative approach to formatting and use of white space on the page. How do you approach format when creating your poems?

RLP: I want to say just the vibe of the poem [laughs]. I feel like when I’m writing a poem, it tells me what to do. Some naturally just feel like they need the space of the page, others need the flow of a left and right margin, or to look and feel like an ocean or a river. Some feel like dancers and some are paragraphs.

I guess I go with how it feels at the time I’m writing – with the rhythm and the flow of the words. Other times, I’ll write in a certain format at first, put it down for a few weeks and when I come back to it, the whole format needs to change to be more loose or tight. I think when creating anything, listening to what you’re creating is a huge vibe for movement.

ZAPELU KIDZ
For Fetūolemoana Tamapeau

we all, move like we got the swell of the pacific flowing inside our skin

we all, high fives, electric slides, one, two steps

we all, big hair don't carryah
throw your hands in the aiiryaah

we all, making crop circles on the dance floor

taking
                                                                                    up
                                                                                                                                                space
                               tonight
                                                                    we
           are
                                                                                                                            the
                           Milky                                                 
                                                                                                                                  Way
we all, skuxx gods
we all, stop, drop, and roll
we all, not many if any, not many if any
we all, in the gutter churning butter into diamonds
we all, come break my chains come help me out
we all, nesians are you with me

we all, ancestor prophecies. star dreaming philosophies, anchors for the metaphysical. bloodlines soaked in holy ritual.

we all, descendents of universe weavers. revolutionary thinkers. wayfinding teachers. emancipation conceivers. 
master crafters. visionary artists

we all, academic intellects. freedom fighter architects. political trailblazers, artistic game changers. effervescent orators. 
land protectors. ego neglectors.






we all, unbury our tongues, say, come as you are, come heavy with shame. come soaking in regret. come afraid 
of the past. come eager to learn.

we all, know the reasons we shrink. the weight of grief. losing to survive. fighting to thrive.

we all, sculpt our table with ancestor ivory.
we all, smorgasbord our dishes with grass roots wisdom.
we all, centrepiece the knowledge we found digging in our backyards.
we all, pass plates through many hands piled high with helpings of one another.

we all, vine our way to joy.
we all, root ourselves in laughter that lifts the room.
we all, wear smiles that stretch the horizon.
we all, blanket the sun like it belongs to us.
we all, mosaic each other back together.

we all, know this is how we begin.

DL: The ‘Elysian Plains’ chapter takes the reader on a profound journey through connection, heartbreak and grief. How do you feel that poetry can serve as a tool for healing and understanding in the face of grief and loss?

RLP: Poetry is the only way I know how to go through. When I was writing ‘Elysian Plains’, I was looking after my dad who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

My dad and I had our ups and downs through the years, as most families do, but it was so important for me to be able to show up for him. I think it was easy to write from a place of love and understanding in the face of grief and loss because I was healing this relationship alongside writing this chapter.

We were sharing with each other parts of our lives we had missed in the in-between. We were both leaning into each other, and I think we both surprised one another with where we had been. The poems just came naturally from that – from empathy and from listening.

Having time to say goodbye also made losing someone I love a lot easier to move through. We take time for granted a lot, but I reckon it’s the most valuable thing we have.