The Beach Road footbridge, Takoradi (Ghana) and Aramaramara - The Millenium Bridge, Mission Bay, Auckland (NZ)
Choice and necessity
It was necessary
for market women and fishermen to
hoist themselves
across
a gap-toothed pass that emerges from lagoon-sand
like a broken
spine.
It’s luxury for expat teens to satiate boredom by
choosing hopscotching over rushing waters,
(and glass shards unsheathed below)
over playing Xbox.
They’ll slice their soles
and ankles
and fight hightides
and squash mangrove mosquitos,
then emerge on the beach
panting, sweating and laughing.
Time will decommission this bridge.
Market woman
Fisherman
And teenager
Will see instead where
They danced with death
every day
to eat or feel alive,
Because it was necessary
by Lloyd Harry-Davis
(Lloyd says, “I grew up moving countries quite a lot and I lived in Ghana from 10 to 16 years old. Near one of my friends’ places, in Beach Road, there was a footbridge that crossed a lagoon. The footbridge was quite literally poles with slats of wood over them, and looking back it was really dangerous. Over time, the slats fell off one by one, until we hopped from slat to slat, or even sometimes just the single pole of a bridge. Once a couple friends got swept off and they had to make a chain to grab on to each other. And yet we kept going back, completely oblivious to how reckless and dangerous it was. There’s barely nothing left of the bridge now that would let you cross, but the poles holding up the slats are still there.”)
Aramaramara, Mission Bay
It looks like something Māori built
across the narrow stream that flows
into the widest ocean in the world
It’s where their waka beached
after daring to set out from Hawaiki
Where warriors set foot, women
and children tagging along
They had no choice
The joggers aren’t aware of that
nor the mums with buggies
or those weaving in and out on e-scooters
It’s just quicker now than going through
the car park by the Mission House
that gives this place its name today
Uneven metal stakes resemble the pallisades
protecting every pā
But who cares what it looks like?
by Paul White
[waka = a Māori canoe; pã = Māori village or settlement]
Our Renga Poem
We composed a Renga poem inspired by thoughts of bridges. Renga is an ancient Japanese form of linked poem traditionally written by any number of collaborating poets. To create a renga, one poet writes the first stanza, the next poet adds the second stanza, and so on until a designated end point. Responding to the 26 Twinned Bridges brief, we devised a modern version of Renga consisting of ten 26-word stanzas, to make a complete Renga of 260 words.
Every day, there are places to go
Walk over that bridge
Ride over this bridge
Drive over that bridge
Lean over this bridge
Rivers, valleys, railways,
Troubled waters
Over and over and over
Where are you always going?
Do troubled waters follow
Wherever you go?
Does the crossing ever stop
Or are we always
In transitory states
And places?
Stop. Stand on the bridge
See how it reaches out
From two opposing sides
The bridge is traveling
From there to there
And back again
Unmoved
Never moving,
Yet always arriving.
Like standing on Time’s palms,
Who makes your nows past
and your tomorrows today.
A conveyor belt on which
you rest.
Today we build the bridge
Between
Yesterday and tomorrow
Half-open, our eyes at dawn
Peer into the distance
Where the drooping lids of night
Wait anxiously
The sky blinks
Every time Sun and Moon swap places,
Watching stars collapse, cells evolve,
And you;
Your daily rhythm —
Sustained by promises of
Shores beyond
Still the bridge keeps its promise
To cross over
To rise above
Close the space between
Its two sides
As if settling an argument
About destination
You extend
the unending path,
that your spawn may walk
and continue the chain of destiny:
Prophecies of destinations
our steps will reach,
but never stay.
Find the way
Take just one step
Off the bridge
Either end will do
Crossing it becomes no more
Than something fading gradually
A sepia photograph
The bridge emerges when
You decide the course,
Collapsing the space between kilometres
And distant longings
Into mere steps
Gathered now
Here
Trodden beneath your feet
Lloyd and Paul
I've never written a Renga - so thanks for introducing me to it.
It was a joy getting to work on this with you, Paul ☀️