The Lorax’ Re-written as ‘Poutini’ for Reefton
At the far end of town
Where the grickle gorse grows
And the wind smells slow and sour when it blows
Is the Lair of the lost Poutini
And deep in the old mans beard, some people say
If you look deep enough you can still see, today,
Where Poutini once stood
Before he faded and wilted away
What was Poutini?
And why was he there?
And why was he faded and left in despair?
From the far end of town where the grickle gorse grows
The old miner still lives here
Ask him. He knows
You won’t see the miner
Don’t knock at his door
He stays in his tin hut behind a closed door
He lurks in his jerkin, under corrugated roof
Where he makes his own clothes
Out of possum skin fluff
And on special dank midnights in August,
He peeks
Out of his windows
And sometimes he speaks
And tells how Poutini was faded away
He’ll tell you perhaps
If you’re willing to pay
On the end of a rope
He throws out a tin pail
And you have to toss in twenty cents
And a nail
And the shell of Powelliphanta snail
Then he pulls in the pail
Makes a most careful count
To see if you’ve paid him
The proper amount
Then he hides what you’ve paid him
Away in his tin
Where he keeps all his treasures
And also his gin
Then he grunts, ‘I will speak via ultrafast broad band
I will tweet and re-tweet ‘cross the land
Up pops the audio on at your ear
The old miners whispers are not very clear,
“Now I’ll tell you”, he says, with his teeth sounding grey
“how Poutini was faded and wilted away
It all started way back
Such a long, long time back
Way back in the days when the world was still big
And the pond was still full
And the kiwi could dig,
And the song of the falcon rang out in space
One morning, I came to this glorious place,
And I first found the gold
The shiny bright gold
The luminous nuggets of glorious gold
Find after find of it made me feel bold
One evening, while
panning, I saw in the trees
Brown kiwi come snuffling about in the leaves
Gobbling grubs in the twilight breeze
From the damp mossy mounds
Came the slurpery sounds
Of carnivorous snails
Patrolling their grounds
But that gold! That gold!
That luminous gold!
All my life I’d been searching
For gold to be sold
It’s glitter its gleam
It’s wonder it’s dream
And it spoke to me only
With the voice of the stream
I felt a great leaping
Of joy in my heart
I knew just what I’d do
I unloaded my cart
In no time at all, I had built a small shop
I scooped up some gravel to find my cash crop
And with great skilful skill and with great speedy speed
I shook my gold pan and I pulled out a bead
The instant I’d finished, I heard a ga-bing!
I looked
I saw something pop out of the stream
Where I’d scooped out my gravel, it was sort of a fish
Describe him? I ‘ll
try if you wish
He was longish. And
oldish
And browning. And
mossy
And he spoke with a voice
That was sharpish and bossy.
“He aha hoki tau!” he said in a voice rough with sand
“I am Poutini. I
speak for the land
I speak for the land, for the land has no tongue”
And I’m asking your sir, at the top of my lungs
He was very upset as he lifted his snout
“I have a bad feeling.
I suggest you get out”
“Look Poutini” I said “There’s no cause for alarm.
I scooped up some gravel.
I am doing no harm
I’m being quite useful.
This stuff is called gold.
And gold’s a fine thing people want to hold
It’s sparkly. It’s
yellow, it makes peoples’ eyes shine
But it has other uses.
Yes get in the line
You can’t eat it it’s true, or make things to wear
But you can make jewellery that’s wonderfully rare
Poutini said
“Tama! You are crazy with greed
There is no one on earth
Who would buy that wee bead!”
But the very next minute I proved he was wrong
For, just at that moment, a chap came along
And he thought that the bead I had dug up was great
He happily bought it for three ninety eight
I laughed at Poutini, “You poor stupid guy!
You never can tell what some people will buy”
“ I repeat”, cried Poutini
“I speak for the land”
“I’m busy”, I told him
“and my plans are grand”
I rushed cross the room, and in no time at all,
Built a radio-phone.
I put in a quick call
I called for my diggers and a quick cash advance
And I said, “Listen here!
Here’s a wonderful chance
For the whole mining profession to get rich in our youth!
Get over here fast!
Take the dirt road to the South
Turn left at the ocean, sharp right at Greymouth”
And, in no time at all,
In the mine that I built,
The whole mining profession
Was working full tilt
We were all digging gravel
Just as busy as bees
To the sound of the digging
And felling of trees
Then…..
Oh! Baby! Oh!
How my business did grow!
Now, panning one pan
At a time
Was too slow
So I quickly invented my Super-Max-Digger
Which scooped up four pans at a time at one scooper
We were finding gold
Four times as fast as before!
And Poutini?
He didn’t show up any more.
But the next decade
He knocked
On my new office door
He snapped, “I am Poutini who speaks for the land”
There is only so much that she can withstand.
But I’m also in charge of kiwi who snuffle in leaves
And gobble up grubs in the twilight breeze
Nesting in tree stumps with relative ease
“Now….. thanks to your digging and poking our ground
There’s not enough grubs and safe places around
The rats your brought with you are eating the eggs
My birds can’t build higher they only have legs
They loved living here.
But I can’t let them stay
They have to be safe.
And I hope that they may
Waimarie tama”, he cried.
And he sent them away
I, the miner, felt sad
As I watched them all go
BUT
Business is business!
And business must grow
Regardless of egg eating rodents, you know.
I meant no harm. I
most truly did not.
But I had to grow bigger.
So bigger I got.
I biggered my mine and I biggered my roads
We biggered the trucks and we biggered the loads
Of gravel we shipped out.
We were shipping them forth
To the South! To the
East! To the West! To the North!
We went right on biggering…….. selling more gold
As more and more of us felt more and more bold
Then again he came back!
I was fixing some pipes
When old-nuisance Poutini came back with more gripes
“I am Poutini”, he coughed and he whiffed
He sneezed and he snuffled.
He Snarggled. He sniffed.
“Miner!” he cried
with a cruffulous croak.
“Miner! You’re making
such smogulous smoke!
My poor screeching falcons… why, they can’t sing a note!
No one can sing who has smog in his throat.
“And so,” said
Poutini
“- please pardon my cough –“
They cannot live here
So I’m sending them off.
“Where will they go?......
I don’t hopefully know.
They may have to fly for a month….. or a year….
To escape from the smog you’ve smogged-up around here.
“What’s more,” snapped Poutini (his voice sounding moany)
“Let me say a few words you smelly old phoney
Your drainage chugs on, all churning and stoney
Leaking arsenic, mercury.
Also antimony
And what do you do with this leftover goo?
I’ll show you. You
dirty old Miner man, you!
You’re glumping the rivers where Inanga migrate
No more can they surf amidst those nitrates
I’m sending them off, oh their future is dire
They’ll try other rivers take many a detour
To search for a pathway that gives the all clear
They also need water that’s free of manure”
And then I got mad
I got terribly mad
I yelled at Poutini, “Now listen here, Dad!”
All you do is yap-yap and say “Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad!”
Well, I have my rights, sir and I’m telling you
I intend to go on doing just what I do!
And, for your information, Poutini, I’m figgering
On biggering
And
BIGGERING
And
BIGGERING
And
BIGGERING
Turning more gravel scoops into wee specks of gold
Which makes every everyone EVERYONE bold”
At that very moment, we heard a slow groan
From inside the mine came a babble and moan
A hand on a break, a satellite call
The international gold price was starting to fall
No more gold. No more
beads. No more work to be done.
So, in no time, the drillers, geos, every one,
All waved me good-bye.
They jumped into my cars
And drove away under the smoke-smuggered stars.
Now all that was left ‘neath the bad-smelling sky
Was my big empty mine
Pountini
And I
Poutini said nothing.
Just gave me a glance….
As he faded away and wilted his stance
As he blended in with the rock and the plants
And I’ll never forget the grim look on his face
When he flickered and faded right out of this place
Through a hole in a log, without leaving a trace
And all that Poutini left here in this mess
Was an older wiser man, with the message
“UNLESS”
Whatever that meant, well, I just couldn’t guess
That was long, long ago
But each day since that day
I’ve sat here and worried
And worried away
Through the years, while my buildings
Have fallen apart
I’ve worried about it
With all of my heart
“But now”, says the Miner,
“Now that you’re here,
The word of Poutini seems perfectly clear.
UNLESS someone like you
Cares a whole awful lot,
Nothing is going to get better.
It’s not.
“SO….
Take me to visit
Take me round one and all
Put me on facebook
On skype and on call
You’re in charge of my message of wisdom hard earned
The world has got smaller it’s past time that we learned
To take care of the world that we share
We all need fresh water.
We all need fresh air
Re-plant a forest.
Protect it from axes that hack
Then Poutini
And all of his friends
May come back.
