Echidna is a dangerous animal; she pokes holes in men just to remind them what kind of monster she is wakes up every single morning and chooses violence cos what choice does she really have?
essa may ranapiri's second poetry collection follows the story of Echidna, their own interpretation of the Greek Mother of Monsters, as she tries to figure out life and identity living in a colonised world. Alongside this Māui and Prometheus get into a very hot relationship.
Echidna contends with three strands of tradition; Greek mythology, Christianity and Māori esoteric knowledge, and through weaving them together attempts to create a queerer whole. It is a book that is in conversation with the work of many others; from Milton and R.S. Thomas to jayy dodd and Joshua Whitehead to Hinemoana Baker and Keri Hulme. Situating and building its own world out of a community of queer and Māori/Pasifika writing, it carefully places itself in a whakapapa of takatāpui story-telling.
I generally enjoy writing reviews on Instagram (where I'm mostly active), because the strict character limit challenges me to be as concise as possible – essa may ranapiri’s ECHIDNA, however, really needs more words written about it than what will fit here. Their second collection of poetry is a vibrant combination of Greek, Christian and Māori mythological tradition, and in the vein of J.C. Sturm, many of the poems here are dedications – what ranapiri calls intertextual ‘conversations’ with a broad spectrum of literary figures.
If this all sounds a little intimidating, my first point is to make clear that no actually, it really isn’t. While ECHIDNA constantly delves into the mythological, the otherworldly, the referential, it also grounds itself with tangible, sensual details; this is, after all, the poet who gifted ‘Us As Meat Hitting Meat’ to the world. ranapiri moves fluidly between worlds - from ‘Echidna & Rona Fucking in the Back Seat of a Car While the Moon Watches’:
Echidna and Rona are pressed against seatbelt buckles the cool of the metal torn seat covers foam showing through . . . Rona becomes an arc of electricity hand in Echidna’s curls everything is fogging up in the Moon’s light obscuring his vision Rona free of that alabaster pervert at last
I also really appreciate the care that goes into the overall structure of ranapiri’s collections, building a sense of repetition and familiarity throughout. Here, a recurring narrative strand depicts a ‘very hot’ relationship between Māui and Prometheus – a structural evolution of RANSACK’s series of letters to Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. This sub-narrative (running alongside that of Echidna) adds another layer of complexity to the collection, culminating in the spiralling (literally) ‘Māui Becomes Who S/He Was Meant To Be’.
With all that said, I’m definitely not ‘done’ with ECHIDNA; I look forward to exploring its intertextual connections and finding new things to appreciate about it.
It took me a long time to warm to this book because it is difficult to read.
I went back and reread a lot and I allowed myself to nibble at it slowly like 90% cocoa, no sugar chocolate. I suspect I will read some of these poems again.
You do hae to read back and forth because the beginning only really makes sense in the context of the end but also that's the order it had to be in. Poetry can be a bitch that way.
This is a fascinating collection of poems about Echidna: the mythological mother of monsters. The poems tell the story of Echidna growing up and interacting with figures from various folklore and religious traditions, including Christianity.
I am not Maori, and a lot of the references went over my head; but I still really enjoyed this poetry collection. Echidna felt very human, and her story was very well tied to both the trans experience and the experience of growing up as a biracial Maori child (at least as far as I can tell, being neither). Several of the poems also had interesting experiments with form, being written in various shapes that themselves added to the experience of the story.
Odd metre, or at least, odd to me. And experimental layout of the text at times: drifting, snaking, spiralling… I’m always a sucker for poets who mix, not the sacred and the profane, but the timeless and contemporary. Gods, lizards, fish, and planetary bodies, have to contend with beerpong, RTDs, Denny’s fast food joints and vernacular conversation. Character studies of atua, Greek and Christian deities, who hang out, fuck, and consider the powers at play. At turns gritty and elegant.