‘Āina Hānau / Birth Land is a powerful collection of new poems by Kanaka ʻŌiwi (Native Hawaiian) poet Brandy Nālani McDougall. ‘Āina hānau—or the land of one’s birth—signifies identity through intimate and familial connections to place and creates a profound bond between the people in a community. McDougall’s poems flow seamlessly between ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i and English, forming rhythms and patterns that impress on the reader a deep understanding of the land. Tracing flows from the mountains to the ocean, from the sky to the earth, and from ancestor to mother to child, these poems are rooted in the rich ancestral and contemporary literature of Hawaiʻi —moʻolelo, moʻokūʻauhau, and mele —honoring Hawaiian ʻāina, culture, language, histories, aesthetics, and futures.
The poems in Āina Hānau / Birth Land cycle through sacred and personal narratives while exposing and fighting ongoing American imperialism, settler colonialism, militarism, and social and environmental injustice to protect the ʻāina and its people. The ongoing environmental crisis in Hawaiʻi, inextricably linked to colonialism and tourism, is captured with stark intensity as McDougall writes, Violence is what we settle for / because we’ve been led to believe / green paper can feed us / more than green land . The experiences of birth, motherhood, miscarriage, and the power of Native Hawaiian traditions and self-advocacy in an often dismissive medical system is powerfully narrated by the speaker of the titular poem, written for McDougall’s daughters.
‘Āina Hānau reflects on what it means to be from and belong to an ʻāina hānau, as well as what it means to be an ‘āina hānau, as all mothers serve as the first birth lands for their children.
An excellent poetry collection that will make you confront the harsh realities that American imperialism, American militarism, and American tourism have ravaged on Hawai'i. Nālani McDougall weaves Hawai'ian throughout the poems, so keeping Google Translate at hand may be useful (and if my boss or students ask if I just recommended using Google Translate, no, I didn't 🤫).
***fav excerpts and poems***
"as in at the time of this writing Hawai'i is the most expensive fake state in the United States" Real (G)estate (23)
"E) 'American' just means you're blissfully ignorant of profiting off of stolen people and stolen land, right?" College Prep Test for Those Who Will Leave Hawai'i (46)
"This is my American poem speaking of freedom and freely speaking, yet rarely saying anything to set land and people free." American Poem (49)
Resist (56)
" ...Stand here, at the receding edge of Palestine, as Israel fires U.S. weapons to steal family homes, whole communities, to build military outposts, then Israeli settlements. Stand here, on stolen land, at the edge of fences, checkpoints, and guard posts. Stand where international law is broken without consequences. Stand at the edge of hotels and mansions, military golf courses over ancestral graves, adverse possession and deeds from British and French mandate, Israeli or American settlement and military base, from overthrow and annexation, from population transfer, from refugees in exile left to wander the ruins hungry." Kūpikipiki'ō, O'ahu (82)
[O]ne of my most eagerly awaited poetry titles of 2023[,] McDougall’s propulsive second collection about Hawai‘i’s culture, Kanaka ‘Ōiwi identity, memory, and parenthood gripped me so. Fascinating illustrations by Allison Leialoha Milham foreground each of the four parts. My mind keeps returning to “Symbolism,” “This Island on Which I Love You,” and “Prepositions,” to name only a few poems. If you haven’t already, preorder this breathtaking book for yourself and a friend.
A deeply felt collection of poetry about Hawai'i, home (in land and body), colonialism, and connection to place.
"But if it was in my character to be more courageous, I would tell you honestly that a part of me must believe words can save us if we open ourselves fully, if we can name the ones who spoke before us, and we, unbroken, still have the breath to speak them."
- from "Character Development" (41)
"Like a paranoid tyrant, I declare that everything is everything else and demand you take notes because I can't remember a time I didn't think to look for what was hidden, (as inevitably, all things are) to read the signs and be ready for the thing that has never just been itself.
I am beginning to suspect you already know what I still need to learn: to trust things to be without bending their shape, to let go, finally of what only seems like more."
stunning mix of ancestry, symbolism, and love of the land
Anyone visiting any Hawaiian island without an understanding of Hawaii and what it is to be Hawaiian should read this book. It doesn’t push against history, it reminds us what the U.S. did to Hawaii while showing us the beauty, the bones and the symbolism available to us all for healing. Put your phones down visitors and let the land change you, and this poetry is a wonderful start.
This was a really wonderful book to read. I loved reading about parts of the island I was born and raised on. I also appreciated a lot of the points of view as well. I feel so honored to have read a book by Hawai'i's poet laureate. It feels so meaningful to me.
Written in intermingling Hawaiian and English, and at once beautiful and devastating, this collection foregrounds the native Hawaiian experience of a land stolen, of place and personhood intertwined.
What a beautiful, devastating, and powerful collection this was. I wish every tourist visiting the islands would read this before they travel there. I learned more about the disturbing history and current injustices for Hawaiians, especially at the hands of U.S. government, and I’m glad the author is bringing more exposure to these concerns. And yet, I was also comforted by many of these poems. I loved the deep connections between humans and land explored through a mix of ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i and English phrases. These were some of my favorite lines:
This is my American poem dropping bombs on islands, dropping guns for puppet governments, dropping cans of carcinogenic meats for war-torn refugees.
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This island is alive with love, its storms, the cough of alchemy expelling eery parasitic thing, teaching me to love you with the intricacies of island knowing
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We let the waves carry us in, let ourselves spill into light—our islands unfurling green.