A Paradise Lost - KOPS - Universität Konstanz

egisters, from flowery British English that might sound rather old-fashioned to the
swear-and-slang speech of ranch hands, is impressive but requires close attention.
Sumida’s analysis identifies a variety of pidgins and creoles:
These include no less than older and younger Hawaiian, Japanese American
(again of two generations), and a Portuguese pidgin or creole English or
Hawaiian. […] When Holt uses Hawaiian – words, phrases, whole sentences – he
does not break the flow of his narrative prose to translate. The context he creates
invariably accomplishes that for the general reader, who may not know any
Hawaiian other than what this book will pleasurably teach along the way. 527
Similarly, (part-)Hawaiian poets tend to intertwine their two (or more) languages, or at
least use Hawaiian words when the concept implied does not have an equivalent in
English. Puanani Burgess’ “Choosing My Name,” which deals with the functions and
connotations that names – but also words in general – carry, is such a linguistic mosaic:
When I was born my mother gave me three names: […]
Christabelle was my “English” name,
my social security card name,
my school name, […]
Yoshie was my home name,
my everyday name, […]
Puanani is my chosen name,
my piko name connecting me to the ‘aina
and the kai and the po’e kahiko –
my blessing; my burden;
my amulet; my spear. 528
They spoke in the old-fashioned, annoying, elusive metaphors, which I ached to understand more
completely, although they touched on matters erotic that did not yet deeply interest me: big round balls of
breadfruit suitably wrinkled, the plunging prow of a canoe, the delicate flesh of mangoes, the pink of some
flowers, the rushing of winds, a ship coming full sail into port” (Holt 1998: 87).
527 Sumida 1991: 159. Examples would be: “‘[…] I know where piha loa ka alani.’ He made a gesture of
abundance with his arms” (Holt 1998: 18), or “‘Kolohe no keia keiki hapa-haole hanohano,’ was Moluhi’s
comment, offered with a smile of uncharacteristic gentleness, but I did not like being called a mischievous
young half-white of the gentry” (159).
528 In Balaz 1989: 40. Piko = navel, umbilical cord; ‘aina = land, food, sustenance; kai = sea, sea water;
po’e kahiko = ancient people, forbears. The writer once said: “I use a mixture of English and Hawaiian but
the form is very Hawaiian, and it is a challenge I think for modern Hawaiian writers to be able to bring the
modern and traditional together to enhance each other” (interview with Hardy Boro, quoted from the
typescript of his B.A. English Senior Project “Three Hawaiian Women Writers,” University of Hawai’i
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