Vaughan Rapatahana: Ngā pātai. Can you please tell us your tribal affiliation(s)?
Ruby Solly: Ko Kāi Tahu rātou ko Waitaha, ko Kāti Māmoe ōku iwi.
VR: Can you also please tell us something about yourself? Writing career and genre(s), including latest poetry collections, eh? Overseas living experiences? Current position?

Ruby Solly, Photo credit Ebony Lamb
RS: Ko Dr. Ruby Solly ahau. I am a writer, artist and taonga pūoro practitioner living in Pōneke. I have two books of poetry with Te Herenga Waka University Press. My first, Tōku Pāpā, looks at father child relationships in te ao Māori, and how we pass down our cultures through nature and nurture. It also looks at the legacy of whaiarorua in my whānau and how each generation grows in their acceptance and quality of life because of the work and at times suffering, of the previous generations. The Artist, my second book, is a verse novel that spans the histories of our Southern iwi from when our world was sung into being, to settlement, and beyond. It focuses on how a whānau and a pā deal with disability, and divergence in what I hope is a way that gives people like us control over the narrative.
VR: I know that you would like to, and do, write i roto i te reo Māori. How important is it for you to write in te reo, please?
RS: Writing in te reo Māori has been an interesting journey for me. Before I was a bit more confident in my ability to do so, I’d have a lot of people ask me to write in te reo and be disappointed when I wasn’t comfortable doing so yet. There is a lot of pressure for adult learners of te reo who are writers to instantly be able to work across languages. I think we need to give our Māori writers mana enhancing and trauma informed spaces, to explore te reo in writing, without feeling watched or threatened. Now, I use a lot of te reo woven through my work. My end goal is that my work might be able to be read by someone who only speaks te reo, or only english, and have both sides understand the work, or the part that is meant for them to understand.
VR: Relatedly, how important/vital do you think it is for Kiwi writers, especially Māori, to write in te reo Māori? Or at least attempt to?
RS: I think integrating te reo into our work is a choice, but it’s important to know that our choices are shaped by all that’s come before. Learning te reo as someone with a severe mental illness, for example, is incredibly difficult in terms of language retention. People with disabilities deserve spaces catered to our language learning, and until we get that, not being able to write in our reo rangatira will never truly be our ‘choice’, rather, it’s a choice that we can say we are making in order to retain some of our rangatiratanga, where in reality that choice has been mostly made for us. I think Pākēha writing in te reo can be a powerful tool, but those writing in that space need to understand the whakapapa of why so many of us can’t, even with the opportunity to learn as adults like many Pākēha have. Having te reo doesn’t make you Māori, it gives you a reo to communicate in te ao Māori. I’m lucky that I have te reo pūoro as well, and try to incorporate that in my work too. We have so many ways of communicating in te ao Māori. In that way, we are lucky.
VR: Do you think you might have a piece of flash fiction, creative non-fiction, or a prose poem for us to include, please?
Stories by Ruby Solly
PLASTIC TIKI
TAHI
Hollow click – unmusical – tin radio – record player with the speakers off – the plastic tap – sound equivalent – of neon cicada – green of plutonium – trapped in cartoon vessels – capitalism – is almost as funny – as industrialism – the kind of cousins – who hated each other – but hated you even more – twenty percent off – maori tiki – big tick for cultural – appropriation – tiny decorated noose on the neck – plastic is made – from under the ground – from ancient – but not as ancient – as stone – stone – made flesh – like armour – on ideas – taniwha – dinosaur – melted to clear – pressed into green like a million others – cloned tiki – in tourist barracks – on ringo john george and paul – on my neck as a child – a noose only small – wearing plastic pounamu – keeping green glass boddles – homai te pounamu – a steinie – a green bottle – do not give a native man a pounamu – unless he can handle what is inside it- flowing – until the second you cut it – until it cuts you – with a fizzing – plastic died so long ago – but not soon enough – to have what we have – soul energy – there is no feeling – of flow underneath – that seeps through – back and forth – with yours – you can touch a piece of plastic – whenever you like – its only as safe – as touching the neck – but you have to ask – to touch pounamu – one time – with an 18 year old boy – i didnt ask – when i touched it – it burned me – my hand falling away – particles electric – but plain to the eye – i didnt listen – later – he didnt ask either – the first time – i knew the oro – of two pounamu – clinking – before we were under – the watch – of anthropology – we liked our men – to click – because there was so much pounamu – around their necks – holder their kahu together – falling from their ears – like an atua’s blessing – clink – clink – clink –
RUA
My hei tiki – she is pink – and sparkly – and bigger than my twelve year old palm – she is haka stance – she is three teeth – she smells like if barbie – believed in decol – but wanted to make it cute – but didn’t quite know – how the tiki is made – but she’s seen one – at least three times – in her fathers collection – on top of the hill – twenty pou across the land – about how much he loves his dinosaur tipuna – how much he loves to press them – down to cold – hard – pink – hei tiki – I wear it to school – over stained white school shirt – washing clothes in water from the gas station tap – I wear my hei tiki into a room of while children – whose shirts are whiter – than them – she sayd – my brother has a real one of those – that ones plastic – his is actual greenstone – like actual jade – Jade – is a name for a girl – where we’re from – something that you didn’t just get – something you gave birth too – something you pushed between the realms – but we don’t need more rock around our necks – to weigh us down – we already – walk horizontal – to get out – of the cold – Her plastic form stays neutral – when I walk – into the cold – of the house – she was within – Hineahuone – but pulled out like the four hunours – with a focus – on blood – I feel her edges – smooth – at the join – and blunt – at the teeth – one day – I tell her – I will wear you – but in stone – I tell her – and I swear – to Poutini – to Hine Pounamu – to Waitaki – that i saw – my pink plastic – hei – wink
Ruby Solly, Photo credit Ebony Lamb
Ruby Solly (Waitaha, Kāti Māmoe, Kāi Tahu) is a writer, music therapist, musician and taonga pūoro practitioner living in Pōneke. Her books are Tōku Pāpā and The Artist , both published by THWUP. As a musician and composer Ruby has worked with Trinity Roots, Yo-yo Ma, Whirimako Black, French for Rabbits and the Auckland Philharmonic.