2008 Woodie Awards
The Taming of the Tita
A translation of William Shakespeare's "The Taming of the Shrew," act V, scene II
Tiare Picard
Issue date: 12/10/07 Section: Mixed Plate
Eh! Stop making your eyebrows la dat - look like
two big cockroaches on top your forehead
and stop making stink-eye to your man,
bumbai your face going look like
moldy Love's bread on top da shelf.
You going loose your looks fo eva.
One wind devil going toss em away
like it does da sand in Kalalau, summa time.
One angry wāhine is like all da hair matted
in one drain pipe - hō ka hauna! And when you stay la dat,
gotta be one brave plumma fo come unclog everything.
Your husband is your lord, your life, your keeper,
Your head, your sovereign; da one who cares for you
and your closet full of shoes. He works hard for you,
cuts his finger on top da fish hooks, or climb up cliffs
fo shoot da pig, hemo da skin la dat. And he freeze his ‘ōkole off
if he forget his rain jacket.
Men can carry da weight of Mauna Kea in their backpacks, you know.
No problem.
Meantime, you stay warm at home, secure and safe
cooking da Spam and rice with Portuguese sausage,
making da beds, sweeping up all da ‘ōpala dat Junior when make,
making sure he no eat his hanabata, la dat.
All dat no count
compared to what your man does fo you, and poor ting,
all he want when he get home is a little, you know,
dis and dat.
Da man has to fill out da tax forms. He owes da governor,
jus like da wāhine owes something to her husband.
But when she says what she thinks, pouts or has PMS
and really doesn't want to listen to his bad day,
she's just a pilau wife; one rebel, one traitor to him.
I am embarrass fo all da women dat are so lolo
when they like fight, or when they like wear da pants,
become managers, bosses la dat, when they should be kneeling for peace
or whateva else.
two big cockroaches on top your forehead
and stop making stink-eye to your man,
bumbai your face going look like
moldy Love's bread on top da shelf.
You going loose your looks fo eva.
One wind devil going toss em away
like it does da sand in Kalalau, summa time.
One angry wāhine is like all da hair matted
in one drain pipe - hō ka hauna! And when you stay la dat,
gotta be one brave plumma fo come unclog everything.
Your husband is your lord, your life, your keeper,
Your head, your sovereign; da one who cares for you
and your closet full of shoes. He works hard for you,
cuts his finger on top da fish hooks, or climb up cliffs
fo shoot da pig, hemo da skin la dat. And he freeze his ‘ōkole off
if he forget his rain jacket.
Men can carry da weight of Mauna Kea in their backpacks, you know.
No problem.
Meantime, you stay warm at home, secure and safe
cooking da Spam and rice with Portuguese sausage,
making da beds, sweeping up all da ‘ōpala dat Junior when make,
making sure he no eat his hanabata, la dat.
All dat no count
compared to what your man does fo you, and poor ting,
all he want when he get home is a little, you know,
dis and dat.
Da man has to fill out da tax forms. He owes da governor,
jus like da wāhine owes something to her husband.
But when she says what she thinks, pouts or has PMS
and really doesn't want to listen to his bad day,
she's just a pilau wife; one rebel, one traitor to him.
I am embarrass fo all da women dat are so lolo
when they like fight, or when they like wear da pants,
become managers, bosses la dat, when they should be kneeling for peace
or whateva else.
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