Sina and Selina, Savai’i, Samoa, November 2023

In memory of Caroline Sinavaiana Gabbard (1946 – May 26, 2024)

Some of us knew her as Sinavaiana, some of us knew her as Caroline.
For all of us she was our Sina. 

by Selina Tusitala Marsh

It pains me to speak of the tragic end to my dear friend, beloved poet, academic, writer, and environmentalist Sinavaiana’s remarkable journey. On May 26, 2024, in Samoa, our literary community was shaken to its core when Sinavaiana’s life was cut short at the age of 78. The circumstances surrounding her passing, involving fellow writer Sia Figiel, have left us all grappling with a profound sense of loss and disbelief.

In the face of such tragedy, we turn to what we know best – the power of words to heal, to remember, and to honour. What follows is a small suite of poems crafted by three of my fellow poets, dear friends who knew both Sinavaiana and Sia. These verses serve as a tribute to Caroline’s extraordinary life and the indelible mark she left on those who knew her and her work.

These poems are not just elegies; they are a celebration of Caroline’s spirit, her contributions to Pacific literature, and the lasting impact of her words. They remind us that while Caroline’s physical presence may have been taken from us far too soon, her legacy lives on through her poetry and the lives she touched.

Sinavaiana left an indelible mark on the literary world and the lives of countless students. Born in Utulei village, Tutuila, American Samoa, her journey took her from military bases in the American South to the halls of prestigious universities. Sinavaiana’s passion for English literature blossomed while teaching at Samoana High School in Pago Pago in 1969. Her academic pursuits led her to the University of Hawai’i at Mānoa, where she taught creative writing from 1997 until her retirement in 2016. As the first Samoan to become a full professor in the United States, she paved the way for future generations of Pacific Islander scholars.

Her first book of poetry, Alchemies of Distance (Tinfish Press, 2001) is a taonga in our Pacific literary canon. Its beauty lies in the way Sinavaiana transforms the challenges of diaspora into poetic gold, weaving together personal memories, cultural traditions, and political realities with skill. It stands as a powerful assertion of Pacific literary voice on the global stage. Through her exploration of ‘va’, that sacred space between things, Sinavaiana creates a poetry that bridges cultures, generations, and geographies. Her work resonates with the rhythms of our oral traditions while engaging with contemporary issues, offering a path for Pacific poets to navigate the complexities of our diasporic experiences. Alchemies of Distance is not just a collection of poems; it’s a navigation chart for those of us voyaging between worlds, a celebration of our resilience, and a testament to the transformative power of Pacific storytelling.

Her influence extended beyond academia, earning her recognition in USA Today’s list of influential women from U.S. territories in 2020. Sinavaiana’s legacy lives on through her writings and the many students she mentored, who now carry forward her passion as writers and educators.

Though I could have called on many from the Pacific literary community to submit poems, I gently called on those few who joined me in the hourly vigil for Sinavaiana as news of the tragedy unfolded: ku’ualoha ho’omanawanui, long-time friend and fellow teacher of Pacific Literature, Vilsoni Hereniko, who I first met in 1996 when he hosted an international conference on Pacific Literature from the University of Hawai’i at Manoa, and where I first met Sinavaiana and Sia, and Susan Shultz, who first published Sinavaiana’s work as editor of Tinfish Press and was a long time collaborator with Sinavaiana. 

I dedicate this suite of poems to Sinavaiana’s beloved niece, Betty M. Robinson and her son, Clarence.

Selina Tusitala Marsh – two poems

Matu’u, reef heron and Sina’s spirit animal, Savai’i blow holes
Samoa, November 2023

Kailua Crystals

I walked into Kailua
Crystals, thinking of you,

The stones and essential oils
You packed, along with your

Yoga mat, for our work trip
To Savai’i, a small apothecary

In your beach fale, and I had
A heavy head and you said

‘Come, darling, come’ and rubbed
Frankincense on my pulse points

Fingers cooing in soft circles,
‘There, darling, there’ and we sat

By the ocean, sipping niu and crunching
Salty potato chips and later walked

Out to the blow holes at
Taga i Savai’i and your

Spirit animal, the matu’u,
A moon-silver reef heron

Landed on a rock before you
Calling ‘See you soon, sister, see you soon.’

Poem for a Murdered Beloved Friend Murdered by a Friend

Comparatively speaking
There’s not that many of us
In the world

Pacific
Women
Poets

And now
There’s one less

Pacific
Woman
Poet

This poem
Will say
What no one has

Our lines
Have railed
Against
Colonialism
Capitalism
Industrialism
Patriarchy

Yet the killer
Was among us

One
Of
Us

This poem could
Write lines
Tying the crime
Scene back to
The Devil behind the Devil
The evils of every -ism
Of oppression
The imperialist-political-economic source
Of indigenous mental illness

And yet
I am left
With one image

Her hand
Plunging a knife
Into the body
Of my beloved friend

Again
Again
Again
Again
Again
Again
Again

I do not know
How she used the hammer
Just that she did

I do not know
At what point my friend died
Just that she did

I do know
That the killer
Is haunted
In her own mind
Forever

That I will never
Teach her poems again

That someday
I will be
Pulled out of this
By the lines of the beloved

But for now
These are all the lines I have.

You can hear Selina read ‘Poem for a Murdered Beloved Friend Murdered by a Friend’:

Selina is a Pasifika Poet-Scholar. Website.

ku’ualoha ho’omanawanui – two poems

He Lei Aloha iā Sina

kuʻualoha hoʻomanawanui, June 2024
Gather blossoms from the upland forests
Fragrant maile kissed by mist
Gather foliage from the kula plains
Nourished by gentle rains, caressing winds
Fecund earth, surrounding soil
Bursts with abundance
Gather these tokens of aloha
Into baskets of love and memories
Woven under moons and suns
To float on tides and eddies
Gather sisters, brothers
Gather family, friends
The sacred blossoms of ancient chiefs
Gather on strands of silver sand
The singsong seashore scatters sand crabs
Gather together where the paddlers glide
On morning tide, horizon silhouette
Sunlight morning calls us together—
E ala ē Kahiki kū, e ala ē Kahiki moe
Mai ka lā hiki a ka hālāwai
Gather and weave baskets from memories
Gather and weave lei of alofa
Weave lei from flowers and foliage
Weave love from the fragrant forests
Weave lei of sweet memories
Shared in laughter, tears
Under Sina’s watchful eye
Sun shines down on joyous waves
Seabirds dance and call above
Guide us in our love
Gather together, sisters, brothers
Gather together, family, friends
Weave lei of ‘awapuhi ‘ula, palapalai
That dance beyond Moananuiākea’s vast horizon
We weave a lei of love for you, dear Sina
Alofa atu, alofa mai
A hui hou, until we meet again.

He Kanikau no Caroline Sinavaiana
kuʻualoha hoʻomanawanui, June 2024

Haʻu haʻu uē wale, haʻu haʻu uē nō
Uē ka lani, uē ka ua Tuahine o Mānoa
Uē ka lani, uē ka makani Kahaukani o Mānoa
Uē ā kiaʻi manu o Mānoa, nā manu o Kū
Ua nalo wale, ua lilo loa i ka pō
Ua hoʻi ʻoe  ma ke ala popolohiwa a Kanaloa
Ua lele ʻoe me kou manu ʻaumakua
Ua kuʻu ʻoe i ke ʻaukuʻu
Ua lele ʻoe i ka lani, i ka pō
Ua hoʻi ʻoe me nā kūpuna
Nui ke aloha iā ʻoe, e kuʻu hoa
Kuʻu kumu aloha nui i noho i ka maluhia loa
He kumu i mālama iā mākou, nā haumāna i ka pō weliweli
He kumu i hānai iā mākou, nā haumāna
He kumu i alofa iā mākou, nā haumāna
He hōkū alohilohi loa ʻoe
He kuaʻana, he kuahine o ke ala loa ʻimi naʻauo
He kuaʻana, he kuahine o ke ala loa moʻolelo o ka Pakipika
He kuaʻana, he alakaʻi i ka ʻimi heluhelu kākau
He kuaʻana, he alakaʻi i ka Palapala Pasifika
He kuaʻana i ka hui malaga Pasifika holoholo maikaʻi
He haku mele, he tusi tala, he ipu moʻolelo
He wahine mana loa ʻoe, he alakaʻi naʻauao
He wahine mana loa ʻoe, e ulana mau loa i nā peʻa o nā vaka
He wahine mana loa ʻoe, me ka pihaʻeu
He wahine mana loa ʻoe, he alakaʻi i ka maluhia
He ʻaukuʻu nō ʻoe, e lele
He ʻaukuʻu nō ʻoe, e lele leʻaleʻa
He ʻaukuʻu nō ʻoe, e lele loa
He ʻaukuʻu nō ʻoe, e kuʻu ʻia i ka lani
He ʻaukuʻu nō ʻoe, e kuʻu ʻia i ka honua
He ʻaukuʻu nō ʻoe, e kuʻu iā Pūlotu
E hui hou nō me Saveasiʻuleo, me Nāfanua
E hui hou nō me nā manu kūpuna e alakaʻi mau loa
E lele nō ʻoe me nā manulele o ka moana
Ka ʻiwa, ka mōlī, ke noio kōhā
E hehi i nā ʻale me ke kaʻupu
E lele nō ʻoe me nā manulele o ka honua
Ka manumea, ka lulu, ka fuia
E hoʻopūnana me ka lupe nunu maluhia o ka waonahele
E lele nō ʻoe i Kahiki
E lele nō ʻoe i Tutuila
E lele nō ʻoe i Utulei, kou one hānau
E lele a lilo i le vā
E lele me ka maluhia
E lele nō ʻoe me ke alofa mau loa
E hoʻomanaʻo nō ia me ke alofa

Only grief, only tears
The heavens weep, the Tuahine (Sister) rain of Mānoa cries
The heavens weep, the Kahaukani wind of Mānoa wails
The guardian birds of Mānoa, the Manu o Kū weep for you
Gone, vanished to the realm of the ancestors
Returned there on the sacred dark pathway of Kanaloa
You have flown with your bird guardian
You have been released by the ʻaukuʻu
You have flown to the heavens, to the realm of the ancestors
You are reunited with your ancestors
You are greatly loved, dear friend
My beloved teacher, the one who lived in peace
Who cared for us (students) in the time of great disaster
A teacher who fed us
A teacher who showed us much compassion and concern
You are a bright shining star in the heavens
An elder sister on the long path of wisdom-seeking
An elder sister of the long path of Pasifika knowledge
An elder sister, a leader of research and writing
An elder sister, a leader of Pasifika literature
An elder sister of the really wonderful Pasifika traveling group
An exemplary poet, storyteller, historian
You are a woman of great mana, an intellectual leader
You are a woman of great mana, forever weaving the sails of our vaka
You are a woman of great mana and laughter
You are a woman of great mana, a leader of peace
You are an ʻaukuʻu bird, fly
You are an ʻaukuʻu bird, laughing, joyful
You are an ʻaukuʻu bird, forever flying free
You are an ʻaukuʻu bird released from the sky
You are an ʻaukuʻu bird released from the earth
You are an ʻaukuʻu bird released to Pūlotu
Reunited with Saveasiʻuleo, with Nāfanua
Reunited with our bird ancestors who guide us always
Fly high with the seabirds who guide our navigators
The frigate, the albatross, the noddy tern
The albatross who tramples the waves of our great ocean
Fly free with the birds of our forests
The manumea pigeon, the owl, the Samoan starling
Create peaceful sanctuary with the doves of the forest
Fly to Kahiki
Fly to Tutuila
Fly home to your birthland, Utulei
Fly, transform, through the alchemies of distance
Fly with peace
You fly free with much love always
You are remembered with much love forever

kuʻualoha hoʻomanawanui is a writer, artist, and scholar, from Wailua Homesteads, Kauaʻi. She is a professor of Hawaiian Literature at the University of Hawaiʻi-Mānoa, where she specializes in Hawaiian and Pacific literatures. She was a student of Caroline Sinavaiana, and later colleague and friend. She is an avid aloha ʻāina and active member of the Hawaiʻi Wild Bird Rescue hui.

Vilsoni (Vili) Hereniko – a poem

SINA

When you arrive
Call me by my name
SINA
And I will return

A NIU basket

Woven
From the Tree of Life
To carry your
TEARS

‘SINA’

Vilsoni (Vili) Hereniko is a professor, author, scholar, playwright, filmmaker, and fiber artist (weaver of niu baskets, as in the pic.) at the School of Cinematic Arts at the University of Hawai’i at Manoa. Originally from Rotuma, Fiji, he has lived in Hawai’i for more more than thirty years.

Susan Schultz – Three poems

Prelegy: before hearing of Sina’s death

I was with the girl pulled from the rubble   covered
in dust  shaking aftermath of hurricane without wind
and she was with me in my bed when half-awake
my powerlessness failed to shelter me like a sheet
I was powerless to feel powerless   afflicted by her
terror I reached to hug her and did  for the rest
of the night hold her body to my body  the teacher
said each of the tears she cried for her dead son
saved thousands of souls she’d never known
despite the terror of five hours under broken cement
without parent or sibling   tears come between
her and her broken bed   water streaming down stairs
at the ballpark   waterfalls engorged after a week of rain
the sound of it to her was voices or nothing
the sound of bones inside her arms clattering
something to keep her awake in my bed with husband
and cat and dog (were we to let her) a safe puddle
to bathe in   my daughter’s first bath with me a bucket
she turned over her head in a tub overlooking Kathmandu
rising in antiquity to meet us as I watched her
caring for herself   grieving and yet happy
the dust ran off her tiny body as she stood
embraced by glass and light and dusted air
I wish for you a life small girl who shivers un-
controlled on my screen   pulled from the acid
of this war   developed like a photograph into
the obverse image  on my lanai   dead palm fronds
the better to catch the sound of rain

puzzle

I wake up trying to put you
together again. Can’t look
at what I can’t imagine /
or can / as I pretend to open
an instruction manual /
It tells my hands how
to remake arms, chest,
skull, the bright face
I can’t see dimmed
even in death /  a body split
open / is not fruit or seed
or even mulch / but presence
of blood and being
whose spirit wanders /
Even your killer wants
you not to wander
though she has her reasons /
through bardos, down streets,
before altars, bead to bead
as mantras repeat
spirit recipes for rising /
resting / filling / air with yeasty
smells, like the smoke on
a lawn that rises / as presences /
where lehua perk up for a lover
built of wood, red pom pom
(you’d been a cheerleader!)
lit against gnarled ‘Ōhi‘a  bark /
signal to your being here
in the forest for the trees
not finding anything / but signs /
the rusted ones / MEN WORKING
propped against a tree stump /
NO TRESPASSING dissolving
into rain’s constancy /
Your post-it notes re-
minded you of Impermanence /
No one will applaud
you / til death has softened
all our hard edges.

Elegy

To make meaning. To thresh it. To go all agricultural with it.
To sew meaning. To hem it. To haw it. To mend it when it tears.
To mean. To have that ambition. To cut construction paper, put glue on it.
To mean, to adhere. As to be connected—nay stuck—together.
To mean as to gather. To harvest. To love the chaff as much as the wheat.
To be the contractor on such a project. That’s my CV, my claim
to an ordinary life, investigative, odd. One day meaning trips,
falls, can’t be found at the canyon’s floor. Meaning:
you have failed me, leaving a brief presence like smoke.
Meaning--we love what we can’t see,
Though in this case, we see what we’re told to–
Locked in that bathroom with you, dear Sina,
I hold your hand, as I did my mother’s, chanting
Om mane padme hung as you, and she, died.
I couldn’t protect her from the blotching
that began at her feet, crawled toward her heart.
Sina, could I have saved you from your death?
Not knowing where your life went, out window or door,
fleeing to the provinces, failing to tell
why what happened happened. All redundancy
Intended, the the of shock, this this of grieving.
Do not enter that small room, my friend says,
but think of large things, transcendent ones.
of dogs, puppy playing on the lawn
for whom meaning is only a head game
humans play to pass the time. We pass away,
we euphemize, we rationalize, we hurt,
we insist we can still talk to you.
Let’s aspire again to the beautiful
banality of being. Rain drop on roof,
distant car, `io that loves open space.
A little girl recognizes his call,
Pulls flowers from bushes, rests
In her father’s arms. Hold to that.
Hold to that. Hold her.

Susan Schultz: Sina was my dear colleague and friend for nearly 30 years in Hawai`i. I was editor/publisher of her book of poems, Alchemies of Distance (2002).