> > 'okina

From the Hawaiian tongue flows a tumble of vowels that rush, pool, cascade through a soundscape that is, in a word, populated by only a smattering of isolated consonants. Even these: H, L, M, N, P, and W seem softened leaving only the modestly resistant, toothy K. The very language is suggestive of a swift but gentle current. It is warm; melodic. Its undertones signal a welling fecundity. By extension, the Hawaiian archipelago projects from the subtropical Pacific as an immediate and serviceable simile to this inviting linguistic form. The course of a native speaker's lilting singsong pattern is intermittently broken, between syllables, by an intentional obstruction of airflow via the constriction of the glottis. As recurring yet unexpected hesitations, these shallow pauses resemble the slightest of coughs or the most discreet of swallows. Or, drifting between biological and editorial imperatives, a politely personal demurral. Having surpassed a cursory level of engagement, this glottal stop is discernible to even a haole’s—a mainlander’s—insensitive ear. This verbal negative space is known as an ‘okina, and in print it is indicated by a teardrop shaped diacritical mark [‘] that resembles an inverted apostrophe. It measures neither possession nor contraction. It marks a shift, a cut, a break; and is an expression of that which is otherwise innocent of presence. A birdsong void; a measure of absence.