Antjie Krog Poems

neither the moist intimacy of your eyelids fair as fennel
nor the violence of your body withholding behind sheets
nor what comes to me as your life
...

under orders from my ancestors you were occupied
had I language I could write for you were land my land
...

tonight everything speaks through the dead
towards me
your brittle bundle of bones
...

since we started walking
this road the irises
finished blooming the still
abandoned eyeballs of
...

that I come back to you
tired and without memory
that the kitchen door is open I

shuffle in with suitcases hurriedly bought presents
my family's distressed dreams
slink down the corridor the windows stained

with their abandoned language in the hard
bathroom light I brush my teeth
put a pill on my tongue: Thur

that I walk past where my daughter sleeps
her sheet neatly folded beneath her chin
on the dressing table silkworms rear in gold

that I can pass my sons
frowning like fists against their pillows
their restless undertones bruise the room

that I can rummage a nightie from the drawer
slip into the dark slit behind your back
that the warmth flows across to me

makes me neither poet nor human
in the ambush of breath
I die into woman
...

my liefdeswoorde raak yler as die geluid van sering
my taal twisserig
verbyster en verteder voel ek my deur jou verbete vegtery

jy hou my vas nog altyd soos niemand nie
jy kies my kant nog altyd soos niemand nie
teen jou borskas belieg en bely ek
jy jag my elke gebaar
jy haal my oral in
jy trek my neer tussen bos en gras
in die voetpad keer jy my om
dat ek jou in die oë moet kyk
jy skop my in die eiers
jy ratel my aan die nekvel
jy hou my, piel in die rug, op die straight en narrow
...

my words of love grow more tenuous than the sound of lilac
my language frayed
dazed and softened I feel myself through your stubborn struggle

you still hold me close like no-one else
you still choose my side like no-one else
against your chest I lie and I confess
you hunt my every gesture
you catch up with me everywhere
you pull me down between bush and grass
on the footpath you turn me around
so that I must look you in the eye
you kick me in the testicles
you shake me by the skin of my neck
you hold me, prick in the back, on the straight and narrow
...

(dit is die bloukraanvoël se storie wat hy sing; hy sing van sy skouer, dat die bessies van die krieboom (kareeboom) op sy skouer is; hy loop terwyl hy sing:)
I

die bessies is op my skouer
die bessies is op my skouer
die bessies, dis op my skouer
die bessies is op my skouer
die bessies is hier, bó (op my skouer)
Rrrú is hier bo
die bessies is hier bó
rrrú is hier bó
is hier bó
die bessies rrú is gebêre (op my skouer)


II

(terwyl hy vir 'n mens weghardloop)
'n splinter van klip wat wit is
'n splinter van klip wat wit is
'n splinter van klip wat wit is


III

(terwyl hy stadig loop, rustig en in vrede loop)
'n wit klip splinter
'n wit klip splinter

IV

(as hy sy vlerke klap)
skraap (die springbokvel vir) 'n bed
skraap (die springbokvel vir) 'n bed
Rrrrú rrra
Rrrú rrra
Rrú rra
...

(//Kabbo sings the blue crane's story; he sings over his shoulder that the berries of the karee tree are on his shoulder; he sings as he walks)
I

the berries are on my shoulder
the berries are on my shoulder
the berries, they're on my shoulder
the berries are on my shoulder
the berries are here, above (on my shoulder)
Rrrú is here above
the berries are here above
rrrú is here above
is here above
the berries rrú are safe (on my shoulder)


II

(while he is running away from someone)
a splinter of stone that's white
a splinter of stone that's white
a splinter of stone that's white


III

(while he is walking slowly, calmly and at a steady pace)
a white stone splinters
a white stone splinters

IV

(when he flaps his wings)
scrape (the springbok for) a bed
scrape (the springbok for) a bed
Rrrrú rrra
Rrrú rrra
Rrú rra
...

Susara Domroch van Kubus
‘nee Oupa Mandela vir hom stem ek
hoekom is om Nama te wees vandag om iets te wees?
omdat ons nou ons eie woord is
onder die ou regerings was ons hulle woord
oor jarre is ons uitgedryf na die bar plekke
Kleurling Reserves
ons was niks
maar vandag is ons iets
en dis hy, daai Ouman Mandela, dis hy
nee Mandela-goed het my stem gekry'

Kubus se kerk staan wit teen die kwartsiet lug
en stoot stem teen die rante uit
‘o God blaas en bloei u liefde oor ons,'
sê oom Adam
hand op die hart sing die gemeente
‘ja Jessus is 'n rots
in 'n dorr-stigge land
'n dorr-stigge land
'n dorr-stigge land'
‘U is soos wasem vir my
Hiesus Hie-ie-ie-sus'
Kubus háng aan die rante van Rosyntjieberg

dit vra baie God om hier te hou

Mev Farmer van Eksteenfontein
‘ek's mos vreeslik vás aan vee
'n huis is vir my niks
maar die ope veld
ek het grootgeraak so in die ope veld
in 'n ronde huisietjie
toe ons hier kom, reën dit
en die gousblomme staat so hoog
as ek hurk sit ek onder 'n blommevloer
daarvandaan het ek die plek aangeneem
dat ek hom nounog liefhet
vir die aard
vir die veld'
...