Antjie Krog

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'
...

Susara Domroch of Kubus
‘well I'll vote for Grandpa Mandela
why is it that you're someone these days if you're Nama?
because we're now our own word
under the old governments we were their word
for many years we were driven to the barren places
Coloured Reserves
we were nothing
but today we're something
and it's him, that Granddad Mandela, it's him
no, Mandela's lot have got my vote'

the church in Kubus stands white against the quartzite sky
and echoes its voice among the ridges
‘o God blow and bloom your love for us'
says Uncle Adam
the congregation sing with their hands on their hearts
‘yes Jesus is a rock
in a thi-ir-sty land
a thi-ir-sty land
a thi-ir-sty land
you are like breath to me
Je-sus Je-ee-ee-sus'
Kubus hangs on the edge of Raisin Mountain

God it takes a lot to survive out here

Mrs Farmer of Eksteensfontein
‘I'm just very attached to cattle
a house isn't for me
but the open country
I grew up like this in the open country
in a little round house
when we came here it was raining
and the marigolds were growing high
when I squatted I sat under a floor of flowers
so I made a place of my own
that I still love
for the earth
for the country'
...

Oom Jakobus de Wet praat poetry
‘rondom Jerusalem is berge
hier alleen by die bokke in die veld
is ook berge
maar rondom ons is God
ek voel Hom heel aand aankom so van Akkediskloof se kant

my kleinkind Benjamin doen die weiwerk
sy mond het my dit vanoggend gesê
self gesê hy wil 'n veeboer wees
en ek is tevrede
God het vir elkeen 'n talent ingesit
saans by die staning hoef ons nie te praat nie
ons weet waar gewei is waar gewei moet word
dis 'n goeie lewe om aan 'n kind te gee
elke kind het sy eer
laat ek dit maar sê
dis baie smaaklik om saam met 'n kleinkind te wees
hy laat jou lag
hy laat jou goed praat wat nie heeltemal toepas nie
dis goed om by 'n kind te wees

want dag en nag is jy alleen hier by die staning met Christus
julle praat
jy kan agteroor lê
en met helder oë met Hom praat
jy kan maar net kyk
want gees gewaar gees

weerloos lê die rivier
oop aar in die hitte
die landskap ondenkbaar sonder die bruingroen sny
onverwoesbaar ouer as die oudste mensasem op klip
hy voed die bokke van maak en die bokke van dood
hier's van niks te veel
hier's van niks te bittermin
die berg aan die oorkant lyk soos iets wat lek
teen middaguur blus dit in blou

ek kyk op my horlosie
dis twintig minute voor drie
en dit beteken absoluut niks nie
ons dommel tussen koelte en vreet en hitte

die son kantel eindelik
die rante galm van blêr soos die groot bokke staning toe kom
die vasgebinde lammertjies spook aan hulle riempies
niks so saf soos boklam
(onthou my taal)
niks so soet snoetig
fynbekkig weerloosogig soos boklam
teen die aand se kant
party kry tiet party kry vreemde tiet
dis grootblêr tot platblêr tot kleinverloorblêr
tot mofblêr tot sanikblêr tot bederfblêr
tot vererg se baasblêr

die fluweel van 'n boklam se oor
glip deur my hand
‘hoe lê ek die lyne af na jou toe lief
as die laat lig so kliplangs knel'

‘'n kleur kom nooit alleen nie,' sê sy
toe die rante teen skemer losraak en wegval in blou kantvalle
die plooingsgebergtes omsit in vuur
en amber
die rivier verstil tot weerkaatsende stroke selei
dit raak voeltyd en voëltyd
deur die geweld van kleur en riet
vlieg 'n reier stil die vallei af
bontrokkies kuifkoppies sysies
bondel in tossels op die grasbank langs my tent
die berg bêre sy klip in die water

daar's 'n trilling van klip en rivierwilgers en riet
'n duif in die krans val verskrik in klank

ek slaap op die wal van Die Rivier
die hele nag vloei dit stil en breed by my verby soos bloed
uit 'n wond - bokant lê die gruis van sterre
maak die nag haarself oop -
dadelik is kleur die oerkluts kwyt
...

Uncle Jacobus de Wet talks in poems
‘near Jerusalem there are mountains
here alone with the goats in the veld
there are also mountains
but God is all around us
I feel him approaching all evening from the direction of Akkediskloof (Lizard Canyon)

my grandchild Benjamin does the herding
he told me so himself this morning
even said he wanted to be a cattle farmer
and I'm content
God has given everyone a talent
in the evenings in the pasture we don't have to talk
we know which have been pastured and which have yet to be pastured
it's a good life to give a child
every child has his honour
let me just say this
it is very pleasant to be with a grandchild
he makes you laugh
he lets you talk about things that aren't really relevant
it's good to be with a child

because you're alone here day and night in the pasture with Jesus
you talk
you can lie back
and with clear eyes talk to him
you only have to look
because flesh notices flesh

the river lies defenceless
open vein in the heat
the landscape unthinkable without that brown-green cut
indestructible older than the oldest human breath on stone
he feeds the goats whether they live or die
there isn't much of nothing here
there's much too little of nothing here
the mountain on the other side looks as if it's leaking
at midday it is extinguished in blue

I look at the watch
it's twenty to three
and that means absolutely nothing
we doze between coolness and eating and heat

the sun sinks at last
the ridges echo with blaring as the big goats come in to pasture
the lambs are tied up and pulling at their tethers
nothing as soft as goat's lamb
(my language remembers)
nothing so sweet snouty
sweet to the mouth defenceless-looking as goat's lamb
towards evening
some get their mother's tit some get a strange tit
from full blaring to flat blaring to lost blaring
to muffled blaring to whining blaring to spoiled blaring
to irritated bossy blaring

the satin of a lamb's ear
slips through my hand
‘how do I tie my line to you my love
when the late light strikes stone'

a colour never comes alone she says
when the ridges float and fall in blue folds of satin

the pleated mountains turn to fire
and amber
the river stills into reflecting streaks of jelly
it's feeling time and flying time
in the violence of colour and reeds
a heron flies silently through the valley
redbreast fly-catchers, tufted ducks, seed eaters
bunched in tassels on the grassy bank by my tent
the mountain hides its stone in the water

there's a shivering of stone and river willows and reeds
frightened by sound a dove falls from the crag

I sleep on the bank of The River
the whole day it flows past me quiet and broad like blood
from a wound - above me lie the chippings of stars
the night opens itself -
soon colour loses its original way
...

(fragment)
die sterre vat jou hart
want die sterre is vir jou nie bietjie honger nie!
die sterre verruil jou hart vir 'n ster se hart
die sterre vat jou hart en voer jou 'n ster se hart
dan word jy nooit weer honger nie

want die sterre sê: ‘Tsau! Tsau!'
en die boesmans sê die sterre vervloek die springbok se oë
die sterre sê: ‘Tsau!' hulle sê: ‘Tsau! Tsau!'
hulle vloek die springbok se oë
ek het groot geword luisterend na die sterre
die sterre sê: ‘Tsau! Tsau!'

dis altyd somer wanneer jy die sterre hoor Tsau-sê
...

(fragment)
the stars take your heart
because the stars aren't the least bit hungry for you!
the stars exchange your heart for the heart of a star
the stars take your heart and feed you the heart of a star
then you'll never be hungry again

because the stars say: ‘Tsau! Tsau!'
and the bushmen say the stars curse the springbok's eyes
the stars say: ‘Tsau!' they say: ‘Tsau! Tsau!'
they curse the springbok's eyes
I grew up listening to the stars
the stars say: ‘Tsau! Tsau!'

it's always summer when you hear the stars saying Tsau
...

9.

herfs die enkelheid uit jou slaap voor dagbreek
alle sinjale swerf deur jou tong
en ons hou mekaars bloed in bewaring
my geleefde
my geloofsang verrukte

jou onbedingbare asem
maak van ons apartes
mettertyd
o my gelyfde lief
swaartekrag-talmend, almalmagtig: ons
...

9.

autumn the singularity from your sleep before dawn
all signals roam through your tongue
and we hold each other's blood in trust
my lived one
my faithsong enraptured

your non-negotiable breath
makes of us separate ones
in the course of time
o my embodied love
lingering in gravity, all-powerful: us
...

Toen uw vel schreeuwde vatten mijn beenderen vuur.
Hugo Claus
1.

jy kom my omhaal
aan die anderkant van die wêreld
jou roep hoor ek
bibbernagblou en ge-
blind aan stralende gebeentes

by jou my snerpende kop

onwillig behaar
geuromgord
begin jy die ek uit die self knoop
die onskendbare eens
laat jy los in vele

uit-mekaar-uit-neer-sit
losmakend die een stuk uit die ander
sodat die verbintenisse voortvouend
blyk in die ondraaglik meeskrywende a-
sem ongekloofde rose

om uit-
mekaar-te-haal
die ek
van die ook-ek
die jy
van die byna-
jou-in-my

hoor, sê jy, hoe on-
naspeurbaar treur
die dieptesig van liefde
...

When your skin screamed my bones caught fire.
Hugo Claus
1.

you come to win me over
at the other end of the world
I hear your call
shivering night blue and blindly
bound by radiant bones

with you my head bitingly cold

unwillingly hairgrown
scentgirded
you begin to unfasten the I from the self
the inviolable once
you let loose in many

separating-laying-side-by-side
loosening one piece from another
so that the bonds seem incessantly to unfold
in the unbearably co-writing
breath of unsundered roses

to dis-
mantle
the I
from the also-I
the you
from the almost-
you-in-me

listen, you say, how un-
fathomably it grieves,
the profoundness of love
...

2.

jou vokale sterf by my verby
so naby dat dit ek
kon gewees het

oneindig die statiese lading van sterre
wat spetterend snags boeie aan ons slaan

maar jy wat ek kon gewees het
maar nog nie was nie, jy skuifel
hardnekkig skif jy tot toebedeelde veelsaamheid

elke blaar wat val
val alleen, weerlê ek

jou gesig knars tot stilstand

ek wil
die ek wat ek is
bly

maar waar
begín
die issende-ek?

op die plek
waar die ek soos jy is
of daar waar die ek anders as jy is?

my tong word doof
jou oë kirr uit die oogholtes van die verlorenes
net 'n asemlek blink
granaatpitblink
tussen waar ek-is is
en jy-nie is

ek vergaan - grint in die keel
jou vokale sterf hier verby
so naby
dat my ooglid aan jou liefde smee
...