I am sitting in the sea
it is dry
children emptied it
and then there was nothing
I climb out of the car
my eyes are young
from the light leaves climb
up the walls, red
university lies ahead
school is over
and now I must become here
what I want to be
what do you think, my mother asks
it looks good
the buildings are neat
yes
she knows what’s good for me
my mother is my shepherd
but not every sheep
sleeps in the centre of the herd
I was orphaned a child
I was dumb and flesh
and ready and a loaded
bullet in the chamber
knowledge in my head
at least that’s what I thought
but soon I would realise
in life I walked with nothing
light years away from
bull’s eyes and festive fires
for now the novelty
of standing alone, fists to chest
suitcases hold lives
inside walls rolling outwards
sky and laid plans and gardens
yes
from cradock to bedford
from bedford to grahamstown
carlisle bridge and the fish river
prickly pears and euphorbias
over potholes through hell’s poort
where haunted houses stood counting
silently the blue gums the cattle
shedding the year’s first hide
a sootsuited raven
on pole in ground
from the open window wind
inside here, music
this landscape I know well
and yet that means nothing
new words for new things
cauterising the green shoots
I am in grahamstown for four years
to become five
in many ways it becomes
the place I am born
unloading unpacking computer printer
goodbye farewell
the town is amove
like a hand full of ants
sprinkled over people and rooftops
the cathedral and the sun
shadows the clocks
of people’s progress
over radiohead’s ok computer
from which the buzzing fridge
opens an imagination
around fingers in a pen
why words I don’t know
how it happens I don’t know
one thing is certain:
I dream ink
the rest hang maimed
bleeding on the fences
jackal wire brain
below, stars
a baby’s first step
happens unaware of usain bolt
maybe we are saved because we know
that tortoise beat the hare
I walk uphill
I walk downhill
I get up early
I sleep late
lectures and books
music discovered and people
who eye you as if
you are from space
and you them
zimbabweans and goths
hip hop kids and bungies
joburgers and locals
spun from the same hair
gathered here to
bestink and prettify
bed without shame
high above the eastern cape
thunder flowers from nothing
lightning growls thick and threatening
shadows and soars
to the temporary drought
the insect always comes
splitting the mirror with its blade
the night awake in a scream
a drop of water from the sky
and the weavers become fish
and the sun lies down to birth
anemones from the belly
where were you then?
how did you sleep?
it would be years
before I knew you
but somewhere someone
had already dealt the cards
dotted the dice
carved in bone
how do we know what happens
and how we become what we do
no, we know nothing
the final twenty metres is luck
in the meantime the mosquitoes
who crossed the border with guns
have dragged back the biltong
erased their tracks with twigs
trophies on the walls
stuffed for the centuries
just to be nipped in the bud ourselves
embalmed, entombed
day in day out
the weeks notches
greasy kaif chips
cricket on the great field
deep in the library
the ticking of a bomb
and around exam halls trees
stripped autumn’s bare
but music moves invisibly
through cigarette smoke and booze
and around the corners of mouths smiles
in brains rhythms, rhythms
festival time leeches you dry
with art and gatherings and children
freshly bound from leftovers
in the winter’s brand new home
thrown open to the people
who congregate at the fireplace
hands open and hoping
for healing, a heart shocked to life
steal a glance wherever you can
shake hands from thick jerseys
until tassenberg gives you the courage
to set your own heart loose
hunched over a microphone
inhaling fire
the coats of the soldiers
smokeshadows to the walls
the people in the audience
have noses and eyes and ears
and every last one
harbours the courage to also
pluck rabbits from the hypnotised
hats of the collective south african
conscience pitched on the hills here
tents ablaze, help
cool is automatically
detonated in the head and then
the rest of your life is yours
mistakes on your forehead, doomed
we touch people
brought to us by accident
the forgotten remains of which
the future will wring from us
just like the ebbing flood
the melting snow the fearful frost
when the day seeps its sun
into the bed of the night
but first more beer and shots
at bright lights and the union
the vic and cathcart arms
tin roof blues, pop art
sons of trout and amersham
sugardrive and squeal
the dolly rockers and chris letcher
and matthew van der want
stumbling around on our shoulders
ploughing back brotherly love
a hadeda in the distance
a chirping dog close by
along new street and high
raglan duncan betram
beaufort and african
nowadays all winnie’s
the map would cover our minds
years later, stories diminished
we forget and we forgive
we remember and we remember
nights with wellington’s pies
on the bench at the bp express
and the trick of how exactly to
cheat the coffee machine for more
digs parties bottles of wine
mountain drive old brown sherry
candle light campfire crate on sit
tomorrow is a myth
with the radio across the mountains
wet tracks from the bathroom
imprints in the grass
in between the toes, stereo
fleeing from what we know
in the face of the film negatives
of the dried sweat
clinging to our cold faces
I dream in the seam of the ocean
the song swells, a lung
but when I wake up
silence, the softness gone
stupidly stumbling from lust
to desire to lust
immersed in the house
all the lights left on
avoid nothing on principle
the tail is long and cracks
like a whip around your neck
feet in the air
in the painted white faces
next to the cold cathedral
coins clanging tinnily
under the blessings for africa
the church spires might search
upwards to heaven’s preserve
but the feet are pressed forever
downwards to the tar
rhythmically they now hammer
cracking the streets
the escaping spirits
applause, applause
sawdust for the rain
the valley varnished in mist
the night comes as a cave
blanket over every head
one would think the feet would trample
but they feed and nourish
everyone who comes through
even more so those who stay
leave something of themselves
on the corner of a street and then
when the city gathers its thoughts
staggering around, paved in gold
my torch is small
the darkness deep
woven from fine grass a bridge
from the reeds a tweet, a tweet
iris open and close light and dark
black and white
the sound of jazz
carlo mombelli, god
the stars have paused for us
the small city our crown
makana’s kop’s bristly
hair awake in wind
trees with roots to where
the aquifers quietly sleep
holding stone and lamp post and
brick and cement together
outside hear the donkeys
blowing saxophones and tears
across tin roofs and wood fires
rats for food
smoke is the land’s warm
from under which white eyes dart
to ten fingers around a cup
beating hearts, northwards in prayer
what if we have to life forever
where the sea meets the land
global warming and war
the lust for life for nothing
would we overflow with memories
would laughing become a bore
or crying in our sleep
would we hold our grief too close?
no ways, the wind
the wind devours
you my child, the sparks
arrow tips, you my child
in the escape of the kiss
and the brief remains
the manners and hinges
and oh, the delight
of tumbling over
of tongue melted to tongue
in the ice-cream of our bodies
licked to sickle-moon dunes
stand up on the board
with the sun on your back
and the land to your left
the wave is a bridge
where one could play forever
the knight on his horse
except now for gravity
and sharks and sinking metal
underneath the autumn leaves
underneath high street
spears and bones swim
amongst yesterday’s graves
history must have meant
for us to stand on a rooftop
smoking dagga today and together
walking the streets we laugh
isn’t it just the best
that soccer balls and rugby balls
don’t bounce
in the same manner?
that time sorts itself
out and death walks naked
poking its head in and out
of tunnels just for fun?
yes we think we know
think we can
but when the alarms go off
pillows on our heads, pillows on our heads
and the wider world
and its sudans and iraqs
earthquakes and floods
poverty and sickness
the congo and somalia
and sommer just those who beg
at the shoprite and the spar
desperation, sadness
circling over the hills
and the pineapple fields
the flags are half mast
awaiting our help
lower albany farms and fumbles
murder and rape
and aids steamed onto
every fourth face
but wait a bit now
why all the remorse
we laugh and we live
over that which could and should
in the hand’s warm fold
where we find ourselves
at the crossroads to choose
the future, blindly
with the ocean slowly seeping
shiny the beaches, shiny
the sore from your eyes
eroding the last of the islands
why then follow the twisted coils
arson, kicking down doors
kieries to the ready
tequilas through the eyeballs
by raising the hand to new blood
pouring deep and feeding breast
abreast through the streets
elated, elated
the skin under the tongue
craving the sweetness
in the hammock while
the bands begin to play
up the koppie down the koppie
doves to the windshield
and mokador and jagermeister
yes we win, yes we win
gargle down fish-bones
dassies from their holes
the shots ring around the ears
of the springbok nude girls
now that I know where you were
at the beach, or the waterfront
I realise what was missing
why you had to come
yes, some lead me away
but every road has its flotsam
its photographs and pause
and a new push to you
so snow and in heaven’s name
trout and beer and left hand steering
together with dreams and wonder
had to be endured, enjoyed
but before that still
we meet in surprise almost
you more than me
I was dazed
but your arms across the table
reaching to my hands
holding me fast
holding me here
look at us now
every fold ironed from our faces
just so that new wrinkles
can enrich the world again
I plead from you, I beg
carry your lips in my ear
wear your smile on your head
take the day by the collars
I am here if you need me
under your hair, in your shoe
between your fingers and toes
I’m watching every blink
from wakeness to sleepness
you know where I live
and in my rib cage the sun drips
welding the shape of a flower
in grahamstown stands the crossroad
of chance and luck
lining the streets arm in arm
singing for the president
in grahamstown the people
wake in their sleep
dream the day away
the city is their ocean
my ocean is full again
and it all began here
how did you know?
how did you know?
Podcast read by the author
