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LOVE IN THE TIME OF CORONA
LOVE IN THE TIME OF CORONA
1a: Zoom
1a: Zoom
Sunday 15 March 2020
The lady behind and I wonder together
why we’re queueing with trolleys this Sunday --
all at the same time… Should we not be self-isolating?
Maybe a sudden panic spilling into our homes through US TV?
A man ahead of me sneezes into his hand, touches the credit card machine.
Thankfully my phone distracts with Symphony no. 6 by Mahler —
majestic tones seem to suit the global Corona virus drama.
In my head I plan for tomorrow— Zooming training from my home
to a campus in another town, instead of driving there.
But then I see your message —
that you’re so excited, wouldn’t miss seeing me for anything.
Your enthusiasm makes me less sure of the spectrum of benefits
attached to virtual living and learning:
Waves of flash backs and fondest memories wash over me
as I push the trolley bit by bit
along the narrow check-out corridor lined by chocolate.
It was your first time in a plane. All the way to Berlin as a pair
to talk about virtual teaching. There, Cape Town Skyped you back,
casting to Africa how we train nurses in peri-urban KZN.
You soaked it all in. The Weihnachtsmarkt’s twinkling lights
by Kaiser Wilhelm Church’s brutally bombarded tower
left as a World War II reminder. You braved harrowing stories
along the path built from bricks of the Berlin Wall.
I have pics of you kissing a Christmas moose, and trying caviar.
You rolled rudimentary German Rs to negotiate the underground.
We got off a bus late at night in a dodgy place — found our way home.
With your red coat and dimple cheeks you entertained me --
pouted on a couch in that famous bar named after Marlene Dietrich.
We did it all. And when I said, let’s return via Paris,
you didn’t say no.
Along the Champs-Élysées you snapped a sneaky pic of me
kicking winter leaves like a kid. And that one I really like —
my tree yoga pose copying the Eiffel Tower.
You learnt to give up fancy boots for something more sensible;
to share a room and wash your smalls like shoestring travellers do.
You ate McDonalds with gusto, so we could splurge on a single meal
in an enchanted place tucked away from tourists — Le Coup Chou
(The Little Cabbage) where patrons duck at the door to enter.
There you dined by the fireplace in Dietrich’s chair,
crying because you were moved by Parisian flair --
a plate of boeuf de champion and a glass of red wine.
We strolled home arm in arm like European girls do
alongside the souls of Zelda Fitzgerald and Gertrude Stein,
through shady alleys where Woody Allen made that movie.
You took me out of my comfort zone — tried rouge lipstick on me
along streets of high fashion, coloured in my cheeks.
Humoured me by snaking up the Pompidou escalator
to consider modern art patiently – only shook your head ever so slightly.
On Montmartre (the mountain of martyrs) we lit candles and prayed,
sipped small coffees among artists. And on our last day,
dear fellow Aquarian sister, you understood —
gave me space -- to wander parks and galleries,
dream among waterlilies, while you, young Marilynne,
all grown up, found your own way to our room —
except — the dashing smile you flashed at a young Parisian drove him insane —
and he followed you on the train. You called your poor husband back home!
Travel sermon 101 followed when I found out:
make a plan — don’t worry those
who are helplessly distant.
So here I am, six years on, reminiscing in the queue,
stocking up for lock-down. The thought of seeing you
might just trump my intentions for tomorrow –
offering mid-term training virtually, to avoid Corona.
I reach for a slab of good chocolate:
the poet in me believes, Delight is the best form of immunity.
But, you’re the scientist, Marilynne – do you agree?
For Marilynne Coopasami, lecturer of Anatomy and Physiology
In the Nursing Programme on the Indumiso Campus of the Durban University of Technology;
to remember our paper presentation at Online Educa, Berlin in December 2014.
1b: Zoom
1b: Zoom
Sondag 15 Maart 2020
(Translated from English to Afrikaans by the poet)
Waarom staan ons almal
terselfdertyd tou met trollies hierdie Sondag?
wonder ek en die vrou agter my.
Hoort ons nie tuis, agter grendels nie?
Miskien net skielike paniek
wat in ons huise instroom
via Amerikaanse televisie?
‘n Man voor my nies in sy hand,
raak aan die kredietkaartmasjien.
Genadiglik lei my foon my aandag af
met Mahler se 6de Simfonie --
gepaste majestieuse tone
vir die globale Corona-virus-drama.
Maar dan sien ek jou boodskap –
dat jy só opgewonde is, enigiets sal doen
om my nié te mis nie. Jou entoesiasme maak my minder seker
oor die spektrum voordele verwant aan virtuele leer en lewe:
golwe terugflitse en hegte herinneringe spoel oor my
soos ek die trollie bietjie vir bietjie stoot, kasregister toe,
deur die nou uitgang gestapel met sjokolade.
Jou eerste keer op ‘n vliegtuig. Al die pad Berlyn toe, ons twee,
om te gaan praat oor virtuele leer. Daar het Kaapstad jou teruggeskype,
na Afrika toe uitgesaai hoe ons verpleegsters oplei in KZN.
Soos ‘n spons het jy het alles opgesuig.
Die Weihnachtsmark se vonkelliggies by Keiser Wilhelm-kerk
brutaal deur ‘n bom ont-toring en só gelaat
sodat niemand die Tweede Wêreldoorlog se skade sal vergeet nie.
Jy’t jou vir grusame stories gestaal
langs die voetpad gemessel uit die Berlynse muur se stene.
Ek het foto’s waar jy ‘n kersfees-takbok soen, kaviaar probeer.
Jy’t jou Duitse R’e gerol om die moltrein te trotseer.
Laat een nag het ons per ongeluk van ‘n bus afgeklim in ‘n rowwe buurt –
ons pad weer terug kamer toe gevind.
Met jou rooi jas en dimpelwangetjies het jy my vermaak –
op ‘n rusbank, in daai beroemde kroeg vernoem na Marlene Dietrich,
soentjies geblaas. Ons het alles gedoen.
En toe ek sê, sal ons via Parys teruggaan? het jy ingestem.
Toe ek soos ‘n kind winterblare geskop het
langs die Champs-Élysées, het jy ‘n skelm kiekie geneem.
En my gunstelingfoto – ek in die boom-joga-posisie
voor die Eiffeltoring. Jy’t geleer
om stylvolle stewels te verruil vir iets meer prakties;
soos platsak-reisigers, jou klein goedjies uit te spoel; en ‘n kamer te deel.
McDonalds met oorgawe geëet, sodat ons op ‘n enkele maaltyd
al ons geld kon uitgee -- in ‘n bekoorlike plekkie anderkant die toeriste-oog --
Le Coup Chou (die Koolkoppie) waar gaste laag moet buk by die voordeur.
Daar het jy in Dietrich se stoel by die kaggel
‘n traan weggepink oor Parys se stylvolle eenvoud –
‘n bord boeuf de champion en ‘n glas rooiwyn.
Ingehaak soos Europese meisies, het ons huis toe gedwaal –
saam met die siele van Zelda Fitzgerald en Gertrude Stein
deur skadu-stegies waar Woody Allen dáárdie rolprent gemaak het.
Buite my gemaksone het jy rooi lipstiffie op my probeer,
in hoogmodestrate my wange ingekleur.
Teen die Pompidou-gebou die roltrap opgegly
om moderne kuns met geduld te oorweeg – net jou kop
effentjies geskud. Op Montmartre (die berg van martelare)
het ons kerse gebrand en gebid,
daarna klein koppies koffie tussen kunstenaars gedrink.
Op ons laaste dag, geliefde suster Waterdraer
het jy verstaan – my ruimte gegee – om alleen
deur parke en gallerye te dwaal, tussen waterlelies te droom,
terwyl jy, jong Marilynne, so skielik groot,
jou eie pad hotel toe kon kry – behalwe –
die glimlag wat jy vir ‘n jong Parysenaar geflits het
het hom rasend gemaak – toe volg hy jou op die trein.
Jy’t jou arme man huis toe gebel!
Reis-les 101 toe ek uitvind: maak ‘n plan –
moenie hulpelose ver-af geliefdes ontstel nie.
So hier’s ek nou, dromend in die tou ses jaar later,
rantsoene vir grendeltyd in ‘n trollie opgestapel.
Die idee van weersiens mag moontlik my plan in die wiele ry
om môre se opleiding virtueel aan te bied om Corona te vermy.
Ek reik na ‘n staaf Europese sjokolade:
die beste vorm van immuniteit,
glo die digter in my, is behae.
Maar, Marilynne, jy’s die deskundige, stem jy saam?
Vir Marilynne Coopasami, dosent in Anatomie en Fisiologie in die Verpleegkunde-program op die Indumiso-kampus van die Durbanse Universiteit van Tegnologie; om ons referaat-aanbieding te onthou in Desember 2014, te Online Educa, Berlyn.
2a: Nearness
2a: Nearness
I
“In the gift of the outpouring
dwells the simple singlefoldness of the four.”
-- The Thing (Heidegger)
You were a wriggly thing
until we brought you into our bed –
so I could sleep
and you could root
to drink as much as you needed.
We became so good at it.
You’d niggle to signal it’s time to turn –
then I’d pull you to my abdomen, roll over…
Nights were wrapped in drink and sleep,
snug between your mom and dad
in the wide blue bed that your grandfather welded.
II
“What is nearness?” -- Heidegger
“The clearing of air is a clearing…for presence and absence.” -- Irigaray
Long after supper, you WhatsApp call --
dad and I walk from the lounge down the passage,
lie down with the speaker between us.
Your voice has a ring of being in charge –
you update us on the latest:
Carnivals of masks and gloves
on streets that might soon be empty.
Corona already took a few.
Second year student in a strange country
on the other side of the earth,
you lay out all your options,
explain with heart and head.
Now that the tears are over,
you’re clear on not coming home –
to us, that is. Heart strings also tied
to a love on a nearby island,
you’ll wait and see, keep us updated.
In your young woman voice
rings a faint air
of once upon a noo-noo*.
Now far and near, the four of us --
your mom and dad, the bed, and you.
* nunu: noun/ˈnunuː/ Also noonoo.
Origin: Zulu (colloquial) especially in KwaZulu-Natal:
1. A term of endearment (particularly to a child); a nickname.
2. An insect (gogga in Afrikaans)
https://dsae.co.za/entry/nunu/e05283
2b: Nabyheid
2b: Nabyheid
(Translated from English to Afrikaans by the poet)
I
“In the gift of the outpouring
dwells the simple singlefoldness of the four.”
-- The Thing (Heidegger)
Jy was ‘n wriemelende dingetjie
tot ons jou in ons bed ingebring het
sodat ek kon slaap en jy kon heg
en soveel drink as was jy voel reg is.
‘n Dinamiese span in daardie tyd --
jou kriewel die teken dis tyd om te draai –
dan trek ek jou teen my ribbes, rol om…
Nagte toegemaak in drink en slaap
knus tussen jou ma en pa
in die wye blou katel wat oupa geswys het.
II
“What is nearness?” -- Heidegger
“The clearing of air is a clearing…for presence and absence.” – Irigaray
Lank na aandete WhatsApp-lui jy
vir my en pa in die woonkamer.
Ons stap die gang af, gaan lê op die bed --
tussen ons, die luidspreker.
Jou stemtoon sê, jy’s in beheer.
Jy bring ons op datum:
karnavalle van maskers op strate
wat binnekort verlate kan wees.
Corona het reeds ‘n paar lewens geneem.
Jy verduidelik jou opsies met kop en hart,
tweedejaarstudent in ‘n vreemde land
aan die anderkant van die aarde.
Noudat die trane verby is,
is jy seker jy kom nie huis toe –
na ons toe nie. Hartsnare ook verbind
aan ‘n liefde in ‘n nabygeleë land --
jy gaan wag en sien, ons op hoogte hou.
In jou jongvrou-stem ‘n vae toon
van goggatjie-lank-gelede.
Ons vier is nou
ver en naby --
jou ma en pa, die bed, en jy.
3a: Sy sleep haar tas
3a: Sy sleep haar tas
Vandag op die hoek van die Grote Markt
staan die Martini-toring steeds wag
teen vyande van die stad,
soos oor die afgelope 500 jaar
se oorloë en leed. Vandag,
bokant die deur, staar
die blinde digter
uit ‘n skildery se raam
na die Noorderplantsoen:
In hierdie park sit ‘n jong vrou nie vandag kruisbeen,
skud nie met slank vingers nat hare
in ‘n sonkol op die gras nie.
Fietse stroom ook nie deur die park nie.
Bemindes vleg nie ineen op komberse nie,
niemand gooi balle vir kinders nie.
Geen geel en rooi kegels
tuimel deur die lug, geen akrobate loop
op slapgespande toue tussen reuse bome nie,
selfs al het die yswind gaan lê, die reën gestop.
By die buitelug-restourant staan biervate leeg.
Geen skares peul uit huise
as die son uiteindelik uitkom nie.
Anderkant die park, net duskant die ou stad
drink niemand tee in De Kattencafé
waar mens wollerige kreature mag streel
as jy op grou dae huis toe verlang nie.
Studente staan nie tou by die deur van De Pastafabriek,
waar mens goedkoop vars en vinnig kan eet nie.
Verby die verlate bibioteek wat gewoonlik uit sy nate bars
met leergierige studente sleep sy haar tas.
Afgesien van my kind s’n, klink geen voetstappe
deur steenstraatjies by die Vismarkt nie.
De Drie Gezusters se ruim kamers
met glasgroen leeslampe en koerante, staan leeg.
Feel Good Café se geel ligte straal nie Vitamien D nie.
De Kleine Kromme Ellenboog se pubs weerklink nie
met borrel- en bierglase na werk nie.
Verby winkels wat vandag
nie friete en kaas verkoop nie…
niemand soos gewoonlik, dekke skrop op bote nie;
oor die kanaalbrug by die museum
as die son agter swaar wolke inskuif
en reën weer eens oor water stuif…
Sy steek die pad oor, sleep haar tas
deur houtswaaideure van die stasie,
om die wegkomtrein te haal.
In die Martini-toring
op die hoek van die mark
staar Bernlef (geloof-genese
blinde digter uit die agste eeu) vanuit ‘n raam
wat hang onder ‘n klok met ‘n koeëlgat in
uit die tyd toe troepe die laaste keer die stad
in 1945 bevry het.
Vir die eerste keer in 500 jaar van die toring se bestaan,
is die mensdom nie verdeel, die vyand, Covid 19,
nie eens lewend nie.
Die laaste trein gly uit Gröningen-stasie
met my twee en twintig-jarige kind,
die landskap in.
https://northerntimes.nl/hundreds-of-international-students-leave-groningen/
https://www.holland.com/global/tourism/destinations/more-destinations/groningen/martinitoren.htm
3b: She drags her bags
3b: She drags her bags
(Translated from Afrikaans by the poet)
Today, on the corner of the Big Market,
the Martini tower still stands guard
against the city’s foes -- as it has,
over the past 500 years’ wars and sorrows.
Above the door, the blind poet stares
from his painting’s frame
to the Northern Park
where a young woman does not
cross willowy legs
slim fingers drying silky hair.
Bicycles do not stream along the path.
On blankets, no lovers’ limbs intertwine,
no-one is throwing balls to children.
No yellow and red cones
tumbling through the air…
No acrobats walking ropes
between tall trees. Even if the ice wind
has calmed, the rain has ceased,
by the open-air restaurant beer casks stand empty.
No crowds pouring from houses when the sun peeks.
Beyond the park, just this side of the old city
no-one is drinking tea in the Cat Café
where one may stroke woolly creatures
on days when you long for home.
Students don’t queue at the door
for quick cheap, fresh food at the Pasta Factory.
She drags her bags past the deserted library
which usually bursts at the seams.
Nobody’s footsteps, apart from my child’s
echoing through the Fish Market’s stone alleys.
The rooms of the Three Sisters,
glass green reading lamps and newspapers,
are empty. Feel Good Café’s yellow lights
don’t beam Vitamin D.
After work, in the Small Bent Elbow
bubby and beer glasses are not reverberating.
Past shops that don’t sell chips and cheese today…
nobody as usual, scrubbing decks on boats,
over the canal bridge by the museum
when the sun tucks in behind clouds
and rain comes sifting down
over water again…
She crosses the road, drags her bags
through the wooden swing doors of the station,
to catch the get-away train.
In the Martini-tower
on the corner of the market,
Bernlef stares through a frame
(blind poet healed by faith
in the eighth century)
beneath a bell with a bullet hole --
evidence of the last time
troups liberated the city in 1945.
For the first time in 500 years of the tower’s life
humanity is not divided,
the enemy, Covid-19, not even alive.
From Gröningen station, the last train
escapes into pastures
with my twenty-year old child.
https://northerntimes.nl/hundreds-of-international-students-leave-groningen/
https://www.holland.com/global/tourism/destinations/more-destinations/groningen/martinitoren.htm
4a: Maak vir haar ‘n swaai, Reilly
4a: Maak vir haar ‘n swaai, Reilly
Sit ‘n flitslig in haar hand en hys haar hoog
sodat sy kan hang
in die skemer koepel asemrowend-groot
onder die gewelf gekerf in verwikkelde patroon.
Dat sy teen hoë kalksteen-mure
haarself met haar voete weg kan stoot…
en sweef langs loodglasvensters
wat eeue van oorloë oorleef het;
oor ivoorwit engeltjies
in die Adoration of the Magi:
gly met haar flits verby hierdie skildery
se drie wysemanne knielend voor ons Verlosser…
só naby, Reilly, dat sy kan raak aan letsels van IRA-graffiti
wat met ‘n munt gekrap is oor Rubens se gul hale.
Gaan daarna buitentoe. Ek verbeel julle --
wiskunde-bemindes in Cambridge, in die tyd van Corona.
Op nokke staan beelde wag teen demone.
Slegs geeste inwonend in King’s College
is jul geselskap – Rupert Brooke, Alan Turing,
E.M. Forster, Xu Zimho;
en onthoofde Koning Henry IV
wat in 1441 die fondament gelê het.
Maak vir haar ‘n swaai, Reilly –
sodat sy oor torings
na die sterre kan gly
om hierdie verwikkelde tyd
se patrone te ontsyfer.
(Die beeld van bemindes en ‘n swaai in ‘n verlate plek van aanbidding,
is geleen uit Michael Ondaatje se rolprent, The English Patient.)
4b: Make her a swing, Reilly
4b: Make her a swing, Reilly
(Translated from Afrikaans by the poet)
Put a torch in her hand and hoist her high
so she can hover
in the vast twilight dome
under the vault carved in intricate patterns.
So she can kick with her feet
against high lime stone walls…
and soar along stain glass windows
that survived centuries of wars;
over ivory-white cherubs
in the Adoration of the Magi:
glide with her torch past this painting’s
three wise men kneeling by our Redeemer…
so close, Reilly, that she can touch remnants of IRA graffiti
scratched with a coin over lush strokes made by Rubens.
Then go outside. I imagine you two –
maths lovers in Cambridge, in the time of Corona.
On eves, gargoyles stand guard against demons.
Only spirits that inhabit King’s College
are your company -- Rupert Brooke, Alan Turing,
E.M. Forster, Xu Zimho;
and beheaded King Henry IV
who lay the foundation in 1441.
Make her a swing, Reilly –
so she can glide
over spires to the stars
to decipher the patterns
of this intricate time.
(The image of lovers and a swing in a deserted place of worship,
is borrowed from Michael Ondaatje’s film, The English Patient.)
5a: Clearing
5a: Clearing
Through tall washed windows
I can now breathe
jasmine and raked earth,
hear the fain rush of sea.
In this carved clearing
ginger flowers droop with bees;
frangipanes spill red wine
on a path,
behind trellises with air plants
you can cool down in a shower.
There are mirrors with trees,
ripe palm fruits on which
purple crested louries feast.
Venus poses under honeysuckle;
against a tomato red wall, white lilies
nod to Kahlo’s home.
At dawn on a patch of cut grass
the bubble and squeak of a mongoose family.
Afternoons, monkeys tumble over clay verandahs.
Come. Breathe
jasmine and raked earth,
hear the faint rush of sea.
I carved this clearing
in my unruly forest of departures.
5b: Oopte
5b: Oopte
Deur lang gewaste vensters
kan ek nou
die see veraf hoor ruis,
jasmyn en geharkte aarde ruik.
In hierdie uitgekerfde oopte
stort frangipanes
rooiwyn oor ‘n paadjie,
druip gemmerblomme met bye.
Hier is spieëls met bome.
Bloukuifloeries smul aan palmvrugte.
Agter traliewerk met lugplante
kan jy afkoel onder ‘n sproeier.
Venus poseer onder heuningblom.
Teen ‘n tamatierooi muur
salueer wit lelies Kahlo se tuiste.
‘n Meerkatfamilie se praatjies
borrel soggens oor gesnyde gras.
Oor kleistoepe
tuimel apies smiddae.
Kom, skep asem –
jasmyn en geharkte aarde
en die see se veraf-geruis.
Ek het hierdie oopte gekerf
in my ontembare vertrek-ruigte.
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