Cambridge

Dear diary dis winter

hier is die lug kleurloos

en die bome

dra oumensvel

met mosbaarde

aan elmboog en oksel

studente maak wolkasems

as hul soggens oor brûe dorp toe loop,

sit smiddae in tea rooms en pubs –

walms sop, stew en sigarette

stoom by skoorstene uit

en saans vee die asems

van ou monnike oor jou nek

as jy deur die skadu's

van toring of hek

(Trinity, Christ's,

Caius of King's)

jou fiets oor die krakende ryp

huis toe stoot

(1993)

Dear diary it's winter

Translated from Afrikaans by Marí and Steve Peté

the sky here

has no colour,

the trees

wear wrinkled skins,

grey beards

in morning mist

breathing

students cross bridges,

crowd into tea rooms and pubs at noon,

soup smells, stew and cigarettes

rise from chimneys

at night

ancient monks

whisper in shadows

spired and arched

(Trinity Christ's

Caius or King's)

as you cycle home,

tyres crunching

in the frost

(1993)

Halfronde

AUDIO

kyk hoe die son aan die blare lek

sag soos 'n kwas

gedoop in amper-rooi

die dae slyt

duim vir duim

sonloser september

ek soek soggens 'n venster

om tee te slurp

saam met 'n mad hatter

en 'n muis

kraak die eerste blare

onder kousvoete

snuif aan skoorstene

en ander gerugte in die lug:

suid bloei die bome

sneeuwit verskroeide skelette,

in die strate

breek lentereëns oop -

trane van 'n mock turtle,

oor lywe wat bid en bedel

om 'n wonderland

waar woorde

waar word

Vir Fran

2 September 1993

(Nasionale Vredesdag, Suid-Afrika)

North and south

Translated from Afrikaans by Marí and Steve Peté,

with input from Charl Fregona

AUDIO

the sun has touched the leaves

soft dipped brush

september days shrink here

inch by inch

I sip morning tea

by the window

with a mad hatter

and a mouse

scrunch the first leaves

beneath my socks

sense signals

from chimneys above:

in the south

trees blossom

bodies burn

in streets

tears of a mock turtle,

spring rains down

on those who beseech and pray

for wonderlands

where words

come true

2 September 1993

(National Peace Day, South Africa)

For Fran

Huiswaarts

lig jou voete veerlig,

vou jou voëllyf knus

om my swaar hart,

sweef vir oulaas

oor 'n winterland

vol verhale

oor faeries,

voer my heen -

eeue-oue bome

rye grou huisies

skoorstene, drome,

Midsummer Common

Jesus Green

my towertapyt

gly onder my uit,

smelt ineen soos slaap...

daal dan neer

jou pens vibreer

in die atmosfeer swaar van

son sout erfsondes

geslagte van voorlaaiers assegaai

stofreuke helder kleure

potte breyani potjiekos

sweet see groen heuwels

met my winterjas oor my arm

stap ek oor die warm teer

na mense agter glas,

wuiwende palms

Desember 1993

Homeward bound

Translated from Afrikaans by Marí and Steve Peté

embrace my heavy heart

as you ascend feather-light,

for the last time we glide

over a winter landscape

filled with tales

of faeries,

swoop over

ancient trees

row upon row

of grey houses

chimneys, dreams,

Midsummer Common

Jesus Green,

my magic carpet

dissolves into sleep...

then descend

belly vibrating

in the atmosphere

sun salt sins of fathers

generations of rifles and spears

smells dust bright colours

pots of breyani potjiekos

sweat sea green hills

winter coat on arm

I walk across the scorching tarmac

towards people behind glass,

waving palms

December 1993