Africa! My Africa! is an anthology of some 190 poems, compilation of which began in 1997 simply by choosing poems that touched me. As the collection grew, similarity in the 'types of fabric' that made up the whole became apparent: Love. Song. Loss. Exile. Journeys. War's folly. Figures in urban and rural landscapes. Wilderness. Simple pictures of life. Shades of the human condition. Pathos. Poignancy. The joy in small things. Light. The colours of Africa.
The completed work seems to be a jewelled quilt, one that glows in the dark, rippling in a dune-movement of lyricism.
The first, signed and numbered edition is being sold to raise core capital for Seed Readers. If you'd like to buy a copy and be listed as a sponsor of Seed Readers, please email afpress@iafrica.com
'From one book will come many!' //Kabbo
On seeing dawn over the vlei at Waylands Farm
As when a swallow darts across the lake
dipping to catch mid-flight a floating fly,
the bird and its reflection move as one:
two pairs of wings, two flights, one pattern make.
The bird above lives, breathes, will one day die;
its copy waits below, life hath it none.
So I, earth-shackled, in suspension be
till thou, my heart, dip earthward in thy flight
and kiss thy mirrored image on my face.
Thus thine on mine imprinted wilt thou see,
and as thou risest up through heaven's light
with stronger wings to draw me too to grace,
although at first it seemed that thou didst die –
in clearer light thou art more real than I.
At Rajie's barber shop
Darkness doesn't fall, it rises. The street
succumbs first, pooling at the feet
of those left over at the damp end of this Wednesday,
while the sky's still floating, light
above them, nearly home, quick to beat the night.
In Rajie's shop, two last customers lean against the wall.
This shop takes up hardly any space at all
but it's bright and growing brighter
as the evening slowly deepens. Rajie's daughter
hears the last Flats train, its hollow whistle song,
and goes to watch. She stands in the doorway's warm oblong,
the train windows flash and flicker past her
like hope, like prayer, our glowing, guttering lives. Fast, then faster,
blurring, gone.
From: The Marginal Safari – Water
Almost every place name referred in some way to water or a lack thereof. Most had vlei, pan, water, fontein, sloot, put or drif appended to them. There was, for instance, the joy of water found in Grootdrink. But, more often, it was the misery of earth that yielded no moisture: Putsonderwater, Keelafsnyleegte, Sonderpan, Droëgatkop, Eenbekerpan. Similarly, the delirious confusion of heat and water in Brandvlei, the forlorn emotions evoked by Wegdraai and Houmoed. The Nama place names even suggested the sound of water: Samoep – a pebble skipping across the surface; or Kaboep – the glug of a stone sinking? Madness stalked those who put their faith in parched earth.
Found poem: Child's entry in visitors' book
This lodge
Is most beautiful
But
I have not seen
The leopard
The elephant
The cheetah
The lion
Nor the black rhinoceros.
This life
Our bodies are tables of kisses, wine
and food. I foresee
our lives above the tides
of a forgotten sea where we sleep
in the scent of plum trees
on the spoors of ancient beasts.
The blinkblaar
on old graves pointing forward,
pointing back
like the desires
and memories we live out and keep.
Your fragrant mouth
in the afternoon of dreams.
Our naked bodies
in sheets of wind and heat.
The secret hour
when we grapple
with the meaning of our dreams.
Autumn is the season
in which all things go to seed.
A night of stars and warthogs
on our journey
across the dusty earth.
Your face constantly above me
in the dark.
We find what we need, a table,
chairs, a bed with clean sheets.
We eat nuts
and an assortment of delicious leaves.
The afternoon of trees
where our strange
tongues meet and I
find your face between the grass.
Above and below us
the rocks breathe.
Africa! My Africa!
Africa! My Africa!
Wildebeest and dust of galloping
Cracked patina of drought
Pungent scent of roots and shrubs
Wind from deserts. Windmills
Wind in grasses – swaying, yellowed, golden
Dunes that move against the face of time
Lovers at the water's edge
Aloes. Nectar. Juices sucked and pondered
Lizards baked and idle. Salt pans
Nocturnal blue and great cats lapping at a pool
Savannah dawn and freshness of the morning
Spidered-leaves and tangled scrub
Small trackings in the sand
Smell of rain on midday tar
Storm and clouds that streak across the sky. Thunder
Surge of waves. Perlemoen
Shipwrecks. Porcelain and beads and castaways
Kelp by moonlight. Pebbles, shone and smooth
Shells and sparkled chips of glass upon a beach
Earth made warm. Mica. Miombo. Milkwood
Sunlight patterned on the frames of doors
Plaintive call of boubou. Jackal
Whispering of darkness lacing stars
Winter's breath. Ironwood
Redness. Ochre. Umber. Hawk. Wild Olive. Thorns
Kopjies. Fonteins. Dongas. Drifts. Duiweltjies
Old graves and cracklings in the undergrowth
Great rocks of granite powdered with the red of afternoon
Sighs and hoots and baying. Bateleur
Breath of predator at rest
Drums and midnight dance
Drumming till the end of time
Drumming, drumming Africa!