Monday 17 November 2014

instinctive construction

the head whirls in the dry guitar’s tight rhythms of
the red hot chili peppers
this is the only sound i can think of
to warm me and this house
the cold sits in the middle of november
the chilly wind blows
through the subway of my bones
i hear it is snowing in the cape
i brave it outside
and
lie under pine-trees
to see how the weavers
plait their nests in this wild wind
and through the seeming challenge
of this instinctive construction of shelter
and laying-of-eggs
they chirp and chirp
endlessly in conversation with each other
in
their energetic yellow-winged survival

and the chilis break through the speakers
with their popular tunes
you are frying chillies and cauliflower
in coriander and garlic
the windows sweat from inside
all the blankets are lying like loyal dogs around my legs
the wind has gone to rest
my fingers itch to capture the sound-dreams
may i break free from limiting patterns
even to improvise outside
the familiar paradigm
ah open sky and fire sparks
make my head
and
skeleton
and
fingers
and
teeth
and
eyes
glide along paths
just off the grooved track
please!

and the chilis captures the freneticism so ingeniously
neat-verbally so perfectly constructed
we are all children of our times
even if we live in the countryside
with so much information of the big industries
that lust for control and just does not realize
what injury they are doing to the world’s soul
all this encroachment of metal and plastic
and acceleration of production
makes us insane
may the lunacy not infiltrate
the veld
the cow udders
the innocent trees
and
fruits
and
vegetables that
only want to happily grow their grow!
ah jesus may the flowers
the last wild
and
forests
the stones
and
mountains
remain untouched and unharmed
may the wind blow away
all the injustice
exploitation
and
desecration

* * *

instinktiewe konstruksie

die kop draai in die droë kitaar se hegte ritmes van
die red hot chili peppers
dit is al klanke wat ek nou aan kan dink
om my en die huis warm te maak
die koue sit in die middel van november
in die tonnels van my beendere
kom waai die kille wind
ek hoor dit sneeu in die kaap
ek waag dit buite
en
lê onder dennebome
om te kyk hoe vinke in woeste wind
hulle neste aanmekaar weef
en deur die blykbare uitdaging
van hierdie instinktiewe konstruksie van skuiling
en eiers-lê
word daar getjirp en tjirp
eindeloos in gesprek met mekaar
in
hulle eie energieke geelvlerk-voortbestaan

en die chilis breek nog met hulle bekende tunes
deur die speakers
jy braai self chillies en blomkool
in koljander en knoffel
die vensters sweet van binne
al die komberse lê soos getroue honde om my bene
die wind het gaan lê
my vingers jeuk om die klank-drome vas te vang
kan ek losbreek van beperkende patrone
selfs om te kan improviseer buite
die bekende patroonmatigheid
ag ope lug en vuur vonke
maak my kop
en
skelet
en
vingers
en
tande
en

gly op paaie
net ietwat skuins af van die uitgetrapte baan
asseblief!

en die chilis vang meer en meer die frenetika so briljant vas
netjies verbaal so perfek gekonstrueer
is ons almal kinders van ons tyd
al leef ons op die platteland
met so baie informasie oor die groot industrieë
wat alle mag begeer en fok weet net nie besef
watter skade hulle aan die wêreldsiel doen nie
die omringing deur metaal en plastiek
en versnelling van produksie
maak ons van ons koppe af
mag die waansin wegbly van die velde
die koei-uiers
die onskuldige bome
en
vrugte
en
groente wat 
net doodluiters hulle eie groei wil groei!
ag jirre mag die blomme
die laaste wild
en
woude
die klippe
en
berge
onaangeraak en ongeskaad bly
mag die wind al die onreg
uitbuiting
en 
ontheiliging
wegwaai

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