Nog twee Tankwa gedigte

net ek en kilometers klipland
laat die digkuns van klip
my wakker klap!

* * *

die stilte druk hard
teen my ore en lyf
ek druk my ore diep die vertes in
ek wil soveel van die niks 

deur my troebel holtes laat syfer

en suiwer

geharwar

ek beur deur die dik geharwar van
die inkonsekwensie
van woorde

tuit

my pen se ore tuit
gulsig om elke lettergreep in
die wind op te slurp
voordat hy in sy besinning
begin vas-ink
vers-sink

Twee Tankwa gedigte

ek laat die porieë in my siel
wawyd-oop waaier
laat hierdie groot stilte
hierdie groot landskap
my deurweek

* * *

en die son skuif horison toe
die woorde steek vas
soos dons tussen die doringtakke

skin of my poetry

write through the doubt
the losing of faith and mind
write the goosebumps back
into the skin of my poetry

son

in die son is waar my vel sin maak
klip water wind gee 

my vel 'n gevoel van tuishoort

maar o, dit is die son 

wat die sintaksis van my sintuie herrangskik

en nuwe toortonnels uitdelf

en die oorlewingsdrang omskep na 

oorlewingslus

know

do not give up or dismay

the little wisdom you acquired yesterday or 20 years ago

always keeps on growing and expanding

and one day your lucky stars

will shine over you like

that beaming star

over the Wise Women's horizon

and you will know

what you have always wanted to know

and know gladly what you feared to know

and unknow what fixated your brain

into the abyss

and unknow the inadequacies 

you thought you knew well

but which was not from knowledge

but gutless and irreverent delusion

so please, do not give up or dismay

the little wisdom you acquired yesterday or 20 years ago

will always keep on growing and expanding

and one day your lucky stars

will shine over you like

that beaming star

over the Wise Women's horizon

Scaramouche

my vers voel dikwels soos die flopnek Scaramouche
trots en parmantig wil sy haar kleure en sjarme afwys
maar dan kom Harlekyn en boks haar nek- en neuswerwels los
dat alle drome van digterlike transendering
uit haar oë spat en in die stof tot in die verdrietige nietigheid
w e g s y f e r

deflated

some people live like

deflated tyres
sloshing over the gravel
loosing grip 

and just do not feel the ochre beauty

of the soil under their feet

poorte van die digdom

om deur die poorte van die digdom
te loop met parate oë
vlymskerptong
dawerende voeteslag
om solied my staan te staan teen
die alewige gemarsjeer van die pedante

dive

the vertigo in my head 

spells a melancholia
that wants to dive itself 

dry 

in the wild 

entanglement 

of 

the ocean

seekat

i

soos ek klavier speel verander my vingers in
die pote van ‘n seekat
my vel flits kwiksilwerend in kleure wat
flambojant vlamme oor die klawers verf

ii

en skielik word my hart die pylende lyf van
die seekat wat oor jou vel
dartel en suier
suier
suier
die einste kleure en teksture van jou vel en
wese aanneem
ah as my hart jou seekat kon wees
sag en suierig in my liefde op jou sit
saamsmelt in jou lewensvorm
en niks of niemand my daar sal afpluk
en onder die vergrootglas van die wysneuse
oopspalk nie

Lara Kirsten on piano

I am reminiscing on past concerts. I performed the last concert of my program The Resonating Pulse at the Tatham Gallery. I fondly remember this poem written to me that day by poet Bruce Haynes.

She sat, fingers pulsing the keys

Of a Shigeru Kawai piano

Bathed in the natural light

Of Pietermaritzburg's Tatham Art Gallery

On an October afternoon

Brown hair cascading down her back

With a feral intensity

She told us about playing piano in a sandstorm

In the Tankwa Karoo

At AfrikaBurn

I realised then

That Lara the poet-pianist is

Part landscape

Part human

Some indomitability of spirit

Some surge of will

Some vast dry landscape living through her

Weathered orange rocks and hot sand

And, above it all

A charged electrostatic sky

A promise of rain.

 - Bruce Haynes

October 2018

ek wil

ek wil 'n gedig skryf wat soos 'n harts-

verrukkende akkoordprogressie

deur my siel sal breek

ride like

ride like the powerful surge and 

swell of the white-foam breakers

cycle dance think write play

into the exquisite pull of the ocean

Through Lara's Gift

I want to share a poem - for a change written not by me - but by friend and fellow-poet Bruce Haynes. He wrote this during a recital I gave of the 10 Pieces collected in the EUSA album by Yann Tiersen in 2017. This week the poem has been calling me again. 

I have such fond memories of that performance in Hilton, KwaZulu-Natal. 

I have read it in subsequent performances of these pieces. It never ceases to pull a few gasps from the audience.

Bruce, this poem keeps spreading its ripples. 

Thank you. 

Through Lara's Gift

I wondered then
At the spread of pattern
The melodies mimicking
The sea
Bird cries
The song of rock
Surf spray
Small spreading leaves and tufts of grasses
An orchestra of wind
Pebbles tides           waves.
Horizons.
That Yann Tiersen's pattern
Of sound through time
His sculpture of crying notes
And scales. His tides of melody
His currents of music and soil
Slowly building over time
His springs and storms and rains.
And silence.
That this pattern
Could hatch itself on the ledge
Of a piano. And spread its wings in a heartbeat
Of fingertips. Of muscles dancing in prayer.
That an island
Could live like a sob in my chest
A migrating bird
Criss-crossing the world to nest between pianists’ fingers.
I can only lie prostrate
Before the algorithm of evolution and whisper
It works
Let it spread.

Poet - Bruce Haynes

Written during the performance of Yann Tiersen’s EUSA by South African pianist Lara Kirsten

dig voort!

in my woord 

soek ek dikwels 

'n mooi akkoord

daai klinkende soort 

wat in die oor hoort

en omskep word 

in 'n rype vrugteboord 

en onverstoord 

enige gedagte van self-moord

wegwys na die poort 

van die vakansie-oord

bind die woord 

al singend om  

my stem-koord

en dig voort!