The old ferry

A slop of water rocks the ferry,
that lifts, and drops a little; while
up the muddy sand the wavelets run.
I am looking for the ferryman

till he comes out from somewhere,
and is suddenly present;
and we silently make a deal,
for the ferryman is quiet and firm,

deliberate in his working.
He has a waterman’s job to do,
and I am it. He gets us going:
he’s not given, I presume, to talk,

so I give myself to the crossing,
to the water and the while,
and the rocking wave-borne boat,
and try to forget the bank I’ve left,

and the darker bank to come.
I peer deep into moving mists,
or down at my restless hands,
or at the bow, at the wake we leave.

The ferryman works the wooden oars,
his back sculls us across dark water,
his eyes – drawn back by his neck – look
back alert, but never snag my face.

The space between us is the space
of all that ever happens, and all
that ever will be. And he doesn’t allow
that gap to close, nor ever looks at me.

 - Brian Walter

Proliferation

In the garage, a plant
with bulbous roots and a cascade
of dark green, shiny leaves.
Beside it, a wandering ivy,
with rows and clusters
of heart-shaped leaves,
a diaspora of flags 
nesting on the ledges
of stacked boxes and a makeshift table.

Both plant and ivy
nurture and reward his fidelity –
his weekly acts of care towards them,
with the leafy proliferation
of their green selves.
Their thirst for water, for sunlight slanted
through blinds, is not unlike his own.
Their desire to reach ever further
into the air which surrounds them,
never fails to remind him
that despite change and decay,
he still wants to thrive.

 - Eduard Burle

digterlike spelonk

ek staan in die Sparerib-grot in die Bannerman's pas
in die Drakensberge
die magtige opening in die sandsteen-flanke
laat my eie mond oophang

die blootstellende omhulling
van die gapende aarde
die kille omhelsing van die nat verkalkte klipwande
gee my 'n tydelike sin van behoort

ek wil nie veel in die lewe hê nie
slegs 'n digterlike spelonk
tussen my twee wange
waarin die verse drup drup drup
en bly eggo met die valleie af

 

 - Lara Kirsten