Extracts from a runner’s notebook

Now, as before,
the path traverses        

the mountain’s shifting cloak                                  
of light and shadow.                                                 

   ***

That stillness, deep as strata,
of which the mountain
is made.

   ***

Heat travels in waves
from the earth –

for now, the sound
of his footfalls, his breathing,

the cool
of an inner oasis,

keeps
him going.

- Eduard Burle

dit is hoe ons kies

     vir Portchie

o februarie jou mooi en warm ding!
ek gly diep binne in jou murg
daar waar die werwels van somer spruit
ek sny my hande diep in die seisoen se lieste
en ruik die beurende vrugbaarheid

die oseaan is koel marmer vandag
ek dans oor die strandpaaie
met hande wat soos hibiskusse blom

die digkuns rinkink al agter my aan
vir 'n verandering is ek voor die digkuns die pad af
my tone proe die verslustige velde
lank voordat hulle in woorde ontkiem

dit is hoe ek en jy kies om hierdie dae te leef:
duikend, dansend en verwend in elke nuwe nou

 - Lara Kirsten

 Haiku

for Hugh Hodge

On today’s page an orchard
of haiku, the scent
of freshly picked lemons.

   ***

Lemon-scented words:
today’s harvest of haiku.


Sea fragments

for Hugh Hodge

The story
rewritten, erased,
upon the wrinkled skin
of the sea.

   ***

The appetite of the white
mouth of the sea –
a hunger for words
that will not let him be.

   ***

Tongues of the sea
phrase and rephrase
the young monk’s questions.

 - Eduard Burle

-------------------------------------------
young monk – some of Hodge’s haiku feature the character or persona of “the old monk”; this figure is often used to explore spiritual, religious or existential themes.

First hold

Twelve black oystercatchers head sunward,
while a boubou flutes
from the bush in the dunes;

the grooved rocks turn gold –
on this first reconnoitre
of my new hood,
this is a moment
to hold.

– Silke Heiss, 7th November 2022

Notes from the Cederberg

Shadows climb
these shape-shifting mountains,
changing with
the changing light.

   ***

This harsh and unforgiving light,
this slow attrition –
of sheer and splintered stone,
of baked and cooling earth –
purifies my sight, moves me closer
to what it is I mean to say.

   ***

Above the valley’s dark:
ripening clusters of stars
dripping light.

 - Eduard Burle

 

klok

my hart trek
in die vorm van
‘n klok

     ek prewel ‘n gebed
     mag ons nie lui raak met liefde en
     nooit die noodsaak van die skeppingsdaad minag

ek begin lui van diep binne my bors
dit tril en ril deur al my spiere totdat my lyf
opstyg en beier die wye lug in

     word wakker wêreld, word wakker! 
     die nuwe dag breek aan soos ‘n seisoen van swaeltjies
     in vlug na die reuk van somer


bell

my heart pulls
into the shape of
a bell

     i murmur a prayer
     may we not become lazy with love and
     never underestimate the necessity of the creative deed

i begin to resonate from deep inside my chest
it shudders and shakes through all my muscles until my body
starts to rise and chime through the whole sky

     wake up world, wake up!
     the new day breaks like a season of swallows
     in flight after the smell of summer

 - Lara Kirsten