Nyad

as Diana Nyad op 64 vir

53 ure lank kon swem oor

177 kilometers in
die donker en wilde oseaan
dan kan ek vir 'n skamele uur lank sit en digkuns skryf
deur die waters van my selfvertroue en verbeelding
sal ek swem

fokkit dink daaraan
53 ure
nie slaap
nie eet
net swem

tog, dink ek wat Nyad gedoen het

is baie meer moontlik
as sit en skryf vir 53 ure lank

mens is nader aan vis-wees
as aan sit-en-skrywer-wees
swem, skop, vorentoe beur is
veel meer natuurlik as
sit en skryf
- wat 'n krampagtige, verwronge posisie om
in te leef en te oorleef!

swem, lara, swem!

- Lara Kirsten

Three short poems

She inched her way
into the warm translucent
water, until it encircled
her waist, its hands
caressing her.

She dived beneath
the water’s trembling surface and,
rising once more, swam –
swam into the arms of the sea,
her lover.

***

Her body uncoils
and greets
water’s surface
almost noiselessly –
diver.

***

 
She pivots and glides, describes
in her movements,
a flight from
and a striving towards –
dancer.

- Eduard Burle

dis genoeg gevra van 'n gedig

ek het jare terug geskryf oor hoe ek wag vir
die Groot Gedig om sy verskyning te maak
- en ek wag nogsteeds!

nou wat ek terugdink aan daai gedig
besef ek wel hoeveel klein Grootmoedige Gedigte ek
sedertdien geskryf het
verse wat nie noodwendig sosiale, ekologiese
en politiese grense verskuif nie
maar verse wat wel vonke in my murg skiet

die Groot Gedig mag my nog ontwyk
maar vir nou skaar ek my by my klein Groothartige Verse
met hulle in my mond
word my voeteval
verkwik met 'n waaghalsige elegansie

- en dis genoeg gevra van 'n gedig
- groot of klein!

 - Lara Kirsten

He wakes

i.

He wakes to the sight
of a vast plain of water, a curved blue horizon.
He wakes to a presence
sustaining itself, the lives
within its salt-filled embrace.
He wakes to the resilience
of the unsleeping sea.

ii.

He wakes to the silent river of his blood,
to a directive from his bladder.
He wakes to the sound of the cat
devouring her breakfast in the kitchen.
He wakes, not to the alarm on his phone,
but to time’s incessant ticking.

iii.

He wakes to the day’s tasks.
He wakes to the heart’s endless lessons,
to traps and routines.
He wakes and knows that he is stuck,
that desire and clarity again lie
behind a veil.
He wakes, must begin
at the beginning – the only port
from which he can set sail.

 - Eduard Burle

THRESHOLD

I step out of the car like a man who knows
his own mind, a man who has learned
how to frame words in a sentence,
how to draw the circle of power around himself
and not to step over it into disarray.

I take one step inside your door—and immediately
begin to come undone without a sound.
If I must fall, then let me fall
like a man who knows just enough to be quite certain
that he’s a fool; that words fall short
of the mark, unable now to say
anything worth repeating, and what does it matter?

I have given myself twenty minutes to offer yet again
my unconditional surrender
in the face of this wave, carrying me
across your threshold and into the unknown.

 - Jacques Coetzee