back view



one

boundaries

who was here before?
how long was that    do we measure
in lifetimes of yellow-wood trees
in the slippage of riverbeds?

mountains drew borders
 there were animal people
lion hippo quagga
termite cities    plants plants
smallest life    one celled
everywhere
changing    remaining
communicating    never speaking

who walked through the brush
where now my house stands?
bat-eared fox    black-footed cat
who will return their lands?

where was here?
gazelle measured it
by the grazing trail
genet scented it as home

humans came with cattle and dogs
bringing directions    fires    spirits
and the living dead
they stayed a while
were supplanted by others

ships from the north brought
men with weapons pestilence and roman laws
who took by force what their eyes could grasp
they ploughed the land and killed
all living beings who stood against them




two

apparatus

my father taught me to shoot with an old
point two two rifle on the farm at mooi river
the rifle-butt hit my shoulder
i was tense and terrified

there was a shed which smelt of
oil and nitrates    rats and pesticides
in the shed were the machines
cultivators with blades and teeth
to cut the furrows in the earth
where uncle dave would plant the seeds
there were also chemicals    poisons
which we weren't to touch

in cape town we rode
first electric trams
then big diesel buses

my stepdad had
a chev bakkie
a four-ton bedford truck
a small fordson tractor
which burned power-paraffin
and a bigger massey-ferguson diesel tractor
he hired a bulldozer to build a dam
i had a toy john deere tractor

my mom had
a fordson van
then a ford consul
then something called a taunus
then a volvo station-wagon
then her last car
a volkswagen passat station wagon
which i got

when i stayed with astrid and roy
we spent hours and hours
throwing knives into a door
we became quite good at it
there was always an assortment of
old kitchen knives
stolen restaurant steak knives
stuck in the door in the old courtyard

i learned to work with hand tools
now they're the part of me in the workshop
still distrust the power of electric machines
though i love the blowtorch flame
don't get me started on fire



three

beliefs

the neighbour's kid
came to play with me
his brother was a cop
in the SAP
somebody stole the washing from their washing line
the brother saw a man who was wearing his shirt
he said    the kaffer wouldn't tell
so he put him in a cell
and he kicked him and he beat him
boy it really must have hurt

three days inside
he got no food
then they made him eat sand
that fixed him good
they held him on table got a garden hose
and they pump him full of water till it run from his nose
then they jump on him and punch him and they kick him like hell
but the fucken kaffer shut his face and still doesn't tell

when i told my commie mother she only looked down
and bit her lower lip and did her motherly frown
we all disapproved but we didn't say a word
she'd been listed since the fifties so she never ever stirred



four

methods

speak my language
look at me
this is money
buy my goods

pray to my god
this is work
this is a gun
a 9mm shell penetrates anything

look at me
speak my language
don't lie to me
wear these clothes

do as I say
speak my language
that is your land

this place is mine
these are laws
you can't see them but
they can kill you
speak my language



five

we need

we need brimming flowerbeds
and full stomachs and untroubled sleep
we need wild    where animal dreams
talk in ancestor tongues
grasses bowed in the wind
and the smell of rain

we need laughing and learning
and knowing and forgetting
and helping and touching
and giving and receiving
keep your television shit soap opera
american world dream of desire
few can have what all must want

keep your weapons and your fear
and your drive for profit
and your german car and your
printed packages and your
state pension and your
petty scam and your giant fraud and your
advertising shouting advertising
and your red tie and the
capped teeth in your smile

history is
papers and memories
scars and stones
it makes a poor meal

our soil bleeds into the sea
let us complete our stories
so that we can tell our children
in this and that year
these and those things happened
then let us mend our cities
and stitch up our torn land

whoever rules us be warned
all need food and work now
and dignity now
and love and comfort now
and we can take it now



six

the inner school final knysna elephant tantra

hail to the great onethe rememberer
the last one
the angry one the enormous one
whose stride crushes all
mother of the dead powerful beautiful
lonely one
so be it

hail to the final mother
taker of no life
whose voice is a thousand trumpets
whose forehead is the dome of the world
whose trunk grasps and knows
revealer of the way of freedom
destroyer of signs and gates
teaching
     free paths
     no fixed signs
walk on real land


gods and spirits
ancestors and shadows
animals including human
sentient beings beyond number
weep at the prospect of her passing
receive the cool rain of her
patient teaching
right to this end

free paths
 no fixed signs
walk on real land

so be it


seven

the persistence of memory

we deceive ourselves
tying knots in the stream of things
we'd love to relax
don't know how    too scared

no surgeon's knife will find
mike cope    white    man    poet
nor will it cut to     first home
school    family    friends    journeys
old misreadings    deep fears
these which feel real
not really there

there is a world without words
the flow now
stamp your foot
and there's signworld    storyworld    mindworld
realm of memory
rooms of the mind
television    wordfield
power numbers    round the world
these are empty too    shifting ghosts
miasms    daisychain meanings
without substance    uninhabited


all the time we change
now i'm a jeweller    a poet
now i'm wild with lust or fast asleep
i act like i'm one thing
who do i fool?
i can say nothing about truth
or about reconciling
we make our own differences
load them with rage and fear
each must doctor their own mind

shh    quietly    let's play a game
seeing the hollow meaning world
seeing the blue sky and a human face
empty    empty    a wild play of light

seeing that it is always good to be kind
and silly to fear    especially in danger
letting these bubbles burst
on the whorled skin of a real fingertip
now let's relax in the stream of things