Innocence Threatened – Xhosa/Afrikaans Project

Poem in the original English, followed by translations to Xhosa and Afrikaans and back.

Blue light chases me.

My soul is cold,

spirit still dreaming.

In a meadow I roll down the hillocks

over and over,

my little sear suckered skirt frilly

over my still narrow hips.

A movie an angel might wish to watch

or a pederast.

 

Translation and edit:

In the meadow I roll down the hillock

my short skirt ruffled.

On my stretching back now,

a starlet with one hell of a fan.

 

 

 

 

Submission

A salivating sun

licks a sailboat lost from harbor.

What do I know about submission?

All steel and no magnolia.

Eloquence runs from me.

From my rib you can take a war.

What nation can be fed by my falling eyelashes

that this fluid angel warps around my form?

The Way Things Are

Your neighbors know you better than you do.

My hat is me-

black and white and full of

Hamptons zeitgeist.

On an irritable coastal crag a gaggle of

children considers drowning while their mothers read an Amish romance,

while their fathers surf with mirrors.

Wrens

Wrens build subdivisions in the sky blue earth lid

A mirror to my own gridlock of houses,

land with sharp corners.

To be free to be freewheeling,

with nothing to fear but sharper teeth and

gravity

is a life I do not wish for.

I Was a Rock Star

Lights are scarlet away and foamy.

We have a vast space in the night.

Do you remember how my feet

burned with happiness,

my bones black with jealousy?

I was a rock star on the asphalt.

Night Road

Scarlet lights chase away the foamy,

ebony space of night.

Does the road remember my feet,

their burning wide imprints hunting for homeopathic

happiness?

There was such a searing black pain in my bones,

glittering and sharp like the starry rocks in asphalt.

I hauled pain with me like water in those

uncivil days.

Impaired

You always box

Always time.

He is a jazz concert

Do bunny slippers.

Together you the river

The dam was still missing

The flowmeter memory

And jargon like foam.

Open your mouth

And as a family to come

Enter Me Bleeding

God weaves seasons in rotation.

In soft, silky, silver skeins.

Prosperity is a blanket of grass.

The verdant scenes of fear.

He longs for us,

 

Price my sorrow and enter me bleeding.

God Like a Spider

The devil is in the trees feeding off

birds and butterflies,

his grim business shattering in silver teeth.

 

God is in the trees spinning webs

Soft, silky, and verdant like a blanket of grass.

 

Spiders fear him.

 

He longs to draw me to Him,

to slip his gentle fangs in my hurt and anesthetize me,

suck out my misery and take it into Him

bleeding for me.