With a tracing of my dreams
I’ll draw for you
In the shapes of streams
And the sounds of seas
A lucid doodle
The colour of waterdrops
To show you where my world stops
And my bones begin
I’ll take you to the place
Where my poems sing
You said that I could find you
In the space that lies between
The reality that binds you
And the traces of your dream.
You asked me, “Can you dance
To a poem by Baudelaire?”
“La danse,” said I. “C’est la poésie
Avec des bras et des jambes.”
Your hands made a ballroom of my body
Your fingers tap-danced on my skin
Oh, and how I moved under your melody
Like a waltzing gypsy violin.
Jy was ‘n silwer seisoen
Versier met groen verassings
Ek was natuur se weduwee
Winter-kaal en kleurloos.
Jy kon duidelik sien
My siel was was vas betrap
In ‘n gebreekte grafsteen.
En ek het niks geweet
Van roomys drome, wilger bome
Of die heiligheid van somer reën.
Ek sal nooit vergeet
Hoe, in die sterlig
Jy my naam verander het
Na ‘n gedig.
En in jou vrugbare voetspore
Was ek van voor af gebore
Terwyl jy, in die sonsopkoms van my toekoms
Vir my ‘n sandkasteel bou.
Here I am again
Standing at the foot of that hill of my dreams
I feel it again
My eyes filled with tear gas that doesn’t let me cry
And I’m waving goodbye
To liquid oxygen.
There I go again
Thinking with my head clamp on
Waiting with my chastity belt on
Choking on liquid oxygen
At the bottom of that hill with no ascend
I taught myself to drown.
– 02/11/1998