Sderot

Sderot, A child's painting 

It took me twenty years to love 

this hole in the middle of nowhere. 

The cotton buds dispersed in a white flame 

and the wind meddled in the cypresses, 

until I saw for the first time, 

with an accurate eye, 

the unsophisticated buildings beneath the roof of clouds, 

until I heard 

the wonderful rumbling of the street. 

The last whisper expelled from waves of asphalt 

blended with the rustle of evening’s thud on the ground, 

like the voice of a forgotten woman that betrayed her 

and told the truth which she tried 

to conceal in her face. 

Years of erosion 

have taught the children to fondle the water in the stone, 

to splash in the puddles paper boats with farcical hope. 

The circus-like past of the girls blossomed with the hiking of a skirt 

when the crowed sawed him in two with its gaze. 

Only places bereft of love are entitled to absolute love. 

Shimon Adaf

Amakeia - A G visser

Amakeia was a Xhosa woman who fled before the Maxhosas after they have burnt the farm house down and killed the farmer and his wife. It happened during the 6th Xosa war in late 1834. She fled to the Amatola Mountains with the white baby of her "Nonna" on her back. The Maxhosas (Xosa warriors) found her there and killed her. She refused to hand the baby over to them. . ."Over my dead body . ." She was very very brave . .

This is a true story.

Since I was a little girl this poem touched me in a way that I can't forget. Till now, this poem is special to me . . . . .

You can read the English translation here

AMAKEIA

In die skadu van die berge,
bos-beskut aan alle kant,
staan alleen die hartbeeshuisie
op die grens van Kafferland.

Saggies neurie Amakeia
op die wal van Kei-rivier,
tot hy slaap, die tere wiggie
van die blanke pionier:

“Stil maar, stil maar, stil Babani;
kyk hoe blink die awendster.
Niemand sal vir kindjie slaan nie -
stil maar, al is Mammie ver.”

Amakeia had belowe
toe haar nonna sterwend was,
om die hulpelose kindjie
tot hy groot was, op te pas.

Liefd’ryk sorg sy vir die wit kind,
tot vir hom die lewenslig
straal uit aia Amakeia’s
vrind’lik-troue swart gesig.

Onheilspellend sien sy tekens,
oorlog kom daar in die land:
Snel die inval, huis en hawe
uitgemoor en afgebrand.

Selfvergetend, doodveragtend,
met die wit kind op haar rug,
na die Amatola-berge
het sy ylings heen gevlug.

“Stil maar, stil maar, pikanienie;
oor die bergtop rys die maan.
Niemand sal vir ons hier sien nie;
môre sal ons huis toe gaan.”

Ag, dat oë van verspieders
ook haar skuilplaas moes ontdek!
“Spaar hom, hy’s so klein nog,” smeek sy
met die hande uitgestrek.

Woedend tier die wilde bende:
“Sterf of gee die wit kind hier!”
“Oor my lewelose liggaam …”
antwoord Amakeia fier.

waar hy gaan, moet Amakeia
saamgaan om hom op te pas.”

“Is jul lewend nie te skei nie,
bly dan in die dood vereen -
kort proses met haar, Maxosas,
laat die blink asgaaie reën!”
*
In die Amatola-klowe
sing nog net die winterwind
deur die riete in die maanskyn:
“Tula – Tula – stil, my kind!”

A G Visser