Poem

Antjie Krog

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Original language

WHERE I BECOME YOU (8.)

8.

you
the true you
the yes-you
the grass still rustles from your ankles just
now each time I look up
turning away
departing
beloved
astral birdsong wrapped in night
come!
let a word come right through you
let more come than I
more than the undermining mine
the perjuring mine
the endlessly l-ing mine
let us become
unglowing nakedly
unmoved
that which we never
could have become alone

© Translation: 2009, Karen Press

WHERE I BECOME YOU (8.)

8.

jy
die juiste jy
die ja-jy
die gras ruis nog van jou enkels nou net
elke keer as ek opkyk
pasrugkerende
wegstappende
geliefde
astraal gefluit nagtelik geskort
kom!
laat ‘n woord dwarsdeur jou kom
laat meer as ek kom
meer as die ondermynende myne
die meinedige myne
die eindeloos ekkerende myne
laat ons
onvergloei naak
onberoerd
wat ons nooit
alleen kon wees nie word

© 2009, Antjie Krog
From: Waar ik jou word
Publisher: Poetry International / Uitgeverij Podium, Rotterdam / Amsterdam

Antjie Krog

Antjie Krog

(South Africa, 1952)

Antjie Krog’s work focuses on her struggle with attributes she acquired at birth: she is white and a woman. Though we are all expected to accept our own identity, one of Krog’s most important works of non-fiction is a book called Begging to be Black, and her famous menopausal sonnets lament the physical change destroying her “last juiciness”. This is characteristic of her poetry: her struggle a...

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WHERE I BECOME YOU (8.)

Close

WHERE I BECOME YOU (8.)

8.

you
the true you
the yes-you
the grass still rustles from your ankles just
now each time I look up
turning away
departing
beloved
astral birdsong wrapped in night
come!
let a word come right through you
let more come than I
more than the undermining mine
the perjuring mine
the endlessly l-ing mine
let us become
unglowing nakedly
unmoved
that which we never
could have become alone

© 2009, Karen Press
From: Waar ik jou word

WHERE I BECOME YOU (8.)

8.

you
the true you
the yes-you
the grass still rustles from your ankles just
now each time I look up
turning away
departing
beloved
astral birdsong wrapped in night
come!
let a word come right through you
let more come than I
more than the undermining mine
the perjuring mine
the endlessly l-ing mine
let us become
unglowing nakedly
unmoved
that which we never
could have become alone

© 2009, Karen Press

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