Wednesday, April 04, 2007

Poetry Thursday-Antjie Krog

It is Thursday again, and no other day is quite like Thursday. A day of sheer bliss and enjoyment, its not just because it is closer to Friday.
The reason it is so blissfull, its poetry Thurday, but you all knew that!
This weeks idea is that you give a pedistal to your favroute poet...Yay seeing that April is also poetry Month...

So my fav Poet(one of many) is Antjie Krog, she is an South African poet/writer. I decided to take one of her poems and add my lines in between(im in cursive), as if we are having a word debate.
It's gonna a bit of a challange with the translating but I will do this, because you need to feel this.
She is awesome beyond believe, she speaks her mind if she wants to be crude she does it subtle, that you have to read it again....and think is THAT what she said. If you want to know more about her, please google her name, my connection is being full of it again this morning!

So for your viewing pleasure:

eerste nag

uit die verlate skag van die huis
het hy na haar kamer gekom
en met die oopgaan van die deur
het alles, verblindend soos 'n perske boom, begin blom
hy was alleen in die spieel van die maan
die v van sy bors
die soepel sekel van heup en skraal dye
het skugter voor haar bed kom staan:
-onder gesplete wit pjamas kon sy sien
hoe spits wag
sien sagte skulp van sy geslag-

was bultent die nag stadig in
om te rus in die kroes v van haar inner are
sy kan prewel in die genot
maar asem kan nie nader staan:
in pulsende ritme word sy beskoorlik vrou
plesier is sappe van bloeisels in die honger son
sy wil hom dieper in haar siel intrek-

hy was so jonk en mooi in sy blonde krag
sy hande reeds volwasse van teerheid
sy oe bloeiselsag
en bokant die huis, in die koerslose nag
het die eerste sterre begin draai
asof hul van haar geboorte al
op hierdie tekens wag

die ure word slegs gemeet in hygende passie
hoe jonk die perfekte liefde is
stygend tussen lakens wag
sy kan haar ligaam nie meer keer om oop te bars
om die volle nat van elke rukkende veruklikheid te geniet

toe hy soos 'n kalfie teen haar kom le
die lakens onder sy ken invou
wou sy hom nog'n storie vertel
soos haar ma in sy kleintyd vir hom nagse
maar die ruite het verbleek
sodat hul woordloos na mekaar moes draai:
al sou hy deur vlegseljare breek
om van 'n pophuis, met gordyntjies wat duer die
vensters waai,
'n grootmens huis te maak
wat gemeubileer met vrede, daglank in sy sonlig week

sy wou ewig in sy waaie le
om duislig en sweeterig die liefde te geniet
hy kon raak en streel en ewig in haar hart kom le
soos verlore siele die nag in waai
om rus te vind in die wete
dat hy ewig
haar eertse
en laaste sal wees.

hy omdat hy haar wou besit
nie soos 'n kind, 'n viking met bloed en krag en lawaai nie
maar stadig soos 'n blom
vanself sy kelk na die son toe draai
omdat die loom trosse van sy lag
was sy syne gewees
en het hy met lading ingeskuif
vir altyd tussen haar en die maagdelike bron van haar krag.

first night

out of the abandoned body of the house
he came into her room
and with the opening of the door
everything, blinded like a peach tree, starting to bloom
he was alone in the mirror of the moon
die v of his chest
the supple curve of the hip and the slender thighs
came and stood shyly before her bed:
-under white split pjamas
high peek waiting
saw the soft shell of his gender-

was bulging slowly into the night
to rest in die curly v of her inner veigns
she murmer in pleasure
but breath does not stand closer:
in pulsing pleasure she becomes a woman
plesure is liquids of blossoms in the hungry sun
she wants to pull him deeper into her soul-

he was young en beuatiful in his blond strenth
his hads allready grown up in its gentleness
his eyes blossom soft
and above the house, in the irresolute night
the first stars began to turn
as if they waited since her birth
uppon these signs

the hours are measured in gasping passion
how young is the perfect love
mounting between sheets
she can not stop her body from bursting open
to enjoy the full wet from every pulsing passion

when he came to lie agains her like a calf
the sheets pulled under his chin
she wanted to tell him a story
like her mother told them when they where younger
but the windows went pale
so that they can turn speeceless facing each other:
even if he broke trough platted years
from a dolls house, with little curtains that
blows trough the window,
made a grown up house
that has furniture of peace, that soaks daily in the sunlight

she wanted to lie in his curves always
to enjoy love lightheaded and sweaty
he could caress her and lie down in her heart forever
like lost souls blow into the night
he will always be
her first
and last.

he wanted to own her
not like a child, a viking with blood and power and noise
but slowly like a flower
turns it's head by itself to the sun
because in the big fruit of his laugh
she was his
and he moved in with meaning
always between her and the virgin source of power.

Enjoy the weekend:)


Wayne Allen Sallee said...

You have some pretty nice segments between that of your poet mentor, Etain. The first and last part hits hard, I guess because you are stopping your own segment before the other woman does, making yours the sadder recollection...

etain_lavena said...

Thank you Wayne...this was a very deep type of writing for me.

Beaman said...

Beautiful words. I like the interchange of narrative. I believe you have been successful in that. Romantic indeed.

etain_lavena said...

Thank Beaman...I tried to intertwine it best I could.

Brian said...

This is fantastic my friend. If you hadn't told me, I never would have been able to tell the difference between yours and hers. Wonderful creativity.

etain_lavena said...

Thanks Brian.....I really appreciate it;)

Crafty Green Poet said...

I like the way you intertwine your words with hers. It all fits together well..

etain_lavena said...

Thank you crafty:)

gautami tripathy said...

It works very well for me. Your last stanza is much more intense than the poets.

I am amazed by the way we poets give out so much of ourselves in our works.

I will look her up.

bookbinds said...

very seamless interweaving of the narratives, great idea!

Cocaine Jesus said...

you have a very sensual and beautiful way with words. sensitive but powerful. like good sex. like real love. honest as well. near to the bone i guess.

etain_lavena said...

thank you guatami:0), and yes we drip ourselves dry:)
Thank you book:)

etain_lavena said...

ghee wow I appreciate your input:)

writerwoman said...

How erotic and intense. I love the play back and forth between your favorite poet's work and your interpertation.

Charles Gramlich said...

That's a very interesting exericise, to carry on a kind of conversation with a poem. I never thought to do anything like this although it clearly seems to work. Cool.

Marcia said...

You succeeded and quite well at that. I love that you thought of that.

etain_lavena said...

thanks Writer woman.
Yes Charles being diffrent is always fun:0)
Thank you Marcia, appreciated:)

Fragmentsinsight said...

Romantic and sensual. You're words fit perfectly in the poem, adding yet another extra dimension to the relationship. Wonderful to read. Thank you.

miss magic said...

wow! it has such a deep meaning.

your additions are way better. :D and this isn't flattering.

etain_lavena said...

My pleasure Fragment, thanks to you:)
Hihihih....dear Missy, thank you soo much;)