miracle, and: how do I honour my union
- miracle, and: how do I honour my union
miracle
after David Grossman
I belong to this landit made me
I have no other landthan this one
immoderate is my feeling for this landgnarled and tough but unambiguous
I do not believe in miraclesbut the peaceful liberation of my land
was a miracle—astonishing and filled with elationit stays with me its incomparableness stays with me
I know that my country now burning with protestis uniquely fabricated out of hope—it stays with me
even when everything shrivels falls short fallsapart gets slain becomes a travesty—like sand
the moment that has been granted us once siftsin pendants of revenge from our unjust fingers
I belong to this landit made me
I have no other landthan this one
petulant insulted we waste each otherwith impunity shed one another's lives [End Page 8]
we wanted to create refuge for the poor the ordinarythe heroes the lovely the talented the maimed
but our graveyards sponge with the ignored theill the murdered the raped and the heartbroken ones
I know my country was fabricatedonce from hope—it stays with me
its incomparableness stays with meimmoderate is my feeling for this land
dumbfounded we listen to the hairdryer soundsof our leaders arid-air scorchings of nothingness
I do not believe in miraclesbut the peaceful liberation of my land
was a miracle—astonishing and filled with elationI have no other land than this one
we have become the prey of ourselves caught upin ethnic avarice and a total incapacity for vision
it is as if we have no idea anymore of how to live withoutbeing violent anguished and brutal towards one another
I belong to this landit made me
immoderate is my feeling for this landgnarled and tough but unambiguous
I have no other landthan this one
I do not believe in miraclesbut the peaceful liberation of my land
was a miracle—astonishing and filled with elationit stays with me its incomparableness stays with me [End Page 9]
how do I honour my union
The Bushmen's letters are in their bodies. They (the letters) speak, they move, they make their (the Bushmen's) bodies move … among the trees and green spruits you have seen the springbok with your body.
—//Kabbo
whereon my bodydo I read
those with less power
eatinghow does my tongue feel
the destitute
do my neck hairs risewhen on flattened cartons
a man turns over
which ribslips
at the maiming of the body's light?
apples and breadfor the Cape white-eyes
without honourI live without honour [End Page 10]
Antjie Krog, a poet, writer, and professor at the University of the Western Cape, has published eleven volumes of poetry and three nonfiction books: Country of My Skull (1998), on the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission; A Change of Tongue (2004), about the transformation in South Africa after ten years; and Begging to Be Black (2009), about the different ethical frameworks operating in the country's democracy. The latter two have been nominated by South African librarians (LIASA) as two of the ten most important books written in a decade of democracy. Krog had been awarded most of the prestigious South African awards for poetry, nonfiction, and translation in both Afrikaans and English.
