My thoughts drift like diaphanous mists above a marshland,
Where Time keeps weaving endless variations of an unending theme.
Time past, time present, and time future lose their significance,
And become part of the fabric of Life's intricate dream.
...
At long last Ithaca had become a haven
And the long hours spent sitting on the portico
Were no longer idleness but a fulfilment.
...
Circe
CIRCE
Elisabeth Eybers
Translated from the Afrikaans by Iván Kovács
Are you still listening? My voice is soft,
And my body is so deep and tender:
Let me beg you for one last night
To play your part as the pretender.
Tarry yet until daybreak, and
Then feel free to sail from here
On such far-off manly journeys
About which women only hear.
You must remain the strong,
Undaunted, even if I am caught
Between my shackles and wings,
Painfully stretched and fraught,
To prevent you going, because I still
Haven't learnt how to let you go
As you sail off on this new adventure,
The waves braved by your vessel's bow.