(A man in Klapmuts breathes the secret.
Sydney Clouts)
Have you ever passed that way?
Even known you were there?
Spoken to someone? Perhaps thought to stay,
even for a moment? Can you imagine where
the secret lies? What brought you
to that place? Chance or design?
Have you ever spoken to someone who
could tell you what to look for as a sign?
And, having been, have you come away
dissatisfied with what you know or do
not know? Wondered whether, on some future day,
some revelation would perhaps pierce you through?
Or can it be that the greatest secrets aren’t profound?
Are perhaps a single moment captured new?
Like a faint and half-unnoticed sound
which, even before its fading echoes start,
cannot quite be remembered by the heart?
Perhaps in Klapmuts there are those like you
who do not know they breathe the secret too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem