I have dug a coffin-trench in the
Ostrich-cursed dorbank of the Klein Karoo,
Compacted to red steel by the full gravitas
Of the brooding, darkness of the Swartberge.
I have struggled up the tiring gradient of
Witsand’s Droning Dune
Hissing in the heat like a gas-burner
(die gesuis van ‘n geelslang)
playing ‘Ou Ryperd’ in my ears as my
progress slipped away, back down in a
Silican Avalanche.
I sit atop the Sandstone Megalith
Bearing my name
I feel eponymous.
A million – no a billion – maybe a trillion
Grains are my seat
Where centuries ago, I sat watching
The dairy herds graze.
My reflections are memories
Rearranged genes,
Grains turned to stone
Seeming to form a table
mountain, on which my life
Is eroded to dust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem