Marike Beyers lives in Grahamstown, where she spends most of her time surrounded by books, papers, the buzz of internet pages. Balance is a difficult thing, as is the wind. She gets herself tangled up in letters and does not drive. On the other hand, she says, “Thunderstorms are magnificent beings. And then there is poetry that reaches into stillness.” Her collection of poems, On Another Page, was published with Aerial Publishing in 2011.
Spotlighting Pan-African Poetry
Biography
In a Strange Land
as strange as anyone
looking for a sprig of green
the city rises rises here
the country of everywhere
ten million feet from platform to platform
at 4 o’clock the windows shut
I see the walls I hope
I step out it’s not falling
every day is the death of first rain
and flowers rows and rows
as the guards come on
count the boots the coins
the trains rushing by
if the world had hands
could I have been
the if of life and I hold it in my mouth
the I – I unreturned
a small stone held in the hand
I cannot keep it myself
but who else
Marike Beyers
Featured Poem:
Brother/Through the Window
BROTHER
the crying for a brother
it never ends
running into drink
into hills
into rocks
harder
so much harder
than the soft beating
of hurts
the quiet voices
he cannot hear himself
his crying
he turns the ignition key
he gets onto a plane
he misses the lightning
the hope of a mother
unshaking like flowers
every spring
her soft hands in windows
almost safe
brother
not quite here
he walks out of words
no holding-place
THROUGH THE WINDOW
Long-distance buses rumble of homesickness
and journeys wrapped in green jerseys.
Out of time they pass by
and rattle my window in the early morning.
Blowing off steam at the robot, they murmur
of destinations, of endless luggage,
scalding coffee and city lights on the horizon.
Inside, I too sit wrapped in my breath,
drawing names onto the glass.
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Biography
Marike Beyers
Biography
Marike Beyers lives in Grahamstown, where she spends most of her time surrounded by books, papers, the buzz of internet pages. Balance is a difficult thing, as is the wind. She gets herself tangled up in letters and does not drive. On the other hand, she says, “Thunderstorms are magnificent beings. And then there is poetry that reaches into stillness.” Her collection of poems, On Another Page, was published with Aerial Publishing in 2011.
In a Strange Land
as strange as anyone
looking for a sprig of green
the city rises rises here
the country of everywhere
ten million feet from platform to platform
at 4 o’clock the windows shut
I see the walls I hope
I step out it’s not falling
every day is the death of first rain
and flowers rows and rows
as the guards come on
count the boots the coins
the trains rushing by
if the world had hands
could I have been
the if of life and I hold it in my mouth
the I – I unreturned
a small stone held in the hand
I cannot keep it myself
but who else
Featured Poem:
Brother/Through the Window
BROTHER
the crying for a brother
it never ends
running into drink
into hills
into rocks
harder
so much harder
than the soft beating
of hurts
the quiet voices
he cannot hear himself
his crying
he turns the ignition key
he gets onto a plane
he misses the lightning
the hope of a mother
unshaking like flowers
every spring
her soft hands in windows
almost safe
brother
not quite here
he walks out of words
no holding-place
THROUGH THE WINDOW
Long-distance buses rumble of homesickness
and journeys wrapped in green jerseys.
Out of time they pass by
and rattle my window in the early morning.
Blowing off steam at the robot, they murmur
of destinations, of endless luggage,
scalding coffee and city lights on the horizon.
Inside, I too sit wrapped in my breath,
drawing names onto the glass.
In a Strange Land
as strange as anyone
looking for a sprig of green
the city rises rises here
the country of everywhere
ten million feet from platform to platform
at 4 o’clock the windows shut
I see the walls I hope
I step out it’s not falling
every day is the death of first rain
and flowers rows and rows
as the guards come on
count the boots the coins
the trains rushing by
if the world had hands
could I have been
the if of life and I hold it in my mouth
the I – I unreturned
a small stone held in the hand
I cannot keep it myself
but who else
dankie Marieke B. heerlik gelees in jou welkom stem.