Sometimes I get to do a job that allows me to read through somewhat uncommon books. Recently, I was checking out the title above, and I encountered the following poem. To borrow words from a previous Emily, this particular entry made me "feel as if the top of my head were taken off." So I wanted to share it with you.
"Scene Near an Ethnic College"
Arthur Nortje
Gull swerves and screams sharp doubt.
The wild grass curves
back from asphalt road. The ten-ton trucks
one spraying stone the other straw
roar on. The towering red-brick buildings
assault my sight with ranks of tall blind windows
split along the glass by spying sunbeams.
Lawns continue the narrative,
scornful in their crewcts, trimmed
by some hangdog hottentot.
You hear repeatedly
the trains that chug away through thickets.
Aircraft in formation, swooping higher
possess the gift of flight, can master peril...
The jets drill distance brittle, the executives
(nordic, incompatible iwth me)
stare sedately from a ninth-floor office.
Under the arches I bow through the shadows;
a shrill bird in the air asks of the sun
o where is the sea now, o where is home?
Cape Town, 1964