My poem “Village Potter’s Wife” nearly got selected as a finalist in the latest Goodreads poetry competition. Nearly. Well there’s next time.
Winning poetry in Sepedi, Afrikaans and English in one event at the 2018 FLF! Expect a stimulating discussion of poetry, politics, SA languages in publishing.
Check out @FranLitFest’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/FranLitFest/status/988739402032730113?s=09
Eternal president of China has a lapdog in the form of an elderly, ass kissing madman. Bit by bit and in dramatic fashion, Duterte has been trying to make Filipinos surrender their dignity and sense of humanity while making sweet music with Xi and his Imperial corporate and military muscles.
Read Nery’s article.
Last year I was invited to participate at the 2017 Franschhoek Literary Festival. Acclaimed poet Karin Schimke interviewed highly respected bilingual author Antjie Krog and myself. Antjie was promoting her book, Lady Anne (translated from the original Afrikaans) and I was presenting work from Wings of Smoke.
The engaging discussion was so wonderful and relaxed that we went a bit over the allotted time. Karin gave us more than enough room to read our poetry before an appreciative audience.
You may listen to the podcast on the FLF website under the title (28) I READ WHAT I LIKE.
I’m fortunate to share the news that I’ll be at the Franschhoek Literary Festival again this year!
The event, WINNING WORKS ALOUD, is sponsored by Jacana Media and will feature the three winners of the most recent Sol Plaatje European Union Poetry Award.
René Bohnen, Moses Shimo Seletisha and myself will be in conversation with Rabbie Serumula. It promises to be an exciting discussion as we tackle the challenges of writing in South Africa with special note of the various languages employed by the three poets.
More details to follow. Please join us! Here is the LINK to the FLF website.
How I Never Knew Winnie
I’d never given birth, only witnessed
the flesh of the one I love
after it had already been cut
open in a sterile room.
I’d never had to bear
the terrified eyes of my children
as strangers broke our embrace
and dragged me away.
I’d never been forced
to stay in one room
with three doors for 491 days
with a light that never went out.
I’d never slept on a cement floor
as my bed, wrapped my feeble limbs
in blankets stiffened
by someone else’s dried blood.
Certain that we’re more than the details
collected after we die, I wonder,
if we had known each other,
what she would’ve told no one but me.