Idoru's Blog

Ek word vroeg wakker
toe die goue sonstrale by ons venster insluip
Langs jou warm, kaal sluimerende lyf
Jy lyk mooi soos ‘n muse, ‘n godin,
En ek lê lank na jou en kyk
Na jou donker krul hare waarin ek my gesig wil druk
En jou diep inasem,
Na jou vel soos room wat ruik na soet laventel
En soms smeul teen my vel soos ‘n kaggelvuur.
Ek wag dat jy wakker word
Sodat ek jou oë kan sien oopgaan,
Sodat jy my kan sien
En ek vir jou.
Sodat ek jou op jou mond kan soen,
Selfs al wil jy nie,
En jou oë en die sagte holte in jou nek.
Ek wag dat ek jou teen my kan vasdruk
en saggies kan fluister hoe lief ek vir jou het.
Ek wag om jou arms om my lyf te voel,
Om jou stem te hoor, jou stem waarvan ek so baie van hou.
As jy wakker word sal ek vir ons gaan koffie maak
En jy sal my vertel van jou drome.
As jy vanoggend wakker word gaan ek jou ompraat
Dat ons stokkiesdraai
Sodat ek kan terugklim in die bed
En met my hande oor jou streel,
My palms teen jou tepels druk
En jou sagte kreune hoor.
Vanoggend wil ek jou nie laat gaan nie
Ek wil nie dat jy jou jeans en t-shirt aantrek
En jou pienk serp en mooi rooi baadjie
en jou tas pak nie.
Ek wil nie vanoggend vir jou koebaai soen as jy by die deur uitloop nie.
Ek hou my asem op
En wag dat jy wakker word
Sodat ek die dag wat oppad is,
kan wegsoen.

- Jenny Pape

Tonight
I’m listening to Freshly Ground
her voice rich
and dark like coffee,
like my favourite 70% cocoa dark chocolate,
Zolani
sounds of Africa
sounds of home
and suddenly my heart
aches,
longing for a home I never had
in a city I never lived,
friends I never made.
It’s because you are not here
tonight
you are in Berlin
4 nights and 3 days
and I have forgotten how much I love you.
- the knowledge stripped by predictable days,
but tonight
I’m flooded by sentimentalisms,
little memories of you
eyes, smells, voice, skin,
the way you kiss me
the way you joke around, tease me
makes my body vibrate
and long for your touch
on my face
between my legs
so that I touch myself
until I come
released
momentarily from thoughts.

- Jenny Pape

Ek wil gaan slaap soos die son,
soos Doringrosie vir ‘n honderd jaar
met ‘n fluweelpers rok
uitgesprei op ‘n hemelbed vol
rooi soene soos bloed
op die sneeu wat heuphoogte val
in die tuin voor die deur
waar muise maande hiberneer
in die knus gate gestop met fraiings
en wol uit my paleis starend
na die gevriesde rivier wat tussen heuwels verdwyn
soos ‘n silwer halssnoer tussen
sagte wit borste, koud
en ongenaakbaar in die snerpende wind
wat geruisloos waai deur die geraamtes
bome met swart kraaie langs die pad.

Ek wil gaan slaap soos die son
en vergeet van jou bittersoet betowering.

I am searching for you,
though I am not sure if I
have lost you
or never found you.
I am not lost,
but I have never been here before
which makes me hopeful
that you may be near.

The sun is warm
and the waves lap gently
against the old stone wall.
I know this is the kind of place
where I will find you.
Where the sea is
and the houses are painted
ochre, pink and turquoise blue.
Where the people speak a colourful,
foreign language in loud voices
and live simple, satisfying lives
of fishing in the sea
and tending to achres of olive trees.

I thought I saw you yesterday.
At sunset.
I was sitting at this table
watching the fishing boats come in.
You were buying fish on the quay.
Your hair swept across your face in the wind
and your hands gestured wildly as you talked,
I could almost hear your voice.
I took a sip of red wine
and when I looked up
you were gone.

I walked up the mountain
early this morning
I know you like walking
as much as I do.
I will go again today
just in case you are here
and I will swim again in the sea
even though it is too cold for me
because tomorrow afternoon I fly
back home on Easyjet.
Back to the city
and I know I will never find you there.

- Jenny Pape

I can hear a song from a passing car
“Set fire to the third bar”
fading away, leaking away
like colour from this grey day.
The city a picture
of a black and white mixture
with, maybe, grey green trees
and orange plastic bags
fluttering in the ice cold breeze.

I can hear a thousand footsteps running
like an earthy, tribal drumming
people in black coats
and shiny black boots
jumping over dead roots
passing me by along pavements
slick with spit
and dog shit.

I can hear loud moaning
the bricks, the walls are groaning
of two people fucking
not unlike the howling
I heard earlier escaping me
as I fell from the roof
flying away
like the blue jay
now perched on my breast
picking my shirt buttons for its nest.

– Jenny Pape

The cat pitched up one day,
Dirty and starving
With a bloody scratch over her nose,
Not particularly friendly,
But purring loudly and weaving
Irritatingly between my legs
So that I stumbled more than once
On my way to the kitchen
I poured some milk
Flaked the left-over chicken
- taking care to remove all the bones -
And watched as she gobbled it down
So fast that she threw it up
And then ate it again, slower.
I frowned in disgust
As she climbed into my lap
A dirty stinking bundle,
But she purred so insistantly
That I felt guilty to push her off.
I read Haruki Murakami’s
Kafka on the Shore
A book full of cats
For an hour
Then I put her gently on the couch
Walked to the chemist
To buy fleapowder
And a packet of Friskies.
Her coat was a stripy dark grey
After the wash -
Beautiful.
She stayed
Slept purring at the foot of my bed
A month later two kittens
Were born
Jackyll and Hyde, I call them
But I never gave her a name
So she left us
One day.

- Jenny Pape

My shoes measure out the distance
I walk through the endless streets.
My shoes, black canvas All Stars
Like the pair I had as a kid
Thirty years ago
Those shoes walked
The dusty roads of a small Free State village
Lost between miles and miles of mealie fields.
What would they think of these new shoes
Which wanders along London’s
Grey pavements
To my daughters English school
Into museums and galleries
Sainsbury’s and Tescos
Which climbs into a train
At West Hampstead station
And tunnels beneath the city
Noisily in the dark like an angry mole
Which stands on Waterloo bridge
Over the brown magnificent river
Watching the boats, the people
The lights like stars
Shoes which jump on a red bus
To Swiss Cottage library
And search for graffiti on the blackened walls
Of Borough Market.
What would they think of these new shoes
Which want to run to you
But never does?
They ran
Climbed trees
stepped into muddy puddles
As they danced in the rain
They climbed over forbidden walls
And jumped from walls
Just because
Would they know
Would they find the traces
I have left behind.
- Jenny Pape