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Staffrider Vol.6 No.2 1985 - DISA

Staffrider Vol.6 No.2 1985 - DISA

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Damian Garsidec9lukTo surpass the grandmastersOne must not just deprive themBut denude their inheritance.One must crawl in under the skinOf landscape — wriggle inBeneath the rough hide.Let your little incisorsBite through the fat, the uppermost crustWith its bosveld and koppiesAnd camouflage stuff.Cleave a path for your bodyThrough its neutrals and sombresTo that soft underbellyBe nourished and sluk.Pertinent devilsNothing is neutral nowThere are rivers of heartbloodThere are rivers to cross.Past grainfields of labour and dorpiesOf lawTo that mythical homelandWhere the mountains shout down'Dig as you crawlThere is blood enoughSluk.'Damian GarsideElizabeth VilletA•his citythere is a momentin this citywhen the eyes of the cityare closedand the mountain's body sleeps —even the newspaper boysare curled under their light coveringsin cornerslike caterpillars in dried leaf cocoonswaiting to emergewith newsprint wingsand the city waits to dream . . .there is a moment in this citywhen the city lies defencelessas a sleeping childthat can't be harmed —a moment between the breath inand the breath out —a moment in this city1 of my waiting breathless heartElizabeth VilletTembeka Mbobo-yUntitledambivalence is a wordthat cannot explainmy inertia.Stagnation is a pitand failing to seethe dying fires isno excuse.Hell is sort-of-comfortable,but basically rotten.I've seen and felt it —all my life.^ ^O, .,Wf widowsand orphansblack veils and ragsstrength and unitytears and laughterthe presence of an absence.windowless housesand gateless fencesbleak futures andinevitable departuresthe resonant sound ofthe knock that never comes.lunch packs without lunchesand coalboxes without coalwarm donations andendless thank yousthe echoes of laughterthat once was.permeating happinessand eerie forgetfulnessdays of chips andrays of sunshinethe presence of a newsemi-unknown and semi-wanted.white veils and velvets andlaces and flowerslaughter and tearsthe presence of knocks andhappiness and anger andhateful regrets.| |lintidedChained to womanhoodI couldn't fight nor try nor win— they thought.Unsupported I should falland rise and fall— they perceived.Insecured I would calland cry and beg— they assumed.Deserted I couldn't mendand build and— spread growth.They didn't know me . . .They may have thoughtI was just —awQman!IIlector P.It could have been anywherebut it was hereIt could have been anybodybut it was youIt could have happened anywaybut it was this wayIt could have been due to anythingbut it was thisIt could have stopped anythingbut it was youMaybe it could not be helpedby us unwary mortalsIt was never plannedbut by the jittery handsof a few . . .We remembered you againyesterday.IIwn titledI buried it in ashallow gravesomehow expectingrains to open it upthat i might geta glimpse of itagain.Chris van WykTXHE REASON,The reason whymurderers and thievesso easilybecome statuesare made into monumentsisalready their eyes are granitetheir heartsare madeof stoneChris van Wyk12 STAFFRIDER, VOL. 6 NO. 2, <strong>1985</strong>

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