On longing of the wind

On longing of the wind is a beautiful poem written by Floris Abraham Brown. This Sout African poet writes and publishes since 1994. He is also known for his music.

About the poet

Brown was born in 1948 in the town of Worcester (near Capetown). He grew up in a relious family. After finishing is studies at the Hoërskool Esselenpark, he decided to become a teacher. He studied at the Hewat Opleidingskollege. As of 1971 he started working as a teacher. He stayed at the Breërivier Sekondêr till 1999. Today he is a teacher at the school for blind children in Worcester. He also teaches children how to play chess.

His first poems were written in English. As of 1978, he decided to write in Afrikaans as well.

 

The poem

On the longing of the wind

 

On the longing of the wind

By Floris Brown

 

You, long braid girl with guitar on your lap,
for whom is the message from your heart,
while your long fingers gently push the strings?

 

Your playful position of the guitar on your lap,
who are you longing for, as you musical sounds
like an blank look in the rippling water in a ditch?

 

Your slender neck, rocked by guitars handle.
I see your tears through your long hair,
where you sit on a sofa, feet crossed.

 

I want to climb in your composition,
together with you, I will suffer heartbreak and understand,
how to take you out of this awkward position.

 

I feel how your fingers, picking the strings,
suppressing a harrowing sob.

 

The original version

 

Op heimwee van die wind

Deur Floris Brown

Jy, langvlegsel meisie, met kitaar op skoot,
vir wie die boodskap vanuit jou hart,
terwyl lang vingers snare saggies stoot ?

 

Jou speelse posisie van kitaar in skoot,
na wie verlang jy, as jou note klink soos
‘n leë blik in kabbelende water, in ‘n sloot ?

 

Jou lenige nek, wieg teen kitaar se steel.
Ek sien jou trane deur lang hare ween,
waar jy op ‘n sofa sit, voete – kruisbeen.

 

Ek wil so graag klim, in jou komposisie,
saam jou hartseer deurmaak, verstaan,
jou uithaal, uit jou ongemaklike posisie.

 

Ek voel hoe jou vingerpunte, die snare pluk,
‘n hartverskeurende gehuilsnik, onderdruk.

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