On the longing of the wind

On the longing of the wind

Is the poem written by Floris Brown a love poem or is it about music? You decide what to do with the poem “On the longing of the wind.”

About Floris Brown

Floris Brown (born Floris Abraham Brown, 10 September 1948) is a South African poet and musician. He published his first poems in 1978. In his country, he is known for his gospel music.

Brown grew up in Worcester (near Capetown). He attended the Hoërskool Esselenpark and got a teachers degree after his study at Hewat Opleidingskollege. In 1971 he started as a teacher at the Breërivier Sekondêr. He worked there until 199. Nowadays he’s a teacher at a school for blind children in Worcester.

His poems have been translated into many languages since they were first written.

On the longing of the wind

On the longing of the wind

You, long braid girl with a 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 a 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.

— Floris Brown

Op heimwee van die wind

Op heimwee van die wind

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.

— Floris Brown

Missing
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