J.M. Coetzee Moves From Cape Town to Adelaide

It's just another soulless place, a land
Of well-scrubbed affluence beside
An ordinary bay, below some
Mundane, scrubby hills. It's not
A source of inspiration. Rather,
It, and those who live there,
Unrelentingly Caucasian, suffocate
Me like a woolen blanket tethered
To my head. By contrast, where I
Used to live was like a big-screen
Movie, Technicolor, with its daunting
Cliffs and looming mountains, with its
Mostly black and poor inhabitants,
And all the pleasures that were theirs,
But shared with privileged whites,
Which I confess was. I would pay
My debts and go back, if I could.
That time has passed, so I reside
In emptiness, detached from what
I used to know, and find, as those
Who read me tell me, that I'm lost,
And, consequently, haven't anything
To write.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 24 times
Written on 2020-08-02 at 01:44

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