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!
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Written on 2020-08-02 at 01:44

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