Desmond Painter. Nog ‘n David Briggs gedig

Ek het gister hier ‘n gedig van die jong Britse digter David Briggs geplaas. Hier is nog een van sy gedigte; ek vind dit nogal treffend:    

Closed Systems

David Briggs

David Briggs

The night wears stars; he wears his shirt
unbuttoned. Badgers amble across floodplains

towards him. Now, a thin tranche of moon,
partial and blotted: a strange time

for divining. He is transplanting water —
stream to river to estuary —

in a teacup and an unbroken line
from the east to the west coast; but,

stooping to the river he sometimes stops,
cognisant, perhaps, of madness in his method,

or his father’s ghost swimming the cold water.
When thunder rends sky he recalls

the rising water-table of his childhood;
raindrops collecting in teacups placed

for that purpose on the back doorstep;
always something upsetting his fieldwork.

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