[A eulogy for Theo van Gogh.]
* * * * * * * * *
“I STILL HEAR THE LION”
by Kola Boof
Kunje me wat geven voor de pijn?
de sterke wind
heft de boom weggeblazen:
Silence is the sky…of the Brood.
Nothing drowns, because
this lake is the lake of memory
—and on the day that the Lion decides
to throw himself on the sword,
My blood is dead blood/my voice, like a killing sound,
all eternal…and this is the Sky of our sermons.
Surely as the wind blows—I become the Eyes
in his head.
I am his daughter who can see to the bottom
of the lake.
And yet….it has no floor.
The sweetly flowing Arabic of this Brood of scarlet robes.
Through each and every pregnancy.
Dear lake, my face on your surface…
This Sky has been coming forever.
Rippling…
The swan of his stroke.
His long white arms, reaching like thunder
swimming into the footpaths
the footpaths…of those who
walk on water.
I am underwater/Fully
And yet I still hear the lion
–I
the one who is listening.
Through gun-fire and moody wind
and Pain raining deeper than the bluest night in Amsterdam
—I hear the sound of that which cannot die.
The coming of man/the coming of my father.
For surely MAN always comes.
And will come again—through me.