Port Elizabeth, South Africa
There is a
dwelling that I exist in. This far out between heaven and hell she is, my
mother is still beautiful. She was beautiful, and...
Harper Lee’s sigh towards God and the signature psychology in her writing of To Kill A Mockingbird
There is
blood in our silence, and in our silence the milk and honey, assertion and
defiance of language lives and breathes. In our projections from...
Vincent van Gogh: The Other. Now we will both drown in agony, despair and ecstasy
Now he belongs to the elite.
Like a photo workshop, even the trying
decline of the citizenship (belonging to the working and lower middle classes)
of stigma...
Cyber-terrorism
Every day in this country there are men,
women and children who live without honour, decency, values and integrity. This
is Africa and sub-Saharan Africa’s masterpiece...
Marilyn Monroe: A cuckoo hatchling pushing eggs outside of its nest
They took
photographs of you. Might as well been from dawn to dark photographs. In
pictures, in films, the light certainly never left your eyes. Your...
There are two kinds of lovers
Before 39
I think of
my wife Diana. Diana the paramedic with the reading hands, the quiet smile that
plays on her lips while she eats my...
The life and philosophy of the poets Dennis Brutus and Sappho
Life is
like that. Fixing pain is the inert language of blood. All of life is a tree.
There is a process to it. The possession,...
“Blooming Cactus”: Star signs, chapters of thanksgiving and prophecy from a gifted pen
It is
raining in Port Elizabeth as I write this. The room is cold and has a
pond life of its own. If I am not...
The science of winter: Bessie Head, feminist daughter of the earth, writer and philosopher
With her
lotus feet. Milk, and rain clouds gathering is a vision in her indelible
psyche. She is barefoot sowed to the shoreline in Port Elizabeth....
Why I wrote The Scholarship Girl
For a long
time I thought my writing was primitive. In the sense that I was not gaining the
recognition that I wanted (which every writer...