Because you can't have depths without surfaces.
Linda Grant, thinking about clothes, books and other matters.

Thursday, 8 November 2007

In memory of Eve Hall 1937-2007


Nikosi Sikelel' iAfrika

Eve Hall
born Paris 1937 died South Africa 2007

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains
of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed I am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

The last scud of day holds back for me,
it flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the
shadowed wilds,

It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk.

I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,
I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fiber your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.


From Song of Myself, in Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

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