Trading Rifles for Nikons

Trading Rifles for Nikons

wild nearly
browned with winter

stirred dirt 
road spurs toe herd gait 

here           where 
I can’t tell something 

from nothing
lacking the language

this estranged sky hung
on the Southern Cross

the tracker hides
with sleight of tongue
“a fence keeps”

we the current of 
this dusty riverbed 
pursuing breathing things

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Hi! It’s been a few weeks… I was on vacation and didn’t have a computer. I’m back now though, and with some poems about it :)

I went with some of my family to South Africa to visit Cape Town and experience safari. What a beautiful, challenging, resilient country. Of course, it spoke to a few core questions I’ve been asking on Into Wind over the last few years: the power of naming and precise language, the idea of wilding and rewilding. This poem continues that exploration.

While traveling, I was struck by the multi-faceted image and function of a fence. Between the two different safari lodges, one was a very large fenced preserve and one was a controlled area of a much larger national park (no fences between areas). These properties both used to be hunting lodges.

In Cape Town, the cultural and opportunity divide is stark between the city and the Bo-Kaap (no fence) and the city and the townships (quite fenced, or at least the illusion of fenced).

The constellations in the (FAR) southern hemisphere were completely different. Obvious but profound to witness.

Our tracker shared with us that some safari companies will speak in English until the words become critical (the name of the animal, the distance, etc.) where they will switch to their native tongue. They do this so that the guests remain in the dark about what’s coming and/or what they’re missing. Ours didn’t, but I found that obfuscation to be both poetic and a bit of a bummer.

More poems to come from this trip, I’m sure.

With Gratitude,