In the August quarterly workshop, we read the poem, ‘Things I Didn’t Know I Loved’ , by Nazim Hikmet.
Reading it led to writing about things we like and love, the small, often unnoticed details about them, and what they help us to remember.
If you’d like to read Hikmet’s beautiful poem – here’s the link:
(to read more, click on the lines above)
I never knew I loved the sea
growing up on mine dumps at high altitude
dry soil with gold dust
I never knew I loved the beaches, Clifton in
summer sun, ice water makes me lose my ankles
Plett’s lost beach, Lookout
that got swallowed by an angry river
snatching all my childhood memories
sand castles and rock pools
stolen sex on the whispering dunes
sand in your panties doesn’t feel too good
I never knew I loved the waves,
the curling walls of water that
boys surfed down while I bobbed over
the curves of the little waves
in the shallows, safe
I never knew I loved the smells
waking up to tingling fresh sea air
that brought a hunger for coffee and croissants
eaten overlooking an empty beach
after a long, long walk with wet toes
the smells of breakfast with the salty starfish brine
bacon and maple syrup and seaweed
I never knew I loved the sea, the beaches, the waves, the smells
when I was growing up on the mine dumps
at high altitude
I’ve learned to love the sunrise – I used to sleep
long into the morning –
growing pains, childhood seemed so hard
to get up for school, to study early for exams
the frost still white on the lawn
the milk cart delivering milk and orange juice –
vitamin C in icy winter, the Western Transvaal
so cold the water froze – long icicles
from the garden tap, the bedroom windows all misted up –
I could blow a hole into it to see outside –
the dog’s paw marks as they tracked over the grass
his yellow piss a steaming puddle near the willow tree.
I’ve learned to love the night –
dark velvet sky, stars like holes punched into a blanket –
although some nights were frightening when my parents fought
their battles at the other end of the house.
I woke and held my breath – the shouting subsided
and then I heard the sound of my mother
feeling her way along the dark passage –
her hand dragging the wall. I still hear that sound some nights –
even though it’s over forty years ago.
I’ve learned to love the ocean – yet I lived
a thousand miles away and I only saw it once
a year – a seaside holiday in the Eastern Cape
and like an English child I had a net and a sunbonnet
and ate rock candy. I think I married
my husband because he lived by the ocean
and now we walk on the beach
every day – whales blow. We take our dogs
to Sunrise beach sometimes at sunset.
The moon rises there too –
I never knew I loved sunrise.
I never knew I loved sticks.
I thought of them straight and cutting, like schoolmasters.
But sticks can be mottled and gnarled,
even more beautiful than old people -
irregular, and useful in a way of sturdiness.
They make a shape out of longing, and sometimes
I have to wonder if they miss their trees.
I never knew I loved breathing,
except for Anne’s ‘three conscious breaths’, of course.
I’ve come to realise, though, you’ve got to love the other ones too.
The way they pass quietly down the corridors of your life -
just doing their jobs, without any rewards.
They make a living out of thin air; and maybe they get miffed
having to carry on so underappreciated.
I never knew I loved drops
In my recollection, they always gathered in stains.
But drops can be valiant, pot-bellied revolutionaries -
the way they hold out against the forces of gravity.
Every laugh is a drop, resisting before it falls.
They make tiny surprises out of plunging, so I’ve decided to collect them.
I don’t want to end up with a sad and empty bucket.
It is strange how many things we love
yet do not know we love them
sitting with two sister writers
on a chilly rainy day in Touch of Madness
I discovered this love for cups
Having not known winters before
my blood pipes had gotten it frozen
corpses of words in their box
blue nails waited long in vain
to release the ink
This burning cup of white Rooibos
nearly finished my tongue
as I gulped a few sips
to restore the system
What would winter be like
without burning cups of tea?
In my childhood
I have listened to many birds
their chirps used to wake us up
in the morning
I learned the names of many of them
it all happened naturally
Today, pigeons and herons
are my favourites
their songs whether filtered or sandy
always attract me
I never knew I have passion for trees
many times I have stopped on my way
to watch their swaying boughs
or colourful blossoms
and felt a son of praise rise in me
I am Eve in Kirstenbosch Gardens
how I wish I could retain all the names
on the umpteen labels they wear
I like empty jars
their feminine look
the way they open up
waiting to be filled
with endless possibilities
Rivers are loveable too
and unstoppable
their serpentine course
through mountains and plains
never closing an eye in the night
their rumbling, our lullaby
Raindrops are funny things to fall in love with
enchanting like bubbles
children all over the world know this better
how mayny get spanked
for playing in the rain?
Raindrops drumming on our roofs
imbibe us with heavenly bliss
As a child I have climbed many mountains
from home to school
from home to my auntie’s
from fome to my granny’s
there mountains everywhere
scary staircases to the infinite
There mountains here too
a look at this one in front of me
always takes me to the chains in me
the good thing about climbing mountains is
you always come back where you started
Could this be the beginning of passion for hiking?
Sharing a smile
with a stranger
forgetting to be afraid
folded in your arms
I am a child again
laughing.
love hides in the flowers
of the syringa tree
surprising me each spring
a window seat over Africa
red dust roads
aching in the sunlight
sharing a meal with strangers
under a syringa tree
barefoot in God’s garden
where fat bellied secrets
sprout from the seeds
of lost words.
I never knew I loved crystals so much
until I saw the light catch deep within them
far into the recesses of their infinite formations
and sunsets with you…
sitting side by side, holding hands, licking softserve
watching the sun sink its head below the horizon,
which reminds me of dad
who will die one day leaving everything behind
I never knew I loved him so much
He always said: you’ll only know how much when you have your own children…
and now, I do. Deep within my womb, it’s you.
Warm, soft and totally dependent on me.
I can’t see my life without you
I never knew I loved you this much.
I never knew I loved smells; paint, jasmine, sour rot, decayed flesh, coffee aroma.
From Colombia to Java, roasted beans infused with steam, sip crema,
swallow pure caffeine.
A surprise love; my lovers; I never knew I loved them all.
The shyest left daisies each morning. By chance I spied him,
tense with caution, place the yellow posy,
his six-year old fingers carefully arranging the crushed stems
in the hope I would love him back.
I never knew I loved mountains, framed by sea and sky,
white gulls daubed in the foreground,
evening light on the Hottentot Hollands. A lover’s caress.
Until I collected stones I never knew I loved jet,
black rock found in Whitby,
bevelled and drilled into jewellery.
I never knew I loved waters; discovered I too flow and ebb.
Each day, my tides synchronised with the planet’s oceans,
we both ruled by the moon.
I never knew I loved waves until I lived in my little house by the sea. The sound of the waves in the distance sometimes big and terrifying, other times lapping quietly against the shore.
I never knew I loved roses until I missed seeing them every Monday in the bathroom, a single red rose in a vase welcoming me back.
I never knew I loved roses until they arrived at random to tell me that he was in love with me. I never knew I loved them until they stopped coming and I knew what that meant.
I never knew I loved sunsets until I walked along the boardwalk and stood silently watching the sun go down behind the mountains, leaning into the arms of a kind, gentle, loving man who planned to watch many more sunsets with me.
I never knew I loved rocks until we sat together on the rocks enjoying the silence.
I never knew I loved hands until we fell asleep in the guesthouse, hands held across the gap between our single beds, so close, closer than if we had shared the same bed. Strong hands, hands to hold me, take care of me, support and protect me.
I never knew I loved cinnamon
The smell of it
wafting from a pot of simmering curry
or the feel of the hard brown bark
snapping between my fingers
leaving splinters of pungent smell
as I raise them to my mouth.
I knew I loved toddlers
tottering on widespread legs
trying to talk in words like ”úp”and ”more”
Toddlers with sticky fingers
on sugar highs
from too many sour worms.
Toddlers pressing car keys into draw locks
and beaming with pride
at the right move
though the wrong fit.
I never knew I liked smells
The metallic smell of commuter trains
sour seat covers
a prelude to some new destination
maybe to the smell of apple blossom
or sycamore or pine cones
fresh and new, carried on a crisp wind.
I never knew I loved dogs
Walking dogs
Snuggling with dogs
feeling their soft fur against my chest.
I must love dogs
because I pick up their poo
even when it is under the washline
where I want to hang
my pristine white cotton sheets
without them flapping into brown puddles.
I never knew how much I treasured moments
Just single moments uncluttered by how I should be
Just a joyous moment with me in it, in this moment and no other
Just the me I am and no other
I know that now. That there are such moments.
I didn’t know I loved not knowing
not knowing the wild mystery of the unanswerable
For what more could there be to know about a stranger’s kindness
except that it was a gift with no expectations?
I know this now. That one is given such unencumbered gifts.
And for all those fretful years before the mirror
I never knew that it was not how I appeared that made you love me
but simply that because you loved me, you found me beautiful
your constancy a more faithful mirror than my ever fickle self-regard
I know it now. That there can be such love.
I can’t regret not knowing
It is by the empty heart that yearning learns its longing
only, the question haunts me.
What is it that I don’t know now of which in time to come
I will say: what I didn’t know I know now?
I didn’t know I loved strangers until I found myself awash with commuting crowds at Victoria Station and I on my suitcase. Or when I stepped on an aeroplane and flew amongst them to strange new lands.
I didn’t know I loved dew till today while watching it sparkle and move on grass blades being dried by the early sun. Can drops object to being evaporated?
I found I loved dew when my shoes squelch it up and my socks absorb it to wet my toes.
I didn’t know I loved dew until the blade on the rear window wiped it away to show the road I had travelled. Reversing out to go forward.
I didn’t know I loved geese, standing on chimneys, calling a warning, letting dog and I know we were seen. Their chest marks proudly pushed out and white flashes below wings as they land.
Mountains I loved on the Swartberg Pass
The ranges stretched on both hands
Away to touch the washed blue sky
I touched the tops
Glory to God rang out.
I never knew I liked steps;
the ones that lead up into my house.
The dogs sit there and wag their woolly tails.
I never knew I loved all the steps
in my house,
my crooked house that a father built for his sons.
One step takes me from the level of my study down
to the entrance room – if you can call it that.
There are no passages in this house,
just single steps that lead up and down between rooms.
One step has been trodden so many times
there’s a smooth long hollow
worn into the wood.
I never knew how much I loved the steps that lead down to the bedrooms
beneath the house,
down a wooden ladder
(it came from a barn)
to where we sleep.
Sometimes when the wind is in the right direction
we can smell and hear the sea.
Now that I mention it,
I never knew I loved the sea
Clear and turquoise on a winters’ day
or when the sky is a blank of clouds and the sea gun metal.
On days when the wind howls
the sea kicks itself into a fury.
I never knew I loved the sea.
I know, though, there were days when I hated it.
Out on the ocean, crossing from one continent to another,
surrounded by its unrelenting enormity,
its always thereness.
I hated it then.
But now that there are earth diggers
and men with picks
ripping up the road that borders the coast,
the road I travel home,
I realise that I miss the sea
So many things to think of loving
I never knew how much I liked the idea of listing them all.
