“A Clapper Lark” Completed

Wild Flowers in South Limburg, The Netherlands,12 July 2022. Copyright 2022 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
I happened upon this field of wild flowers last year at the height of summer in the south of The Netherlands. To capture its magnificence in a photograph proved impossible, wherefore I naturally resorted to poetry—a composition for a future anthology! Taken 12 July 2022.

On the Hiatus

The past year and nine months have been disruptive but wonderful. I moved from my beloved South African pastures to the hills of South Limburg (The Netherlands) and, as a result, have had little time to write. The reason for the move was love, which against all odds, I found at last in the form of a gentle Dutchman.

Adjusting to love and life in a new country—greatly aided by the similarity between the Dutch and Afrikaans languages (the latter being derived from the former)—this period was marked by distraction of the best kind, exploring parts of The Netherlands, Germany and Belgium with simple but unforgettable trips.

Amongst these was a visit to the picturesque home of Maurice Carême (1899–1978) whose lyric poetry for children made a lasting impression upon me when I first encountered it a decade and a half ago. The foundation in his name has preserved his home as he left it, affording visitors a unique glimpse into his life.

I had the singular and unexpected pleasure and honour to hold one of his original manuscripts in my hands. Were it possible, I would have spent the entire day poring over these fascinating documents, as well as his library, occasionally sitting in the laissez-faire garden, which in summer was pretty as a picture.

Musée Maurice Carême, 6 July 2022. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Impromptu pictures taken at Musée Maurice Carême (the Maurice Carême Museum) in Anderlecht, Belgium on 6 July 2022. From left to right: a bust of the poet in bronze, a sun-kissed settee in the sitting room and the modest exterior of the house. (So enraptured was I in his study—quite apart from the fact that I was asked to recite one of my compositions in that sacred room—that I took no pictures of his desk!)

On the Poem

Thus, after an unexpectedly lengthy hiatus, I resume work on my anthology of lyric poetry. It has been a year since the last poetic sketch, “A Tapping Beetle” (and its Afrikaans companion “Toktokkie”1), was completed. I then began developing “A Clapper Lark”, and I am pleased to report that it too is complete.


  1. Afrikaans; pronounced [tockTOCKy], with a clipped version of the [o] in “or”.

What began as an English sketch of but two short quatrains, after much wrestling and episodic inspiration, transformed into two compositions with eight even shorter couplets. These are centre-aligned so that the symmetry echoes the shape of the bird in flight and the length (or, more aptly, the height), its ascent.

Like “A Tapping Beetle” and “Toktokkie”, “A Clapper Lark” has an Afrikaans companion (I hesitate to use the word “version”, for it implies a mere translation, whereas it is conceived as a poem in its own right, though the theme and style are the same): “Kaapse Klappertjie”.2 Both celebrate the bird’s courtship display.


  1. Afrikaans for “little Cape clapper”, pronounced [KAAHpsuh KLUppuhRky], with [uh] as the [e] in “flutter”, [KLU] as in “clung”, a trilled [R] and [y] as the [i] in “it”.

To attract a mate, the Cape Clapper Lark male flies up into the air from the grasses, rapidly clapping its wings. As it reaches the highest point, it utters either a long, ascending “pooooeeee” in the case of the species that inspired the poem,3 or two descending “tseeoo tseeuuuu”s in that of the species I filmed.4


  1. Mirafra apiata apiata
  2. Mirafra apiata marjoriae

“A Clapper Lark” and “Kaapse Klappertjie” describe this lively flying-up-diving-down, clapping-then-whistling display in eight stanzas each.5 Of the two, “Kaapse Klappertjie” seems to me the most successful phonetically, rhythmically and emotionally, the result of the inherent crispness of the Afrikaans language.


  1. Whilst writing these paragraphs, I suddenly conceived of a simple way at once to infuse the English composition with more vivacity and joviality, and align its structure with that of the Afrikaans. Originally, the final version of the English poem had four stanzas and the Afrikaans, eight. Both now have eight. This text was adjusted accordingly.

The common name of the bird in each language is an excellent example of how Afrikaans suits the concept of the poems better: “Cape Clapper Lark” flows; “Kaapse Klappertjie”2 skips. Taking this difference into account, the boisterous display of this otherwise unobtrusive bird is best expressed in that tongue.

The above-mentioned “A Tapping Beetle” and “Toktokkie” and “A Clapper Lark” and “Kaapse Klappertjie” form a set describing the amusing manners in which the creatures in question attract a mate. All four poems are centre-aligned and make liberal use of onomatopoeia: a visual and lyrical delight to compose!

The Kleinrivier River at Klipdrift, September 2010. Copyright 2022 Google.
The bridge at Klipdrift in the Overberg region of the Western Cape province of South Africa that inspired the “Little River” poetic sketch. Upon my last visit there, it was being made flood-proof, altering the charming and unassuming structure forever. Not only do I deeply regret this modernisation, but also the consequential loss of the many meticulously-built swallow nests in its arches. (Image from Google Street View, September 2010.)

On a Bridge

Next, I shall develop “Little River”, first drafted in mid-September 2019. Whilst living in the Overberg region of the Western Cape province of South Africa, it was my custom to drive once a week to the seaside town of Hermanus. These drives resulted in many a sight, which, in turn, resulted in many a poetic sketch.

On the way, in summer, I would encounter flights of swallows at Klipdrift6 where a small, simple bridge crossed the Kleinrivier7 river. Beneath this bridge, they nested; upon it, they sometimes alighted in the roadway; and above it, they frolicked and flitted—always an exquisite performance for anyone willing to watch.


  1. Afrikaans for “stone ford” or “Stanford”, pronounced [clipdRift], with a trilled [R].
  2. Afrikaans for “small river”, pronounced [cleyn-RhfeeR], with a trilled [R].

How fondly I remember those moments, for I was such a one! I would stop upon the narrow bridge—to the bafflement and annoyance of the occasional fellow road user who would invariably appear just then and end my adoration—and lose myself in the spectacle of Greater Striped Swallows (Cecropis cucullata) in flight.

I would also see many other birds; among them, the African Black Duck (Anas sparsa) and Vleitinktinkie8 (Levaillant’s Cisticola, Cisticola tinniens), both of which appear in the original “Little River” draft: a sketch about the river, its bridge and its birds. In the coming weeks, I shall develop the draft into a complete lyric poem.


  1. Afrikaans for “little marsh tink-tinkler” (literally “marsh little tink-tinkler”); pronounced [FLEY-tihng-tihngky], with the [ih] as the [e] in “flutter” and [y] as the [i] in “it”; named after its tinkling call, whence its other English common name, Tinkling Cisticola.

Poetry Publication Progress (2023-01-06)

I continue to work on the “Little Evening Lily” poems as summer comes to South Africa. The lily in question has disappeared from the hillsides, but other wild flowers have taken its place. Among them is Cyanella hyacinthoides, its purple petal cuffs and golden stamen gloves earning it the common name Lady’s Hands. They add specks of colour to the waysides which grow ever paler with dry wild grass.

Cyanella hyacinthoides, Blouraaptol, 13 December 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.

Flowers!

Ornithogalum dubium, 22 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Ornithogalum dubium, the Yellow Chincherinchee, photographed 22 October 2020

South Africa is in the midst of spring, and there is no end to the flowers.1 Every few weeks, there are new arrangements of shape, size and colour at the waysides that come and go in turn.

Some sparkle on shrubs that in every other season give nothing away of their splendour. Some burst from bulbs straight from the ground—just stem, no leaves at all. Some flutter gently amid the grasses—shy, though they need not be so.

Some dazzle with striking colour, insisting one stops and stares. Some are strange, barely recognisable as what they are—for that reason, all the more lovely. Some are so small that on hands and knees one must descend to see them at all.

Were I to catalogue every species I have seen this season, my updates would be frequent and long, but permit me one more occasion to show some of the specimens that now are in bloom:


  1. Or wild animals: late Thursday afternoon, I saw for the first time a pair of Otocyon megalotis, Bat-eared foxes! I regret I was not able to photograph them.

Pelargonium, possibly P. suburbanum, 19 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Pelargonium, possibly P. suburbanum (19 September 2020)
Cotula ceniifolia, 19 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Cotula ceniifolia (19 September 2020)
Moraea miniata, 19 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Moraea miniata (19 September 2020)
Geissorhiza nana, 19 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
The near-threatened Geissorhiza nana (19 September 2020)
Moraea elegans, 20 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
The endangered Moraea elegans in its green spot variation (20 September 2020)
Moraea elegans, 20 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
The endangered Moraea elegans in its green and orange spot variation (20 September 2020)
Eucomis regia, 20 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Eucomis regia, commonly known as the Pineapple Lily (20 September 2020)
Oxalis zeekoevleyensis, 20 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Oxalis zeekoevleyensis (20 September 2020)
Printzia polifolia, 20 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Printzia polifolia (20 September 2020)
Holothrix villosa and Disa bracteata, 29 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Holothrix villosa (left) and Disa bracteata (right) (29 September 2020)
Holothrix mundii, 29 September 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Holothrix mundii (29 September 2020)
Moraea unguiculata, 8 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Moraea unguiculata (8 October 2020)
Moraea lewisiae, 8 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Moraea lewisiae (8 October 2020)
Aristea africana, 14 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Aristea africana (14 October 2020)
Lobelia erinus, 14 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Lobelia erinus (14 October 2020)
Moraea setifolia, 14 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Moraea, likely M. setifolia (22 October 2020)
Felicia hyssopifolia, 22 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Felicia hyssopifolia (22 October 2020)
Polygala garcinii, 22 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Polygala garcinii (22 October 2020)
Sebaea exacoides, 22 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Sebaea exacoides (22 October 2020)
Berkheya armata, 22 October 2020. Copyright 2020 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
Berkheya armata (22 October 2020)