My father left us for South Africa when I was in the womb. He left to work in the mines and sent us money and photos for a while, but after that he disappeared and found a new family. He never returned. This meant I was brought up by my mother, who was a very good storyteller. We’d gather around the fire to hear her stories; the structure of her narratives still influences my poems now. My mum did what I do – pick up little ideas and link them to a bigger picture. The final bit of the story always had a ‘crunch’ – a final line that sums up the meaning of the whole piece.
If you decide to write in a dictatorship you have to find safe modes of expression. When I was in prison I continued to write in my head but I couldn’t publish anything because I had nothing to write on! I produced 25 poems in my head and I thought when I got out I’d get some paper and try and write them out. I couldn’t remember them all after three and a half years in prison, but I remembered the titles. So I sat down with the titles and tried to get them back, but I still have two or three that I haven’t recovered yet.
