Roy Joseph Cotton – September 11, '53 – March 10, '85

Roy commenced writing poetry during his latter school years. He read prolifically and was passionate about music and was a devote to Bob Dylan. He wrote many plays or "Musical Paintings" as he called them, and was also busy with two works "Multimythicum" and "Girlpools, Whirpools, and other gusts of Twirling Hair". He wrote from the security of a warm, close family in a comfortable Cape Town (South Africa) suburb. Yet most of his huge output of poems reflect a consuming angst. It was an angst which drove him to search for peace throughout books, music, writing, and religion, and it led to ultimate despair. His highly idiosyncratic way with language and the intense pressure of his emotional and spiritual concerns make his poetry compelling and disturbing reading. His untimely death at age of 31 cut short his promising career as a poet.

AT LOUIS LEIPOLDT’S GRAVE

What am i supposed to feel
besides suffocating gloom
in the dripping shadows
of this immense heat?

Why stick him away
in the mountains?

Is the sun a boiler machine
with the persistence of breath?

The grave isn’t noticed by
the Coloured workmen
burning the bush.

It’s like false teeth in a
cup beside the bed at midnight
without a match to illuminate
the nightmare.