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Petra Müller

Photo by John Paisley

Poet and author of children's literature

Petra Müller was born on 27 Julie 1935, at Botrivier. She attended school in Swellendam, where she matriculated at the age of 16 and went afterwards to study at Stellenbosch University. After obtaining a BA degree she worked for nearly three years as a reporter at Die Burger, until she married the journalist Wilhelm Grütter.
Under the pseudonym Magriet Smalberger she wrote light literature, while at home and raising three sons.
Petra worked as story editor for Sarie for ten years and - from 1980 to 1989 - as editor at Tafelberg Publishers. From 1989, she started writing in earnest, still working freelance for several publishing companies.

Petra Müller and her husband have been living for more than 40 years in their house Vlagmanshoogte, at the slope of Tafelberg.

Awards:
Sanlam Prize for Afrikaans Drama 1974
Eugène Marais Prize 1980 for Patria
Leserskring Award - Book journalist of the Year 1996
Hertzog Prize for Poetry 2005

Novels:
Verlore vallei, Dagbreek-Boekkring, Johannesburg, 1962
Die windskerm, Human & Rousseau, Cape Town, 1963
Published as Magriet Smalberger:
Die elande van Kruisberg, Dagbreek-Boekkring, Johannesburg, 1963
Hy wat die goud bring, Human & Rousseau, 1966
Die koue vuur, Human & Rousseau, 1970
Tant Madeleine se somer, Makro, Pretoria, 1974
Die Magriet Smalberger-omnibus, Human & Rousseau, Cape Town, 1982

Children's books:
Die kind van konings, John Malherbe, 1968
Klein Wiek se groot pampoen, 1980
'n Reënboog vir Hannatjie, 1990

Poetry:
Obool, 1977
Patria, 1979
Liedere van Land en See, 1984
My plek se naam is Waterval, 1987
Swerfgesange vir Susan, 1997
Nuwe Stemme 2 (compiler with Nelleke de Jager), 2001
Die Aandag van jou oë, 2002
Night crossing, 2006
Gedigte rondom die gedagte van geel, Tafelberg, 2012

Short Stories:
Werf in die rûens, 1980
Voëls van die hemel, 1982
Die dwerg van die Infanta, 1993
In die omtes van die hart, 1995
Desembers (compiled by Rachelle Greeff), Tafelberg, 2007

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vir eraine, wat sing terwyl sy skilder noudat dit winter word, verdonker jou palet: jou berg groei bonkig uit én swarter bron en moet sy blou veeg van die bo-lug leen, en die ploegland, purper soos én wond waar storms dit getref het, kan skaars die lading lig dra van die junieson jy beweer: die sonskyn van die somer kan nooit so genadig wees soos wintersonskyn nie; verf set nou so stadig, daar is altyd tyd genoeg om én te diep bewoë skakering van donker nog te bewerk vir die ervaring van die lig: geel op dooigras van die werf, selfs, waagsaam, oor water én flonker maar dït wat jy eintlik wou skilder: die musiek van die wilde onsigbare strome (suiwer mozart in én yl seisoen) dit moet vermoed word, dit laat jy aan die ryker toeval oor, dit moet stroom van kwas tot kyker soos die klanke van jou eie noemnaam, onverwagse kleine dagmusiek, wat van een taal in die ander moduleer van vrede tot by reën

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