The Castle builder

Painting by Cyril Rolando

The Castle-Builder

A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks,
A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes,
A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks,
And towers that touch imaginary skies.

A fearless rider on his father's knee,
An eager listener unto stories told
At the Round Table of the nursery,
Of heroes and adventures manifold.

There will be other towers for thee to build;
There will be other steeds for thee to ride;
There will be other legends, and all filled
With greater marvels and more glorified.

Build on, and make thy castles high and fair,
Rising and reaching upward to the skies;
Listen to voices in the upper air,
Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries.

Longfellow

Madeliefies in Namakwaland by Ingrid Jonker

"Ingrid Jonker is a South African icon often compared to Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf and Anne Sexton, due to the intensity of her writing and the tragic course of her life."

"Today we look for something fragile and precious, something that can be broken, or lost, or — since that is her metaphor — not heard. We find it in "Madeliefies in Namakwaland".

Letter from Athol Fugard — The Classic (2.1): 78-1966, from Historical Papers, Cullen Library: A 2696 NAKASA, Nathaniel

Foto: Charl Cilliers

Waarom luister ons nog
na de antwoorde van die madeliefies
op die wind op die son
wat het geword van die kokkewietjies

Agter die geslote voorkop
waar miskien nog ’n takkie tuimel
van ’n verdrinkte lente
Agter my gesneuwelde woord
Agter ons verdeelde huis
Agter die hart gesluit teen homself
Agter draadheinings, kampe, lokasies
Agter die stilte waar onbekende tale
val soos klokke by ’n begrafenis
Agter ons verskeurde land

sit die groen hotnotsgot van die veld
en ons hoor nog verdwaasd
klein blou Namakwaland-madeliefie
iets antwoord, iets glo, iets weet.

Ingrid Jonker

The Last Leave of Fall

Image by Stephen Craig Rowe

I was there

with the sun upon my face

and the cold winds.

Hugging trees,

rustling brush

as my boots lace laughter

in personal poetry

for those who care and are.

Of a love,

of a feeling,

a knowing and a being

so close and so far away

that my arms cry to touch you

and to be held in clean sheets,

quiet streets and an empty sink.

The last leaf fell

as I drew upon time,

and there

I did not Fall

For you.

For you

are forever.

Stephen Craig Rowe

On Pain - Kahil Gibran

Image via web

AND a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of Pain.

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break,
that its heart may stand in the sun, so must
you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder
at the daily miracles of your life, your pain
would not seem less wondrous than your
joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your
heart, even as you have always accepted
the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the phy-
sician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink
his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is
guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn
your lips, has been fashioned of the clay
which the Potter has moistened with His
own sacred tears.

---

from The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran

Mis

Image: Gordon Richardson

Mis

Die mis kom aan

op fyn katvoetjies.

Dit sit en kyk

oor hawe en stad

op stil hurke

en beweeg dan verder.

Carl Sandburg

Vertaling deur: Johann de Lange

A Flower for the night

Image by Justin Haaheim

Where I lived for a childhood

the night grass was as magical as the moon;

coolly white and soft, like new snow beautiful,

and deeply piled by the monsoons.

There was a flower (I never learnt its name)

that bloomed one night a year,

following, with its delicate bluish face,

the arc that the full moon steered.

There was a garden of small temples,

a shrine to the wind and other deities,

where tea was served to guests in porcelain shells

carried over bridges of red-painted filigree.

On the low, carved tables scattered about

black pots stood etched with cloud-shaped trees;

each pot held a bud, each had its silent knot

from the waiting throng of, mostly, Chinese.

And then the moon rose fat-faced and yellow.

The few lanterns appeared to fade in the silver air.

In minutes, as in a spell, all the buds opened.

There were so many quiet people there.

Douglas Livingstone

Somewhere over the rainbow

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Once in a lullaby ii ii iii
Somewhere over the rainbow
Blue birds fly
And the dreams that you dreamed of
Dreams really do come true ooh ooooh
Someday I'll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me ee ee eeh
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney tops thats where you'll find me oh
Somewhere over the rainbow bluebirds fly
And the dream that you dare to,why, oh why can't I? i iiii

Well I see trees of green and
Red roses too,
I'll watch them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world

Well I see skies of blue and I see clouds of white
And the brightness of day
I like the dark and I think to myself
What a wonderful world

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people passing by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying, "How do you do?"
They're really saying, I...I love you
I hear babies cry and I watch them grow,
They'll learn much more
Than we'll know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world (w)oohoorld

Someday I'll wish upon a star,
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney top that's where you'll find me
Oh, Somewhere over the rainbow way up high
And the dream that you dare to, why, oh why can't I? I hiii ?

Images from the darkest night

Images from the darkest night
Fight for mind and soul,
Rattling sticks and beating drums
Screams from masks unfold.
Shadows spin and slide from sight
Wild white eyes stare.Stamping feet beat up the dust
Cries rent the air.
A black crow perches up aboveCruel beak and claws bare,
Where now the promised land my love
Lush fields at heaven's gate.
Morning is an age away
Love, save me from my fate.

Peter Hollard

Six Ribbons

If I were a minstrel I’d sing you six love songs,
To tell the whole world of the love that we share,
If I were a merchant I’d bring you six diamonds,
With six blood red roses for my love to wear,

But I am a simple man, a poor common farmer,
So take my six ribbons to tie back your hair,
Yellow and brown, blue as the sky,
Red as my blood, green as your eyes,

If I were a nobleman I’d bring you six carriages,
With six snow white horses to take you anywhere,
If I were the emperor I’d build you six palaces,
With six hundred servants for comforting fare,

But I am a simple man, a poor common farmer,
So take my six ribbons to tie back your hair,

If I were a minstrel I’d sing you six love songs,
To tell the whole world of the love that we share,
So be not afraid my love, you’re never alone love,
While you wear my ribbons tying back your hair,

Once I was a simple man, a poor common farmer,
I gave you six ribbons to tie back your hair,
Too-ra-lee, too-ra-lie, all I can share,
Is only six ribbons to tie back your hair,
Too-ra-lee, too-ra-lie, all I can share,
I gave you six ribbons to tie back your hair.

Yellow Eyes

Closing my eyes . . . .

listening to the music . . .

I can see in my mind the two wolves roaming the wild country . . . . . . . . .

We've roamed the wild country

My beautiful yellow eyes

Side by side we've hunted

Shadows dancing on northern skies

There have been times of plenty

We were content and serene

Peacefully sleeping

Dangers few and far between

We've also known much hunger

Ribs protruding from each side

Mournfully we howled

When our starving cubs had died

And then there was our first winter

Romping through the glistening snow

Tasting each crystal snowflake

Falling gently to and fro

Ah my dear, sweet yellow eyes

I've known no greater love

Without you I am nothing

Our wild souls are one

And now you lay there dying

Steel jaws upon your frame

Life's blood slowly seeping

I whisper your sweet name

Helpless, I watch you struggle

Chest heaving with labored breath

Steel jaws clenching tighter

Winds whisper the song death

The blood has now stopped flowing

I know the time is near

And you will forever leave me

My love, my life, my dear

And now my world is silent

Your struggles now have ceased

I lay my head upon you

And now you are at peace

Perhaps your soul has lifted

To skies where eagles soar,

And there you'll greet your brothers

To run with them forever more

And someday I shall find you

In the heaven's so far above

And when our wild soul's unite

They'll be no greater love

Joan L. Van Vels

The saddest night - Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Bad boys, bad boys

I just love the rhythm of this song

Listen and enjoy . . . . .

UH !Bad boys watcha gon,watcha gon,watcha gonna do?

When they sudedongdong come for you?
Let me! Whatcha wanna do? When they come for you?

Bad boys,bad boys whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do?
When they come for you?Bad boys bad boys whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

When you were eight and you had bad dreams you go to school
And that's the golden rule,So why are you acting like a bloody fool
If you get hot then you must get cool!

Bad boys,bad boys whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do?
When they come for you?Bad boys bad boys whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

You chuck it down thas one,
You chuck it down thit one,
You chuck it down ya mother,
And ya chuck it down ya father,
Ya chuck it down a brother,
And ya chuck it down ya siter,
You chuck it down that one and you chuck it down Me!

Bad boys,bad boys whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do?
When they come for you?Bad boys bad boys whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

Nobody hit ya over Break,
Pleas stop acting over Break,
No soldier man will give ya a break,
Then Your eyes would give you wits Hhh!

Bad boys,bad boys whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do?
When they come for you?Bad boys bad boys whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do when they come for you?(When they come for you?)

Why did you have to act so mean?
Don't you know you're a human being?
Born of a mother with the love of a father,
Reflexion comes and reflexion goes,
I know sometime you wanna let go
hehehe i know sometime you wanna let go

Bad boys,bad boys whatcha gonna do whatcha gonna do?
When they come for you? Bad boys bad boys whatcha gonna do?

whatcha gonna do watcha gonna do when they come for you?

When they come for you?

"Mother" John Lennon

In July 1946, an event occurred that would emotionally scar John Lennon for life.

In a ludicrous attempt to throw their responsibility as parents onto their young son, Julia and Freddie left it up to John to decide which one of them he would stay with.

The terrified, sobbing child first chose his father, but upon seeing his mother walk out of the door and down the street, he quickly changed his mind and ran after her. . . . . . . . .

When you're drowning, you don't say 'I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,' you just scream.
John Lennon

Mother, you had me but I never had you
I wanted you but you didn't want me

So I got to tell you
Goodbye goodbye

Father, you left me but
I never left you
I needed you but you didn't need me

So I just got to tell you
Goodbye goodbye

Children, don't do what I have done
I couldn't walk and I tried to run

So I got to tell you
Goodbye goodbye

Mama don't go
Daddy come home

The song by John Lennon

One safe place

The beautiful song by Marc Cohn

From the movie "Brokeback mountain"

How many roads you’ve traveled
How many dreams you’ve chased
Across sand and sky and gravel
Looking for one safe place


Will you make a smoother landing
When you break your fall from grace
Into the arms of understanding
Looking for one safe place

Oh, life is trial by fire
And love’s the sweetest taste
And I pray it lifts us higher
To one safe place

How many roads we’ve traveled
How many dreams we’ve chased
Across sand and sky and gravel
Looking for one safe place

Artisjok - one of the most beautiful erotic poems in Afrikaans . . .

Image: Nan Goldin "The Hug"

Artisjok

Laatnag vleg ’n skielike ritseling

My stadig los

Uit swaar arms van my geliefde,

Donker suster van my dood.

Dou sak heeltemal te vroeg vanjaar

Op my grasperk en plante neer.

Takke en blare ril nog waarskuwend

As ek deur die wind na my groentetuin beur.

My flitslig skok die grootste plant

Wat haar lang, silwergrys blare vou,

Ritselend toe, dig

Om die geheime, pers, glinsterende vrug.

Raak my aan, asseblief,

Raak my nie nou al aan nie.

Uit hierdie bitter grond gebore

Tussen windhande wat my wil klief.

Ek vou die stingels versigtig weg,

Pluk ‘n paar blare en proe,

Huiwerig om my tong,

Donkergroen, suursoet parfuum van die nag.

Net een maal het ek jou so sien lê

Ná ‘n laatnagmaal van artisjok.

Jou hande was lig oor jou borste gevou,

Jou bene terughoudend gekruis.

Laag vir laag het ek jou afgeskil

Met ‘n versigtige, moedelose tong,

Tot by die diep, geheime, bitter vrug

Wat weer terugtrek tussen jou dye.

Deur strelende hande van jou geliefde,

Jou lokkende suster van die slaap

Kon ek hoor: raak my aan, asseblief,

Raak my nooit meer aan nie;

te lig om ’n groen hart finaal te klief.

© H.J. Pieterse (uit: Die burg van hertog Bloubaard, Tafelberg, 2000)

Your moon fills my sky

Your moon fills my sky.
Pale light filters
A soft wash
Over memories muted colors.
A night jar whispers
Its gentle call to the past
As the silk of your skin
Beneath my fingers
Lights fire.

Peter Hollard

The Clown

He rants at the moon
and he rants at the sky
at each of the planets
as they spin by.
He remembers the spring
and the autumn too
the hot days of summer
all the winters he knew.
He howls with the wind
and he cries in the rain
recovers in sunlight
and forgets his own pain.
He's dressed as the clown
with his broad painted smile
and the grease paint tears
that roll from his eyes.

Peter Hollard

The Jackson Song - Patti Smith

Dedicated to my eldest son who became a Dad yesterday . . . for you, when you were born . . .

Little blue dreamer go to sleep
Let's close our eyes and call the deep
slumbering land that just begins
When day is done and little dreamers spin

First take my hand now let it go
Little blue boy you're on your own
Little blue wings as those feet fly
Little blue shoes that walk across the sky

May your path be your own
But I'm with you
And each day you'll grow
He'll be there too
And someday when you go
We'll follow you
As you go, as you go

Little blue star that offers light
Little blue bird that offers flight
Little blue path where those feet fall
Little blue dreamer won't you dream it all

May your path be your own
But I'm with you
And each day you'll grow
He'll be there too
And someday when you go
We'll follow you
As you go, as you go

And in your travels you will see
Warrior wings remember Daddy
And if a mama bird you see
Folding her wings will you remember me
As you go, as you go
As you go, as you go

The song by Patti Smith

Thanx to a special friend who sent me this song . .. . .

Snow sentry - a snowman poem

Dedicated to my artist, hermit friend who painted this picture of his children ( when they were still small) building a snowman in the snow during one of the rare occasions when it snowed in the Eastern Free State in South-Africa. The old car wreck in the back ground is symbolic . . . . .


Painting by Lourens Oosthuizen

See the snowman
all in white -
standing still
and silent-like
as soft snow
settles light
on this cool
long frosty night.

Crystal flakes spin
round and fall,
covering him
beyond recall.

Still he'll stand
sentry tall,
keeping night-watch
over all.

Kate Monroe

Every Grain Of Sand - Bob Dylan

Dedicated to a special friend . .who is hanging in the balance of this reality of his . . . . . .

In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need
When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed
There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere,
Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair.

Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake,
Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break.
In the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand
In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand.

Oh, the flowers of indulgence and the weeds of yesteryear,
Like criminals, they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer.
The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way
To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay.

I gaze into the doorway of temptation's angry flame
And every time I pass that way I always hear my name.
Then onward in my journey I come to understand
That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand.

I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night
In the violence of a summer's dream, in the chill of a wintry light,
In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space,
In the broken mirror of innocence on each forgotten face.

I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me.
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand.

And its time time time that you love . . .

So put a candle in the window and . . . . .

Well the smart moneys on harlow and the moon is in the street
And the shadow boys are breaking all the laws
And youre east of east saint louis and the wind is making speeches
And the rain sounds like a round of applause
And napoleon is weeping in a carnival saloon
His invisible fiancees in the mirror
And the band is going home, its raining hammers, its raining nails
And its true theres nothing left for him down here

And its time time time, and its time time time
And its time time time that you love
And its time time time

And they all pretend theyre orphans and their memorys like a train
You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
And the things you cant remember tell the things you cant forget
That history puts a saint in every dream

Well she said shed stick around until the bandages came off
But these mamas boys just dont know when to quit
And mathilda asks the sailors are those dreams or are those prayers?
So close your eyes, son, and this wont hurt a bit

Oh its time time time, and its time time time
And its time time time that you love
And its time time time

Well things are pretty lousy for a calendar girl
The boys just dive right off the cars and splash into the street
And when theyre on a roll she pulls a razor from her boot
And a thousand pigeons fall around her feet
So put a candle in the window and a kiss upon his lips
As the dish outside the window fills with rain
Just like a stranger with the weeds in your heart
And pay the fiddler off til I come back again

Oh its time time time, and its time time time
And its time time time that you love
And its time time time
And its time time time, and its time time time
And its time time time that you love
And its time time time

The song . . . .sung by Tom Waits


Tom Waits

The violin moon

Upon the violin moonlit night
Gentle chords played stars,

dancing

golden sand swirls entwined
Wave's murmured song's
slightest touch ebb flowed

kissed

Gathered clouds swaying
slow, shadows, glow,
Ocean's love ne'er spent

love

Souls song's eternal sung.

*Angelor

Beautiful violin music

Por Un Amor

Beautifully performed by linda Ronstadt

Por Un Amor
Me desvelo y vivo apasionada;
Tengo un amor
Que en mi vida dejo para siempre
amargo dolor
Pobre de mi
Esta vida mejor que se acabe
No es para mi . . .
Pobre de mi (ay corazon . . .);
Pobre de mi (no sufras mas . . .);
Cuanto sufre me pecho
Que late tan solo por ti.
Por un amore
He llorado gotitas de sangre
del corazon,
Me has dejado con el alma herida
Sin compasion . . .

Cheek to cheek

"Heaven, I'm in heaven . . ."

Painting by Maira Wallman

Heaven, I'm in heaven
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we're out together dancing cheek to cheek

Heaven, I'm in heaven
And the cares that hung around me through the week
Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak
When we're out together dancing (swinging) cheek to cheek

Oh I love to climb a mountain
And reach the highest peak
But it doesn't thrill (boot) me half as much

As dancing cheek to cheek

Oh I love to go out fishing
In a river or a creek
But I don't enjoy it half as much
As dancing cheek to cheek

Now Mamma Dance with me
I want my arm(s) about you
That (Those) charm(s) about you
Will carry me through...

(Right up) To heaven, I'm in heaven
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak
And I seem to find the happiness I seek
When we're out together dancing, out together dancing (swinging)
Out together dancing cheek to cheek

The song: Cheek to cheek

Streets of London

Have you seen the old man In the closed-down market Kicking up the paper, with his worn out shoes? In his eyes you see no pride Hands held loosely at his side Yesterday's paper telling yesterday's news




So how can you tell me that you're lonely,
say for you that the sun don't shine and
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind






Have you seen the old girl
Who walks the streets of London
Dirt in her hair and her clothes in rags?
She's no time for talking,
She just keeps right on walking
Carrying her home in two carrier bags.






So how can you tell me that you're lonely,
say for you that the sun don't shine and
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

In the all night cafe
At a quarter past eleven,
Same old man is sitting there on his own
Looking at the world
Over the rim of his tea-cup,
Each tea last an hour
Then he wanders home alone

So how can you tell me that you're lonely,
say for you that the sun don't shine and
Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind



And have you seen the old man
Outside the seaman's mission
Memory fading with
The medal ribbons that he wears.
In our winter city,
The rain cries a little pity
For one more forgotten hero
And a world that doesn't care

So how can you tell me that you're lonely,
say for you that the sun don't shine and
Let me take you by the hand lead you through the streets of London
I'll show you something to make you change your mind

The beautiful, but sad song . . . "Streets of London"

Die wagtertjie stap

Foto deur JacoHerbst


Die wagtertjie stap met sy bees na die kraal,
- die skowwe soos bultjies teen aandlug se vaal -
die wagtertjie suig uit sy ghoera 'n deun,
wat weemoedig en mooi in die skemering dreun.

Die beeste gaan stil in die voetpaadjie staan,
herkouend, en kyk 'n grys mannetjie aan,
wat skaars bo die grassaad sy korrelkop wys,
daar waar hy gebuk met sy bondeltjie reis.

Die ringe rinkink om die litjies so skraal,
die gesig is al oud, verrimpel en vaal;
opeens bly hy staan en sê sag vir die klong:
"Jy speel lekker, my tatta, he pappa se jong?"

Die wagtertjie skrik uit sy droom, sy hand
los die ghoera verward en dit val in die sand;
"Jo! Jo!" kreun hy hard, sy oë word wit,
van vrees gaan hy plat op sy hurke daar sit.


"Tokkelosie," so bibber sy stemmetjie swak;
die mannetjie kom, laat sy bondeltjie sak,
en vra met 'n stem wat soos donderwoord slaan:
"My swartpêr, hoe dink jy waar kom ekke vandaan?"

Die wagter se beentjies die rittel soos riet,
hy kyk na die ogies wat bliksems bly skiet,
toe antwoord hy skroom'rig - die eeu-oue plan:
"Jy kom doer van ver, ver van die blou berg vandaan!"

Die tokkelos lag; sy gesig soos 'n peer
deur die hitte verskrompel; hy vat sy bondeltjie weer,
"Dis reg, my klein jong, loop by die beeste maar saam;
die grootpêr hy trek by die blou berg; enne kom daarvandaan."

Toe roer net die grassaad waar 'n lyfie verdwyn,
in die vlei wat versink met 'n slingerlyn;
die beeste stap loom'rig en eensaam bly dreun
- soos 'n lied van die skeem'ring - die ghoera se deun.

C M van den Heever

Die Khoikhoi was goeie musiek- makers. Die windboog of 'ghoera' is kombinasie van 'n fluit en 'n boog. Die klanke word deur asemhaling voortbegring. Die windboog het geklink soos 'n trompet.

Die tokkelosie

in the house

in the house
(hein willemse:die stormtroepe is in die strate)

the americans are in the streets
the poets are addicted rappers
the pastors are panic-stricken prophets
the young boys wear earrings
the young girls carry the pregnant burden of life

the hard livings are in the streets
the women earn extra-marital dollars in sea point & at the waterfront
the old women anxiously await their pensions
the men queue jobless against padlocked gates
the old men are unclaimed baggage on stations with rusted
rails

the clever kids govern the streets
they bmw boys Xstatic from rave to rave
the streets are deserted
the west coast boys govern the streets

the writers are famous in foreign countries
the preachers are ghetto-blastered into silent submission
by tupac shakur & puff daddy
the virgins carry mandrax in their barren barrels
the corpses mushroom red like roses under white sheets
on the pavements

the 28's are in the streets
the boys wear caterpillars

the clever kids bump & grind more clever kids out onto the
streets
the girls wear designer jeans

the gangs are liberated
there are no children in the streets

clinton v du plessis:evangelis van die nihilisme

Ramadan 2009

In Muslim nations and regions around the globe, this is the first week of the holy month of Ramadan, a time for followers to abstain from eating, drinking, smoking and sexual activity during the day, breaking their fast each sunset, with traditional meals and sweets. During this time, Muslims are also encouraged to read the entire Quran, to give freely to those in need, and strengthen their ties to God through prayer. The goal of the fast is to teach humility, patience and sacrifice, and to ask forgiveness, practice self-restraint, and pray for guidance in the future. This year, Ramadan will continue until Saturday, September 19th.

A crescent moon is seen behind the King Hussein Bin Talal Mosque in Aman, Jordan
August 23, 2009 during Ramadan



Imam Ahmad Raza (1856-1921 India)

Hearing the clamour about the new moon, I, rushing to you have come!
O` Saqi, I will forever be yours, bring me some wine, Ramadan has come!

With the exception of this one rose, every flower with deafening silence will come!
This the nightingale shall see, when the time of sorrow does come!

When that darling of my life did reveal his Divine Light`s peak!
Every head fell down, bowed, every heart did feverish become!

Having mistaken Paradise for Madina, here I have come!
Now looking at every face, I ask "whither have I come?!"

Except for Madina all gardens will become annihilated, trampled!
You will see this O` denizens of the garden, when winter does come!

The head and the stones of that abode, the eyes and that place of light!
The ingrate is thinking of his homeland after here having come!

The art of writing poetry in the Prophet`s honour is unique indeed!
The intellect has become dazed, dizzy has the imagination become!

How the ground beneath did burn, how fierce was the heat!
Here! That Shadowless Prophet has a cool shadow for us become!

I have just come from Madina O` dwellers of Paradise
How does one survive, who from there to here does come?!

There! Be freed now from the ring of pain O` carrier-pigeon!
With a letter of forgiveness in his hand, that Chieftain has come!
(sal Allahu alayhi wa sallam)

Be erased from Raza`s Tablet of Deeds o` bad works!
Look! Here to my aid my Acchay Mian has come!

Be happy Raza all bad things will be transformed into good!
That beloved Acchay Mian, master of all good people has come!]

A woman at fifty

“In the very beginning, there were no people on the earth, but there was one woman.” A Bushmen saying.

A Woman at Fifty

I see you
a full moon rising
in the red desert

I see you in owl flight
own flight
I see a great moon rising
over the sand

I hear a drum
beating your rhythm
a crone voice in the dark
singing
This is life after earthlife
homelife, children

Your altar
I see the ruby wine, the bread
Have you ever listened
beneath the voices?
Can you see the white candle
breaking open the black cave?

I see a light-limbed dancer
hands throwing fire ash into the night
It is time to make love to a place within
small pleasures with no price.

I see an even-handed drummer
stepping through the fire in beat to your night poem
bringing your hidden self to the dance
so you fly in your own body

through an underground river
the blood courses
held once only in love-fevered veins
now in night flight, star flight

I see a woman in her own time
crone and owl
in her own fantastic history
I see you

And when you are
far away
when I look for you
I will find you - feet in Kalahari sand
and an audience of hands applauding

Christina Coates

Forgiveness

A Poem of Forgiveness

I want to wash myself
in the ebb and flow
of the ocean as it sings

its gentle lullaby today,
salt stinging skin
that only recently remembered
how to heal itself.

I stare into the blue lure
hunting for my own reflection,
until it finds me
on the soft curve of a wave

falling towards the rocks,
hungry for its lover’s touch.

In the small silences
between each ocean breath
I open myself to the sound I need
to forgive myself,

only to feel it slip
between my fingers
as the wave retracts
and rolls itself back
to its roots
within the depths,

where even forgiveness
doesn’t matter.

Lucille Greeff

Song of the ocean

A trace of gray

Unpublished Poem written by my friend Stephen Rowe - 21 August 2009

Photo by Ron Dubin

A trace of gray lingers on week long storms

that hug the mid west twilight

Ground pounding light and thunder shows

Soak the summer lands

drain the warm

as cool front winds

greet the fall.

I stood on what used to be the prairie,

watching rolling clouds

forming over endless fields of corn and beans

cut only by sparse tree lines left as wind breaks.

Where did all of the forests go? I thought as the

evening sky parted and a once in a lifetime

sun shine filled my eyes

and I did not turn away or fear to hear the
calling

"It is not what one is, rather who one is that is paramount."
Stephen Craig Rowe

Starry starry night

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of --
shall I say the word -- religion.
Then I go out at night to paint the stars.

--Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

"Starry, starry night" the music

Photo by Dan Ransom

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.

Anne Sexton

Liquorish

the night

stretches

like liquorish

sweet and dark

with its overwhelming

smell

not quite nice

my head fills

overflows

with contradictions

and good intentions

that spill

on the floor

spreading

before the thought

of you

Peter Hollard

Hijacked

 

 

Table Mountain glows on the edge of sight
As turquoise sea reflects cool afternoon light.
Dogs fetch balls for kids who play
And a windsurfer drifts in at dying day.
Picnic baskets open, drinks spill down
Peace and contentment in this seaside town.

A drive back home for supper that waits
Wife and kids hop out to open the gate.

Whites of eyes and spittle flies
Waved knife and pointed gun
Pistol-whipped, beaten for the fun
A shot rings out, a life is snuffed
In a beautiful country that fuels my disgust

 

Peter Hollard

If I know a song of Africa . . . ..

If I know a song of Africa,
of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back,
of the plows in the fields
and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers,
does Africa know a song of me?
Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on,
or the children invent a game in which my name is,
or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me,
or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?


Karen Blixen

Mozart's clarinet concert from the movie "Out of Africa"

Hope

 

 

Flat veld stretches an horizon

Shorn of trees

As wind whips sand from dunes

Blasting fynbos.

"Be calm," she says.

 

Wild things move close to the ground

In quick rushes

While above, vultures circling high

Seek those fallen.

"I am here," she says.

 

Blistering sun flaming high above

Pins shadow down

Then clouds, shredded, fight for form

Sucked dry.

"Believe," she says.

 

A farmhouse in the distance

Shimmering white

Holds hope

 

Peter Hollard

Bicycle sonder 'n slot

"Bicycle sonder 'n slot" is one of the most beautiful and sad Afrikaans love songs. It is written and sung by the Afrikaans singer, Koos Kombuis.

English visitors can visit his English blog here.


The title of the song means "Bicycle without a lock"

The narrator is talking to his high school sweetheart of many years ago, Karin.
He asks her if she still remembers how they bunked school; their nights with candles and cold drink in an old "kaia"- a hut . . . . .
He tells her how he used to bring her flowers and lent her his most precious possession - his bicycle without a lock . . .
how he used to visit her late at night after her parents have gone to bed, just to tell her that he loved her . . . ..
He reminds her how they climbed the hills and how they rode his bicycle on the hem of a dream . what if, when you are big, life is like swimming against the stream?
All their questions were like kites wavering on a tree . . .
In the last stanza he tells her that she must understand that the years, like wine, mature in barrels filled with friendship and sunshine . . . .


Painting by South-African painter John Kramer

Bicycle sonder 'n slot

Karin onthou jy ons kuiers met koeldrank
alleen in die kaia van jeugtyd se groen
onthou die dae van skool bank en kerse
die nagte met honde en goed om te doen

ek bring vir jou blomme
ek gee jou genot
ek leen jou my bicycle sonder 'n slot
ek weet dit is laat
en jou ma-hulle slaap
maar ek moes net vir jou sê
ek het jou lief soos die Kaap

saam het ons bulte geklim in die somer
en fietsgery al op die soom van 'n droom
wat is jy as jy groot is, is die lewe net stroomop?
al ons vrae het gewapper soos vlieërs aan 'n boom

Karin verstaan dat jare soos wyn
kan oud word in kanne vol vriendskap en son
weet jy dat net kinders liewe Jesus kan liefhê
maar dat kinders die wêreld al meer gaan verstom

The song "Bicycle sonder 'n slot"

Only the rope . . . .

alleen het touw
heeft nog weet van de dromen
van het bootje

Photo and poem by Saskia De Boer

Saskia de Boer

Je hebt me alleen gelaten - You left me alone

je hebt me alleen gelaten
maar ik heb het je allang vergeven

want ik weet dat je nog ergens bent
vannacht nog, toen ik door de stad
dwaalde, zag ik je silhouet in het glas
van een badkamer

en gisteren hoorde ik je in het bos lachen
zie je, ik weet dat je er nog bent

laatst reed je me voorbij met vier
andere mensen in een oude auto
en ofschoon jij de enige was die
niet omkeek, wist ik toch dat jij
de enige was die mij herkende de enige die
zonder mij niet kan leven

en ik heb geglimlacht

ik was zeker dat je me niet verlaten zou
morgen misschien zul je terugkomen
of anders overmorgen of wie weet wel nooit

maar je kunt me niet verlaten


Hans Lodeizen (1924-1950)

The original words of the following Afrikaans song was written by Hans Lodezein . . . . . ..


"Onthou jy nog?"
"Do you still remember?"