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Archive for the ‘gedigte’ Category

herfsblare

English Readers: my poem about Autumn in November. In the Southern Hemisphere, Autumn is not in November, but in March/April.

Hierdie gedig is my jaarlikse bydrae tot Afrikaans, wat ek tot dusver  14 Augustus probeer doen het – wanneer dit Taaldag. Ek’s so bietjie laat daarmee hierdie jaar, maar liewer laat as nooit. 

Herfs in November

Herfs in November – in die Noorde – 
is soos roomys in die winter. Dit pas nie.

Jy loop rond in stofverwaaide strate
Onverskillig kyk jy rond na
‘n mengelmoes van kleure
Bondels hare waai rond in die wind
En om hoeke van geboue fluit ‘n skerp windjie
Beelde van veranderinge flits om jou verby
Verslawend staar jy na bloedrooi papawers
En jy onthou: dis November maand!

Soms onthou jy ook van die fyn blomme
en die spruit wat iewers voort bly kabbel
in die berge waar die bobbejane geel perskes vreet
Dan dink jy aan die bloekombome en vinke in die lusernland
Vae gedagtes van die kleigat drentel in jou geheue
En jy strompel geduldig verder oor verkleurde blare
En wonder oor die liedjies van die lente.

Versperde donker wolke hang laag in die skemeraand
Dikgeweefde herinneringe van die aandkrieke wat
hul betowerende liedjies op vioolnote sing
sink en omvou onmiddellik jou gedagtes.
In die agterkamers van jou geheue
onthou jy die rooskleurige grassade wat buig in die wind
en skielik hoor jy die swaeltjies se twitter terwyl hulle
die lang, moeilike vlug terug huistoe neem.
©Nikita 22-11-2019 19:10

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africansunset

A beautiful poem by Kipling – and an interesting history behind this poem.

IF

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
‘ Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

 

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sa

This is one of my own poems. It is a cento. A cento is a poem written using other author’s lines or passages. This ‘cento’ though has been written using my own poems. The poems I used are all from my Afrikaans poems. I do write English too, but as I said before, it’s just playing with words. I don’t try to be professional. I decided a few years ago to do my ‘bit’ for Afrikaans on the 14th August every year. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen last year and I couldn’t let another year go by without having one on this day! This is the history behind the 14th August.

The Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners (Afrikaans for “Society of Real Afrikaners”) was formed on 14 August 1875 in the town of Paarl by a group of Afrikaans speakers from the current Western Cape region. From 15 January 1876 the society published a journal in Afrikaans called Die Afrikaanse Patriot (“The Afrikaans Patriot”) as well as a number of books, including grammars, dictionaries, religious material and histories. Die Afrikaanse Patriot was succeeded in 1905 by today’s Paarl newspaper. You can read more about this Society on this link on the site of Wikipedia.

If you are Afrikaans,  I hope you enjoy these couple of lines.

seagold-

My siel op haelwit wolke

In gietende reën sypel my gedagtes: eindloos!
Ek stuur vir jou die goud
van sondeurdrenkte landskappe
in die galery van my stille gemoed.
My opgevoude gedagtes steek vas
en onderhou my geheue
wat onvermydelik verstrengel is
en soos gister
vind jy my siel op haelwit wolke;
my gedagtes wentel om die aura van my taal
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit:
wat die tuimelende bergstilte
laat rol oor die dansende blou waters
na die holtes van my gedagtes.

==Nikita 14/08/2015 


Mantovani is one of my real big favourites. On this video you’ll find a whole library of his music to keep you company. I hope you enjoy!

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you would know that I do play chess myself too. I’ve blogged quite a few chess games in the past. This is one of my most recent chess games on chess.com Time is little to play rated chess games and I was tricked into this game, but managed to escape the worst. Rated games involve more concentration and I tend to play friendlies just for fun and I feel I can ‘escape’ or shut down from normal work and enjoy the game. 

chesscom
I like how I managed to checkmate my opponent, though he was very close to checkmate me! I played white in this game – not my favourite colour, as I discovered I play better games when I play black. If you are interested, please click here to play through the game. If you are a chess player yourself, please feel free to leave a comment and Dan, if you read here, you might want to analyse my game…hehe.

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SONY DSC

image:kerkbode.co.za

‘n Lewe verkort

Die beklemmende gedagte:
onbewustelik ‘n verbintenis
stigmatisering, diskriminered,
wraaksugtig, miskennend
onbeskermd…

‘n Lewe verkort

In die binneste
van jou siel:
jou fisieke, jou psige
vasgevang – die vrees
vasgeknoop – die woede

Ingelaat en toegelaat,
onbeplan, ongenaakbaar
grusaam en gruwelooslik
deurboor dit jou vlees.

Sirkelend alom jou siel:
geregtigheid, regverdigheid
melaatsheid en dilemmas
lugleegtes van pleidooie.

Slagoffer van die dood.

++Nikita++ 18/8/2013

Nadat ‘n blogleser, Azile, op hierdie link ‘n versoek gerig het, het ek ‘gehoor’ gegee. Sy het gevra vir ‘n gedig oor ‘Vigs’, in Afriaans. Wel, soos almal teen hierdie tyd weet – dat ek nie ‘n professionele digter is nie, en ek  wou my ook nie laat afsit deur hierdie doktor na wie ‘Brieweuitdievreemde‘ verwys nie- hoop ek die geskribbel maak vir jou sin. Dus, as jy ‘n professionele digter is – of kenner van Afrikaans – lees asseblief met ‘ander‘ ogies na hierdie ‘geskribbel’. Vir die dokters wil ek graag sê: Spandeer jul etenstye deur Opperman se Groot Verseboek en Verswêreld   te lees. Alhoewel daar ‘n paar ‘moderne‘ byvoegings in Verswêreld is wat ek nie dink daar behoort te wees nie – my opinie. ‘n Ander vraag: Hoe word ‘n Eugene Marais prys toegeken aan ‘n digter wat sy taal meng, dan nog ook erg  onsmaaklike Afrikaanse woorde in sy gedigte inwerk? Yuk! Wat sou EMarais daarvan gedink het? <sug, watter tipe beoordeelaars het ons in Afrikaans vandag? Red Afrikaans….iemand, asseblief>

English readers: I was asked by Azile, on the above link for an Afrikaans poem about Aids, this is what this entry is about.

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Die Beiteltjie
Ek kry ’n klein klein beiteltjie,
ek tik hom en hy klink;
toe slyp ek en ek slyp hom
totdat hy klink en blink.
Ek sit ’n klippie op ’n rots:
– mens moet jou vergewis:
’n beitel moet kan klip breek
as hy ’n beitel is –
ek slaat hom met my beiteltjie
en dié was sterk genoeg:
daar spring die klippie stukkend
so skoon soos langs ’n voeg:
toe, onder my tien vingers bars
die grys rots middeldeur
en langs my voete voel ek
die sagte aarde skeur,
die donker naat loop deur my land
en kloof hom wortel toe –
só moet ’n beitel slaan
wat beitel is, of hoé?
Dan, met twee goue afgronde
val die planeet aan twee
en oor die kranse, kokend,
verdwyn die vlak groen see
…from the day I see the night
far beyond opening up
within a crack that from my chisel
runs through to the stars
en op die dag sien ek die nag
daar anderkant gaan oop
met ’n bars wat van my beitel af
dwarsdeur die sterre loop
Klik die link vir NP van Wyk Louw huldeblyk-dokument.

Van Wyk Louw – one of the most distinguised Afrikaans poets– I agree with Breyten Breytenbach. ‘The chisel, a metaphor for the poetic word – splits a stone, then the rock under the stone, then the earth beneath the rock, then the poet’s country, then the planet, until… 

…from the day I see the night
far beyond opening up
within a crack that from my chisel
runs through to the stars [Breytenbach]

Lees HIER ‘n breedvoerige verduidelik oor Die Beiteltjie op Oulitnet.

‘n Pragtige gedig – In die dokument verskyn heelwat feite en inligting oor van Wyk Louw. Ek het ook Cecile Cilliers se artikel raakgelees op die internet en kan met haar  en van Wyk Louw saamstem met: ‘n Donker naat loop deur my land. 

b85f486352d8411f8c8d6afb2762989f

Verward deur die donker naat van ons geweld

2013-02-18 22:52

Cecile Cilliers

Die donker naat loop deur my land / en kloof hom wortel toe – Dít is die eerste twee versreëls van die vierde strofe van N.P. van Wyk Louw se “Die Beiteltjie”, waarskynlik een van die bekendste gedigte in die Afrikaanse letterkunde. Dit word vertel, of miskien het hy dit self in Rondom eie werk vertel, dat die gedig volledig een Kaapse oggend na hom gekom het. Hy was te voet op pad universiteit toe, toe die woorde plotseling in sy kop verskyn. Agter sy lessenaar het hy dit heel en in sy geheel neergeskryf.

Die eenvoud van die gedig ten spyt, laat hy hom nie maklik verklaar nie. Die beiteltjie dui glo op die woord en die mag van taal – meer as wat dit vir die swaard moontlik is, kan dit wêrelde verander. Maar die gevare wat taal inhou, bly nie uit nie.

Daardie versreël, die eerste reël van die rubriek, bly die hele week in my kop dreun: die donker naat loop deur my land…

Ek raak stram om te lag, staan verward, verneder en gedeprimeer deur die donker naat van geweld wat deur my land loop, en wat besig is om gesinne, families, gemeenskappe, uit mekaar te ruk. Is dít wat van ons geword het?

Amalie bel uit Amerika: Mamma, wat gaan aan? Op elke voorblad, The New York Times, The Philadelphia Inquirer, USA TODAY, word die gewelddadigheid van Suid-Afrika uitgebasuin.

In 1994 nog die liefling van die wêreld, 20 jaar later opnuut die muishond. Natuurlik is daar ’n yslike hap leedvermaak. Net soos ons leedvermakerig vertel het van die bloeddorstige skietery in die VSA, van die verskrikking van die busverkragting in Indië.

Maar met of sonder die veroordelende woorde van die buitelandse verslaggewers – tot van Fidji het hulle glo gekom – het dit tyd geword dat ons lank en eerlik en ondersoekend na onsself en na ons gemeenskappe kyk. Sonder die gewone skindernuus. Want elkeen het ’n eiertjie te lê, ’n stuiwer in die armbeurs te gooi, of dit nou die dood  an Anene of van Reeva is, ons práát daaroor. Ons praat ja, blý praat, maar wat dóén ons?

Hoeveel sulke berigte, hoeveel sulke stories kan ’n volk se psige verduur voordat dit gewoon aan die werklikheid onttrek? Of erger nog, mettertyd alles gewoond word, hoe grusaam ook al? Is ons dan nie bereid om verantwoordelikheid vir ons land te aanvaar nie?

Tydens die apartheidsjare is daar groepe gevorm – Vroue vir Vrede, Kontak, Black Sash, Vroue vir Geregtigheid – wat daadwerklik vir ’n nuwe, beter Suid-Afrika gewerk het. Moet dit nie maar weer gebeur nie? Kán dit weer gebeur?

Soms vrees ek geweld het in ons bloed kom sit, eie geword aan ons mense en ons land. En dit kloof hom wortel toe.

In die wit nag bid ek saam met Dawid: Laat my weer blydskap en vreugde belewe…

beeld.com/Rubrieke/CecileCilliers/Verward-deur-die-donker-naat-van-ons-geweld-20130218

Hier is ‘n Engelse vertaling deur Uys Krige en Jack
Cope van “Die Beiteltjie.”

         THE LITTLE CHISEL

Here in my hands a small cold-chisel,
I tap it and it rings;
and I hone it and I stone it
until its bright edge sings.

I prop a pebble on a rock;
 –  you’ve got to get this clear:
a chisel that’s a real cold-chisel
can crack a boulder sheer –

I slam it with my chisel edge,
its toughness is a gift:
straight the pebble flies apart
as clean as on a rift:

next, under my ten fingers split,
the granite rock divides,
below my feet I start to feel
the softened earth subside,

and dark the seam runs through my land
and cleaves it to the core –
so a chisel cuts that truly is
a chisel, or what’s it for?

Then with two gold-red chasms
the planet falls in two
and down the rockfalls boiling,
drains the ocean flat and blue

and in the day I see the night
below me open far
with a crack that from my chisel blow
runs to the furthest star

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boemelaar

anzelgerber.wordpress.com/2012/05/03/boemelaar-n-storie-wat-ek-net-moes-oorvertel

Ek het vanoggend weer bewus geraak van ‘n 2007-inskrywing, nadat ek gesien het dat die inskrywing ‘n hele paar ‘besoekers’ gehad het. Dis ‘n gedig wat ek in die vroeë tagtigs geskryf het na aanleiding van ‘n kort verhaal wat in een van die plaaslike tydskrifte gepubliseer was. My prentjie by die inskrywing het ‘verlore’ geraak en met ‘n google-soektog, het ek hierdie verhaal gekry en daar en dan besluit dit moet ook ‘n ‘gedig’ kry. Hier is ‘n nog ‘n gedig by die verhaal wat ek so pas gevind het. Ek hoop jy hou daarvan. Lees eers die verhaal – dis nogal ‘n storie wat jou ‘vang’. Ek het dit geniet.

‘n Vreemde slenter langsaam verby
hare in toutjies en slierte opgerol
moeë plooie, oë op skrefies  teen die skerp sonstrale
stadig krap-krap hy my gedagtegang rond.

Herkenbare momente, oomblikke van draai en wag
opflikkerende name en tasbare gevoelens
met onbeantwoorde sugte – vir later.

Momentum, metaal, glas en splinters
bewegende kreune, die oë van vervloeë
sirenes, histerie, skerper en slegter
oë wat vervaag, verdwyn in die niet
my binneste word stil…

[nikita-18/2/2013]

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Barend_J_Toerien

I have received a PDF document from my sister with the words, ‘…you will be interested to follow up the links in this document and read more, as you like to write as well. I think it runs in the family.’  Well, yes, I like to ‘write’, but where is the time if you haven’t got it? I wish I had all the time in the world! When I read the following paragraph about what AP Brink said about Barend Toerien, I thought by myself, hey, but this is me too! I love mountains and hiking in the mountains – I’ve done several  trips in the Drakensberg and the Wild Coast. I am a qualified librarian teacher, who LOVES libraries and books! Last, but not least, I’ve done some translations… not really something to get excited about, but at least one poem that got published… Barend Toerien grew up in Porterville, the ‘home‘ of my Grandma.  It’s great to know about your relatives and what they have achieved, it makes you feeling better about yourself ….hehehe!! Ok, I am proud of him, to be honest. 

 Please click here to access the PDF, which is in Afrikaans only. This PDF contains a number of news articles from various newspapers about Barend Toerien and MC Toerien. Both were writers/poets. 

Toerien

Barend_Toerien_Steenwerp_se_Bruinmense

Uit: Momente (herfs)

XV

Sê nou die koue maan

ruk hom los

en tuimel agter die trekganse aan?

 

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image:weatherphotos.org

This is a rough translation of my Afrikaans poem, which I wrote first and James, a blog reader asked then to ‘translate; -so here goes:

Folded memories
Slowly and quietly,
in pouring rain –
my mind seeped: endless!
in the nuances of silent calls
to dust-loaded, plastered
and mutilated places.
Dusted images commuted by
my folded thoughts –
that voluntarily escaped
a Hillbrow of yesteryear
—nikita-

Opgevoude herinneringe
Traag en stilweg,
in gietende reën –
sypel my gedagtes: eindloos!
in nuanses van stille gesprekke
na stofbelaaide, toegepleisterde
en verminkte plekke.
Afgestofde beelde pendel deur
my opgevoude gedagtes –
wat onwillekeurig onstnap
na ‘n Hillbrow van vervloë

–nikita – 14/7/2012 – en ja, ek is die blogeienaar, nie soos iemand op
twitter
gedink het dat ‘nikita‘ ‘n ander persoon is [nogal ‘n digter wat welbekend is] wie se gedigte hier neergeplak word nie. [lol] Sien die twitter-gesprekke op die link.
Hierdie inskrywing oor Hillbrow was die inspirasie vir hierdie gegriffel. Nadat ek die inskrywing gemaak het, moes ek net iets in die vorm van wat hier is, skryf. Miskien eerder die paar woorde in plaas van die inskrywing! Hoe ookal, dis die gedagtes wat ek van ontslae wou raak, sodat ‘n ander reis onderneem kon word. 

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If you read my blog regularly, you will know that I do write my own poems from time to time….here’s another – but in Afrikaans.

Ek stuur jou die goud
oor die dansende blou waters
nie die koue hartelose soort,
maar die goud van ‘n herfsblaar
malend oor ‘n golwende terras
wat ‘n helder skynsel nalaat:
kontrasterend teen die skemer

Ek stuur jou die goud
van ‘n vertroueling met die warmte:
warmte van ‘n spinnende vlam van vuur
wat jou alkant omsingel en dié
van ‘n liefdevolle glimlag
wat jou las sal verlig
en jou plesier sal verskaf

Ek stuur vir jou die goud
van ‘n laatmiddag sonsondergang
langdurig en langsamerhand
die warmligte aanraking
van die strale wat jou deurboor:
laag vir laag tot in jou siel

Ek stuur jou die goud
van goue vonkelende wense en geluk
alhoewel ek nie fisies daar is,
maar my gedagtes wel, wat nooit verwelk:
my gedagtes, altyd aan jou sy!
Ek stuur vir jou die goud!
–Nikita 19:00 17/03/2012

Carol Burnett: Words, once they are printed, have a life of their own.

A blogreader thought this poem was written by Annesu de Vos and she had replied to Kim’s tweets. Wow, great to see what Annesu thought about a poem I’ve written. I don’t see myself as a poet or professional, but I’m still impressed with her comments.

Ek is bly om te sien dat sommige mense my gedigte geniet EN erkenning gee daaraan. Nie soos sommige ander mense op die internet wat dink dis OKAY om ander se gedigte te kopieer en GEEN erkenning te gee nie!

https://radio-eendrag.page.tl/Gedigte.htm

 


Enjoy the song by Eva Cassidy – Fields of gold

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chicken

English Readers – enjoy the chicken jokes in this post. This post is mainly Afrikaans. There is an Afrikaans song too – about chickens – sung by a Capetonion. I really enjoy this song and the Afrikaans is typical of the Cape Coloureds. I love their accent and the way they express themselves, it’s very unique and very colourful. I have two Afrikaans poems too. When I was at primary school, we learned many poems by heart and these two are still fresh in my mind as I enjoyed the word-play and the way the poets expressed themselves. You do miss out  if you can’t read Afrikaans,  as Blum’s poem  is rich in humour.

Chicken_Other_Side

So why did the chicken cross the road?

Aristotle:  To actualize its potential.
Julius Caesar:  To come, to see, to conquer.
Rene Descartes:  It had sufficient reason to believe it was dreaming anyway.
Dr. Seuss:   Did the chicken cross the road?
Did he cross it with a toad?
Yes! The chicken crossed the road,
but why it crossed, I’ve not been told!
Bill Gates:   I have just released Chicken XP, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your check book — and Explorer is an inextricable part of the operating system.
Plato: For the greater good.
Karl Marx:   It was a historical inevitability.
Nietzsche:   Because if you gaze too long across the Road, the Road gazes also across you.
Carl Jung:   The confluence of events in the cultural gestalt necessitated that individual chickens cross roads at this historical juncture, and therefore synchronicitously brought such occurrences into being.
Albert Einstein:  Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road crossed the chicken depends upon your frame of reference.
David Hume:   Out of custom and habit.
Mark Twain:   The news of its crossing has been greatly exaggerated.
William Shakespeare: I don’t know why, but methinks without much ado. William Wordsworth:  To have something to recollect in tranquility.

Jokes and cartoon: Randyshomestead

Peter Emil Julius Blum was born on 4 May 1925 in Trieste, Italy. Blum arrived in South Africa as a child. At this time, he was already able to speak several languages, among others German and Italian. After his studies in Cape Town and Stellenbosch, he took up a position as a librarian in Cape Town.

Blum got married in 1955 to Henrietta Cecilia Smit, who was an art teacher.He wrote and published several articles and poems, which were not always uncontroversial. His success as a poet was first affirmed in 1956 when he won the Reina Prinsen Geerligs Prize for his volume Steenbok tot poolsee (the title being a reference to the Tropic of Capricorn and the southern Antarctic Ocean, relating to the geographical location of South and Southern Africa). Source: Wikipedia

Peter Blum – Image: Stellenboschwriters

Chicken Joke

chicken cross road

Chicken Life Cycle - Input Output and Kaput

Horror Movie - chicken in microwave

Die miljenêr se kombuis

‘n Pellie van my, wa da’ wêk as kok,
het my vandag laat inloer innie huis
vannie ou miljenêr,sy baas. Kombuis?
Jy sou gasê het dis die Duncan-dok!

Tsaaina en messegoed tot anie nok,
Fridzidêrs volgaprop met piekfyn vleis,
Eiers,vrugta en groentes van ‘n soort bok!

Toe sê hy, “Ennie kjeller’s die ena kroeg –
Whisky en brannewyn ,dzien en muskedil.”
Toe sê ek , Wragtie , diè baas is gaseën!

Ga’ hy nou patie skop? Daa’s oorganoeg
Om twintag ouens ‘n week lank te laat smul.
“Nei” , sê hy ,”die baas eet altyd alleen.”

Peter Blum

DIE DUNCAN VAN DIE DUNCAN-DOK

Sir Patrick Duncan het in April 1937 goewerneur-generaal geword. Hy is benoem deur die toenmalige eerste minister, J.B.M. Hertzog.

Hoewel hy in Engeland gebore is, het Duncan die grootste gedeelte van sy volwasse lewe in Suid-Afrika deurgebring, waar hy onder meer as minister van binnelandse sake, onderwys en openbare werke en later minister van mynwese gedien het.

Na afloop van die Anglo-Boereoorlog, waar hy onder lord Alfred Milner ge­dien het, het hy ’n tyd lank as prokureur in Johannesburg gewerk.
Duncan is op 17 Julie 1943 oorlede.
Sy graf is by die Portnet-gebou in die Kaapse hawe en kan deur die publiek besoek word.
http://jv.dieburger.com//Stories/News/19.0.1563301634.aspx
Bronne: http://www.lib.uct.ac.za; http://www.sahistory.org.za.

Dankie aan Skoor en Sigeuner vir al die moeite met die vind van hierdie gedig deur Peter Blum. Op hierdie link van Skoor se blog kan julle die gesprekke gaan opvolg…natuurlik was my brein bietjie verroes ook en het ek hierdie twee gedigte op ‘n stadium gemeng! [hehe] Spesiale dankie aan Skoor vir die pragtige Afrikaanse musiek wat sy aangestuur het en vir Sigeuner se massiewe soektog – haar FBI-agente inkluis! – na die gedig. Talle e-posse het tussen my en Sigeneur heen-en-weer gevlieg en tussen haar besige, dolle, gejaagde  lewe – met kinders en huiswerk tussen-in, het sy nogtans tyd gemaak om ook Sherlok Houms  en haar ondergrondse Mafia agente nader te trek in hierdie soektog![hehe] Dankie Sigeuner! Ek geniet die taal van die Kaapse Kleurlinge en hoe hulle hulself uitdruk – vol humor en ek kan my verluister aan hulle. Geniet die Hoender song van die CD wat Skoor my gestuur het.

Chicken dance

Kaalvoet Klonkie – ID du Plessis 

Verflenterde kaalvoet klonkie
Wat groente verkoop in die reën,
Met jou lelike skurwe tone
En jou lendelam hoepelbeen,
Jy kom met jou venterliedjie
Deur die mistige Kaapse straat
En helder sing jy die woorde
Op jou eie koddige maat:

Lekka, lekka ywe,
Laat die ghantang nadderskywe!
Tamaties en ywe vars van die Strand
En baie kiri slam by die huis se kant!

Jy kom uit die deel van die Kanaldorp
Waar die dieners gewapend moet gaan
En die weerlig van `n skeermeslem
In `n donker hoek neer mag slaan.
Miskien kon jy :Bismillah” sê
Vanmôre, omdat in die kas
Wat dae lank so leeg moet bly,
Daar weer `n broodjie was?
Of dink jy al aan Nuwejaar
As die troepe deur Waalstraat stroom
Van die Bo-Kaap na die Onder-Kaap
Langs die stomp van die slaweboom?
Is dit wat jou so laat bokspring
En dans op jou hoepelbeen,
Verflenterde kaalvoet klonkie,
As jy groente verkoop in die reën?
Ek hou van jou vrolike klanke
Waarmee jy die winter tart.
Sing jy hierdie ligte deuntjie
Bo `n somberte in jou hart?
En as jy op na die Boereplein
Met jou boepens-mandjie gaan,
Dan trek jou parmantige liedjie
Deur die strate agter jou aan:

Lekka, lekka ywe,
Laat die ghantang nadderskywe!
Tamaties en ywe vars van die Strand
En baie kiri slam by die huis se kant!

lekka lekka ywe

Lekka Lekka ywe!

Chicken Art by Alexis Bester

Chicken art – by Alexis Bester

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Transformasie

Herfs het my wêreld stadig binnegesluip
omhul in ‘n sluier van rooi en goud
Ek snak na my asem by die aanskoue
van die transformasie – die wonderlike natuur!
Soete doudruppels gly van ‘n grashalmpie
met die verbygaan van raserige eende
Ek dwaal na die warmte van verlore gedagtes
versteek waar stof en tyd dit nie kan vind
Die laatmiddag son op my vel, jou lippe
wanneer weerstand verkrummel
deur jou vingerpunte –
Ek weet, nie lank,
dan sal Winter se koue winde begin waai
maar Herfs se warmte sal my by-bly
Met gedagtes aan jou op die koel Herfs-oggend
koester ek die warm gedagtes aan jou verewig

—Nikita—Aug 2008

Herfs is met ons en dis heerlik om al die wonderlike kleure te aanskou, asook die transformasie wat daarmee gepaardgaan. Ek het verlede jaar my herfs-gedagtes op my “gedigte/poems”-bladsy geplaas en het weer vanmore al die kleure geniet. Dit plaas my weer in ‘n bui net om gedigte te lees en mooi musiek te luister.

Autumn has arrived! This is just my autumn-poem in Afrikaans and I enjoy the transformations during Autumn.
Enjoy the music of Strauss: Village Swallows. I think all the swallows are by now back in South Africa! I can remember a swallow-family under our roof where I grew up on the farm. It was always good to see them returning home and sweet to hear them chirping.

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And here’s a little “autumn”-spider!

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wind

Die wind in die baai het gaan lê

Die wind in die baai het gaan lê en rondom
het dit oor Houtbaai, oor Kampsbaai
en by Seepunt wit koppe bly waai.
Maar, in die baai het die wind gaan lê:
alles wil toegesluit lyk – byna veilig -;
en ‘n seun het in ‘n blikskuitjie uit,
sakdoek vir seil
– sonder fletter -, plankies vir roeiers,
dit uit-gewaag
– want die wind oor die baai het gaan lê.
En ons bid na die berg, die wind, die planeet toe
om alles wat wind-berg-planeet se aard is
af te lê, en ‘n oomblik (‘n oomblik!)
net te broei, broei oor die vrees vir die vrees
en die ongewete roei van die seun
in hierdie kort stilte binne die baai.

NP van Wyk-Louw

wind from the sea

Wind from the sea – by Andrew Wyeth – an American Artist

I’m in a mood for art and poetry. I have two Afrikaans poems and art from an American artist. “Wind” is my topic in the above poem and art. Next I have the opening lines from a poem by William Blake, one of my favourite poets.

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour. –William Blake: Auguries of Innocence

Rosa Rosarum

Kom na my tuin waar die donkerrooi rose
Duist’re geheime vertrou aan die nag;
Sonnestraal-kusse en suidewind-kose.
Drome en liefde die lang somerdag.

Kom in die soel someraande en luister
-Wanneer die nagwind hul drome verklaar-
Na die veelvuldige blommegefluister,
Bloesem en bloeisel en blad altegaar!

Kom waar die lelie – die blanke, die reine –
Skugter haar bloesem ontbloot aan die maan,
Blou miosotis – die slanke, die kleine –
Met haar vergeet-my-nie-ogies betraan.

Kom as die maanblom – wit sy en satyne –
As ‘n vorstinne verskyn in haar prag
Onder die wierook van roos en jasmyne –
Skoonste juweel op die bors van die nag!

Daar in die vywer, bestraal deur Arjana,
Open die lotus haar heilige kelk,
Dan eers bereik sy die hoogste – Nirvana –
As sy in glorie van songloed verwelk.

Bok-bokmakieries sing bly twee gesange
Wanneer die oggend ontwaak in my tuin;
Saans koer die tortel sy lied van verlange
Bo-uit die troost’lose treurwilg se kruin.

Kom in die aand en geniet van haar geure;
Foelie, jasmyn, angelier, minjonet;
Kom in die môre en kies van haar kleure:
Rooi, wit en goud, groen en blou, violet!

Kom as die skitter van dou-diamante,
Rosa Rosarum, in my Paradys,
Dat ek my blomme, my bome, my plante,
Roos van my hart, hulle weerga kan wys!
–A.G. Visser (ca. 1878 – 1929)

bokmakierie: groengele vogel met opmerkelijke kreet
minjonet: welriekende tuinplant, reseda

This song’s title is…Kentucky Blues by Lauren Copley – a South African artist

prinshof 001

Cd-cover of one of the 2 cd’s
The songs to follow are all by the choir of Prinshof School – School for the blind and visually impaired students in Pretoria. The first two are Afrikaans songs and the last is where a girl– at the time of the recording of the music she was about 12– played her penny whistle. She was very musical/talented and played 12 instruments! Do treat yourself to her. The first two songs, of the next 3, are ‘wind’ related songs.

 

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SA mosaic

You can click on this mosaic for a larger view.

English readers: This poem in this entry is about South Africa. I dedicated the 14th August 2008 to Afrikaans, the language I love and my mother tongue. This is, in our history, used to be an important day as we celebrated Afrikaans as our language. Afrikaans was forbidden to use by Afrikaans speaking people in the Cape when the English occupied the Cape. A sign/tag was placed around children’s necks in schools saying, “donkey”, if they had dared to speak Afrikaans.

On 14th August 1875 the GRA was founded. Their task was to promote Afrikaans. They also requested – on the 24th August 1878 – for the Bible to be translated into Afrikaans.

In this poem I refer to some places and nature.  On the link of my 2008-entry, you can see the Afrikaans Language Monument. Good news for Afrikaans too: WordPress and Facebook have gone Afrikaans! If you choose Afrikaans as your language in the settings in WordPress, you will find most terms on your dashboard in Afrikaans. 

Hoogenhout, a famous South African poet, said the following after Afrikaans was forbidden in schools in the early 1920s.

“English! English! All is English! What you see and hear

In our schools, in our churches, our Mother tongue is killed”

Was dit Hoogenhout wat in ‘n gedig gesê het:

“Engels! Engels! Alles Engels! Engels wat jy sien en hoor;
In ons skole, in ons kerke, word ons moedertaal vermoor.
Ag, hoe word ons volk verbaster, daartoe werk ons leraars saam.
Hollands nog in seek’re skole: is bedrog, ‘n blote naam!
Wie hom nie laat anglisere, word geskolde en gesmaad.
Tot in Vrystaat en Transvaal al, oweral dieselfde kwaad.
‘Dis vooruitgang’, roep die skreeuwers, ‘dis beskawing wat nou kom!
Die wat dit nie wil gelowe, die is ouderwets en dom…’.”

 I‘ve been to a few countries and many places in the UK. I still think South Africa is the most beautiful country in the world. We have such an abundance of beauty and  diversity in nature. We have the greenest canyon in the world- which is also the 3rd largest in the world, we have the highest waterfall in Africa and the 2nd highest in the world, the 3rd longest Tufa waterfall, the deepest mines, the largest zoo, the smallest butterfly, the largest diamond, the second largest amount of windmills on farms (280 000), the largest impact crater on earth, white lions, the largest ostrich population and much more.

On this link of the  The Drakensberg Mountains, you can read about my hiking trip in the Mountain when I was 15. I was on top of Mount Aux Sources, the highest peak of the mountain range in South Africa. The actual highest peak of this mountain range is in Lesotho and the peak is called, Thaba Ntlenyana (which means: beautiful little mountain). “Thaba” means “mountain” – the attributive “yana” means “little”. 

You can see a pic of one of the two chain ladders you have to go on to reach the summit. At the bottom of this post I have included an Afrikaans song by the Art teacher in my Secondary school. He was one of the two teachers on our hiking trip! He sings about “sidewalk people” and I’ve translated it roughly for you to understand.

More interesting facts – from quite a few years ago:

*Pretoria has the second largest number of embassies in the world after Washington, D.C.
*The University of South Africa – UNISA – is a pioneer of tertiary distance education and is the largest international correspondence university in the world with 250,000 students.
*Afrikaans is the youngest official language in the world.
*The Singita Private Game Reserve in the Kruger National Park was voted the best hotel in the world by the readers of travel publication, Conde Nast Traveller.
*Stellenbosch University was the first university in the world to design and launch a microsatellite.
*South Africa houses one of the three largest telescopes in the world at Sutherland in the Karoo.

South Africa is the first country to host a Fide rated Chess tournament where players from different countries played their games online! See my entry about the South African Open Chess Championships that took place in Cape Town.
Read
HERE my post dedicated to Afrikaans only- last year 14th August. 

Afrikaanse Patriot

This stamp was issued October 1975. It was issued on the Inauguration of the Afrikaans Language Monument  and features the 1st edition of the Arikaanse Partiot (January 15, 1876), one of the first newspapers in Afrikaans rather than Dutch.
On this link you can see more stamps of South Africa.

Met die stigting van die Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners op 14 Augustus 1875 in die Paarl is ‘n tydvak van georganiseerde stryd om die Afrikaanse taal ingelui. In artikel IX van die Genootskap se bepalings word beoog om ‘n Afrikaanse maandblad uit te gee. Op hierdie dag in 1876 verskyn die eerste uitgawe van die maandblad Die Afrikaanse Patriot, wat die orgaan van die GRA sou wees. C.P. Hoogenhout was die eerste redakteur onder die skuilnaam Oom Lokomotief, wat deur die redakteurs na hom oorgeneem is. In Die Patriot dek die GRA die terreine van hul doelstelling, naamlik die van land, volk en taal. Daarin is leiding gegee ten opsigte van landsake, die Afrikaanse taal, geskiedenis en belangrike nuus. —lees meer op die link!

LEES HIER!!

Jan 2015 –Indien jy beplan om my eie gedigte te ‘leen’ vir jou Facebook bladsy of jou privaat blog of website, kan jy asseblief so vriendelik wees om my daaroor in te lig en daarna ook my skryfnaam ‘Nikita’ daarby te publiseer -soos dit by al my eie gedigte hier op my blog is! Dit is ‘n klein en simpel versoek. Ek vind my eie gedigte op heelwat ander websites and dit is vir my aangenaam om te weet dat ander mense my gedigte waardeer, maar daar is kopiereg reëls en ek sal dit waardeer indien jy dit sal respekteer en erkenning gee aan die skrywer van die gedig. Baie dankie dat jy verstaan.

 

Suid-Afrika: my land

Jy’s indrukwekkend, manjifiek
jou sondeurdrenkte landskappe
weerkaats helder beelde in my siel
jou pragtige wonders flikker oneindig
lank in die stilte van jou nagrus

Mount Aux Sources – so elegant en grasieus
verrys jy vanuit die voetheuwels, soos
‘n fakkel by die Spele ets jy lekkende
beelde teen die muur van my geheue
en voel ek jou hitte gloeiend teen my hart

O Blyde! ek fantaseer oor jou
magiese kragte wat jy sorgloos
en galant in die galery van my
stille gemoed stilletjies uitpak terwyl
my dawerende applous eggo
oor die velde van my gedagtes

Moederstad! hoe inskiklik laat jy my
telkens hakkel wanneer ek my herinneringe
sagkens koester – jou fasades!
waar ek jou gambiet betree
en gewillig my pionne oorgee

En saans voel ek jou fluweelagtige
skoonheid van elke sonsondergang
stadig neerdaal in my gemoed terwyl
ek stadig drink van jou geloofs-fonteine
wat borrellend bruis in oorvloed

Fragmentaries vier ek feeste
ek dans en omhels jou en jy –
jy blus my gees telkens met jou
magiese heildronke: een-vir-een
op ‘n toekoms – wat mag wees!
–Nikita –14/8/09 14:00

sidewalk people

Sidewalk People

Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move like shadows in the street past me
Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move faceless past my heart

Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move like shadows in the street past me
Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move faceless past my heart

I wish I could look at a photo
to see what your world deep inside is like
borrow a piece of your dreams
I wonder who you are

I wish I could understand the language
in which you channelled your thoughts
I wish I could for a moment
share your path of life

Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move like shadows in the street past me
Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move faceless past my heart

perhaps it’s best for sure
‘cos if we know all of all
the sadness maybe
too hard too much
the love too beautiful

walk past one another
I stay I and you stay you
a single road leading somewhere
I wish I could understand

Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move like shadows in the street past me
Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move faceless past my heart

Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move like shadows in the street past me
Sidewalk People Sidewalk People
Move faceless past my heart

—translated–nikita

sypaadjiemense

image: google

Sypaadjie Mense

Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg soos skimme in die straat verby
Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg gesigloos voor my hart verby

Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg soos skimme in die straat verby
Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg gesigloos voor my hart verby

ek wens ek kon ‘n kiekie kyk
hoe jou wêreld diep daar binne lyk
‘n stukkie van jou drome leen
ek wonder wie jy is

ek wens ek kon die taal verstaan
waarin jy jou gedagtes baan
ek wens ek kon ‘n oomblikkie
jou lewenspaadjie deel

Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg soos skimme in die straat verby
Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg gesigloos voor my hart verby

miskien is dit dalk beter so
want as ons iets van almal weet
die hartseer dalk te swaar te veel
die liefde dalk te mooi

stap maar bymekaar verby
ek bly ek en jy bly jy
‘n enkelpaadjie iewers heen
ek wens ek kon verstaan

Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg soos skimme in die straat verby
Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg gesigloos voor my hart verby

Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg soos skimme in die straat verby
Sypaadjie mense Sypaadjie mense
Beweeg gesigloos voor my hart verby


Sypaadjie Mense – Johan vd Watt

 

Sonja Herholdt, Ek verlang na jou.

Herman Holtzhausen – Transkaroo

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Ek het ‘n vorige inskrywing gehad van die 1916-Huisgenoot en drie publikasies daarmee saam. Jy kan die link aan die einde van hierdie inskrywing vind en die publikasies in PDF aflaai. Hierdie gediggies in hierdie inskrywing kom almal van die drie publikasies en ek plaas hulle onveranderd. Hier kan jy vergelyk en sien hoe Afrikaans as taal ontwikkel het. Ek hou veral van die laaste gediggie waar die Boer beskryf is gedurende die oorlog.

Diep in ‘t hart

Diep in ‘t hart verborgen,
Onbewust en stil,
Onder smart en zorgen,
Woont een heil’ge wil.

Wonen moog’likheden,
Die geen tijd nog weet,
Kracht voor eenwigheden,
Leniging voor leed.

Dieper zult gij kennen
Eens, dit wonder hart,
Dat aan leed moet wennen
En aan wrede smart.

Dieper zult gij graven
In uw hartegrond:
Bronnen zullen laven
Uw versmachte mond.

Weet in ‘t nederdalen
Vindt ge diep-ontroerd:
Wat uit smart en kwalen
U tot beter voert.
R.v.D.

Huweliksgebooie

Ek hoor klanke in die toekoms –
klanke nes van huwliksklokke
Tongelonge- vreug en blijdskap
weergalm in die tempelnokke.

Mannekrag en vrouweskoonheid
word verbind om één te lewe,
om één pad van voor- en teenspoed
op te gaan en voort te strewe.

Als die één sig wil verloen
om die ander toe te eie,
dan het hul mekaar tot trouwpand-
dat dit tot geluk gedije!
PIET

De Vlam

O vlamme, vol mysterieglans
In ‘t grillig weven van uw lijnen,
O, glanzend sehone lichtekrans.
Die duisterheden doet verdwijnen,
Vol sproke is uw lichtgetril.
Geheimnisvol uw ganse wezen,
Waar gij in donk’re nachte, stil
En levend komt omhoog gerezen.

Ik zag uw zachte, milde gloed
In ‘t oude kerkje. ‘t Eeuwig branden
Van Gods groot harte deed weer moed
M’ in ‘t harte dalen en mijn handen,
–Die lang vergeten hadden in symbool
Het smeken van het harte weer te geven —
Ze vouwden zieh… Mijn ziel ontstool
Een bede zich om licht en leven.
R.v.D.

Op moed verloor se vlak

Jij vra mij: Is jij dapper?
En hoop jij nog te win,
Hoe hoog ook stijg die donker wolk,
Hoe klein die kans, die moed hoe min?
Jij vra mij: Is jij dapper?
En is dit naar jouw sin?

Ek antwoord: Nee, nie dapper!
Ek is te sleg en swak,
Ek weet, die taak is al te groot:
Mijn hart is bijna hoop ontbloot.
Ek dool op Moed-verloor se vlak,
Ek antwoord: Nee, nie dapper:
Ek is halfpad mak.

Jij vra mij: Glo jij seker,
Dat God sal uitkoms gee?
Ons het so baje hard geveg
En moed en hoop en krag is weg
Daar is geen hoop op uitkoms, nee!
Jij vra mij: Glo jij seker?
Met oë blind van wee?

Ek antwoord: Skijn die sterre
Vir altijd dag en nag
Hoe kan jij ooit die son se skijn
Bespeur, als skemerlig verdwijn?
Hoe kan jij ooit die daglig wag?
Ek antwoord: Man, die sterre,
Die gee mij nuwe krag!

Ja, ek was op die vlakte
Waar mense moed verloor:
Daar het ek in mijn siel gebewe
Daar baje dinge aangehoor;
Maar ek is uit die vlakte
En bo sijn skaduws oor.
C. Louis Leipoldt

Die Verkenner
(Naar die Duits van Fritz Lienhard)

Daar onder blink ‘n witte lijn:
Die vijandstente! Die gewere staan
In hopies. Sidderende sonneskijn
Hang oor die krans; die windjies kom en gaan
En laat die sand oor pad en vlakte stuiwe.
Die kop lê doodstil! Net ‘n akkedis,
Wat rads en ritslend deur die bossies roer,
Soek wildverskrik ‘n skeurtjie om te rus.
En dan ‘n perdekop, geblaas, gesnuiwe —
‘n Hoed en Mauser — oor die klippe loer
Twee oë– dan weer weg. Dit was ‘n Boer!
J.F.W.G.

Op hierdie link kan jy ou Huisgenote van 1916 in PDF-formaat aflaai en nog meer “vroeë” Afrikaanse gedigte lees wat in die ou Huisgenote verskyn het.

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elwe

 Image: Wikimedia

‘n Blogger het my vandag gevra na “Die Elwekoning”…sien haar boodskap op “my gedigte/poems”-bladsy. Ek kon geen spoor van die gedig, in Afrikaans vertaal, kry nie. Dit was vir my ‘n aangrypende gedig toe ek dit in Engels lees en het ek besluit ek vertaal dit gou vir haar. 

English readers: I’ve translated this Goethe-poem in Afrikaans for a blog-reader. As a rule I don’t like to translate, only if the poem is really touchy or if it “speaks” to me…almost like this Erl King-poem. On “my poems/gedigte” page you will find a few translations…English to Afrikaans vice versa and a few of my own which I tried. I’m no professional, I have done no particular course in writing poetry, so WYSIWYG…what you see is what you get. Just my own thoughts in words.

Die Elwe-Koning
Wie ry daar so laat deur die donker, somb’re nag?
Dis ‘n vader met sy kind
Hy hou die knaap klemmend in sy arm
Hy hou hom veilig, hy hou hom warm.

“My seun, waarom lyk jy so beangs?”
“Sien vader nie die Elwekoning nie?
 Die Elwekoning met sy kroon en trein?”
“My liewe kind, dis mis wat opstoot in die vlakte.”

“Kom nou, liewe kind, kom nou saam met my
Ek het lekker speletjies om met jou te speel.
Lieflike blomme blom op die strand,
My moeder het baie kledingstukke van goud.”

“My vader, my vader, hoor jy nie die
 beloftes wat die Elwekoning fluister vir my?”
“Wees rustig  my kind, bedaar, dis die
 nagtelike wind se ritseling deur gedroogde blaar’ .”

“Wil jy nie saam met my kom, my seun?
My dogters sal jou liefderyk versorg,
My dogters dans hul nagtelike dans
Hul sal jou wieg totdat jy slaap.”

“My vader, my vader, sien jy nie daar?
Die Elwekoning-dogters in die donker daar?”
“My seun, my seun, ek sien duidelik
hoe grys die wilgerbome lyk.”

“Ek’s lief vir jou, jou skoonheid bekoor my, my seun.
En as jy nie gewillig is, dan moet ek jou forseer!”
“Nee vader, my vader, hy gryp my arm!
Die Elwekoning het my seer gemaak!”

Die pa sidder, sy ry is wild
In sy arms hou hy die kermende kind
Hy kom tuis met ‘n geswoeg en gesweet
In sy arms – die lewelose kind.

Nikita-25/6/09
Oorspronklike gedig deur Goethe

Oeps! Hier het ek so pas die vertaling van SJ du Toit op Litnet opgespoor..waarom kon ek dit nie twee dae terug kry nie? Omdat ek Elwekoning twee woorde gespel het! ..wel, nou kan jy my vertaling vergelyk en natuurlik sien waarom ek nie ‘n digter is nie! hehe
Die Elwekoning
(Goethe)
Wie ry daar so laat deur nag en wind?
Dit is ‘n vader met sy kind;
Hy druk die knapie so styf in die arm,
Hy hou hom veilig, hy koester hom warm.

“My seuntjie berg bang sy gesiggie, vir wie?”
“Sien Vader die Elwekoning dan nie?
Die Elwekoning met mantel en sleep?”
“My kind, dit is ‘n newelstreep.”

“Kom, kindjielief, kom saam met my!
So heerlik speel hul waar ek bly;
Veelkleurige blomme groei op die strand,
Van goud gaan jou kleed wees uit moeder se hand.”-

“My Pappie, is Pappie dan heeltemal doof
Vir wat Elwekoning my saggies beloof?”
“Bly stil, wees rustig maar, my kind!
In dorre blare duisel die wind.”-

“Gaan jy, lief seuntjie, met my saam?
My dogters ken almal reeds jou naam;
My dogters dans voor die nagt’like rei
En wieg jou en dans en sing so bly.” –

“My Vader, kan Vader dan glad nie gewaar
Elwekonig se dogters in die donker kol daar?”
“My seuntjie, my seuntjie, ek sien dit heel goed:
Die ou-gras skyn geel aan die randjie se voet?”

“Jou skoonheid bemin ek, my siel is ontsteld;
En as jy nie wil nie, gebruik ek geweld!”
“My Pappie, my Pappie, nou vat hy my raak!
Elwekoning het my seer gemaak!”

Die vader skrik; hy ry soos die wind,
En hou in sy arms die kreunende kind,
Bereik sy plaas in bange nood;
Die kind lê in sy arms dood.
Vertaling – SJ du Toit

erl dancers


The Erl-King

WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp’d in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

“My son, wherefore seek’st thou thy face thus to hide?”
“Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?”
“My son, ’tis the mist rising over the plain.”

“Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
Full many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold.”

“My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?”
“Be calm, dearest child, ’tis thy fancy deceives;
‘Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves.”

“Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They’ll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep.”

“My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?”
“My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
‘Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight.”

“I love thee, I’m charm’d by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou’rt unwilling, then force I’ll employ.”
“My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
Full sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last.”

The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,–
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.

Erlkönig
Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind.
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?
Siehst Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht!
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron’ und Schweif?
Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.

Du liebes Kind, komm geh’ mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele, spiel ich mit dir,
Manch bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand.

Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?
Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind,
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind.

Willst feiner Knabe du mit mir geh’n?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön,
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.

Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düsteren Ort?
Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh’es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau.

Ich lieb dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt,
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt!
Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an,
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan.

Dem Vater grauset’s, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in den Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not,
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1778)

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moon

My moon-cinquain

Moon
mysterious secretive
sliding rotating floating
Lonely in the night-sky
Satellite! [c]N 15/6/2009

Maan
misterieus geheimsinnig
glimmend sluipend kruipend
Alleen, verdwaald in die Sterre-hemel
Satelliet! [c]N15/6/2009

My eerste cinquain  en dis baie maklik as jy die reëls volg om jou eie te skryf. Eerste reël: ‘n naamwoord/onderwerp, reël 2: twee byvoeglike naamwoorde wat die naamwoord beskryf, reël 3: drie werkwoorde relatief tot die naamwoord in reël 1, reël 4: vier woorde (gevoelens) of ‘n kort sinnetjie oor jou naamwoord/onderwerp, reël 5: een woord of ‘n sinoniem wat die naamwoord opsom. Skryf en geniet jou eie!

Toka Toka moon

Painting: http://www.nzartforsale.com/3/miscellaneous2.htm

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De Huisgenoot

Huisgenoot

This entry is like scrambled eggs! ..some English..some Afrikaans… some reading…some listening…some chess, some poetry, make your pick and choose what you want to do…and I hope you find something good here….I’m going to explain in short what the magazine is about. This is a South African family magazine, since the 1900’s and I’ve blogged about it before, but want to blog more and focus more on poetry that was published in these issues and about the fashion of the time and whatever you’ll find here…it’s really a mix! The three issues are in this post as PDF files if you want to download it and my other entry is only in  English, if you want to click on the link to read the English-entry posted in 2007.

You will find a poem by Goethe.. The Fisherman…translated in Afrikaans in 1915/6 – by someone. The poet’s name was unfortunately not published, only initials, at least it said that the poem was translated from the German-poem. The poems in this entry are written in Afrikaans, but Afrikaans was still busy developing and you will spot the similarities to the Dutch Language in the words/phrases. By looking at these images you can get a pretty good idea of what the fashion of the time was like, the captions with the images will also guide you and you’ve thought that my blog is a chess blog only…hehe..actually, my blog says…anything/everything and chess! But as always, I will try and link something in my entry to chess, if possible! So…here it goes…some extracts of sites – links which you can follow too – that tells us that chess was a game that was enjoyed by South Africans too…from early years on….and for those of you who want to listen so some beautiful Afrikaans music…there’s a song for you to listen to…called..”Korreltjie Sand” – (grain of sand), the poem of Ingrid Jonker…as sung by Chris Chameleon.
The following three links are pdf’s which you can download and it’s old Huisgenoot-mags. All the links will open in a new window. These files are quite large, they do take a few seconds to download. Wees geduldig!
huisgenoot-julie-1916

huisgenoot-junie-1916

huisgenoot-mei-1916

This  link is from my blogwhere I’ve previously posted in English about Ingrid Jonker with external links you can enjoy. She comitted suicide by walking into the sea.

 By downloading the pdf-format of the old Huisgenoot issues, you can compare the covers which is interesting to see how much it’s changed. Even the format has changed over the years from a quite larger format to what it is now.

At the bottom of this link, – for people who want to do some “listening” only…there are some music files…some music from the good old “past”…I know the South Africans reading here – especially if you’re not “at home” – will appreciate these songs… and if you want to download the songs in a zip folder, go to this blog and voila! music-a-la-in-a-jiffy…or is it in a “zip”-py! For English “foreigners” reading here…”Rabbit” was one of South Africa’s rock band of the mid 70’s and they had a big hit…”Charlie”…read about Trevor Rabin…one member of the band…and why he’s now in Hollywood! You can listen to Charlie too…and a few other brilliant songs…all by Saffa-artists. Do enjoy! The first song at the bottom of this post, is an Afrikaans love song though..so go on, play it for your girl friend/boy friend…the title of the song…something like..”Are you still thinking of me”?

If you can’t read the following paragraph…it is Afrikaans!  Ek het in Sept 2007 ‘n blog-inskrywing gemaak oor die 1916-Huisgenoot en hier sal jy ook die skakel kry na Tukkies waar ek die Huisgenoot-publikasies gekry het. Dit is in PDF-formaat en die skakels sal in ‘n nuwe bladsy oopmaak. Elkeen van die publikasies is sowat 8 MB en neem ‘n paar sekondes om af te laai en oop te maak. Wees maar bietjie geduldig. Daar is nog ‘n paar gediggies vanuit hierdie toeka-se-dae-uitgawes wat ek sal byvoeg met die tyd. Ek hoop julle geniet die musiek hier ook!

Chess played in South Africa in the early years:
Organised club league chess is over 100 years old in Cape Town. Cape Town chess club, the oldest in South Africa (founded in 1885) together with Woodstock, Tokai and the YMCA club formed a union of clubs in 1907. Each club entered one team in the league at a fee of 1 pound-1-0 per team in the same year.
Teams of five competed in the inaugural competition. Cape Town was expected to win and did so but only by one point. In the double round robin they scored 10 match points, Woodstock 9, YMCA 6 and Tokai 0. Cape Town sensationally lost in the opening round to Woodstock, a club barely a year old, and had to field to their strongest possible team for the replay which they won by a single point. Source: Chess for all. The link will open in a new window.
Some Chess records …about South Africa…
Longest running correspondence chess rivalry. Reinhart Straszacker and Hendrick van Huyssteen, both of South Africa, played their first game of correspondence chess in 1946. They played for over 53 years, until Straszacker died in 1999. They played 112 games, with both men winning 56 games each. Source…
https://www.chess.com/article/view/records-in-chess
The Chessmaster Borislav Kosti toured South Africa in the 1920’s. I’ve lost my original link about him, but  found another link…just after his image…and here’s a wiki-link too..http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borislav_Kosti%C4%87

Bora (Borislav) Kosti a Chess Grandmaster of the 1920’s

http://www.chess.vrsac.com/vrsac/BoraKosticE.asp

Bora Kostic was born on 24 February 1887 in Vrsac. His first chess steps he started when he was ten, and as early as he was in grammar school he was one of the best chess-players in Vrsac. His biggest competitor from the grammar school days was five years older, Sava Gerdec, who taught him the chess theory. Their fight for the chess reputation was finished when Kostic went to study to Budapest. He finished Oriental trade academy there, but without neglecting chess.
His first great chess result was achieved in Budapest 1909, when he won at the tournament of the greatest Hungarian chess amateurs. This victory opened the door of the Vienna chess society to young Kostic, and that was the chess metropolis of that time.

In 1911 he achieved sensational victory in the match with the American champion, Frank Marshall. His first real “baptism of fire” Bora Kostic had that same year at the International grand master tournament Karsbad (Karlove Vari). In extraordinarily strong competition he won the title of the international master. Then followed the visit to Nordic countries where he won over the champions of Danmark and Sweden, as well as the very powerful Rudolf Spielmann.

In 1913 he moved to the capital of Argentina, Buenos Aires where he worked as the chess lecturer at the Military academy. He had been cruising on one Argetine warship across many seas. In Argentina he won in the matches with all their best players, and also the champion of this country, Roland Ilja, 6:0.

In 1915 he went to New York and started the chess tour from the east to the west coast. On that famous six-month-long tour, Bora Kostic achieved the world record in the number of played games on simultaneous exhibitions. Out of 3281played games he lost only 112, and made draw in 237. During his stay in America he visited Nikola Tesla, while he was the chess teacher to the famous tenor singer Enrico Caruso.Playing numerous games and tournaments, master tournament of the “Manhattan chess” club being the most famous in 1918, Bora Kostic was ranked immediately after Capablanca on the whole American continent. Especially because their four games played at two tournaments ended draw. That was why their match in 1919 happened, when the genius Capablanca won with the great result.

In the same year he returned to Europe and in Hastings took the second place after Capablanca. The next year in Hastings he took the first place with 100% gained points, which nobody repeated during the long tradition of this tournament. Then came important tournament results: Gothenburg 1920 – IV place, Budapest 1921 – III-IV place, Hague 1921 IV-V place. In England he played simultaneous games and blind productions, animating the chess world with enthusiasm.

In Yugoslavia of that time the rivalry between dr Milan Vidmar and Bora Kostic was evident. Unfortunately, the match, the result of which should have shown who should have been given the title of the Yugoslav champion, was never organized.

Bora Kostic especially liked to travel and see new countries and customs, but also to play at the chess tournaments during those travels. So he organized world chess tour which lasted from 11 November 1923 to 28 May 1926. As he himself said to his friend Kosta Jovanovic immediately before the trip: “I want to see the world, those parts of the world that were only the objects of my imagination. I believe that on that trip there will be a lot of interest for chess. ” That was the mission which brought commercial success of great scale to the world chess. Certain Yugoslav master, demonstrating chess on, so to speak every step, in different countries, talks about his homeland about which many people have never even heard before. First he set off to Australia and New Zealand. Then over South Africa overland to Kenia, where the famous match on the equator was played. Bora Kostic was on the northern hemisphere, and his opponent on the south. His next stop was India, where he was at the end met by maharaja from Patiale (Schandagar), who organized tournaments on the hights of the Himalayas. From there he went to Nepal and on Tibet, and then to the island of Java in Indonesia. From Java he crossed to Sumatra where he played with the chief of the Bataki tribe. From there he moved to the Philipines, and then to Hong Kong and China. From China he moved to the Soviet Union from where his return to Vrsac began. Through Siberia, over Irkutsk, Novosibirsk, Omsk, Sverdlovsk, Moskow, Odessa, Leningrad to Riga. Everywhere he played simultaneous matches, blind games, matches, and as he himself confessed the greatest number of lost games he had, were played just in the Soviet Union. Finally, at the end of May 1926, he arrived to Vrsac and ended the first part of his trip around the world at the chess-board. Tireless chess traveller, he put foundations for the future chess links among the peoples of the whole world. …

First chess Olympics were played in 1927. godine. Bora Kostic played at the first board of the Yugoslav representation and won 8,5 points out of 15 games. The following year he won in Trencanske Toplice, and in 1930 he was IV in Nice. In the same year he continued his trip around the world. He went to Mexico where he stayed eight months. From there he went to Cuba, then to America, and came back from there in the middle of 1931 to arrive to the Olympics which took place in Prague. On that Olympics Yugosalvia was IV, the contribution of Bora Kostic on the third board was very important.Then came extraordinarily strong tournament in Bled , which was marked by the world champion Alekhin.

The first Yugoslav championships took place in 1935 in Belgrade. Bora Kostic shared the first place with Vasja Pirc. Bora Kostic achieved the greatest tournament result in 1938 in Ljubljana at the Yugoslav championships. With 10,5 points out of 15 games he won over the best Yugoslav players, as well as over Szabo, Tartakower and Steiner.

At the beginning of World War II the chess activity stopped for all those who did not want to play in Nazi Germany. Among them was also Bora Kostic who spent some time in the concentration camp in Veliki Beckerek (Zrenjanin) because of his patriotism. After the war he took part at several championships and smaller tournaments, and the last competition at which he won was the tournament of veterans – Zurich 1962.

Bora Kostic died in Belgrade, 3 November 1963. Perhaps, when we take into consideration only the objective power of some players, Uncle Bora would not be ranked in the world top. It may happen that his rich talent has worn out on his road filled with all kinds of events. The circumstances he lived under later did not allow him to fullfill his creative potentials to their full extent. However, as the chess-player he was a unique, extraordinary person. He devoted his life to chess and he was thrilled with it to the end of his life.The magic of the chess game took him to the great life adventure – to the long journey through the exotic, in that time unknown world. Source: See the link  by his photo- it will open in a new window. You can play through his games on the link too.

Beauty products

Vrouens: Skoonheidsorg produkte/Women: Beauty products

Necklines and hairstyles

Mode : Neklyne en haarstyle / Fashion: Necklines and hairstyles

Girl's dress

Girl's dress

Married-couple

Marriage-couple

Mode/Fashion

Mode/Fashion

Modes van 1916/Fashion 1916

Modes van 1916/Fashion 1916

Akteurs/Actors

Akteurs/Actors

Chris Chameleon singing “Korreltjie Sand” – (Grain of Sand)

Korreltjie Sand – lyrics

korreltjie korreltjie sand
klippie gerol in my hand
klippie gesteek in my sak
word korreltjie klein en plat
sonnetjie groot in die blou
ek maak net ‘n ogie van jou
blink in my korreltjie klippie
dit is genoeg vir die rukkie

pyltjie geveer en verskiet
liefde verklein in die niet
timmerman bou aan ‘n kis
ek maak my gereed vir die niks
korreltjie klein is my woord
korreltjie niks is my dood
korreltjie klein
korreltjie sand

kindjie wat skreeu uit die skoot
niks in die wêreld is groot
stilletjies lag nou en praat
stilte in doodloopstraat
wêreldjie rond en aardblou
korreltjie maak ek van jou
huisie met deur en twee skrefies
tuintjie met blou madeliefies

pyltjie geveer en verskiet
liefde verklein in die niet
timmerman bou aan ‘n kis
ek maak my gereed vir die niks
korreltjie klein is my woord
korreltjie niks is my dood
korreltjie klein
korreltjie sand (5x)

You can read about Chris Chameleon on this link which will open in a new link.

The Original poem

Korreltjie niks is my dood
Ingrid Jonker (1933-1965)

Korreltjie korreltjie sand
klippie gerol in my hand
klippie gesteek in my sak
word korreltjie klein en plat

Sonnetjie groot in die blou
korreltjie maak ek van jou
blink in my korreltjie klippie
dit is genoeg vir die rukkie

Kindjie wat skreeu uit die skoot
niks in die wêreld is groot
stilletjies lag nou en praat
stilte in doodloopstraat

Wêreldjie rond en aardblou
ek maak net ‘n ogie van jou
huisie met deur en twee skrefies
tuintjie met blou madeliefies

Pyltjie geveer in verskiet
liefde verklein in die niet
Timmerman bou aan ‘n kis
Ek maak my gereed vir die niks

Korreltjie klein is my woord
Korreltjie niks is my dood



Kontras
Wit is die wêreld,
wit van die sneeuw.
Bokant die water
sweef daar ‘n meeuw;
blouw is die hemel,
nergens ‘n wolk:
oral is daar vrede
rondom die kolk.

Spierwitte wêreld,
diep in jouw siel
sug jij en smag jij
om te verniel;
skijn is jouw vrede,
donker jouw hart:
jij is maar blij oor
ander se smart

A D Keet: Amsterdam, Kersmis 1914

Digter Is Hij

Digter is hij, die digters-taal
Diep uit die grond van sijn hart kan haal;
En hij voel in sijn hart ‘n heerlike drang
Om ‘n vlugtige stemming in woorde te vang.

Digter is hij, die verse maak–
Verse, wat duisende harte kan raak.
Maar hij weet nie, waar hij die mag van haal:
Dis ‘n gawe, wat bo uit die hemel daal.

Digter is hij, die oog en oor
Tref met ‘n pragtige woordekoor;
En hij skep sijn lied soos ‘n vooltjie vrij,
Die sijn hele siel aan die wêreld belij.

Digter is hij, die sing en sing,
Fraai als ‘n vooltjie, wat vreugde bring:
Want hij hef sijn stem op ‘n lieflike maat
Van die môre vroeg tot die awend laat.

Digter is hij, die deur en deur
Voel, wat rondom en in hom gebeur;
Die sijn siel se gevoelens uit kan giet
In ‘n lewende, sprekende, roerende lied.

A D Keet

Wagter op die Toring

I
(Januarie 1913)
Wagter op die toring,
sê, wat sien jij daar?
Ek sien duisend-duisendtalle
voor die gragte, voor die walle,
om die vesting aan te val.
Maar geen grag sal hul oor steek nie,
en geen poort sal hul deur breek nie,
want die burgers op die mure
staan getrouw en pal.

Wagter op die toring,
sê, is daar gevaar?
Is eie strijd dan uitgestrede,
dat die vijandsvlag in vrede
oor ons eie vesting waai?
Ag! die wagter lê in bande,
neergevel in bitt’re skande,
want die burgers op die mure
het die burg verraai.

II
(Junie 1915)
Wagter, die nag is donker,
donker en o, so bang:
vijande buite, wat raas en woed,
vriende gekeerd teen hul eie bloed,
en oor die burgers ‘n doodse slaap–
wagter, die nag was bang.
Trouw was jouw wag op die voorste wal,
helder en luid jouw basuingeskal,
maar oor die burgers ‘n doodse slaap–
wagter, hoe lang, hoe lang?

Wagter, siedaar, die skadewee
versmelt als, ‘n ligte skim
Hoor ‘n geruis in die beendre! die dood
voel nuwe lewe ontkiem in haar skoot.
Strijders, ontwaakte, die swaard ontbloot!
Wagter, ‘n goue môreson
verrijs aan die oosterkim.
—H A FAGAN

Die Visser

(Uit die Duits van Goethe)

Die water ruis, die water rol:
‘n visser sonder smart
sit daar te hengel vredevol,
ja koel tot in sijn hart.
En wijl hij loer en wijl hij sit,
deel sig die vloed in twee:
‘n vogtig meerwijf, haelwit,
stijg uit die siedende see.

Sij sing tot hom, sij spreek tot hom;
“Wat lok jij uit mijn skoot
“met mensekuns en menselis
“mijn kinders tot die dood?
“Wis jij hoe rijk die vissies is
“hier onder in die see,
“dan sou jij afdaal en gewis
“ook vind die ware vree.

“Moet nie die son en maan hul rig
“vir laafnis tot die vloed?
“Toon golwe-aad’mend hul gesig
“nie tweemaal skoner gloed?
“Ag jij die diepe hemel lig,
“die vog-beglansde blouw?
“Lok nie jouw eie aangesig
“jou in die eeuw’ge douw?”

Die water ruis, die water rol;
benat sijn naakte voet;
sijn hart word van verlange vol
als hij ‘n minnegroet.
Sij spreek tot hom, sij sing tot hom:
weerstaan kon hij nie meer;
half trek sij hom, half sink hij in,
en niemand sien hom weer.
J J S

Aan Mijn Vaderland

Trouwe liefde al mijn dae,
sweer ek jou met hand en hart!
Al jouw vreug is mijn behae,
en jouw leed mijn diepste smart!

Want mijn alles, selfs mijn lewe,
dank ek jou, mijn vaderland:
dis van jou mij vrij gegewe,
uitgereik met milde hand.

Daarom sing ek jou mijn sange
en mijn lied’re vir altijd;
daarom is ook mijn verlange
en mijn strewe jou gewijd.

Maar ons is nie net verenig
als jij in die sonskijn baai:
ek wil ook jouw smarte lenig,
als die stormwind anstig waai.

En nie net met woordeklanke
is ek tot jouw diens bereid:
met mijn daad is jij te danke
in jouw nood en angs en strijd.

Ek sal pal staan, tot ek sterwe
teen tiranne, wat jou druk:
tronk, verbanning wil ek erwe,
eer ek voor hul gruwels buk.

Is die nagte soms ook duister,
eind’lik daag dit in die oos,
en die dag vol glans en luister
bring die matte strijder troos.

Trouwe liefde al mijn dae.
sweer ek jou met hand en hart!
Al jouw vreug is mijn behae,
en jouw leed mijn diepste smart!
W.K. van Elssen


WINTER
Die eikebome
staan bleek en kaal,
en die popliere
als as so vaal,
Oor tuin en velde
kom elke nag
‘n kille laken
van spierwit prag.
Die newels drijwe
die vleie oor
en keer die sonskijn
aan al kant voor.
Die awendwindjie
speel langs die hang,
druk ijsig soene
op elke wang.

Dis oral aaklige!
Natuur is dood;
en ook mijn harte
word swaar als lood.

Maar nee, mijn liefste!
ek kan nie treur:
jouw liefde lewe
om op te beur.

Jouw oë melde
in minnegloed
waar wintersweeë
vergeefs teen woed.

Dit wil mijn siele
verwarm, verblij,
en vir die lente
reeds voorberei.

W K van Elssen

THE FISHERMAN.

THE waters rush’d, the waters rose,

A fisherman sat by,
While on his line in calm repose

He cast his patient eye.
And as he sat, and hearken’d there,

The flood was cleft in twain,
And, lo! a dripping mermaid fair

Sprang from the troubled main.

She sang to him, and spake the while:

“Why lurest thou my brood,
With human wit and human guile

From out their native flood?
Oh, couldst thou know how gladly dart

The fish across the sea,
Thou wouldst descend, e’en as thou art,

And truly happy be!

“Do not the sun and moon with grace

Their forms in ocean lave?
Shines not with twofold charms their face,

When rising from the wave?
The deep, deep heavens, then lure thee not,–

The moist yet radiant blue,–
Not thine own form,–to tempt thy lot

‘Midst this eternal dew?”

The waters rush’d, the waters rose,

Wetting his naked feet;
As if his true love’s words were those,

His heart with longing beat.
She sang to him, to him spake she,

His doom was fix’d, I ween;
Half drew she him, and half sank he,

And ne’er again was seen.

Goethe: 1779

An Afrikaans love song…

Luister na “Dink jy darem nog aan my”

Sias Reyneke was member of “Groep Twee” – (Group Two)

groeptwee

Joy: Paradise Road

joy

Joy

Master Jack

It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack.
You taught me all I know and I never look back.
It’s a very strange world and I thank you, Master Jack.

You took a coloured ribbon from out of the sky,
and taught me how to use it as the years went by.
To tie up all your problems and make them believe.
And then to sell them to the people in the street.

It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack.
You taught me all I know and I never look back.
It’s a very strange world and I thank you, Master Jack.

I saw right thru the way you started teaching me now.
So someday soon you could get to use me somehow.
I thank you very much you know you’ve been very kind.
But, I’d better move along before you change my mind

It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack
No hard feelings if I never come back
It’s a very strange world and I thank you, Master Jack

You taught me all the things the way you’d like ’em to be.
But I’d like to see if other people agree.
It’s all very interesting the way you describe
But I’d like to see the world thru my own eyes.

It’s a strange, strange world we live in, Master Jack.
No hard feelings if I never come back
You’re a very strange man and I thank you, Master Jack.
You’re a very strange man and I thank you, Master Jack.
You’re a very strange man, aren’t you, Master Jack?

Four Jacks and a Jill with “Master Jack”

master-jack

http://www.mnet.co.za/Mnet/Shows/carteblanche/story.asp?Id=2876

Rabbit…South Africa’s rock group from the 70’s with Duncan Faure, Trevor Rabin, Dave Matthews…read the next article about Trevor! Read   this article about  Trevor Rabin… now in Hollywood…writing the score for Hollywood movies…-follow the link to Mnet.
He wrote the score for Hollywood movies like Enemy of the State, Armageddon and National Treasure and won more awards than he can count, including several Grammies.
It started off with classical piano lessons as a boy. ? He then embarked on a lifelong love affair with the guitar. The name is Trevor Rabin, South Africa’s celebrated guitarist, singer, songwriter and composer.

You might remember him from Rabbit or Yes, but Trevor Rabin has left the rock stage for the lights of Hollywood. He has written the score for 25 movies.

Here at his Los Angeles home studio, he creates the stuff Hollywood dreams are made of.

A stone’s throw from the houses of the producers and actors he composes for, Trevor is crafting away at the music of yet another feature film – Glory Road, to be released soon

If you would watch or listen to a movie without the music, you would be amazed as to what a difference the score makes. And that is where Trevor has found a new profession – playing with our emotions. Continue reading on the link in the start of this article…and now you can listen to..Charlie!
rabbit1


Rabbit with…Charlie

rabbit

Rabbit

Mango Groove: Special Star

mango-groove

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blue-rose

Image: crystalphoenixgallery.com..’blue rose’

What if life is a dream, are we the imagination of ourselves?

whatif

What if
I figure out how to be arrogant
and land on an angel’s mantle
to dial the word love
and play hide and seek
in the shadows of your breath

What if
I figure out how to keep my distance
and play merry tunes
alongside the river banks
on my wooden flute
while capturing your soul in my mind

What if
I figure out how to surf your mind
and make bed in your memories
with your thoughts as my pillow
and play my xylophone tunes
on the solitary hills
of your everlasting trust

What if
I figure out how to take
occasionally rides
on petals of love
and drink a cup of sunlight
in the chambers of your heart
where thoughts of love
may prevail
and my mind gets entwined
instinctively forever
with your courageous spirit
What if!

–©Nikita–29 November 2008

surfing

image: rafaelhenrique.com


Roger Wittaker: I don’t believe in if anymore

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chess-art-two-lives

Image: Chesscentral.com

I believe this is a good combination: chess, poetry, art and music! I’ve started recently reading Dean’s poetry blog and glad that I’ve discovered his blog. This poem in this post, is today’s entry on his blog and I’ve really enjoyed it and thought to share it with you. If you’re a lover of poetry, make sure to visit his blog, if you don’t, you will regret it! If you don’t like poetry, then you still should visit his blog and you will immediately fall in love with his poems! I have a present for you today too, let’s call it an early Christmas present if you like, a composition by Jim Brickman. Finally, for my chess-lovers (and those who think they might become chess-lovers!) I’ve got a few games here (do check back as I have about ten more to blog in this entry!) played a few days ago in the Dresden Olympiad. This post is almost as good as “wine women and song!”:) All links will open in a new window.

Remember me to the world
And all the beautiful girls
I never kissed; if there’s one regret
That is it: that I left any lovelies’
Lips unblessed, her heart repressed

Remember me to the wind, which
Blows wherever it goes; still, or not
Any feeling does not cost, but what you
Do with it: recall I am that
Innocent, awake to only wonder told

Remember me to the sun; the heat,
The blaze, worries public or hidden,
I have had them all, unbidden: most
Of all when you see that woman or girl,
Remember me, my dear, to the blessed world

©Dean J. Baker
To read more wonderful poetry, please click
HERE to read on Dean Baker’s blog! Chess=love+poetry+music+art=chess!

Read more about Dean on his biography-link on his blog!

Over 500 poems and prose poems published since 1972 in over 130 literary publications in Canada, the USA, England, Australia, New Zealand, etc., such as Descant, Carleton Literary Review, Poetry WLU, The Prairie Journal, Freelance, Nexus, Bitterroot, Oxalis, Bogg, Aileron, RE:AL, Art Times, Pegasus, Impetus, On The Bus, and many others. More have been published in newspapers, magazines, online and in anthologies, recorded and paper.


Music: Jim Brickman: Dream comes true

Please click HERE to play through the game of Nyback from Finland vs Carlsen played in round 6, Dresden 2008.

carlsen

Carlsen

Please click HERE to play through the game of Dominguez from Cuba vs Gata Kamsky in round 6, Dresden 2008.

This game of Etienne Bacrot was played in round 7 against Sasikiran from India.

Click HERE to play through the game of Boris Gelfand from Israel vs Elexei Shirov of Spain in round 7.

Please click HERE to play through the game of one of my favourite players, Ivanchuk vs Wang of China.

ivanchuk

Ivanchuk

Click HERE to play through Kamsky’s game played in round 7 against Peter Leko.

Play through the game of Michael Adams against Radjabov played in round 7, Dresden.

Please click HERE to play through the game of Yelena Dembo, from Greece,  played in round 7 at the Olympiad.

yelenadembo

Yelena Dembo

Please click HERE to play through the game of Cheparinov in round 8, Dresden.

To play through a game of Topalov played in round 8, click on the link!
Please click HERE to play through the game of David Howell from England played in round 9.

david-navara

image: Greekchess.com..David Navara

Please click here to play through the game of David Navara played in round 9.

To play through the game of NIGEL SHORT, played in round 9, click on the link!

Image: chessbase..Nigel Short

Please click HERE to play through the game of Peter Svidler played in round 9 at the Dresden Olympiad in Germany.


Samuel Bak Chess Art. See my “chess humour”- page for more chess art from Samuel and his link.

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dance_alone

The Dancer: Image: noise.net/featured-work.asp?artist_id=8618&category_id=4

This entry is quite an odd entry. I have a few snippets of music files which I truly enjoy and they are some of the about 2GB music files on my MP3-player. The first file is the Elizabeth Serenade, then you can listen to “The mouth organ boy” – by Vicky Leandros. The 3rd song is by Laurika Rauch..”The song of the trains” and then you can enjoy Jackson Browne’s “For a dancer”- a bit down in this entry!

I also have a poem! “The Night Mail”. I had to teach this poem to Y4’s a few years ago and when I searched for the poem, I found it on a website which was about the Night Mail…Royal Mail! It was such interesting reading – the history of the night mail, but what was sad, was the fact that the services of the Night Mail train were terminated. The same time it was about to be terminated,  I came across the site and the poem. There was an abundance of info on that site, but it seems to me that the site, where I found the poem, doesn’t exist anymore! What a shame! I could find you a newspaper article about this train- at least! The poem by Auden is about this train! The Royal Night Mail was about the train from London to Scotland/Wales…see the youtube movie-links at the bottom of this post… and there are even more movies on youtube to be seen! Do enjoy it! Enjoy the music here too! Wherever you go this week, make sure you “make a joyful sound”! – see the lyrics of “For a Dancer”.

 


Night Train
(Commentary for a G.P.O. Film, July 1935)

by W.H. Auden (1907 – 1973)

This is the Night Mail crossing the border,Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner and the girl next door.

Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient’s against her, but she’s on time.

Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,

Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from the bushes at her blank-faced coaches.

Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.

In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in the bedroom gently shakes.

Dawn freshens. Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends
Towards the steam tugs yelping down the glade of cranes,
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In the dark glens, beside the pale-green sea lochs
Men long for news.

Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from the girl and the boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or visit relations,
And applications for situations
And timid lovers’ declarations
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled in the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Notes from overseas to Hebrides
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, adoring,
The cold and official and the heart’s outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.

Thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of terrifying monsters,
Or of friendly tea beside the band at Cranston’s or Crawford’s:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
And shall wake soon and long for letters,
And none will hear the postman’s knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

It was one of the world’s great railway journeys, but you could not book a seat on it. It inspired two of Britain’s greatest 20th-century poets, and Britain’s most infamous bunch of 20th-century villains. It rushed through the darkness, utterly reliable, while the rest of us slept. But last night it ran for the last time.


Please click
HERE to read more about the last Night Mail train from London. The link will open in a new window.

nightmail

Night Mail Image: See more images on this link….http://flickr.com/photos/scardy/421208053/in/set-72157594588477493/


Image: buckinghamcovers.com

jacksonbrowne

Jackson Browne

For a Dancer..by Jackson Browne

Keep a fire burning in your eye
Pay attention to the open sky
You never know what will be coming down
I dont remember losing track of you
You were always dancing in and out of view
I must have thought you’d always be around
Always keeping things real by playing the clown
Now you’re nowhere to be found

I dont know what happens when people die
Can’t seem to grasp it as hard as I try
It’s like a song I can hear playing right in my ear
That I can’t sing
I can’t help listening
And I can’t help feeling stupid standing round
Crying as they ease you down
cause I know that youd rather we were dancing
Dancing our sorrow away
(right on dancing)
No matter what fate chooses to play
(theres nothing you can do about it anyway)

Just do the steps that youve been shown
By everyone you’ve ever known
Until the dance becomes your very own
No matter how close to yours
Anothers steps have grown
In the end there is one dance you’ll do alone

Keep a fire for the human race
Let your prayers go drifting into space
You never know what will be coming down
Perhaps a better world is drawing near
And just as easily it could all disappear
Along with whatever meaning you might have found
Don’t let the uncertainty turn you around
(the world keeps turning around and around)
Go on and make a joyful sound

Into a dancer you have grown
From a seed somebody else has thrown
Go on ahead and throw some seeds of your own
And somewhere between the time you arrive
And the time you go
May lie a reason you were alive
But you’ll never know.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=zmciuKsBOi0
The poem on this link on youtube.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=AlG4dLxHjCY
The Royal Mail on this youtube-link.

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Sleep and His Half Brother Death
John William Waterhouse
http://www.illusionsgallery.com/sleep.html

Image: dreams.co.uk
 How do you feel about sleep? Sometimes I can go a whole night without sleep, but I will surely feel knackered two days later! I love being in bed at night when the rain is tapping on the roof. Weekends I like to lie in…and then get a nice breakfast in bed! …now to the music!  I’ve these wonderful music, two tracks from a chess friend and he also sent me the third track by Hennie Bekker and suddenly! I found myself busy with an entry on sleep!! I even found you an interesting link about the stages of sleep and one about sleep deprivation…that’s for me, actually…lol! It was truly not my intention to blog about sleep when I uploaded these snippets of music, but at the end, after  searching for some images, I came across these interesting info and sites and thought to share it with you as it was interesting to me.  I  blog about stuff which I enjoy/find interesting…apart from chess…my blog is sort of a “gathering space” for info I want to refer back to, but also in the hope that other people will find it useful too or will enjoy it at least. In the same process, I also found music for children with Aspergers! I’ve worked with children with Aspergers syndrome, Down Syndrome and also Autistic children and they are all a pleasure to work with!

I’ve come across music for  ASD– the link will open in a new window – which you will find in this post. You can read more  about ASD on the link and there’s another link in this post for you to follow up too, if you are more interested in Autistic children.
Seven hours sleep a night helps reduce heart problems. Read the article…the link will open in a new window.

Image…see more fantastic images here..http://photo.net/photodb/member-photos?user_id=941594

Firstly, enjoy “Sea of Dreams”…this track is about 5 min, but you get to listen to only a taster of it, as well as the other tracks. Tranquil Realms is about 11 min but the taster only about 2 min. For Afrikaans speaking people, I wonder if you can remember the Afrikaans poem about sleep! Please find it at the bottom of my post, a wonderful poem by DF Malherbe! In this poem he asks God to shut his eyes one day like the little girl’s when she falls asleep…
On my blog on this link you can read about dreams…the link will open in a new window.

Sea of Dreams..by Angelle

Sleepy Time…by Angelle

Hennie Bekker…Tranquil Realms

Read on this link about sleep cycles. The link will open in a new window. Read on this pdf-link on wiki about dreaming.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikibooks/en/e/ef/Lucid_Dreaming.pdf

The Effects of Sleep Deprivation on Brain and Behavior
Sarah Ledoux
Sleep deprivation is a commonplace occurrence in modern culture. Every day there seems to be twice as much work and half as much time to complete it in. This results in either extended periods of wakefulness or a decrease in sleep over an extended period of time. While some people may like to believe that they can train their bodies to not require as much sleep as they once did this belief is false . Sleep is needed to regenerate certain parts of the body, especially the brain, so that it may continue to function optimally. After periods of extended wakefulness or reduced sleep neurons may begin to malfunction, visibly effecting a person’s behavior. Some organs, such as muscles, are able to regenerate even when a person is not sleeping so long as they are resting. This could involve lying awake but relaxed within a quite environment. Even though cognitive functions might not seem necessary in this scenario the brain, especially the cerebral cortex, is not able to rest but rather remains semi-alert in a state of “quiet readiness” . Certain stages of sleep are needed for the regeneration of neurons within the cerebral cortex while other stages of sleep seem to be used for forming new memories and generating new synaptic connections. The effects of sleep deprivation on behavior have been tested with relation to the presence of activity in different sections of the cerebral cortex.
The temporal lobe of the cerebral cortex is associated with the processing of language. During verbal learning tests on subjects who are fully rested functional magnetic resonance imaging scans show that this area of the brain is very active. However, in sleep deprived subjects there is no activity within this region. The effects of this inactivity can be observed by the slurred speech in subjects who have gone for prolonged periods with no sleep .
Please click HERE more about sleep deprivation and brain behaviour…the link will open in a new window.

The music in ‘Sleep’ has been designed to be physically relaxing – the program features no distracting surprises and feels like slow, steady breathing, to help transport the listener away from the stresses of the day towards restful sleep.

This CD, with music composed by Hennie Bekker, incorporates scientific principles of sonic response, and is designed to nudge your mind toward deep and refreshing sleep.

On this link you can listen to more snippets of his music. The link will open in a new window.

Hennie Bekker

African Roots
Bekker was raised in Mufulira, a Zambian copper mining town 10 miles south of the Congo border. In those early years, he was captivated by the symphonic sounds of the African wilderness, the haunting harmonies of tribal chanting and the rhythmic dialogue of drummers communicating between camps at sundown. He is a self-taught pianist who had his professional debut at age 15, spending the next decade performing with various bands throughout Zambia, Zaire, Zimbabwe and Kenya. His success as a fusion-jazz musician and band leader elevated him to become the musical director for one of South Africa’s largest record companies. Here, he added scores of film, television, radio and commercial music to his list of career accomplishments.
Read more about Hennie
Bekker here, the link will open in a new window. If you click on “home”, you will find youtube-videos of him to watch.


On the “music” link you will find more albums, even some Africa-music and snippets to listen to.

Asperger’s Syndrome is a condition that was initially described by Dr. Hans Asperger’s 1944 doctoral thesis. It was not until 37 years later, in 1981, however, that Dr. Lorna Wing used the term “Asperger’s Syndrome” in a paper that helped to introduce this condition to the English-speaking world.

As described by Dr. Wing, the primary clinical features of Asperger’s Syndrome include:
naïve, inappropriate, one-sided social interactions
limited ability to establish relationships
poor non-verbal communication
a lack of emotional empathy
pedantic, repetitive speech
intense absorption in certain subjects
clumsy, un-coordinated movements

odd postures

Currently, the prevailing view is that Asperger’s Syndrome is a Pervasive Developmental Disorder which falls at the high end of the Autism Spectrum continuum.

BEHAVIORAL DEFINITION

The autism spectrum extends from “classic autism” — which lies at the lower end of the spectrum– through ASPERGER’S SYNDROME, which is characterized as being at the mildest and highest functioning end of the spectrum –or Pervasive Developmental Disorder–Continuum

The major source of stress in life for the person with Asperger’s Syndrome is social contact, and increased stress generally leads to anxiety disorders and depression Attwood, T. Asperger’s Syndrome: A Guide for Parents and Professionals, 1998, p. 148.
AS represents a neurologically-based disorder of development

AS reflects deviations or abnormalities in four aspects of development:

(1) Social relatedness and social skills
(2) The use of language for purposes of communication
(3) Certain behavioral and stylistic characteristics such as repetitive or persevering features
(4) Limited, but intense, range of interests

These dysfunctional features can range from mild to severe

“The Epidemiology of Asperger Syndrome: A Total Population Study” by Ehlers and Gillberg (retrieve citation) 2001), it is estimated that the prevalence of Asperger is 2.6 per 1,000 individuals. With the population of the U.S. currently estimated at 275 million (July 2000), this would mean an estimated 715,000 people are affected by Asperger’s syndrome in the U.S. alone”
Stewart, K. (2002). Helping a Child with Nonverbal Learning Disorder or Asperger’s Syndrome, p. 148

AS is characterized by:

high cognitive abilities — or, at least, “normal” IQ level
extending into the very superior range of cognitive ability
normal language function when compared to other autistic disorders
difficulties with pragmatic, or social language
a better prognosis than other Autism spectrum disorders

Please read on THIS LINK more…the link will open in a new window. Click on “products” and it will take you to the music page.


Image: babyzone.com

DF Malherbe (1881-1969)


Slaap


Wat is die slaap ‘n wondersoete ding!
Sag op haar bloue oë daal die vaak
soos maneskyn diep waterkuile raak
om daar te droom in silwer skemering.

Vir laas beef oor haar lippe ‘n fluistering:
“Nag, Pappie.” Ek merk hoe langsaam hy genaak,
wat drome soet tot werklikhede maak:
in vaderarms rus my lieweling.
Sluit so my oë, God, wanneer vir my
u Engel wenk ter laaste, lange rus
en ek van wilde woeling hier moet skei;
dat my dan stille drome huis toe sus
en sterke Hand deur duisternisse lei.
Sluit so my oë, God, as ek gaan rus.

To Sleep
by John Keats.

O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas’d eyes, embower’d from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes.
Or wait the Amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still hoards
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.

Sea of Dreams…Kelly King …I’ve found this book on google-books whilst searching for images and thought it might be on my list to read when I have more time…I’ve read a couple of books about wars…and for some reason I like to read about it…all part of history.

Sea of dreams by Martin Sramek

Dreams
by Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

My Piano….by… artistnina.com

 

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Image:Brittanica.com

English readers…I’ve translated the first Afrikaans poem for you…then you can slide down to read more in English…

 In die Hoëveld

1. In die Hoëveld, waar dit oop is en die hemel wyd daarbo,
Waar kuddes waaigras huppel oor die veld,
Waar ’n mens nog vry kan asemhaal en aan ’n God kan glo,
Staan my huisie, wat ek moes verlaat vir geld.
En as ek in die gange van die myn hier sit en droom
Van die winde op die Hoëveld, ruim en vry,
Dan hoor ek die geklinkel van my spore, saal en toom,
Sawens as ek bees of skaap toe ry.

On the High-veld

1. In the High-veld where it’s open and heaven’s wide up there
Where herds of tall grass frisk about the veld
Where you can breath freely and believe in God
Stands my little house which I’ve left for money
And If I sit here in the tunnels of the mine, dreaming
About the High-veld wind, wide and free
Then I hear the sound of my tracks, saddle and bridle
At dusk when riding to the livestock.

image:mooikrans.co.za

2.Op die Hoëveld, waar dit wyd is, waar jy baie ver kan sien,
(Die ylblou bring ’n knop dan in jou keel)
Staan my huisie nog en wag vir my, wag al ’n jaar of tien,
Waar die bokkies op die leigrafstene speel.
Maar as die tering kwaai word en ek hoor die laaste fluit,
Dan sweef ek na die Hoëveld op die wind
Ek soek dan in die maanlig al die mooiste plekkies uit
Waar ek kleiosse gemaak het as ’n kind.
Toon van den Heever (1894-1956)

2.On the High-veld, where it’s spacious, where you can see far off
(The wispy blue brings a lump to your throat)
Stands my little house, waiting for me about a year or ten
Where the little deer play on the slate tombstones
But if the tuberculosis gets worse and I hear the last wheeze
I then wander to the High-veld wind
And in the moonlight I seek all the most beautiful places
Where I made clay oxen as a child.
—©Nikita —

Image: kaapland.voortrekkers.org.za/kommandos/stellenbosch

Highveld Sky…image: Eb-art.com Artist: Estelle Botha

Al die gedigte wat nou volg, is NP van Wyk-Louw gedigte!

My venster is ’n blanke vlak

My venster is ’n blanke vlak
in skaduwee en skemering,
waar ek my nagte waak en wag
op magiese deursuiwering:

dat hierdie siel deursigtig word
in vreemde voorgevoelde lig,
tot kring bo kring opglans en straal
in eindelose vergesig;

dat wat ek nog verlore waan,
o my verlore dae in my,
in hierdie stille skemering
hul vorming en gestalte kry,

tot ek my eensaamheid besit,
volmaak, as kosbare gewin,
van duister wense en van smart
die uiterste deurstraalde sin.
N P van Wyk-Louw

VROEGHERFS

Die jaar word ryp in goue akker blare
in wingerd wat verbruin, en witter lug
wat daglank van die nuwe wind en klare
son deurspoel word; elke blom word vrug,
tot self die traagstes; en die eerste blare val
so stilweg in die rook-vaal bos en laan
dat die takke van die lang popliere al
teen elke ligte môre witter staan.
O Heer, laat hierdie dae heilig word:
laat alles val wat pronk en sieraad was
Of enkel jeug en vér was van die pyn;
Laat ryp word Heer, laat U wind waai, laat stort
my waan, tot al die hoogheid eindelik vas
en nakend uit my teerder jeug verskyn.

Osterley Park

Nagreën

Die reën skuifel deur die straat,
verby my venster, mensverlaat …
Soos ’n trossie narsings wat verkwyn,
flikker die druppels teen my vensterruit
waar die geel straatlig daardeur skyn;
en voel die wind
met bleek vingers, soos ’n kind,
aan die swaar gordyn, wat plooi
in die lamplig, teer en droef papawerrooi.

Image: wvs.topleftpixel.com

Grense

My naakte siel wil sonder skrome
in alle eenvoud tot jou gaan,
soos uit diepe slaap ons drome,
soos teen skemerlug die bome
opreik na die bloue maan;

gaan met al sy donker wense,
en die heilige, nooit-gehoorde
dinge sê, waarvoor die mense
huiwer, en wat om die grense
flikker van my duister woorde.

Image: astroden.com/images.htm

Voël

’n Voël vlieg voor my venster verby,
’n naalddun lyn wat daaroor gly
en die glas in twee vlakke sny;

die wêrelde val apart en bly
elk in sy enkelheid geskei –
ek hierbinne, en daarbuite hy.

Die liefde in my

Dis altyd jy, net altyd jy,
die een gedagte bly my by
soos skadu’s onder bome bly,
net altyd jy, net altyd jy.

Langs baie weë gaan my smart,
blind is my oë en verward,
is alle dinge in my hart.

Maar dit sal een en enkeld bly,
en aards en diep sy laafnis kry,
al staan dit winter, kaal in my,
die liefde in my, die liefde in my.


Nog eenmaal

Nog eenmaal wil ek in die skemeraand
weer op ons dorp en by ons dorpsdam staan,
weer met my rek op in die donker skiet,
en luister, en al word ek seer en dof,
hoe die klein klippie ver weg in die riet
uit donker in die donker water plof.
Uit Nuwe verse (1954)

Image:http://www.naboom2germany.co.za/Naboomspruit.htm

Voorspel 1950

Miskien sal ek die wingerd prys
en nooit meer van hom drink
en net in ’n verbeelde glas
die koel gedagte skink:

dié wat in jare donkerte
sy wynsteen kon laat sak
en niks wat somers is meer het
nie pit nie dop of rank:

miskien nog van Gods weë weet:
– Sy paaie en Sy pyn:
maar ingewikkeld alles ken
en mens wil wees én rein.
Uit Tristia (1962)

Afskeid

Jy’t weggegaan en jy bewoon
‘n silwer herberg in die sneeu
jou venster kyk nog elke nag
met drie blink oë na die plein
die plein is boom en wind en boom
en wind en wind
en wintermiddag voer daar iemand
die meeue krummels teen die wind

Uit: Tristia (1962)

English readers:This is my 1000th entry and I want to celebrate it with some beautiful poetry…in Afrikaans…but, there’s some links for you to follow…English/French and other languages…poems to enjoy. There’s a brilliant bird-site for you to enjoy…South African birds…do take a look, it’s worth visiting this site! The poems in this entry are mainly from two wonderful South African well-known poets…and poems I really love. The first poem is about the Highveld and I was 11 years of age and had to know about 4-6 poems every week… to recite on a weekly basis and some were really long…as a child you don’t always understand why you have to learn certain things in life, but now I do appreciate my Afrikaans Language teacher from Primary after all these years, of course we had to learn English poems too…but let’s leave that for later, Afrikaans is a much more beautiful language, especially when it comes to poetry!

On this link here you can read more fantastic poems in different languages…the link will open in a new window.

To see more fantastic bird pictures….please click here and the link will open in a new window. There is an English page as well as an Afrikaans page…the link will open in the English page. If you want the Afrikaans page, you will have to click on “front page”.

This was my 1000th entry…!

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Boerneef

Die berggans het ’n veer laat val
van die hoogste krans by Woeperdal
my hart staan tuit al meer en meer
ek stuur vir jou die berggansveer
mits dese wil ek vir jou sê
hoe diep my liefde vir jou lê

Images:noila.latsi.de

The translation in Dutch…on the link you will find more Afrikaans poems translated into Dutch.
De berggans heeft een veer laten vallen
Van de hoogste rots bij Wuppertal
Mijn hartje slaat al meer en meet
Ik stuur naar jou die berggansveer
Hierbij verklaar ik je gewis
hoe diep mijn liefde voor je is.

Boerneef (1897 – 1967)

Klik HIER vir meer Nederlandse gedigte – Afrikaans vertaal in Nederlands.
Wupperthal

Wupperthal, South Africa

Boerneef: Die berggans het ‘n veer laat val

Bateleur – photo: Treknature- copyright: Andrea Piazza

25/3/2012 – ‘Dok’ het in die kommentaarboksie vir ons ‘n boodskap gelos oor die Bateleur/Berghaan. Ek dink Boerneef het eintlik bedoel dat dit ‘n berggans is en nie berghaan/bateleur nie. Ek plaas ook die boek hier – van Amazon – met die korrekte titel.

berggans_1

C.M. van den Heever (1902-1957)

Die vertrekkende wildeganse

Tot aan die ruigte-gladde waterkant
verglans die son se skuinse middagvuur,
om trillend oor die watervlak
in hierdie teer vertwyfelingsuur
’n oogwenk nog te duur –
’n oogwenk tot ’n vlerkgeklapper ruis,
die water, ru verras, sy rimpels plooi,
en swart figure oor die wye spieël
onrustige skaduwees gooi.
Dan uit die donker vleie styg
met hees geskreeu die pikswart ry,
en oor die rustig-diepe kuile reis
die ganse met hul heimweeroep verby,
verby na verre lugte waar die vuur
van weggekwynde sonlig
’n oogwenk bang nog duur …
al kleiner word die swart gedaantes,
en verder sterf die heimweeroep
die verre kimme oor,
en langs die wye land die hemele in
raak stil die ry met hul geskreeu verloor.

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English readers…scroll down to the green writing…Omtrent twee maande gelede, mag korter wees, het ‘n besoeker op my blog my ‘n booskap gelos op een van die inskrywings wat ek gemaak het oor die area waar ek groot geword het. Sy kantoor kyk uit op die “Kloof” waarvan ek geskryf het. Ek het nie op my laat wag nie en hom dadelik gekontak via email. Na die oor-en-weer nuus uitruil, besef ek dat sy ma my gr1-st1-Onderwyseres was destyds toe die plaasskooltjie nog bestaan het, voordat ons na die dorpskool moes oorskuif na die sluit van die plaasskool.  Ons was natuurlik hartseer, want die plaasskooltjie was natuurlik ‘n groot bederf! Sement-swembad reg langs die skool, sop op koue dae…en ek kan nog onthou hoe ek as 5 jarige op Vrydae skooltoe gegaan het, r-gebrei het en al die groter kinders my op hul skoot geneem het en r-woorde laat sê het sodat hulle kon “oe!” en “a!” oor die “oulikgeit” daarvan! Ook het ek mooi foto’s gekry van die waterval waarheen ek (ons) so baie gestap het…die waterval was sowat 1.5-2km se stap vanaf die plaashuis op in die kloof verby ‘n paar ander plase, maar steeds deel van ons plaas. Die plaas waar ek groot geword het – ek was 5 toe ons vanaf Pretoria na die familie-plaas verhuis het – was jare terug…in my voorgeslagte…een groot plaas en toe later opverdeel. Op hierdie oomblik behoort slegs die kerkhof aan ons – en ek wil my verstout om te sê dat minerale regte ook uitgehou is. In elk geval, ek wil vir julle hierdie foto’s wys wat Christo vir my gestuur het…en dit was wonderlik om te hoor dat sy ma nog leef ook en goeie gesondheid het! Sy was ‘n dierbare onderwyseres en nog al die jare sing ek lofliedere oor haar. Al die jare het ek my tafels 100% geken…te danke aan haar in st 2! toe sy saam met ons dorpskool toe gegaan het. Ek kan ook nog onthou ons het ‘n “leeskompetisie” gehad in die dorpskool – toe ek nog omtrent st 1 was – en ons was na ‘n vertrek met omies geneem en ons moes daar stukkies voorlees…destyds het dit vir my soos die ouetehuis gevoel! lol! almal omies met brille en het so belangrik en vol wysheid gelyk! Ons het natuurlik die dorpskool uitgestof met die “kompetisie” en roomys daarna gekry…maar vandag dink ek terug en dink dit was maar seker ‘n span inspekteure wat hulle daardie tyd vermom het as die “ouetehuis-omies”..of is dit vir ons vertel om ons dalk nie op ons senuwees te maak nie…hehehe…sal graag wil weet! Hierdie foto’s het my hierdie volgende “gediggie” laat aanmekaarslaan!

English readers: These pictures are from the farm where I grew up as a child. I used to go for long walks in the mountains and you can see the waterfall too. One visitor to my blog had me very excited awhile ago when he said that his office overlooks the place where I grew up and he sent me these images! I used to spend many a day walking to the waterfall and enjoying nature! When I uploaded these images it inspired me to write a little poem and it’s here in Afrikaans…it’s all about the fantastic memories of those days in the field/mountains/nature etc. December is summer hols in South Africa and then it was the time when the extended family visited us and us kids sometimes camped at the waterfall just for fun! The bottom picture reminded me a lot about the farm when I found it last night…

Die holtes van my gedagtes
As kind het ek
die punte van my siel
laat ploeg in die akkers
waar mensestemme
voorheen opgeklink het

Skrams het ek gevoel
hoe die tuimelende bergstilte
‘n deursigtige telegram
van vrede laat deursypel
na die binnekamers van my hart

Die diggeweefde bergstilte het
spatsels waterdruppels moeiteloos
in my gemoed afgeprent
en ek smag na die
holtes van my gedagtes

©–Nikita 4 Sept 2008 20:30

 

Vroeër vanjaar het ek die gedig geplaas met ‘n waterval-foto wat my laat dink het aan die een op hierdie foto…in hierdie gediggie het ek verwys na die waterval…en die rante…nou sien julle presies waarna ek verwys het!

Suid-Afrika – my skaduwee

In die skadu’s
van die groot ou Eik
stoot ek weer in die sand
Boeta se karretjies een-vir-een
‘is verstommend hoe die mierleeus uit hul tonnels
krioel met kierang-hier en kierang-daar

Langs die waterval
sit ek, halfbewus
my gedagtes vind perspektiwiteit
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit
op die kabbellende water

Op die meulwiel van vervloë
versamel ek babakatjies
pas gebo’, versteek
teen elemente daar buit’
en ek streel die sagtheid
wat ek koester
verder op my reis

Ek verdwaal tussen rante
soekend na onweerstaanbare
toktokkies en miskruiers
‘k neem ‘n honger teug
uit die kom van fluisteringe
“ons-vir-jou-ons-vir-jou”

Hoe sal ek jou kan vergeet
jou alledaagse ontwykende
en eindlose horison
onwetend
bly jy daar vir my
en ek vir jou
Hoe kán ek dan
Vergeet van: “ons-vir-jou”…?

©Nikita 17 Junie 2008

En hier is die eintlike waterval [vol-foto] deur Francois vdM aangestuur na my in Junie 2011. [Dankie Francois] – hy is ‘n groot pêl van Christo – hierbo genoem.

Hierdie volgende liedjie het in my gedagtes opgekom en ek weet nie eens of ek hom korrek het nie, dus, enige hulp sal waardeer word indien ek moet korrigeer!

Die berge, bome, blomme
Die berge, blomme, bome
Die helder water strome
Hul wink ons van daar ver (2x)

Ons sing en klap die hande
Ons klim en stap die rante
Uit pure lewenslus! (2x)

tra-lie-trala, tra-lie-trala… uit pure lewenslus, uit pure lewenslus!(2x)
Ek het geen idee of dit die hele liedjie is, ek het net dink hy pas so goed hierby toe hy in my gedagtes opskiet! dus…help asseblief…of sê my as dit reg is!

Image: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/15/Lousios-kloof.jpg

This is an Afrikaans song by a blogger friend, Jasper. He sings about “memories”.

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Quite recently I’ve translated a poem written by Wayne Visser into Afrikaans. The poem can be found here with Wayne’s comments:

https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/05/21/ek-weet-van-n-plek-in-afrika/

A couple of days ago, he asked me to translate this poem: “I am an African” into Afrikaans and I felt it was an honour to be asked by him to do it. I’ve tried my best, as all my Afrikaans-bloggers know I’m no expert in translations, but I do try to convey the “message” of the poem, but sometimes, specially when not asked to do a translation, I might want to change the poem slightly to what I like, although I will keep the overall “message”, like the poem written by Wordsworth…”I wandered lonely like a cloud.”  Wayne also understands Afrikaans. He liked my interpretation of Wordsworth’s poem and I felt happy that a professional poet could also view his opinion, as you would agree that you sometimes don’t know really if you do any poem justice by translating it. I’ve done some translations from Afrikaans to English too and if you want to read some poems of some of South Africa’s best poets…you can click on the page that says…”my poems-gedigte” and read a few there. You will find Eugene Marais’s poem…”The dance of the rain” and Totius’s poem…”oh the painful thought..” and some others too. I do like to write my own too, which you will find on that page too. I want to stress it out …that I’m no professional, so enjoy whatever you find here and there’s always poetry sites where you can find poems written by professionals! Today, Sunday 7th Sept 2008,  I had two people putting in “Is Wayne Visser an Afrikaans writer” in  a search and were directed to my blog…as far as I could see, he doesn’t write in Afrikaans, I couldn’t find any of his poems or works in Afrikaans, but he does understand the Language…he speaks Afrikaans too. I do hope this helps, you can contact him via his website address…link at the bottom of this post – and email him!

Image: DK-images…Langebaan, Cape Town

Ek is van Afrika

Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek daar gebore is
Maar omdat my hart met Afrika klop
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat my gelaat donker is
Maar omdat Afrika my gedagtes omgrens
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek van haar leef
Maar omdat my siel tuis is – in Afrika

Wanneer Afrika oor haar kinders ween
Is my wange deur traandruppels deurweek
Wanneer Afrika haar voorvaders eer
Buig my hoof in respek daarheen
Wanneer Afrika oor haar slagoffers rou
Is my hande in gebed gevou
Wanneer Afrika haar oorwinnings vier
Dans ek op die maat van die oorwinningslied

Ek is van Afrika
Met haar asemrowende ylblou lugruimtes
Laat sy die toekoms skitterend skyn
Ek is van Afrika
Waar ek gegroet word asof familie
En ek ervaar die gevoel van meervoudig
Ek is van Afrika
Want haar wildheid bring vertroosting vir my siel
En bring my nader na die bron van Lewe

Wanneer Afrika-musiek in die wind weerklink
Volg my polsslag die ritmiese klop
En word ek een met die klank
Wanneer die Afrika-kleure in die son glinster
Verdrink my sintuie in haar reënboog
En is ek die natuur se pallet
Wanneer die Afrika-verhale om die vure op-klink
Volg my voete hul tydlose ‘wink
En is ek die spore van die verle’

Ek is van Afrika
Want sy’s die krip van geboorte
En troetel die oer-oue wysheid
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy leef in die skadu van die wêreld
En brand met ‘n gloeiende inspirasie
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy is die land van môre
En ek eer haar tydlose geskenke

©Nikita — 2nd September 2008

The English version:
I Am An African

I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of sound
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred

Copywright: Wayne Visser – 2005

Read more of his poetry at: www.waynevisser.com

Images: hotelsbible.com/travellog 19

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Image: dailymail.co.uk

In South Africa, today it’s the first day of Spring! Everybody in South Africa…ENJOY SPRING!! I’ve got a couple of our wonderful poems that can be sung too and they’re all about Spring…there’s many more, but these are some of my favourites. I’ve got the audio file of the last one (instrumental only) and I hope you enjoy it!

DIS HEERLIKE LENTE

Woorde: THEO W. JANDRELL en G.G. CILLIÉ
Musiek: Wysie uit die Alpe; verwerk: G.G. CILLIÉ

Dis heerlike lente, die winter’s verby;

weer nooi berg’ en klowe vir jou en vir my.

Hol-la-dri-o-ha, hol-la-dri-o. Hol-la-dri-o-ha, hol-la-dri-o!
Die bergklim is heerlik, dit hou mens gesond.

Die vroe-, vroeë môre het goud in die mond.

Hol-la-dri-o-ha, hol-la-dri-o. Hol-la-dri-o-ha, hol-la-dri-o!

AL DIE VELD IS VROLIK

Woorde: C. LOUIS LEIPOLDT
Musiek: J. WEBER; verwerk: PIETER DE VILLIERS

Al die veld is vrolik; al die voëltjies sing;
al die kriekies kriek daarbuit’; elke sprinkaan spring.
Al die koggelmannetjies kom om fees te vier;
hier galop ‘n goggatjie, daarso dans ‘n mier.

[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!

Selfs die vissies spartel teen die kafferskuil;
in die groot ou eikeboom droom ‘n oupa-uil.
Oral in Karooland is ‘n ruik versprei:
boegoeblom en appelkoos–kan jy beter kry?

[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!

Bind vir my tesame katjiepiering wit,
bobbejaantjies blou en bont, rose in gelid,
varings van die klippe, oral, ai só mooi,
rooi kalkoentjies uit die vlei–blomme uitgestrooi.

[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!

Vrolik is die wêreld, vrolik rant en vlei!
Elke koggelmannetjie het sy maat gekry.
Elke gons’rig’ goggatjie is getroud of vry:
vrolik is die wêreld hier, vrolik veld en vlei!

[KOOR]
Nou gaan die kinders draai, nou gaan hul speel!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!
Kom Sus, gee handjie! Almal moet draai!
Boet gee ook handjie! Nou gaan ons swaai–
dis tog so prettig! Wie dans met my?
Al in die rondte, vrolik en bly!

KYK, DIS SEPTEMBER WEER

Woorde: C.G.S. DE VILLIERS
Musiek: Italiaanse melodie; verwerk: CHRIS LAMPRECHT

[2x]
Kyk, dis September weer; laat al die vure brand!
Dan hou ons weer ‘n keer braaivleis doer by die strand.

[REFREIN]
Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, ja, hulle gaan verby.
Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, gaan snel verby.

[2x]
Lente is oral weer, blou branders aan die strand,
velde vol blommefleur; knoop nou die liefdesband.

[REFREIN]
Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, ja, hulle gaan verby.
Laat alle boeke tuis, laat sorge agterbly;
Jeug en lentetyd gaan snel verby, gaan snel verby.

Meer Volksliedere wat jy kan aflaai op hierdie link! Kliek op die musieknoot vir die musiek en op die liedjie-naam vir die woorde. Dit is almal midi-leêrs wat jy lag-lag kan omskakel in ‘n MP3! en ek plaas nog ‘n gedig van Leipoldt…wat ek op Laerskool moes leer! Pragtige gedig…Die Beste!

update: 1/9/2013 – Gelukkig het blerkas net geskuif na ‘n nuwe link, die ou link het ‘verdwyn’. 

http://esl.ee.sun.ac.za/~lochner/blerkas/

Die Beste

Geil lusern in die laagste landjie,
geil groen blare en blomme blou;
aalwyn rooi op die voorste randjie,
rooi soos bloed teen die rotse grou;
somer en son en saffier daarbowe,
ruik van die keurbos rondgesprei;
kort klein skaduwees oor die klowe;
somer en son en saffier vir my !
Wonder van kleure uitgesprei –
wat is daar meer die dood te rowe ?
Somer en son en saffier vir my !

C. Louis Leipoldt

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Image:trekearth.com/gallery/Europe/United_Kingdom/photo373524.htm
“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

http://www.wordsworth.org.uk/history/

lonely-cloud

Die Affodil-dans

Alleen wandel ek
soos ‘n los-wolkie
wat sweef oor hoë berge,
heuwels, valleie en dale
Skielik sien ek ‘n plaat Affodille
‘n blink-geel, songeel,
goudgeel versameling
wat skitter en skyn
langs die meer onder die bome
swewend en dansend
buigend en juigend
nÁ die Somerreëns

Langsamerhand – soos die sterreskyn
Glinsterend – soos in die Melkweg-lyn
Al langs die kant van die baai
Vang my blik die verruklike dans
die aanskoulike geswaai
van koppies wat draai
onder die hange van ‘n krans

Ver-weg op my rusbank
lê ek uitgestrek
Langsamerhand weerkaats
die dansende skynsel
in my binne-oog
Die opgewondenheid van alleen-wees
vervul my hart met plesier
en ek dans die dans!
van die blinkgeel, songeel,
goudgeel, bly-geel Affodille!

©Nikita 26th August 2008

Wordsworth’s house in Cockermouth, where he was born. He spent his later years in Dove Cottage – in Grasmere – and in 1813 they moved to Rydal Mount, where William and Mary stayed until their deaths in 1850 and 1859. Whilst at Rydal Mount William became Distributor of Stamps for Westmorland, and had an office in Church St Ambleside. In 1820 he published his ‘Guide through the District of the Lakes’. In 1842 he became the Poet Laureate, and resigned his office as Stamp Distributor. William married Mary quite late in his life. Something which I read about him, which you don’t read on all sites, is that he went to France in 1791 and met Annette Vallon. She gave him French lessons, for free, and they fell in love and she got pregnant. She had a girl and her name was Caroline. William wanted to return to support her with the child, but because of the war between England and France, he couldn’t return. I read this piece of info in the book…”Among the Lakes and fells” by John Kahn.

Follow the link to read more about him.  http://www.wordsworth.org.uk/history/

We’ve been away for the past week. We went to the Western part of the Lake District… had a few rainy days, so spent some of the days to visit some very exciting places. Only when we arrived at Mockerkin, the owners of our cottage informed us about Wordsworth’s house in Cockermouth and Beatrix Potter’s Hill Top-farm in Hawkshead and we were left with hundreds of leaflets, maps and books about surrounding areas. I’ve got zillions of wonderful pictures to sort out, but for a start, thought to post this poem which William Wordsworth wrote. I had the wonderful opportunity to read his sister, Dorothy’s Lakeland Journal, due to the weather! And, once again, due to the weather… I’ve translated William’s poem in Afrikaans, but I’ve also changed it a little bit, so it’s not exactly the same…and I call my poem…the Dance of the Daffodils! For now, you have to be satisfied with this poem, as I’ve got some unpacking to do…and tomorrow is a day with friends, so not much time for blogging, but I’ll try my best to upload a few more about the visit to William’s house in Cockermouth. Sadly, we didn’t visit Dove’s cottage in Grasmere,  where he spent his later years, as our time was a bit limited when we went to Hill Top farm. If you visit Hill Top farm, you get a timed ticket, which means you buy the ticket and can only enter the time your ticket tells you. In this way the National Trust try to control the number of visitors as the house is quite small and not many people at any one time can move around the house comfortably. Also, it’s a way to preserve to property, but more about Hill Top farm in another entry later this week!

 I’ve got so much to share and so many pictures to go through, but first things first…follow the link I’ve given to read a bit more. Please click on images for a larger view.

Wordsworth Museum

William Wordsworth’s sister, Dorothy, kept this diary…a diary which is worth reading! There is also the “Grasmere and Alfoxden Journals” to be read. I will definitely try and get hold of the “Grasmere”-diary  to read too.

Plaque inscription

Front garden  as seen through a window from the inside of the house

Rear garden through a window in Wordsworth’s house

Hand water pump!

Rear garden and house as seen from the garden

Bench in rear garden

Foot bridge behind Wordsworth house across River Derwent

River Derwent… River Cocker and River Derwent meet in Cockermouth

Dove cottage in Grasmere…which we didn’t visit

Image: and read more…

http://www.holiday-lakeland.co.uk/reivers/wilword.htm

 

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This is just to say

This is just to say:
I’ve just e
aten
ALL the Mingles
in the box
behind the TV
-which you don’t like
because of the wooden smell-
Forgive me
they tasted so creamy
and I felt so pampered
and rotten spoiled!

This is my version of the poem by Williams Carlos Williams: This is just to say. You can follow this link and read his original poem as well as the “reply” to it…really sweet!

https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2007/09/18/this-is-just-to-say-2/
I was tagged by Reisiger to do a shopping list from certain items and where I usually buy it…well, I’ve done a mosaic instead and you will have to click on the mosaic to see what’s on there…and also from which shops I sometimes buy…and what brands etc… I’m quite sure the images are self explainable…

Doritos, my other favourite

This top is a special top…it’s got some sequence on it and I just love the fabric it’s made of and..it’s my favourite colour!  Please click on the image – and zoom in – to have a clear view of it! I’ve bought it at a shop in Sutton. Sutton has got a big shopping centre, called St Nicholas. On the pictures that follow, you can see some really nice South African goodies! I’ve bought these at the South African shop at London Bridge… and they are some of my favourites! You can even buy the Aromat from Tesco’s now. Do try it if you haven’t… I love it in salad and on baked potato! Yum! Oh dear, I will have to go again, as my mouth is watering for that Fanta Grape!!

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English readers: you can find my translation of this first poem on “My Poems-gedigte” page on top of my blog. I hope you will enjoy it.

EENSAAMHEID – JAN F.E. CELLIERS
My vuurtjie en ek is op wag –
my vuurtjie en ek alleen;
die awend-ster
wink al van ver,
en die velde slaap omheen.

En stadigies sterwe die dag,
soos een in sy armoed verlaat,
ongesien, ongeag,
sonder suggie of lag,
waar niemand van weet of van praat.

Nou bly die lug alom
in stil aanbidding staan –
geen tampende bel
wat die ure tel:
net die sterre wat kom en gaan.

Die osse, met koppe gebuie,
herkoue nog stil in die nag,
tot één vir één buk
en gaan lê by sy juk,
met `n sug, ná die trek van die dag.

My vuurtjie is al wat nog leef
in die eindeloos ruim met my,
en sy stemmetjie dwaal
soos `n deuntjie wat draal
om dae lank verby,

om jonkheids blye môre
en laggies lank verlewe.
Dan voel ek `n traan
in my oë staan
en ek fluister: “Heer, vergewe!”

Die slapende velde lê wyd,
en wyer die donker see,
wat my vuurtjie en my
vanawend skei
van die wêreld se vreug en wee;

ek weet daar`s fees vanaand
in menig verligte saal,
maar geeneen wat my mis
by die dans en die dis –
`n balling vergeet en verdwaal.

Maar al is ek, ver van die skaar,
in eensaamheids wonings getrede,
ek voel my soos een
met die Heer alleen –
`n kind aan Sy boesem tevrede.

image: digitalcameraclub.co.za

I’ve read something this morning on Zee’s blog that reminded me about this poem : “Eensaamheid” by Jan F E Celliers I also came accross this poem on a  website and it also reminded me about this very same poem! “Eensaamheid” means…”loneliness…or…solitude…”

Ver op hoë berge
Pagina: 431/431

Ver op hoë berge, o-o-o…
Sit ek eensaam in die nag,
by my vuurtjie stil op wag,
ver op hoë berge.

‘k Denk nou kom my liefste, o-o-o…
k’ Sie van verre kom die wa,
die my liefste skat daar dra,
ver op hoë berge.

Droom is weer voorbij nou, o-o-o…
‘k Sit weer eensaam in die nag,
by my vuurtjie stil op wag,
ver op hoë berge.
http://www.carpegeel.be/lied.aspx?id=857

Read on WIKIPEDIA more about him.
Kliek 
HIER vir meer gedigte deur Celliers…
Enjoy the music of Sweet People …terwyl jy  “Eensaamheid” lees

On THIS LINK on my blog- you can read two poems of Jan FE Celliers.

Afrikaanse kindergedig!
Digter? Wie kan help?  Titel?
Daar stap ‘n klein mannetjie
In die rigting van die klotsende waterstroompie
Hy het ‘n emmer in sy handjie
En jy hoor net:die suisende windjie!

Hy stap, voete slepend
Hy stap, tande knersend
Hy draf, voete knarsend
Hy draf, hande swaaiend

Oppad hoor hy ‘n kwetterende voëltjie
Hy val skielik: kaplaks!
Daar lê hy onderstebo op die bruggie
“Ai”, sê hy, “dis seer”, vervlaks!

Nou loop ons klein ou mannetjie
Baie stadig, hy sien hy ‘n bobbejaan
Wat al blaffend en al strompelend
KADOEF! en PARDOEF!
Teen ‘n boomstomp kom gejaa’n

Die kabbellende rivierstroompie
Stroom al jubelend oor die klippies
Daarnaas is ‘n verdwaalde lam
Hy blêr! Ai tog! Dis ‘n ram!

Oppad terug stap die mannetjie
Met sy kleine, swaaiende kannetjie
Geluidloos deur die woud heen en weer
Wat het geword van die brullende
En krakende donderweer?

Ek weet! Die sissende slange
En kwakende padda
Het almal op skrik gejaag
KABOEM! Daar blits hy
SJADOEF! Daar flits hy

~~~~~~

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English readers, please slide down…

My smekende gedagtes

Ek sak my hoof en oordink my vreugde
Ligsinnig verkrummel ek
die verdroogde blare
in my Afrika hand en ‘k laat
dit waai soos kaf in die wind
Dit smee my gedagtes mee
met die onrus in my hart
wat bly groei en bloei
Waarom verpletter ons die volke
van hierdie aarde?
Waar’s die regeerders
van hierdie wêreld?
Ken hul nie Sy toorn?
Offers bring en oë opslaan
uitroepe van “wees ons goedgesind!”
weerklink in my smekende gedagtes
Sal ons ooit die Tempel binnegaan?
Ek luister na my gedagtes in die mÔre
en laat die moordenaars en leuenaars
deur Hades swerwend dryf
hul ontmoet die gelag van Charon op Styx
Nooit sal hul die Elisiese veld bereik
NÓg betowerend; nÓg kan in delf
Hul egosentriese voorland:
Tanatos!
Sál hul ag slaan op my geroep?

©Nikita 5 Julie 2008


Please click here for the RIVER STYX and have fun!

This poem…which I feel is basically just a few of my thoughts of how I feel about -not only about these killings/stabbings in London,-  but also about other parts of the world, especially South Africa…Zimbabwe…the lies of Mugabe and his scum…. and other leaders in this world…my thoughts make them rambling/drifting along the river Styx, not to reach the Elysian fields, but Thanatos! By this poem I don’t want those people to really die! as I think all people are good, but not what they do/say and then I ask  too…where are the leaders of this world!!…maybe the real leaders…and not the cowards.. Why are they not acting like they should, tighten the laws! and world leaders should take the lead in those Africa countries where there are chaos and where people are dying on a daily basis! Are we not suppose to care! So, co’mon “caring” leaders… show you really care! …PS: glad to see David Miliband – with his visit to South Africa – is asking the International Community to do something…but, hey…when are we going to see them reacting!

Hierdie getal het my koue rillings gegee toe ek dit vanaand sien…….net gedag dit pas by hierdie onaardse images hier…hehehe….dis nou vanaf Nov 2007…



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Image: by Julie Rogers…Woven thoughts

Die strelende skemer van my gemoed

Vanselfsprekend dartel
jou skadu’tjie
langsaam, ritsellend
soos ‘n vlokkie
eind’lose skaterlag
vibrerend in my gemoed
en die weerspieëling
is onvermydelik verstrengel
tussen Haydn en Wagner
en die draaikolk
van my gryse gedagtes
wat in die
strelende skemer
van my gemoed bly vloei
©Nikita
29 Junie 2008

The soothing twilight of my mind
Self-evidently frolic and sprightly
Your little shadow
gradually quivering
– as a flakelet
endless peals of laughter
vibrating in my mind
and the reflection
is inevitably intertwined
between Haydn and Wagner
and the whirlpool
of my ancient thoughts
flowing
through the soothing twilight
of my mind
–Translated: Nikita – 16/2/2012

[For a friend to understand the Afrikaans]

This poem is just a poem about my thoughts going back to South Africa and my childhood days – also on the farm where I grew up. My country and its people will always be in my thoughts!

Please click HERE to read the book Thought-Forms by: Annie Besant and C.W. Leadbeater on the site of the Gutenberg-project. In this book you will read about colour and thoughts.

Enjoy the music of Haydn…Piano concerto in D major – one of my favourites!


Haydn by Thomas Hardy
Source: wikimedia
Franz Joseph Haydn ==March 31, 1732 – May 31, 1809== was one of the most prominent composers of the classical period, and is called by some the “Father of the Symphony” and “Father of the String Quartet”.

A life-long resident of Austria, Haydn spent most of his career as a court musician for the wealthy Hungarian Esterházy family on their remote estate. Isolated from other composers and trends in music until the later part of his long life, he was, as he put it, “forced to become original”.

Joseph Haydn was the brother of Michael Haydn, himself a highly regarded composer, and Johann Evangelist Haydn, a tenor.




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Die Broosheid van my Siel

Dit is soos gister
dat my gedagtes swerf
op golwe van stormwinde;
ongesiens, verwyder dit
die eind’lose groenbedekte
ystergrendels van my hart

Verstommend genereer dit
beelde uit lande
versamel van die Ooste en Weste
die Noorde en van die see af
– ‘n half herwonne reis

Diep onder lê ‘n sluimerende stilte
ontsnapte krete reën om my
helder buitelyne van donker oë
kruis my lewenspad
en ek huiwer

Hunkerend na ‘n somers-motreën
blomruigtes, onweerstaanbare weerligstrale
waterfonteine, ‘n ontnugterde haelbui
Vind jy my siel op haelwit wolke

Ja, soos gister
stap ek deur die Dorsland
met lofoffers
en êrens omhels die broosheid
die gedagtes van my siel.

©Nikita 18 Junie 2008

Die verlange na Suid-Afrika bly daar vir enige persoon in die buiteland. Iemand moet nie vir my vertel dat hy die stof van sy voete afgeskud het en nou “klaar” is met SA nie, daardie persoon bluf homself, beslis nie vir my nie. Vanaand was ek – soos baie ander tye – weer hart en siel in Suid-Afrika…geniet hierdie stukkie “gedagtes” of herinneringe wat ek hier saamgeflans het…en geniet dit met die musiek van Hilary Stagg…






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I’ve got this CD of Hilary Stagg…beautiful music…enjoy this track and do get yourself this CD!!

This is an Afrikaans poem, just my thoughts about life as a child…

Indien jy ooit by die Opelug Museum in Pretoria ‘n draai maak, maak gerus ‘n draai by die Watermeule. Hierdie watermeule het op ons plaas gestaan en is hy klip-vir-klip gemerk en net so herbou in Pretoria. As kind van ongeveer 7/8 jaar oud, het ons gedurig op die wiel gespeel en was dit ‘n heerlike wegkruipplek vir die kat om haar kleintjies te kry!! Daarom dat my gedagtes ook in hierdie gegriffel ‘n draai gaan maak het op die watermeul se wiel! Ek kon vir ure die miskuiers volg wat in veld hulle bolletjies gerol het…wanneer ek gaan stap het om verdroogde stukkies takkies te versamel en grassade vir my versameling wat ek gedurig in my kamer uitgestal het…die gedrooge takkies…spesiale mooi uitgesoektes natuurlik, het ek in gebruik in rangskikkings en was my kamer omtrent ‘n “nes” van alles wat ek van die veld aangedra het. Selfs verdwaalde tarentaal-vere het hul ere-plekkie gehad…en hoe kon ek die karretjies uitlaat, dit het ek meer gespeel as met my poppe wat altyd net op my bed gelê vir die mooiheid…

Baie dankie aan Francois vdM wat vandag [18/6/2011] hierdie pragtige foto van my geliefde waterval op ons familieplaas – waar ek ure kon sit en ontspan, rondklouter en saam met familie/vriende geniet het, aangestuur het. Francois bly ook in die omgewing en ken dit ook alte goed. In die volgende gedig lees jy juis van die waterval!

Suid-Afrika – my skaduwee

In die skadu’s
van die groot ou Eik
stoot ek weer in die sand
Boeta se karretjies een-vir-een
‘is verstommend hoe die mierleeus uit hul tonnels
krioel met kierang-hier en kierang-daar

Langs die waterval
sit ek, halfbewus
my gedagtes vind perspektiwiteit
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit
op die kabbellende water

Op die meulwiel van vervloë
versamel ek babakatjies
pas gebo’, versteek
teen elemente daar buit’
en ek streel die sagtheid
wat ek koester
verder op my reis

Ek verdwaal tussen rante
soekend na onweerstaanbare
toktokkies en miskruiers
‘k neem ‘n honger teug
uit die kom van fluisteringe
“ons-vir-jou-ons-vir-jou”

Hoe sal ek jou kan vergeet
jou alledaagse ontwykende
en eindlose horison
onwetend
bly jy daar vir my
en ek vir jou
Hoe kán ek dan
Vergeet van: “ons-vir-jou”…?

©Nikita 17 Junie 2008

waterfall

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English readers… I translated an English poem wich I posted 2 days ago…”I know a place”…by Wayne Visser…in Afrikaans…you can read the poem at the bottom of this post in English. One Afrikaans-blogger has asked me for a translation as he’s thought that this poem would be fantastic  in Afrikaans  too….and I would like to agree with him, although Wayne’s poem is already a very good poem to describe your feelings/places about Africa and I believe only a person who knows Africa can describe it the way Wayne has done. I’ve sent him an email to respond on the translation I’ve done and he has responded…you can read his comments…he also responded in Afrikaans, saying that Afrikaans is a beautiful language for poetry…which I’ve said many times to my chess player friends…I do love English poetry too, but my favourite poems are without doubt the Afrikaans poems….not because it’s my mother tongue, but for the reason that Afrikaans is such a rich language and you can play with words a lot more than the English language.

As a native-speaking English person I know how much Afrikaans people are constantly ripped off by the English. Having a completely mixed up family I am also lucky to be completely bilingual. This all means that i have the best of both worlds, which I would like to share a bit of.

Afrikaans is an extremely expressive and descriptive language with words that can’t even possibly be translated into English…This is what meggwilson says on HER BLOG here…

  Visit Wayne’s website HERE to read his English poems…
 

 Nadat ek Wayne se gedig geplaas het, het Bib my gevra vir ‘n vertaling en gedink dat dit net so mooi gedig in Afrikaans kan wees. Wel, ek het probeer en ek glo ek sal nog oor die volgende paar dae “werk”/skaaf aan wat ek nou hier plaas. Ek het geen idee of Wayne Afrikaans magtig is nie en sal graag wou hê hy moet self ook ‘n vertaling doen, sou hy Afrikaanssprekend ook wees…ek het hom nou gekontak per email en hom gevra vir sy kommentaar …laat ons sien of hy gaan reageer…
nuusberig…nuusberig…nuusberig…Wayne het ‘n boodskap gelos oor die plasing van sy gedig, jy kan dit in die “kommentaar-blok” lees…


Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
 Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar ek die son op my rug voel skyn
En die sand tussen my tone speel
Waar ek die seemeeu op die windjie hoor
En  golwe op  eindlose strande breek

 

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die berge die blou lug ontmoet
En valleie die groen wingerde huisves
Waar bome hul pers kleed sprei
En die bosveld sy room kleed dra
Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die dondergode hul stemme laat hoor
En sien ek hul weerligspiese neerdaal
Waar ek die reuk van reenwolke intrek
En die soet van die stowwerige doudruppels proe
Dis ‘n wildernis, die plek
Van Evolusie en dinosorusse
Waar lewe begin het, hier was die eerste mens
Van lewende fossiele en olifante
Waar leeus brul en springboktroppe spring
Dis die plek van swaarkry
Van woestyne en doringbome
Waar paaie doodloop en jagters jag
Van horisonne en grense
Waar reise begin en sonsondergange bloei
Dis die plek van vryheid
Van ontdekkings en pioniers
Waar donkerte geskuil – en die lig deurgebreek het
Van ware legendes en wonderwerke
Waar dagbreek begin en hoop helder brand

My hart is tuis in Afrika
Waar die tromme se ritme in my klop
En  tydlose liedere in my ore sing
Waar die reenboogmis in my oë skyn
En vriende se glimlagte my welkom heet

My gedagtes ontspan in Afrika
Waar die mense na aan die aarde leef
En seisoene die veranderde gemoed aandui
Waar besige markte handel dryf
En die Skepping sy stadige gang steeds gaan

My siel is gelukkig in Afrika
Haar strome bring lewe in my are
Haar winde bring genesing vir my drome
Wanneer haar verhaal vertel is
Verenig dit ons in ons noodlot.

© Nikita…Mei 2008

Image:digitalekameraklub.co.za

image: digitalekameraklub.co.za

I know a place in Africa…
Inspiring poetry written by Wayne Visser,
a South African currently based in Nottingham, UK.

I know a place in Africa
Where I can feel the sun on my back
And the sand between my barefoot toes
Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze
And the waves crash on the endless shore

I know a place in Africa
Where the mountains touch the skies of blue
And the valleys shelter vines of green
Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve
And the bushveld wears a coat of beige

I know a place in Africa
Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods
And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth
Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds
And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops

This is the place of wildness
Of evolution and dinosaurs
Where life began and mankind first stood
Of living fossils and elephants
Where lions roar and springbok herds leap

This is the place of struggle
Of desert plains and thorn trees
Where pathways end and hunters track game
Of horizons and frontiers
Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red

This is the place of freedom
Of exploration and pioneers
Where darkness loomed and light saw us through
Of living legends and miracles
Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright

My heart is at home in Africa
Where the sound of drums beat in my chest
And the songs of time ring in my ears
Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes
And the smiles of friends make me welcome

My mind is at ease in Africa
Where the people still live close to the soil
And the seasons mark my changing moods
Where the markets hustle with trading
And Creation keeps its own slow time

My soul is at peace in Africa
For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins
And her winds bring healing to my dreams
For when the tale of this land is told
Her destiny and mine are as one

© 2006 Wayne Visser

Hierdie ou het op sy blog die gedig geplaas sonder enige erkenning aan die vertaling wat ek gedoen het of die verwysing na Wayne Visser se gedig! Ten spyte van ‘n boodskap wat ek hom gelaat het, ignoreer hy dit steeds.
http://www.suid-afrikaners.co.za/magazine/read/ek-weet-van-n-plek-in-afrika_14.html

Image: digitalekameraklub.co.za

 

images:digitalekameraklub.co.za

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It’s been quite awhile since I’ve blogged poetry! I love poetry, as I said before…on this link here on my ..blogger-blog I once blogged one of Wayne’s poems and I want to blog it here too…as I do love South Africa –which is part of Africa…one secondary school child argued with me a few weeks ago about our country’s name..said that..there isn’t a “West Africa” as a country nor “East Africa” as a country, so how can I say that I am from South Africa and I say “South Africa” is a country! hehehe…Wayne visited my blogger blog-post and left me a message at that particular post…so let’s see if he will find this one too…lol! 
I came across Meggwilson’s blog where she says exactly what I’ve said so many times…even on my blog too….

As a native-speaking English person I know how much Afrikaans people are constantly ripped off by the English. Having a completely mixed up family I am also lucky to be completely bilingual. This all means that i have the best of both worlds, which I would like to share a bit of.

Afrikaans is an extremely expressive and descriptive language with words that can’t even possibly be translated into English…you can read it HERE ….


I’ve translated this poem of Wayne in Afrikaans on this link and you can also read Wayne’s comments about the translation on this link.

I know a place in Africa…
Inspiring poetry written by Wayne Visser,
a South African currently based in Nottingham, UK.

I know a place in Africa
Where I can feel the sun on my back
And the sand between my barefoot toes
Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze
And the waves crash on the endless shore

I know a place in Africa
Where the mountains touch the skies of blue
And the valleys shelter vines of green
Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve
And the bushveld wears a coat of beige

I know a place in Africa
Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods
And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth
Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds
And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops

This is the place of wildness
Of evolution and dinosaurs
Where life began and mankind first stood
Of living fossils and elephants
Where lions roar and springbok herds leap

This is the place of struggle
Of desert plains and thorn trees
Where pathways end and hunters track game
Of horizons and frontiers
Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red

This is the place of freedom
Of exploration and pioneers
Where darkness loomed and light saw us through
Of living legends and miracles
Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright

My heart is at home in Africa
Where the sound of drums beat in my chest
And the songs of time ring in my ears
Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes
And the smiles of friends make me welcome

My mind is at ease in Africa
Where the people still live close to the soil
And the seasons mark my changing moods
Where the markets hustle with trading
And Creation keeps its own slow time

My soul is at peace in Africa
For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins
And her winds bring healing to my dreams
For when the tale of this land is told
Her destiny and mine are as one

© 2006 Wayne Visser

 

Image:flickr

I am an African…

This poem was written by Wayne Visser.

I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
And I become the essence of music
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred

© 2005 Wayne Visser


Please click
HERE to visit Wayne’s site.

On this image you can see Wayne…image from his site.

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Poet: unknown

This coming Sunday it’s Mothering Sunday in South Africa and in a few other countries. Please click HERE to read how Mothers Day is celebrating in different countries and to read about the history of Mothers Day.

Mother’s Day in South Africa

In South Africa, Mothers Day is celebrated on the second Sunday in the month of May. People of South Africa celebrate Mother’s Day in its true spirit by acknowledging the importance of mothers in their lives and thanking them profusely for all their love and care. People also gift flowers and cards to their mother as an expression of their heartfelt feeling of gratitude and affection.

 The most commonly used flowers on Mothers Day is the traditional carnation.  In South Africa, Mother’s Day is taken as an opportunity to thank not just mothers but also grand mothers and women who are like mothers.

Mothers are pampered by caring children on the day. Many children treat their mother with a delicious breakfast in bed but owing to the changing lifestyles, a large number of people take their mother out for dinners. Young children present their mothers with homemade gifts while the elder ones buy gifts for their mothers.

Earliest History of Mothers Day

The earliest history of Mothers Day dates back to the ancient annual spring festival the Greeks dedicated to maternal goddesses. The Greeks used the occasion to honor Rhea, wife of Cronus and the mother of many deities of Greek mythology.

Ancient Romans, too, celebrated a spring festival, called Hilaria dedicated to Cybele, a mother goddess. It may be noted that ceremonies in honour of Cybele began some 250 years before Christ was born. The celebration made on the Ides of March by making offerings in the temple of Cybele lasted for three days and included parades, games and masquerades. The celebrations were notorious enough that followers of Cybele were banished from Rome.

Early Christians celebrated a Mother’s Day of sorts during the festival on the fourth Sunday of Lent in honor of the Virgin Mary, the Mother of Christ. In England the holiday was expanded to include all mothers. It was then called Mothering Sunday.

purple carnations

image:fiftyflowers.com

Image: teacherscorner.net

Everybody knows that a good mother gives her children a feeling of trust and stability. She is their earth. She is the one they can count on for the things that matter most of all. She is their food and their bed and the extra blanket when it grows cold in the night; she is their warmth and their health and their shelter; she is the one they want to be near when they cry. She is the only person in the whole world in a whole lifetime who can be these things to her children. There is no substitute for her. Somehow even her clothes feel different to her children’s hands from anybody else’s clothes. Only to touch her skirt or her sleeve makes a troubled child feel better, by Katharine Butler Hathaway
For when you looked into my mother’s eyes you knew, as if He had told you, why God had sent her into the world…it was to open the minds of all who looked to beautiful things, by James M. Barrie.
A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. ~Tenneva Jordan
Quotes: searchwarp.com/swa321894.htm

anna-jarvis1

Story of Anna Jarvis
 
The story of Mothers Day is the story of firm determination of a daughter, Anna Jarvis who resolved to pay tribute to her mother, Mrs Anna M Jarvis and all other mothers of the world. Anna Jarvis dedicated her life to fulfill her mothers dream of the recognition of day for honoring mothers. Though never a mother herself, Founder of Mother’s Day, Anna Jarvis is today recognised as the ‘Mother of Mothers Day’. An apt title to define the remarkable woman’s ceaseless devotion to her mother and motherhood in general.

Anna Jarvis: Childhood
Anna Jarvis was born in Webster, Taylor County, West Virginia, on May 1, 1864. She was the ninth of eleven children born to Ann Marie and Granville Jarvis. Her family moved to Grafton when Anna was a year old. It was here that the Anna did her schooling. In 1881, she enrolled at the Augusta Female Academy in Staunton, Virginia, now Mary Baldwin College. After finishing her academics, Anna returned to Grafton and did teaching in a school for seven years.

Anna Jarvis: Inspiration for Mothers Day
Anna Jarvis got the inspiration of celebrating Mothers Day quite early in life. It so happened that one day when Anna was 12 years old, Anna’s mother Mrs Jarvis said a class prayer in the presence of her daughter. To conclude the lesson on ‘Mothers of the Bible’, Mrs Jarvis said a small prayer,

“I hope that someone, sometime will found a memorial mothers day commemorating her for the matchless service she renders to humanity in every field of life. She is entitled to it.”

Anna never forgot this prayer. And at her Mothers graveside service, she recalled the prayer and said, “…by the grace of God, you shall have that Mothers Day.” The words were overheard by her brother Claude.

Anna Jarvis: The Struggle for Mothers Day
After the death of her mother in 1905, Anna Jarvis resolved to honor her mother. She became all the more serious in her resolution when she found that adult children in the US were negligent in their behaviour towards there parents. Besides the desire of her mother that someone would one day pay tribute to all mothers, living and dead and appreciate their contributions made Anna decisions even more stronger.

In 1907, Miss Anna began an aggressive campaign to establish a National Mothers Day in US. On the second death anniversary of her mother she led a small tribute to her mother at Andrews Methodist Church. By the next year, Mother’s Day was also celebrated in her own city of Philadelphia.

To give shape to her resolution, Miss Anna Jarvis along with her supporters began to write hundreds of letters to those holding the positions of power advocate the need for a national Mothers Day. A fluent speaker, Anna used every platform to promote her cause. Though the response was cold initially, she achieved a breakthrough by gaining the support of great merchant and philanthropist, John Wanamaker of Philadelphia. The movement gained a fresh impetus with his support. In 1909, forty-five states including Puerto Rico, Hawaii, Canada and Mexico observed the day by appropriate services. People also wore white and red Carnations to pay tribute to their mothers, according to the tradition started by Anna Jarvis. Anna chose carnations because they were her mother’s favorite flowers. White carnation was her most favorite because it represented the purity of a mother’s heart. A white carnation was to be worn to honor deceased mothers, and a red one to honor a living mother.

By 1911, Mother’s Day was celebrated in almost every state of the Union. And in 1914, President Woodrow Wilson made the official announcement proclaiming Mother’s Day as a national holiday that was to be held each year on the second Sunday of May.

Anna Jarvis: Purpose of Celebrating Mothers Day
mothersdaycelebration.com/story-of-anna-jarvis.html

white flower

Elisabeth Eybers (geb. 1915)

Die vrou

Somer en herfs en winter trek in wye
onafgebroke wisseling deur die land,
maar sy bly draer van die lente want
liefde het haar verhef bo die getye.

Haat en verwoesting plant hul lamfervlae
in honderd stede en oral sink die nag;
vir háár op wie ook bloed en worsteling wag
klink nog die lied van vrede en welbehae.

Die uitgeteerde ruiter neig sy sens
en aarselend voor die klaarheid van haar blik
erken selfs hy sy heerskappy se grens:

in haar wat die onsterflikheid bewaak
ontkiem die toekoms in die flou getik
van lewe wat voorwêreldlik ontwaak.

For My Children

How motherhood would change my life, not for one moment did I expect;
And equally change me – an apprentice mother tutored by motherhood each day.
As I thrilled to watch my children grow, their joy of life I strived to reflect –
Endeavouring not to cause their tears, while kissing their little sorrows away.

What a delight to turn tiny eyes from tearful to brighter than the sunrise.
Now they do it for me and swell my heart with but a simple word!
I’d give my life for them without any hesitation; I know they realise
That my love is the one unchangeable thing in an ever-changing world.

As I turn out my memory box, happy times and laughter I remember.
A little wooden heart, a serviette holder, a purple paper rose,
All made with love and an effort to evoke a hug, a tear, a smile so tender.
What these gifts truly meant to me, only God in heaven knows.

On my down days, a call from one of them who has sensed I’m feeling low,
Makes the sun shine warmer, birds sing sweeter and butterflies colourfully play.
Sure I was there to show them their first puppy, rabbit or rainbow.
But they’ve shown me how to see all things in a fresh and finer way.

I recall the times when I truly believed my heart would burst with pride
At one of their successes; I ask how a child of mine could do so well.
A blessing each one has been, a gift from God – a fact I’ll never hide.
I beg Him to guide and protect them, then in peace I’ll continue to dwell.

From a moment long gone when plump little arms were entwined around my neck
With the words, ‘I love you, Mommy,’ to the undeserved gifts they send,
It’s my kids who provide me with great joy and imbue me with deep strength
To smile at the future so graciously, with each as a loyal and loving friend.

Heather Smit

Everything Mom
How did you find the energy, Mom
To do all the things you did,
To be teacher, nurse and counselor
To me, when I was a kid.
How did you do it all, Mom,
Be a chauffeur, cook and friend,
Yet find time to be a playmate,
I just can’t comprehend.
I see now it was love, Mom
That made you come whenever I’d call,
Your inexhaustible love, Mom
And I thank you for it all.
By Joanna Fuchs

Best Mom Award
For all the things I didn’t say,
About how I felt along the way–
For the love you gave and the work you’ve done,
Here’s appreciation from your admiring son.
You cared for me as a little tot,
When all I did was cry a lot,
And as I grew your work did too–
I ran and fell and got black and blue.
I grew some more and it didn’t stop;
Now you had to become a cop,
To worry about mistakes I’d make;
You kept me in line for my own sake.
I got older, and the story repeated;
You were always there whenever I needed.
You guided me and wished me the best,
I became wiser and knew I was blessed.
So, for all the times I didn’t say,
The love I felt for you each day,
Mom, read this so you can always see
Just how much you mean to me.
Mom, Thanks for everything!
By Karl Fuchs
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This picture was taken today… the church can be seen from our house! Click on the image for a larger view. Enjoy the poem I’ve chosen to support the picture…

Sunset

When I was growing as a little kid
I dread for sunset to come
And darkness to fill the earth
I was so afraid of being alone
Lying on my small bed waiting for the sun to rise

O Lord I thank thee
For allowing me to see how beautiful the sunset is
Each day colours of the sunset is so different from yesterday
I marvel and is awed by your masterpiece

And throughout my journey
I’ve learned sunset in life is often rest and peace
Not something to be afraid of
But something to look forward to
A haven, a sanctuary

Now as I watched the flame of the sun
Slowly changing into grays
Intertwined in blazing but subdued red and orange
I can see the Lord’s arms spread across
A sunset telling me I am home

Rita Umali

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Harrismith

This pic is from the BBC’s website, taken near Harrismith, South Africa

When I was at Primary School I had to know this poem. I’ve translated this poem as I’ve thought it’s just a brilliant poem to be shared and enjoyed by English readers too. Update 2011: I was lucky that this translation was chosen as part of a Reading Series in South Africa. I’ve just received my booklet from the publishers in South Afria. The series: Enchanted Stone Series – Wonderful Verses by F. Viljoen & L. Southey. The book is a Reader 3 Level 6-book.


This is my translation of the poem…”Dans van die reen”

Read my translation on this link too…

http://allpoetry.com/opoem/121576-Eugene-Marais-The-Dance-of-the-Rain

‘n Vriendelike versoek: Indien jy van my vertaling van die gedig hou, kan jy asseblief ook so gaaf en vriendelik wees en die Kopiereg-reel gehoorsaam en erkenning gee aan die vertaler van die gedig? Baie dankie, ek sal dit waardeer. Ek het die moeite aangegaan om die gedig te vertaal en dink darem dat dit net goeie maniere is om ook erkenning te gee waar nodig.

English readers: If you enjoy this translation of my poem and you would like to use it on your site – or somewhere else: It’s just good manners and being polite to acknowledge the person who translated the poem! There is the law of copyright and I think we should all obey it. Nikita is my nickname I use for the blog, my own Afrikaans poems and poems I translate. Thank you for your consideration.

The Dance of the Rain
Song of the violinist: Jan Konterdans
translated by:Nikita

The Dance of the Rain
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
First, over the hilltop she peeps stealthily
and her eyes are shy
and she laughs softly
From afar she begs with her one hand
her wrist-bands shimmering and her bead-work sparkling
softly she calls
She tells the wind about the dance
and she invites it, because the yard is spacious and the wedding large
The big game rush about the plains
they gather on the hilltop
their nostrils flared-up
and they swallow the wind
and they crouch to see her tracks in the sand
The small game, deep down under the floor, hear the rhythm of her feet
and they creep, come closer and sing softly
“Our Sister! Our Sister! You’ve come! You’ve come!”
and her bead-work shake,
and her copper wrist-bands shine in the disappearance of the sun
On her forehead, rests the eagle’s plume
She decends down from the hilltop
She spreads her ashened cloak with both arms
the breath of the wind disappears
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
©~~Christa (translator) pen name: Nikita
—————

DIE DANS VAN DIE REËN – Eugene Marais
Lied van die vioolspeler. Jan Konterdans.
Uit die Groot Woestyn

O die dans van ons Suster!
Eers oor die bergtop loer sy skelm,
en haar oge is skaam;
en sy lag saggies.
En van ver af wink sy met die een hand;
haar armbande blink en haar krale skitter;
saggies roep sy.
Sy vertel die winde van die dans
en sy nooi hulle uit, want die werf is wyd en die bruilof groot.
Die grootwild jaag uit die vlakte,
hulle dam op die bulttop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate
en hulle sluk die wind;
en hulle buk, om haar fyn spore op die sand te sien.
Die kleinvolk diep onder die grond hoor die sleep van haar voete,
en hulle kruip nader en sing saggies:
“Ons Suster! Ons Suster! Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom!”
En haar krale skud,
en haar koperringe blink in die wegraak van die son.
Op haar voorkop is die vuurpluim van die berggier;
sy trap af van die hoogte;
sy sprei die vaalkaros met altwee arms uit;
die asem van die wind raak weg.
O, die dans van ons Suster!

[Uit: Versamelde gedigte – Eugene Marais]

On THIS LINK you can read more about him and read one of his books online…”The Soul of the White Ant”… a study of termites…

termite

Read HERE on BBC about the death of the rain queen in 2005. She was the sixth rain queen…Makobo Modjadji, the rain queen of the Balobedu people.  And… THIS is the “valley” of the rain queen.

rainqueen1

Rain Queen Modjaji

More about the Rain Queens on this link…..Please click HERE to read more and to see whereabouts the Rain Queen lives!

Visitors to the area always brought Modjadji gifts and tribute, including cattle and their daughters as wives, to appease her so that she would bring rain to their regions. The custom is allied to an emphasis on fertility of the land and the population. The name Lobedu is thought to derive from the practice, referring to the daughters or sisters who were lost to their families. The Rain Queen extends her influence through her wives, because they link her politically to other families or villages. Her status as marrying women does not appear to indicate lesbianism, but rather the queen’s unique ability to control others.
During the Mfecane, which took place in the early 19th century, Modjadji moved her tribe further south into the fertile Molototsi Valley, where they founded the present day Kingdom
p1270864.jpg
In South Africa they sell these little African dolls and I love them.I want to call this doll my little “rain queen.”
Read on THIS LINK about the Balobedu people.
Beautiful song! called the “Rain Dance”.- by Adiemus


This song’s title is also called…”Rain Dance”-by Michael Chapdelaine

 

6/3/2015 Found on Poem Hunter – my translation!

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Image…Wikipedia
Click HERE on this post to read my translation of his poem “Dans van die reën” in English…The link will open in a new window. “The Dance of the rain”…and you can read about this book on the link too.

Dance_in_rain_peerflydotcom

EUGÈNE Marais was a South African poet, a story-teller, a journalist, a lawyer, a psychologist, a natural scientist, a drug-addict, and a great genius — an abused and forgotten genius, and the world is the worse off for that.”
Read “Soul of the Ant” HERE online.

 

Eugene Marais was one of  South Africa’s more talented writers/poets. I love his poems although I haven’t read his books. I borrowed “The Soul of the Ant” one day – when I was at Primary – but I guess I was too young to read such a book, so I didn’t finish it and read only the first few pages. Some of his poems is about nature like the ‘Winter’s Night’ (translated in English here) and the “Dans van die reën” which is -translated: ‘Dance of the rain.‘ In this poem, he describes the animals’ reaction when the rain is on its way and he describes the rain and her ‘dance.‘ Marais is just brilliant in the way he played with words/metaphors etc. Sadly, he committed suicide in 1936.
Read
HERE on Wiki  more about him. The link will open in a new window.
On the bottom of this post you will find a link to a post on my blog – in English – about Eugene Marais…he was a naturalist, scientist, writer and poet. He made a study of  ants and you can see the book he wrote “The soul of the Ant” on that link…and his other book…”The soul of the Ape”
 

Author: Julee Dickerson Thompson
ISBN: 865432597
Binding: Paperback
Publisher: Africa World Press (March 1997)

The following translation of Marais’ “Winternag” is by J. W. Marchant:

“Winter’s Night”

O the small wind is frigid and spare
and bright in the dim light and bare
as wide as God’s merciful boon
the veld lies in starlight and gloom
and on the high lands
spread through burnt bands
the grass-seed, astir, is like beckoning hands.

O East-wind gives mournful measure to song
Like the lilt of a lovelorn lass who’s been wronged
In every grass fold
bright dewdrop takes hold
and promptly pales to frost in the cold!

Eguene N Marais
WINTERNAG
by Eugene Marais

O koud is die windjie
en skraal.
En blink in die dof-lig
en kaal,
so wyd as die Heer se genade,
le die velde in sterlig en skade
En hoog in die rande,
versprei in die brande,
is die grassaad aan roere
soos winkende hande.

O treurig die wysie
op die ooswind se maat,
soos die lied van ‘n meisie
in haar liefde verlaat.
In elk’ grashalm se vou
blink ‘n druppel van dou,
en vinnig verbleek dit
tot ryp in die kou!

DIE DANS VAN DIE REËN – Eugene Marais
Lied van die vioolspeler. Jan Konterdans.
Uit die Groot Woestyn
O die dans van ons Suster!
Eers oor die bergtop loer sy skelm,
en haar oge is skaam;
en sy lag saggies.
En van ver af wink sy met die een hand;
haar armbande blink en haar krale skitter;
saggies roep sy.
Sy vertel die winde van die dans
en sy nooi hulle uit, want die werf is wyd en die bruilof groot.
Die grootwild jaag uit die vlakte,
hulle dam op die bulttop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate
en hulle sluk die wind;
en hulle buk, om haar fyn spore op die sand te sien.
Die kleinvolk diep onder die grond hoor die sleep van haar voete,
en hulle kruip nader en sing saggies:
“Ons Suster! Ons Suster! Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom!”
En haar krale skud,
en haar koperringe blink in die wegraak van die son.
Op haar voorkop is die vuurpluim van die berggier;
sy trap af van die hoogte;
sy sprei die vaalkaros met altwee arms uit;
die asem van die wind raak weg.
O, die dans van ons Suster!

[Uit: Versamelde gedigte – Eugene Marais]
Read on THIS LINK on my blog more about Eugene Marais…Article in English…The link will open in a new window.

dvdreen_laurinda

I don’t know Laurinda Hofmeyr’s music, but she’s got an album with the song…”Dans van die reen”. I hope one of my blogger-visitors from SA would be able to tell me more…

Snitte:
1. Lied van die bruidegom – Johan Myburg
2. 26 November 1975 – Breyten Breytenbach
3. Op reis na die Suide – Breyten breytenbach
4. Inbrand – Breyten Breytenbach
5. Die dans van die reën – Eugène N. Marais
6. Kind – Rabindranath Tagore
7. Ek sal sterf en na my vader gaan – Breyten Breytenbach
8. ‘n Halwe engel – Breyten Breytenbach
9. Last grave at Dimbaza – Fanie Olivier
10. Die reis – Breyten Breytenbach
11. Lied van die bruidegom (improvisasie)

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Love Poems



All links in this post will open in a new window.
I will always like the music of Queen..this song is called..Las Palabras de Amor. Enjoy!

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightfowardingly, without complexeties or pride. So I love you because i know no other way than this…” Pablo Neruda

“A kiss is something you cannot give without taking and cannot take without giving.”

“Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man’s son doth know”. William Shakespeare in Twelfth Night (II, iii, 44-45)
“Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.” Alexander Smith

Enjoy this song by South African singer…Steve Hofmeyr…”You got me”…


And this South African Golden Oldie! Ge Korsten with “Liefling” and liefling means..”darling”…


Enjoy this song…”Fields of Gold” by Eva Cassidy

Enjoy this song by Ilse de Lange: “What does your heart say now?”


Slide down for the article…”Romance in Chess”…


Listen to the poem on this audio file too…by Robert Burns….source: http://www.chivalry.com/cantaria/lyrics/redredrose.html
Notes: According to “Scottish Songs Illustrated,” this song is a Robert Burns rewrite of an older street ballad, which is said to have been written by a Lieutenant Henches, as a farewell to his betrothed.

0, my love is like a red, red rose,
that’s newly sprung in June.
0, my love is like a melody,
that’s sweetly play’d in tune.

As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
so deep in love am I,
And I will love thee still, my dear,
till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt wi’ the sun!
And I will love thee still, my dear,
while the sands of life shall run.

And fare the weel, my only love!
And fare the well awhile!
And I will come again, my love.
Tho it were ten thousand mile!


Read on THIS LINK too the poem by Elizabeth Barret Browning…”How do I love thee”…enjoy! One of my favourites!

”How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…”
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Today I’m in a mood to blog about love… What is love? What is your view, we discussed this at work….and we all agreed to the following conclusions…..Is it a sensation..a shared feeling between two people… ..based on physical and emotional attraction..  spontaneously generates when the right person appears. And of course also, it can spontaneously degenerate when the magic “just isn’t there” anymore. You fall in love, and you can fall out of it.
Love is the attachment that results from deeply appreciating another’s goodness. What we value most in ourselves, we must value most in others. God created us to see ourselves as good ….hence our need to either rationalize or regret our wrongdoings….In the Bible He said…after creating us humans… “and that was good”… So, too, we seek goodness in others. Nice looks, an engaging personality, intelligence, and talent may attract you, but goodness is what moves you to love.LOVE IS A CHOICE. Love is active. You can create it. Just focus on the good in another person …..and everyone has some!! If you can do this easily, you’ll love easily.
Love is care, demontrating active concern for the recipient’s life. Love is responsibility. Love is respect, the ability to see a person as he/she is, to be aware of his/her unique individuality. A big part of love is putting another person’s happiness ahead of your own. If you have to “prove” your love to someone, I don’t believe that he/she loves you the way you might think he/she does.When you love another person you don’t ask them to sacrifice a part of themselves in the name of that love. Love is not about jealousy. It is not about conflict. It is not about testing. Love is not about spitefulness. How do you show love to other people? Nobody expect you to “love” all people the way you love your husband/wife, but it is expected from us to “love your neighbour as you love yourself”.
Enjoy the poem: Love Song by T S Eliot
Communication, Communication, and Communication……..on THIS LINK you can read how important communication in a relationship between a married couple is.The link will open in a new window.

 

T S Eliot

On THIS LINK you can read his extract “The Game of Chess”.
Click HEREto read more love poems on my blog.

And…on THIS LINK on my blog….you can read the poem of E A Poe…Annabel Lee…a beautiful love poem.
Ben Jonson

T H E F O R E S T .
IX. — SONG. — TO CELIA.

Drink to me, only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine ;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine :
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not wither’d be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent’st it back to me :
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

Love Song

I lie here thinking of you:
the stain of love
is upon the world!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into the leaves,
smears with saffron
horned branched the lean
heavily
against a smooth purple sky!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from leaf to leaf
and limb to limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world-
you far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the west!

~~~William Carlos Williams

 

 

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats 5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Song to Celia
by Ben Jonson

Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove’s Nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did’st onely breath,
And sent’st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
Not of it selfe, but thee.

Read about Ben Jonson HERE

Robert Browning
A Woman’s Last Word
Let’s contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
—Only sleep!
What so wild as words are?
I and thou
In debate, as birds are,
Hawk on bough!

See the creature stalking
While we speak!
Hush and hide the talking,
Cheek on cheek!

What so false as truth is,
False to thee?
Where the serpent’s tooth is
Shun the tree—

Where the apple reddens
Never pry—
Lest we lose our Edens,
Eve and I.

Be a god and hold me
With a charm!
Be a man and fold me
With thine arm!

Teach me, only teach, Love
As I ought
I will speak thy speech, Love,
Think thy thought—

Meet, if thou require it,
Both demands,
Laying flesh and spirit
In thy hands.

That shall be to-morrow
Not to-night:
I must bury sorrow
Out of sight:

Must a little weep, Love,
(Foolish me!)
And so fall asleep, Love,
Loved by thee.

–Robert Browning

Next I have a National Poet of South Africa…A G Visser. He’s written some beautiful love poems in Afrikaans!
A.G. Visser en Lettie Conradie.
Hy trou in 1913 met Lettie, oorlede in 1920,
en in 1927 met Marie de Villiers.
Read more about
A G Visser here on this link.

Liefdes gedigte: A G Visser
Misère
(Triolet)
The light that lies
In women’s eyes
Just… lies and lies!

In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink,
Dat die liefde iets is
so beroerd ongestadig?
Dat die hand wat uit gulde
bokale laat drink,
In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink
Dat dit eendag nog edik
en gal weer sal skink,
Ongevoelig meedoënloos,
wreed, ongenadig?
In die eerste instansie,
wie sou nou kon dink
Dat die liefde iets is
So beroerd ongestandig!

http://www.gedichtenbundel.be/testliefdefoto1Eheu fugaces…

Si jeunesse savait.
Si vitesse avait.
Onthou jy nog, Anita lief,
Die aand daar by die strand,
My hart vir jou ’n ope brief,
Jou handjie in my hand?
Die maanlig het die see gesoen,
Die see … die strand, nog heet –
En ons … wat kon ons anders doen?
Kan ons dit ooit vergeet?
Cherie Yvonne, het jy vergeet
Die les in Afrikaans?
Die beste taal het ons geweet,
Die tyd in ou la France.
En aan my hemel onbewolk
Was jy die goue son;
“Toujours l’Amour” was onse tolk;
Onthou jy nog, Yvonne?
Mooi Gretchen, kan jy nog onthou
Ons tyd van soete min?
Die Neckar met sy waters blou,
Jou ogies blou daarin?
Die donkergroene dennewoud
Was liefdes-heiligdom –
Alt Heidelberg, die jeug van goud,
En jy – sal nooit weer kom!
En, bonnie Jean, onthou jy nog
Die eiland van die Swaan?
Ben Lomond en die donker loch
By heldere somermaan?
Aan rosebanke trek ons twee
(Was dit ’n droom – wie weet?)
Wit swane oor die lewensee –
Kan ek dit ooit vergeet?
Maar eenmaal in die lewe kom
Die liefde weergaloos;
En eenmaal in die gaarde blom
Volmaak ’n wonderroos.
Verwelk, helaas, my tuin se prag –
Weg met die donker stroom –
Die wind deurwaai my hof by nag
En vind my met my droom.
O lippe wat nog lag en lonk!
O harte wat nog klop!
Steeds doem gestaltes ewig-jonk
Uit die verlede op.
“Eheu fugaces anni …” sing
Gedagtes wat nou skroei;
Op velde van herinnering
Pers amarante bloei!

Ballade van die roos

’n Ou Spaanse gesegde noem die volgende
drie stadieë in die lewe van ‘n roos:
In die more: rosa pallida.
In die middag: rosa perfecta.
In die aand: rosa incarnada

Waarheen ook my oë mag staar
En waar ook my voete mag gaan,
Geduriglik droom ek van haar;
Haar beeltenis lief lag my aan,
Ek sien – as die sterrelig taan –
’n Roosknop wat stadig ontvou: –
– My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan –
O „Pallida Rosa”, vir jou!

O blomkelk, met skoonheid belaan,
Ek smag op die middag-uur lou
My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan
O „Rosa Perfecta”, na jou!

Ek ken jou nog nie – dit is waar –
Maar êrens moet jy tog bestaan;
Die aandson gloei rooi op die blaar
En ’k voel jy’s g’n ydele waan,
Want rooi sprei die liefde haar vaan!
En donker die oë getrou
– My noointjie van ver-hier-vandaan –
O Roos „Incarnada” – van jou!

red_roses1

Andries Gerhardus Visser (1878 – 1929)

visser_lettie

Image:  http://users.telenet.be/

This first video is the song “Words” by F R David

Princesse Lointaine

Was jy ’n rosebloesem
En ek die roos se geur,
Hoe heerlik deur die lewe
Steeds rondom jou te swewe.
Beswymend aan jou boesem,
Betower deur jou kleur.
Was jy ’n rosebloesem
En ek die roos se geur.

Was jy ’n lied se woorde
En ek die melodie.
Hoe sou die dag verheerlik
Jou skoonheid so begeerlik;
Die nag tril van akkoorde
En soetste harmonie.
Was jy ’n lied se woorde,
En ek die melodie.

Was jy die hoogste kranse,
En ek die sonnegloed.
Jou wange sou dan verwe
En op jou lippe sterwe
My eerste moreglanse
En laaste awend-groet;
Was jy die hoogste kranse
En ek die sonnegloed

Maar jy ’s Prinses van Verre
En ek… ’n troebadoer;
Al gloei ook my gesange
Van liefde en verlange,
– Die vuurvlieg vir die sterre –
Wat my ten hemel voer;
Jy bly Prinses van Verre
En ek… ’n troebadoer.

prinses.jpg

Stille Rivierstroom….Nick Taylor

Die middagson helder en klaar
Sien neer van sy blou hemelbaan;
Die roos sal haar hart openbaar
Aan wie haar geheime verstaan.
Jou huis is waar jou hart is
My hart is leeg geween
Vandat sy verdwyn het
wandel ek oral alleen

Sing oor somer briese
Jou weemoed sleep weer oor
Saammet die lowerstruike
sing my ‘n hemelse koor

Chorus:
Liefde, Liefde’s ‘n stille rivierstroom
wat vloei deur ons woestynland
Droog die rivier weg
dan sal al die klein vissies sterf

Ek stap deur lee strate
Die echo’s maak my seer
My hart is soos my hande
soekend maar bly altyd leeg

Woestyne kan my nie keer nie
Ek baan deur storms my weg
Ek sal die rivier weer terugvind
voor hierdie klein vissie sterf

Chorus

ROMANCE IN CHESS?
Romance in chess? ‘What could possibly be less romantic than chess?’ you might be asking. After all, chess is a game of war based on logic, isn’t it? There is nothing romantic about war or logic.

Many players are familiar with the famous quote by Dr. Siegbert Tarrasch from the preface to his classic manual The Game of Chess : ‘Chess, like love, like music, has the power to make men happy’ (which politically correct writers of more recent times change to ‘the power to make people happy’). Less familiar is Tarrasch’s preceding sentence, ‘I have always a slight feeling of pity for the man who has no knowledge of chess, just as I would pity the man who has remained ignorant of love.’

Chess once served a social function of allowing young men and women to meet above the board. Echecs et Féodalité : Raoul de Cambrai (Chess and feudalism; from Culture et curiosités, see the link box in the upper right corner of this article) tells of a poem by Bertolai, a 10th century poet from Laon, France. The poem, about a war of succession in Northern France, references chess twice. In the second reference chess is used as an excuse by the daughter of the new overlord Guerri to woo the hero Bernier to her chambers. Her chamberlain, assigned the task of arranging the meeting, says to Bernier, ‘My young lord, you can be proud of yourself, since the daughter of Guerri, the most noble woman from here to the south of France, asks that you join her in her apartments, to play chess. You should comply, but don’t play chess.’

The significance of this might be lost in our age of instant gratification, but as recently as 100 years ago, chess still occasionally served as a means to a more romantic end.


This popular illustration by Clarence Frederick Underwood (American, 1871-1929), is often listed under various titles. Our favorite is Knight takes Queen. This theme is not as unique as you might think. One web site has a collection of more than 50 drawings and photos, all with the theme ‘Couples playing chess’ (see the link box again). The images invariably have titles like ‘The right move’, ‘The greatest game in the world’, or variations on the word mate : ‘Impending Mate’, ‘Check and mate’, etc. The word ‘checkmate’ even figured in at least one early valentine.

‘My little love do you remember,
Ere we grew so sadly wise,
When you and I played chess together,
Checkmated by each others eyes?’
Source: http://chess.about.com/library/weekly/aa05b12.htm

love all night

Wow, one chess player on the chess site tells me he’s busy reading this book! E..er…

love rose

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afrikaans-monument1.jpg
The Afrikaans Language Monument and Museum, Paarl, Cape Town

 

 

  

I love you….in Afrikaans…”Ek is lief vir jou”..
Read on Wikipedia about this monument and on THIS link there’s more info about it. Why Afrikaans is not an African language and I agree 100% with the writer of this article.
Read on
Wikipedia more about Afrikaans.

Afrikaans

Die taal wat ek liefhet

Afrikaans

Die taal wat ek praat

Afrikaans

Die taal waarin ek dink

Afrikaans

Die taal waarin ek droom

Afrikaans

Die taal van my hart

Afrikaans

Die taal wat ek koester

Vir nou en altyd

Afrikaans

Jy is myne

Afrkaans

Jy is nou

Afrikaans

Jy is besonders

Afrikaans

Jy is uniek

Afrikaans

Jy is getrou

Afrikaans:

My denke
My wese
My lewe!

~~Nikita~~

lily

Dat alle liefde
Dat alle liefde moet verlore gaan
en wegwaai in die wye lug,
waar hierdie dooie ster sy norse vlug
neem deur die stiltes van sy baan –

dit is die vrees, dit is die eensaamheid
wat my, geboe, met die hande krom
rondom die kersie van ons liefde, stom
laat skuil in kleinlike verlatenheid.

(deur: N.P. van Wyk Louw)

 WAGHONDJIES (Jan F. Celliers)

Ek is hier, en Ma is hier,
Ons twee lê op Baas se baadjie.
Wie is jy?
Kom, loop verby,
Anders word ons knor ‘n daadjie –
Kry jou bene dalk ‘n hap.
Kry jou broekspyp dalk ‘n gaatjie.
Mooipraat? Nee, ons ken jou nie.
Weg jou hand en raak ons nie!
“Oppas,” het die baas gesê,
“Tot ek weer kom, hier bly lê.”
Op ons pootjies lê ons kop,
Maar ons hou jou darem dop.
Toe-oog slaap ons op die baadjie,
Maar ons loer nog deur ‘n gaatjie –
Een oor plat, en een oor op,
PAS-OP!!

Amanda Strydom, South African artist is having a conversation in Afrikaans with a Dutch TV/Radio presenter. Both of them understand one another!

Coenie de Villiers and Steve Hofmeyr singing Afrikaans

nikita.jpg

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I was tagged by MEGHNA to do a meme. This meme is about 5 links on your blog that you like most and then I have to tag 5 other bloggers to do the same!

It was really difficult for me to decide which 5 links are my favourite, as I have more favourites than just 5 for the following reasons: I love History…and I have  quite a few posts relating to History. I do love poetry! and I really have so many poets that I favour, it was really difficult to decide which link! I love chess! and I think at this stage…with the covering of Corus and the African Juniors… I think about 1/4 of my links are chess-related posts, as I have about 20 of my own games posted too! Then…books! Drop me at any bookshop and I’m happy as a pig in Palestine!! So…I tried to focus on what I like/love and tried to find posts that I think might interest you as the reader! Enjoy!

1. Read on Still Tuesday about The Butterfly Lion..and Meghna…I do hope you get hold of this book to read it…the setting starts in South Africa and then moves to England…one of the best books I’ve read…although it’s a book for children age 9-11… due to my work…in South Africa as a library teacher too…I read zillions of books to be able to support children in knowing what’s good to read! and I love children’s books…they are the best!

2. Chess!! African Junior Chess Championships that took place early in January 2008 in Malawi. I covered the tournament with interactive games …so…enjoy yourself with the best from the rest!

3. Suncatcher! Sonvanger On this link you can listen to the song in Afrikaans whilst following the words in English… really a nice song, beautifully sang by two artists and one of them, Laurika Rauch, is really gold dust in South Africa!

4. On Seven II you will find a poem which I translated. Read what it is about, a very sad incident in one of our country’s best poet’s life.

5. VERY interesting history to be read here… about South Africa.

Tag time! I’m tagging the following bloggers…they are all in my blogroll…MyKop’nBlog…Boer-in-Ballingskap…Krokodil-kou-aan….and Willie-werkie…unfortunately, only Krokodil-kou-aan’s blog is an English blog…but beautiful photos to see on the other blogs!

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Gister en vandag

Ek sit met gedagtes wat loop
gedagtes van hartseer tot by die bo-loop
van gister, gister se nadraai
van herinneringe wat is – oorlaai

Gister se herinneringe – vars in my geheue
en ek koester die seer in my hart gedweë
ek wil onthou, onthou die mooi
wat nie meer in my is – die mooi

Die bedding van my hart
is deurtrap en bekrap
met spore van ink
van gedweë en dink —
ek het nog nie gevind
die liefde wat wink

Vandag, na gister – vandag
‘n dag van liefde en lag
Verby is die seer en terug die lag
ek’t gevind die liefde van my hart!

Liefde wat gewink het
 wat ek gevind het
 in aandskemering
tot in die môre – volbring!

Vandag, na gister – vandag
met ‘n hand vol sterre
sien ek in die verre
net die geluk in pag!
©Nikita ~~

PS:  Die gedig is ook geskryf in dieselfde tyd as die “Paaie…” gedig…as jy die ander een gelees het, dan kan jy dieselfde tema hier raaklees! Kommentaar…gooi dit! Jy hoef nie skaam te wees nie…ek kan dit hanteer!! lol!
Jy kan “Paaie van herinnering HIER lees en nog meer op die bladsy-link bo-aan my blog gemerk met “my poems/gedigte”. Enige kommentaar sal verwelkom word!

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English readers…link to my English poem is at the bottom of this post…and there’s more on “my poetry/gedigte”-page-link on top of my blog.
sun.jpg
Paaie van herinnering
Ek wandel op paaie van herinnering
in die laataand van my skemering
seer is die felle herinnering
opgewonde die blye ontmoeting
Ek klop aan die deur van smart
ek het nie vergeet die liefde van my hart
en drink soms die beker van smart
wat soos kanker bly vreet in my hart
Ek steek nie al die kerse aan
die brand — jy sal verstaan
as jy laat in die aand
net een kry wat brand
Net een wat steeds brand
vir ons liefde se stand
wat lank nie is: bestand
teen die wette van vanaand
~~~ ©Nikita


To read my English poem….please click HERE and feel welcome to drop me any comments! The link will open in a new window.

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bodysoul.jpg

Body and Soul

Standing by the window

I feel your closeness uncovered

looking back my eye catches a sunbeam

touching your unwrapped muscular body…

my soul surfing the lines

of your thoughts…

orbiting the aura that precedes

my imagination;

reaching and bursting through

the crust, entering my heart and

suddenly…I turned and the desire to meet

is far beyond my understanding.

~~~Nikita
©
Please feel free to leave any comments…positive/negative…! This is one of my very own!

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Will South Africans have to steel themselves for the future? Read the article at the bottom of this post and try answering this question!
bloodriver.png

bloodriver

This Battle took place on 16th December 1838. For some South Africans, like myself, the 16th December will always be a day to “remember”…a day to commemorate….on this day, the Battle of Blood River took place between the Zulu impis of Dingane and the Voortrekkkers. On this picture you can see the Voortrekker laager in a D-shape. That was because of the two rivers that meet there, the Donga – and the Ncome rivers. Sarel Cilliers, a Voortrekker leader and a preacher, had promised God that they will build a church and commemorate this day as a Sabbath day to thank God for helping them. God intervened in this Battle and till 1993, this day was always a public holiday in South Africa to commemorate the events of that day. Today, after 1994, it is now called  a day of “Reconciliation”. Read HERE about it. On the  first image you can see information about the two groups and on the Wiki-link, you can even read more….
This is a fantastic site to read more and there are really great pictures to see too…CLICK here to read more and you can even visit other historical sites!

On THIS link there is a time line and you can see all the kings of the Zulu, very interesting reading!

“On December 16th, dawn broke on a clear day, revealing that ” ‘all of Zululand sat there’ ,” said one Trekker eyewitness (Mackenzie 1997:74). On his deathbed 30 years later, Sarel Cilliers recalled that before the battle commenced, the Trekkers had made a vow to God that if He should deliver them, they would build a church and commemorate the day as a Sabbath.”

Read HERE about the Battle of Blood River between the Voortrekkers and the Zulu impis of Dingane.

From the news front:News24.com
24.com/news/?p=tsa&i=790538

South Africa

2007-12-16 22:13

Johannesburg – Democratic Alliance leader Helen Zille has slammed the singing of Umshini wam (Bring me my machine gun) by delegates at the African National Congress’s 52nd national conference in Polokwane. “What will the world conclude about delegates who sing Bring me my machine gun – and that on the official Day of Reconciliation?” asked Zille.

“The contest for the top job has become a battle for access to perks of various offices and the institutions of state to use against other opponents” she said in a statement.

Zille could understand why ANC president Thabo Mbeki and others lamented this state of affairs.

Read the complete  News article here.

This next poem is about Blood River…
source: http://365spore.blogspot.com
Deur Theo Wassenaar
Die Slag van Bloedrivier
==16 Desember 1838==

Die Ooste gloei. Dit is die dag.
Wat vóór die Ooster-poorte wag
En aarsel om die donker waas,
Waar voor sy oog hang, weg te blaas:

Want o, wat sal sy oog aanskou –
Dan bloed, dan bloed, dan moord en rou?
Maar nee, hy skeur die sluier oop…
Dáár word Suid-Afrika gedoop!
Wat is dit, wat ek ginds gewaar,
Daar langs die donker berge, dáár?
Dit is Dingaan se swarte drom,
Dit is Dingaan! Die Zoeloes kom!
Gryp, Trekker, gryp jou kruit en roer
En staan jou man, jou naam is Boer!
Beskawing moet hier segevier,
Of Afrika is vir die dier!

Hul kom! Hul kom met woede aan,
Soos vuur, in hoë gras geslaan,
Wat, op die wind se vlug gedraag,
Al knett’rend oor die grassaad jaag,
En vir geen pad of vóórbrand stuit;
Die vlamme-arrems gryp vooruit,
Verteer al wat hul beet kan kry,T
ot as alléén nog orig bly.

Hul kom! Hul kom soos aasvoëls aan,
Die wye vlerke oopgeslaan,
En bek en pote rooi gekleur
Van prooi, nog pas uiteengeskeur.
O hoor hoe dreun dit, soos hul kom!
Die woel en wemel rond en om,
Van skildvel, assegai, barbaar!
Van Zoeloes, Zoeloes aan mekaar!

Hul storm! Hul storm! Die swarte drom,
En skreeu en bokspring soos hul kom.
Maar in die Treklaer is dit stil,
Want elke Boer weet wat hy wil:
So oog hou wag; sy hart herhaal
Die vroom gelofte elke maal,
En naas hom staan sy Sanna klaar,
Die kruit en koeëls lê bymekaar.

Hul kom! Hul Kom! . . . maar ry aan ry
Stort neer om daar vir goed te bly.
Die Sannas bulder, die osse brul
En hardloop rond, met angs vervul;
Dit kletter hier, dit knetter daar,
Dit reën asgaaie op die laer.

Hul kom! Hul kom!. . . maar deins weer trug.
Hul kom! . . . maar kom met weifelsug,
Hul kom! . . . maar weifel weer, weifel,
Hul kom! . . . dit was die laaste keer.

Dis moed, wat volhou na begin,V
ertroue is dit, wat oorwin.
Sou vier maal honderd Trekkers dan
Vir twaalf maal duisend Kaffers kan
Verslaan? Aanskou die water maar,
Aanskou die sloot, die vlakte dáár:
Drie duisend lyke daar lê daar rond! . . .
Pretorius alleen is lig gewond.

O hart, wat blydskap het gesmaak,
Wie kan die trotse dag genaak,
Van Afrika’s beskawingsdoop,
En koud bloed deur sy hart laat loop?
Ja, Stem van donker Afrika,
Ons, wat jou naam met eer moes dra,
Ons woon hier op ‘n wêrelddeel,
Ons moes regeer, en is verdeel!

Persone wat aan die Slag van Bloedrivier deelgeneem het/People taking part in this battle
(lys is nie 100% bygewerk nie, maar die volgende persone is reeds geverifieër)
Source: http://www.boerevryheid.co.za/forums/showthread.php?t=11001
Hoofkommandant
Andries Wilhelmus Pretorius

Assistent Hoofkommandant
Karel Pieter Landman

Kommandante
Johannes H de Lange (Hans Dons), Jacobus Potgieter, Pieter Daniel Jacobs, Stephanus Erasmus, Jacobus Uys, Lukas Meyer

Laerkommandante
Albertus Pretorius (ook kanonnier), Lourens Erasmus, Piet Moolman (Rooi Piet), Christoffel Cornelis Froneman

Veldkornette
Johannes C Steyn, Gert Viljoen, HA Pretorius, Gert van Staden, Stephanus Lombard, Jan Scheepers, Hermanus Fourie, William Cowie, Casper Labuschagne, Jan Joubert (ook kanonnier en godsdiensleier)

Godsdiensleiers
Charl Cilliers, Jan du Plessis

Kanonniers
Piet Rudolph, Gerhardus Pretorius

Manskappe
Aucamp Piet
Badenhorst H
Badenhorst P
Bantjes Jan Gerritze
Beneke J
Bester Barend
Bester Lourens
Bester Paul Michiel
Bezuidenhout Daniel P
Biedolf
Bierman Isak
Biggar Alexander (kolonel)
Bodes Barend
Bornman Johannes Jurgens
Boshof Jan
Botha Ernst Adriaan Lodewyk
Botha Hendrik
Botha JC
Botha L
Botha PJ
Botha PR
Botha Theunis
Botha TF
Bothma Carel A
Bothma Daniel
Breytenbach Chris
Breytenbach Johannes Jacobus
Breytenbach Jacob Coenraad
Breytenbach Johan Hendrik
Bronkhorst Jacobus
Bronkhorst Johannes Jacobus
Bronkhorst Sam
Bruwer Eduard CD
Bruwer Hans
Bruyn Piet
Buitendag CH
Burger Jacobus J
Buys Piet
Claassens Christiaan
Coetzee J
Coetzer JJ
Coetzer Phillippus Jeremias
Coetzer Thys
Crombrink G
Cronje Abraham
Cronje Piet
Henning Dafel
Jan Dafel
Thomas Richard Dannhauser
De Beer Abraham
De Beer Christiaan M
De Beer C (sr)
De Beer Jan Christiaan
De Beer Johannes A
De Beer Stephanus A (sr)
De Beer Zacharias Jacobus
De Clercq Abraham
De Clercq B
De Clercq C
De Clercq J
De Jager A
De Jager Frederik J
De Jager Izak J
De Jager JW
De Jager Lodewyk
De Lange Adriaan (jr)
De Lange Robert
De Wet Kootjie
De Wet P
De Winnaar S
Dreyer C
Dreyer F
Dreyer I
Du Plessis Francois
Du Plessis Jan
Du Plessis P
Du Plooy Wouter
Du Plooy Hendrik
Du Plooy Willem
Du Preez PD
Dysel F
Engelbrecht Adriaan
Engelbrecht E
Engelbrecht Gerhardus
Engelbrecht H (Jong)
Engelbrecht HH (sr)
Engelbrecht Johannes Hendrik
Enslin Johannes Jacobus
Erasmus Antonie
Erasmus Barend
Erasmus Cornelis
Erasmus Daniel Elardus
Erasmus Hans
Erasmus Jacobus
Erasmus Pieter
Erasmus
Erasmus SE
Esterhuizen Jan
Ferreira Marthinus Stephanus
Fick Hendrik
Fisher Jan
Fourie Christiaan Erns
Fourie Dirk
Fourie Hermanus
Fourie Philip
Geer Carel
Giesing F
Gouws Daniel
Gouws J Marthinus
Gouws Jacob J
Gouws PM
Grove Hermanus
Greyling Jan
Grobbelaar Nicolaas Johannes
Grobbelaar Pieter Schalk
Hammes PJ
Hattingh C
Hattingh F
Hattingh JH (Hans)
Herbst M
Heydenreich Cornelis Frederik
Human PG
Jacobs Gabriel
Jacobs J Daniel
Jacobsz Jan
Hanse Willem
Jordaan Willem
Joubert Abraham Benjamin
Joubert Jan (Jacobus seun)
Joubert Jan (jr)
Joubert Pieter J
Joyce Robert
Kemp G
Kemp Jacobus
Kemp Petrus J
Klaassen P
Klopper Jacobus
Klopper H
Koekemoer C
Koekemoer Marthinus
Kritzinger Lewis
Kruger Jan
Kruger PE
Kruger TJ
Laas Cornelis
Laas Matthys
Labuschagne JP
Labuschagne JH (Jan Groen)
Labuschagne Willem Adriaan
Landman Jan AKP (sr)
Landman Jan (Doringberg)
Leech
Le Roux D
Le Roux Nicolaas
Liebenberg C
Liebenberg C (sr)
Lindeque P
Lombard Hermanus Antonie
Lombard Hans
Lombard S
Lotter J
Ludick MJ
Malan David D
Malan DJJ
Malan Jacob Jacobus
Malan Stephanus
Marcus F
Marais Coenraad
Marais Johannes L
Marais Stephanus Abraham
Mare Wynand Wilhelm
Maritz Pieter, Maritz Salmon Gerhardus
Maritz Stephanus
Martens Hendrik Jacobus
Martens J Thomas (sr)
Martens J Thomas (jr)
Marx Frans
Meintjies Albertus Jacobus
Meintjies Jacobus William
Meintjies Schalk
Mey Christiaan Lodewyk
Meyer Jacob
Meyer Lukas
Meyer Jan
Meyer Theodorus
Mienie Carel Johannes Hendrik
Mienie Jan Willem
Mienie Frederik Christiaan
Mienie Willem
Moolman I
Muller Christiaan
Naude Francois Paulus
Naude Jacob
Naude Philip Jacobus
Neethling Hendrik Ludolf
Neethling Schalk Willie
Neethling Willem
Nel LJ
Nel Theunis Jacobus
Nel Willem Gabriel
Nortje Joachim
Oberholzer Jan Albert
Olivier O
Olivier (Lang) Gert
Oosthuizen JJ (sr)
Oosthuizen Jan
Oosthuizen Marthinus
Opperman C
Opperman D
Parker Edward
Pieterse Frederik
Pieterse Nicolaas
Pieterse HJ
Potgieter Cornelis
Potgieter Evert F
Potgieter Hendrik
Potgieter J
Potgieter Matthys
Potgieter Hendrik Theunis
Potgieter Theodorus
Pretorius AP
Pretorius B
Pretorius Dewald Johannes
Pretorius Gideon
Pretorius MW
Pretorius Nicolaas
Pretorius Piet
Pretorius P (P seun)
Pretorius Samuel
Pretorius WJ
Pretorius Willem H
Prinsloo Jochemis (H seun)
Prinsloo NJ
Prinsloo W
Raads D
Raads G
Raath Philip
Raath Pieter
Raath Roelof
Ranger Simon
Reineke Adam
Retief Jacobus
Roscher P
Robbertse I
Robbertse Jan
Robbertse Matthys
Roets Hendrik
Rood
Roos Cornelis J
Roos G
Roux Dirk
Rudolph Bernard
Rudolph Pieter
Scheepers Coenraad F
Scheepers Gert
Scheepers H
Scheepers Jacobus Johannes
Scheepers Marthinus
Scheepers M (G seun)
Scheepers Stephanus Johannes
Schoeman Gert
Schoeman Johannes
Schutte Jan Harm Thomas
Slabbert G
Smit C (C seun)
Smith F
Snyman Coenraad FW
Snyman JH
Steenkamp Hermanus
Steenkamp Jan Harm
Steenkamp Piet L
Steyn Johannes Christoffel
Steyn Hermanus
Steyn Pieter
Strydom DJ
Strydom Hendrik
Strydom J
Strydom Pieter Gerhardus
Swanepoel Willem
Swart Pieter Johannes
Uys Dirk C
Uys Jan
Uys JJ (jr)
Uys Piet
Van der Berg H
Van der Berg Isak
Van der Merwe Andries
Van der Merwe C
Van der Merwe Christiaan Pieter
Van der Merwe Frederik J
Van der Merwe Jan
Van der Merwe Josias
Van der Merwe Lukas J
Van der Merwe LP
Van der Merwe M
Van der Merwe Willem
Van der Schyff D
Van der Schyff JD
Van Deventer Jan
Van Dyk Joseph
Van Dyk Sybrand
Van Gass Ferdinand P
Van Gass JF
Van Jaarsveld A
Van Loggerenberg H
Van Niekerk Izak Andries
Van Niekerk JAP
Van Niekerk P
Van Rensburg Lucas
Van Rensburg Nicolaas M
Van Rooyen GF
Van Rooyen Gert Reinier
Van Rooyen GT
Van Rooyen I
Van Rooyen Lukas
Van Rooyen Stephanus
Van Schalkwyk Christiaan
Van Schalkwyk Gert
Van Staden Cornelis
Van Staden VC
Van Straten Jacob
Van Venen D
Van Vuren Janse Lukas Gerhardus
Van Vuuren P
Van Zyl Jacobus
Venter A
Venter PA
Venter WD
Vermaak CI
Vermaak J
Viljoen Christoffel
Viljoen Gideon
Viljoen Johan H
Viljoen M
Viljoen Sarel
Visagie Jan

Bloedrivier is slegs ‘n week voor Geloftedag (16 Desember 2007) geskryf en gekomponeer. Bloedrivier is vir die eerste keer gesing op 16 Desember 2007 op Bloedrivier. Bloedrivier word op DV 18 Januarie 2008 in ‘n ateljee opgeneem waarna hy in CD formaat beskikbaar sal wees.

Bloedrivier – die liedjie

Resource: http://www.bravoland.co.za/forum/index.php/topic,207.msg30967.html

In 1838 is God se hulp gevra om die boere in hul nood te steun, te behoed en te bewaar
‘n Monument sal hulle bou en die dag sal heilig bly,
Hul enigste wapen – hul geloof – met die Here aan hul sy …

Die nag was kul en donker, die impi’s staan en wag,
die lampies op die ossewaens soos Mahlozi’s in die nag
‘n Strandwolf sluip daar tussendeur, hy’s onheilspellend daar
Die mis sak toe, die vyand druis, hul wag op die bevel.

In die geslote walaer, in ‘n see van heidendom
is daar ‘n lig wat helder skyn – die lig van Christendom.
Die stemme van ‘n mannekoor weerklink deur digte mis
Psalm agt-en-dertig, stel almal weer gerus.

KOOR
Maar dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds ons God vandag
Hy verstaan ons grootste vrese, Hy staan by ons deur die nag
Kom ons almal vat weer hande, erken sy grote Mag
Want dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds met ons vandag

Twee skote van ‘n dubbel-loop, die stryd het pas begin
Die isilongo kondig aan Dingaan – ons sal oorwin
Maar God ons Vader is met ons, die vyand word verslaan
Die veld drink bloed, soos op Golgota – dit moet ons verstaan

KOOR
Maar dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds ons God vandag
Hy verstaan ons grootste vrese, Hy staan by ons deur die nag
Kom ons almal vat weer hande, erken sy grote Mag
Want dieselfde God van Bloedrivier is steeds met ons vandag

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7 December-poem
This poem comes from a “poetic calendar”. There’s a poem for every day and it’s actually a book used by Teachers and I want to share a poem for today from this book! Fridays always feel to me like a special day for poetry! A day to relax! So…relax and enjoy! As student, Ingrid Jonker’s poems really appealed to me…and “Bitterbessie Dagbreek” was always somewhere on a door/wall in my room. At the bottom of this post, you will find a link to read more about her….her poems were translated in many languages!
Follow this link
HERE to listen to her poem in Afrikaans, and at the same time, you can read it in English! Please Click on the play button!
Love-light
A taper lit in sunlight,
Pale yellow leaf of flame,
An upturned heart that trembled
As soft winds breathed your name,
Its brightness was diluted;
But, when the darkness came,
It shone with such pure brilliance
As put the stars to shame.
Vernon Scannell 
From:Read Me2: A Poem For Every Day of The Year
writing.jpg

BITTERBESSIE DAGBREEK
Ingrid Jonker

Bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son
‘n spieël het gebreek
tusen my en hom

Soek ek na die grootpad
om daarlangs te draf
oral draai die paadjies
van sy woorde af

Dennebos herinnering
dennebos vergeet
het ek ook verdwaal
trap ek in my leed

Papegaai-bont eggo
kierang kierang my
totdat ek bedroë
weer die koggel kry

Eggo is geen antwoord
antwoord hy alom
bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son

On THIS LINK you will find interesting reading about her life! Read HERE more about INGRID JONKER.
ingridjonker.png
 
SONG 

 

 


Another Afrikaans poem of Ingrid…
Madeliefies in Namakwaland
~~~Ingrid Jonker
Waarom luister ons nog
na die 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 verskleurde land
~~~
sit die groen hotnotsgot van die veld
en ons hoor nog verdwaasd
klein blou Namakwaland-madeliefie
iets antwoord, iets glo, iets weet
. 

I had to blog this Afrikaans song of Laurika Rauch as I think the mood suits today’s poems!

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As you know, I was tagged by Meghna ….…to do a meme! Read what a meme is….(pronounced like in “dream”)…on a post of 2 days ago……OK, it was REALLY very difficult to decide WHERE to start first, as my time is now very little after starting an IT course today! So, I had to think quickly what I will post, as there are so MANY things I could write about!!, but to limit it to only SEVEN! That was very difficult….I made a list, crossed out, started with another, crossed out again…and then just started with what jumped to my mind!!I will have to do another one and another and another and another and…..wow….
First of all, I do LOVE teaching, as I see teaching as a CALLING and not just a job…(like I heard some teachers saying that here in London..) for me it is NOT  just a job!……..My great grandad left Holland to teach in South Africa and I think the teaching -blood is running through my veins! Click
here to see pictures of the current school. The link will open in a new window. The old school, which was in his very own house, is about 2 km from the current school.
I used to teach Primary and don’t think I ever want to teach Secondary……but if I have to…..It will have to be a subject like ICT only, as I do like IT and to incorporate ICT in any aspect of my teaching.


I love reading, I LOVE books…not just “like” it….I have about a library packed away in South Africa and have slowly started to build one again. Children’s books….adult books…If I’m teaching, you will always find me in a bookshop, leaving with many books! A book as a present to me…and you will make my day! I also like writing stories. During secondary school, I used to get good marks for creative writing…what we also call “composition”….and I was always eager to get homework in composition….I just loved to let my mind flow….one of my favourite books is “The Pearl” by John Steinbeck. Another book by him…”Of mice and men”…read at the bottom of my post about a play…

Poetry!!! On this picture you can see a famous and well-known South African poet…Totius…(pen name) …..J D du Toit….he wrote some fantastic poems, some of them very moving, like the one about the death of his own child, killed by lightning….really an emotional poem! His daughter stood by an open window, when lightning struck and he was there to witness everything…as his poem tells us…read my translated version of his poem at the bottom of the post…

South Africa!!! ……..I love my country to bits! I have a passion for South Africa.  South Africa will always be THE place to be!! No other country is as beautiful as South Africa. People who want to differ…they haven’t been there….and if they still do after being there…then they haven’t seen South Africa!!! On this picture you can see Simonstown…Cape Town…Read the blog…anamericaninpretoria.blogspot.com – and you will see why she loves South Africa too. One reason why I LOVE my country and will always do, no matter what!

And…….of course……..if you don’t know it by now…you will NEVER know! CHESS! I never played it at school. During Primary at the age of about 10, my brother taught me…I got my first chess book at the age of 12 from my one sister…..with Fischer/Spasski games in the back….I do like Bobby Fischer’s games…..I played them through as a child as I had no one to play with! No one in my family wanted to play chess…then at Secondary…it was always just BOYS when we were called to play chess…and I felt intimidated by them…no other girls! And the boys…always giving you the “look”…as if they wanna say…”hey…a girl playing chess!! how is that possible!”…I really started to get into chess when at my second school, the Headteacher asked me to start chess…….and I was over the moon! My kids really did well….I left at that school with two teams, each team…. 10 players and two reserves and a lot of Junior children…in South Africa they are Gr1-Gr3 (7-9 year old) kids in line to join the teams later… (If you click on this pic, you will see a good checkmate position, this player’s rating is a bit low, he only started playing quite recently, but has picked-up very quickly and sometimes, I really have to be very careful with my moves! We play friendlies and while playing, I try to help him with the closing of his games, as this is where his problem lies at the moment.)

I like the colour red ….although purple-pinkish is also one of my favourites…This top is a beautiful top!

…CATS!! I’m a catlover! Cats are peaceloving animals! They have personalities of their own and they have their own language to speak to you!! Listen to your cat!! and try to understand its language!!
The poem that follows now, is the one Totius wrote about his child. Read my English Translation further down….and I hope you enjoy it…although it’s a very sad poem!

John Steinbeck may have written “Of Mice and Men” as a novella, but he always had theatrical aspirations for it. After the book launched his literary celebrity in 1937, he turned it into a play, which began a respectable Broadway run later that year, and a critically acclaimed film followed. More stage and screen versions have been attempted, but no matter how good the dramatization, “Of Mice and Men” will always be that slim junior-high classic that (despite the teacher’s harping on foreshadowing) unlocked the gripping power of narrative storytelling…

O die pyn-gedagte

Totius….(JD du Toit)
O Die pyn-gedagte: My kind is dood! . . .
dit brand soos ‘n pyl in my.
Die mense sien daar niks nie van,
en die Here alleen die weet wat ek ly.

Die dae kom en die nagte gaan
die skadu’s word lank en weer kort;
die drywerstem van my werk weerklink,
en ek gaan op my kruisweg voort.

Maar daar skiet aldeur ‘n pyn in my hart,
so, dat my lewe se glans verdwyn;
Jou kind is dood met ‘n vreeslike dood!
En – ek gryp my bors van die pyn.

O Die bliksemgedagte! . . . Ja, lieflingskind,
een straal het jou skone liggaam verskroei,
maar bliksemstrale sonder tal
laat my binneste brand en bloei.

Sy was so teer soos ‘n vlindertjie,
sy’t lugtig omheen geswerf;
‘n asempie wind kon haar vlerkies breek
en – kyk watter dood moes sy sterf!

Hoe weinig die kinders wat so moet sterf,
dis een uit die tienduisend-tal,
en ag, dat dit sy was, en ek moes sien
dat sy dood in my arms val!

O Die pyn-gedagte: My kind is dood! . . .
dit brand soos ‘n pyl in my;
die mense die sien daar niks nie van,
en die Here alleen die weet wat ek ly.

Update…..as I promised…my own translation of the poem!

Oh the painful thought

Oh the painful thought: my child is dead!
It burns like a dart in my flesh…
People don’t see anything….
Only God knows my suffering!

Days come and nights go
Shadows grow tall and short
Behind me, the echo of my work’s moving spirit;
and I… continue my way to the cross

But then, a pain poked through my heart!
so much, the brilliance of my life disappeared;
Your child is dead; died a horrible death!
And I clenched my chest due to the pain…

Oh the thunderbolt-thought!….yes, beloved child!
One flash of lightning scorched your tender body,
but numerous thunderbolts burnt my heart
and left it …. bleeding

She was so tender, like a butterfly …
She glided lightly about;
A breath of wind could damage her tiny wings
and…what a death she died!

Few children die like this
only one in ten-thousand!
and oh!…It’s my little girl..
witnessed by me…. and died in my arms!

Oh the painful thought: my child is dead!
It burns like a dart in my flesh…
People don’t see anything…
Only God knows my suffering!
translated by….©~~Nikita



Die Vierkleur…Wikipedia

Die Vierkleur
DIE VIERKLEUR IS WEER IN GEVAAR . . .

Kom, burgers, trek die perde reg;
Nou vrou en kind goeien – dag geseg!
Jongkêrels, los die nôi se hand;
En seuns, verlaat jul moeders, want
Daar gaan ‘n strydroep deur die land!
Gryp nou die teuels bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!

Die regterhand gryp die visier,
Die bors oorkruis ‘n bandolier;
Die spore in die sonskyn blink,
Stiebeuels teen mekaar weerklink,
Die ketel aan die saal rinkink.
Kom, burgers, hou nou bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!

Laat aan die trippelaar sy pas,
Maar hou die vuurge hingste vas.
Die agterstes moet ingalop
Tot binne – in die ruiter – trop,
Die ponie en die bossie – kop.
Kom burgers, ry so bymekaar-
Die vierkleur is weer in gevaar!

Trek burgers, almal nou geteld,
Al voort maar deur die wye veld,
En of jul al omlaag verdwyn,
Of op die heuwels weer verskyn –
Wys altyd weer die slingerlyn.
Kom, burgers, trek so bymekaar –
Die vierkleur is in gevaar!

En moet jul val, val dan met eer,
Met die oog die vyand toegekeer;
Val op die grense, man en perd,
Die oue vierkleur is dit wêrd,
En die eerkroon wenk al uit die vert.
Val burgers, val dan bymekaar –

Totuis
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maar een Suid-Afrika
Gee my ‘n roer in my regterhand,
Gee my ‘n bok wat vlug oor ‘n rand –
En ‘n flukse perd om hom weg te dra:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Gee my ‘n kamp waar bossies groei,
Gee my ‘n fraai volstruis wat broei –
En ‘n Boerseun wat baie wa:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Gee my ‘n koppie om op te staan,
Gee my die Swartland met al sy graan –
En nooit of te nimmer hoor jy my kla:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Gee my ‘n vlakte ruim en wyd,
Gee my die veld se oneindigheid –
En die lekker geur wat die lug daar dra:

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

Uit: Gedigte
A.D. Keet
(1888-1972)

KOMAAN! Woorde: JAN F.E. CELLIERS
Musiek: DIRKIE DE VILLIERS

Wees sterk! Daar’s ‘n nasie te lei,
daar’s ‘n stryd te stry, daar’s werk!
Daar’s nie na guns of eer te kyk,
daar’s nie na links of regs te wyk,
daar’s net te swyg en aan te stryk–Komaan!

Wees trou! Daar’s ‘n volk te leer
om homself te eer, te bou;
om God en God alleen te vrees,
aan aard en taal getrou te wees,
gesond en waar van hart en gees–Komaan!

Wees fier op ‘n voorgeslag waard,
in wil en in daad gespier!
Hul lewensweg het ons gewys
om trou te wees aan waarheidseis.
Wie laak mag laak, wie prys mag prys–Komaan!

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When reading this poem about the moth…it reminded me about the poem written by one of our best poets/writers: C J Langenhoven. he also wrote “The Call of South Africa” our National Anthem. (You can listen to it in Afrikaans and English, it is somewhere on my blog…). If you know the Dutch language, or even Flemish, you would be able to follow it in Afrikaans, as Dutch is the “Mother” language of Afrikaans. Read more about Afrikaans HERE

The Moth

The moth toward the orb he flew,
In ever ascending spirals.
And in his harmonic mind there grew,
A feeling of sad tranquility.
For the destination was in sight,
As the ending of the day.
And even as his mind it merged,
so the atmosphere his body purged,
Until he faded and became one,
Unknown and unnoticed by each,
But not all.
—Phil
Read more about Langenhoven here.
DIE MOT EN DIE KERS
(the moth and the candle)
~~CJ Langenhoven
Die ander motte is dom en dwaas,
maar ék sal ver van die kers af bly.
Hier uit die skemerte sal ek kyk,
want hier is dit veilig en kyk is vry.
Maar ek hoef nie van een kant af net te kyk,
ek vlieg ‘n wye sirkel om,
dan weet ek van alkant af hoe hy lyk,
om beter te sorg om nie nader te kom.

My sirkel was skeef en ingebuig,
maar daar ook waar ek die naaste was,
het niks gebeur,
ek maak verniet
my sirkel so groot en so ver van die as.
Die wieletjie draai al vinniger om,
die lig en die gloed word al groter genot.
Die velling word nouer al rondom
die die end van die wiel,
is die as van ‘n mot!
The moth in this poem basically thought he won’t be so foolish like the other moths. He would stay away from the flame. But, then he narrows his orb and goes faster and faster…..and all that was left…some ashes!

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Cathedral Rock South Africa

 

Drakensberg mountains

Sunset : Twelve Apostels…Cape Town

Knysna!

Just my mood…not in a mood to say anything today Wish I could be at these places in South Africa!! Follow the link at the bottom of this post to read more about Ingrid Jonker and her poems and to see a movie-file too…also on my blog.

Ingrid Jonker died by walking into the sea!
To: Ingrid Jonker…Poet…A van Heerden
I see her pain,
I hear her voice
No one understood,
on one looked up
She carried a burden,
She carried herself,
She carried alone
~
Through her words,
Through her thoughts,
Through her lines
Through her phrases
She opened her soul
She opened her heart
She cried out
All on deaf ear
Abandoned
alone confused
loved used
abused
She let them.
~
Their acceptance made her accept,
But she died of that,
inside her soul.
She had too much of this world to carry on…
The water was calling
In her own defence
She gave herself
At her own expense…

This poem is in Afrikaans/English….
Somewhere I have never travelled – Iewers het ek nooit gereis nie
Ingrid Jonker…..adapted by e.e. cummings
+
somewhere I have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
~~~~~
iewers het ek nooit gereis nie daardie groen verte
verby alle herinneringe jou oë dra hul stilte
in jou geringste gebaar is daar iets wat my omsluit
of wat ek nie durf aanraak nie iets te ná
~~~~
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
~~~~
jou oë van landskappe sal my maklik blootlê
al het ek my hart gesluit soos twee hande
jy ontvou my keer op keer soos die lente
bedrewe en heimlik haar eerste roos
~~~~
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
~~~~
en as jy my sou verlaat geslote dan
sou my voorhoof sluit mooi en onmiddelik
soos die hart van ‘n blom sou droom
van ‘n wit sneeu wat alles oral bedek
~~~~
nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
~~~~
niks wat ons in hierdie wêreld kan versin
ewenaar die krag van jou broosheid die tekstuur
van jou oë tref my die groen van sy veld
een bevestig die ewige en die vir altyd met elke sug
~~~~
(I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
~~~~
ek weet nie wat dit is wat jou laat vou
en ontvou nie ek verstaan net êrens op my reise
die stem van jou oë is dieper as alle rose
nee nie eens die reën nie het sulke hande

Poem found here:
http://parnassus-ad.blogspot.com/2007/07/ingrid-jonker-verwerk-ee-cummings.html

The Child

The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart

The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride

The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain

The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a passIngrid Jonker March 1960

 

(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter Read on this link more and there’s a movie file too.

http://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2007/12/07/love-light-bitterbessie/


http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

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Listen to her song here….

On THIS LINK – also on my blog – you can find more information about Ingrid and watch a short movie about her too.

On THIS LINK you can read more about Ingrid Jonker and listen to a song.
 

BITTERBESSIE DAGBREEK ~~

Ingrid Jonker

Bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son
‘n spieël het gebreek
tusen my en hom

Soek ek na die grootpad
om daarlangs te draf
oral draai die paadjies
van sy woorde af

Dennebos herinnering
dennebos vergeet
het ek ook verdwaal
trap ek in my leed

Papegaai-bont eggo
kierang kierang my
totdat ek bedroë
weer die koggel kry

Eggo is geen antwoord
antwoord hy alom
bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son

TOE MAAR DIE DONKER MAN
(ook gesing deur Laurika Rauch!)
Ingrid Jonker

Op die groen voetpad
van die horison ver
om die aarde skat,
stap ‘n ou man
wat’n oop maan dra in sy hare
Nagtegaal in sy hart
jasmyn gepluk vir sy oop knoopsgat
en ‘n rug gebuk aan sy jare.
Wat maak hy, mammie?
~~
Hy roep die kriekies
Hy roep die swart
stilte wat sing
soos die biesies,
my hart
en die sterre wat klop
tok-tok liefling,
soos die klein toktokkies
in hul fyn-ver kring.
Wat is sy naam, mammie?
~~
Sy naam is Sjuut
Sy naam is Slaap
Meneer Vergeet
uit die land van Vaak
Sy naam is toe maar
hy heet, my lam
Toe maar, die donker man

Muskietejag moes ek op laerskool leer! Dis was regtig ‘n gedig wat ek baie geniet het! Hy het soveel drama wat jy kan insit met die voordra van hierdie gedig!
Muskietejag :  A D Keet
Jou vabond, wag,
ek sal jou kry,
Van jou sal net ‘n bloedkol bly
Hier op my kamermure.
Deur jou vervloekte gonsery,
Deur jou gebyt en plagery
Kon ek nie slaap vir ure.
Mag ek my voorstel,
eer ons skei,
Eer jy die doodslag van my kry –
My naam is van der Merwe.
Muskiet, wees maar nie treurig nie,
Wees ook nie so kieskeurig nie,
Jy moet tog ééndag sterwe.
Verwekker van malaria,
Sing maar jou laaste aria –
Nog een minuut vir grasie.
Al soebat jy nou nòg so lang,
Al sê jy ook: ek is nie bang,
Nooit sien jy weer jou nasie…
Hoe sedig sit hy, O, die kreng!
Sy kinders kan maar kranse breng,
Nóu gaan die vabond sterwe…Pardoef!
Dis mis! Daar gaan hy weer!
Maar dòòd sal hy, sowaar, ek sweer –
My naam is van der Merwe!

Madeliefies in Namakwaland

Waarom luister ons nog
na die 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
© Ingrid Jonker Trust
From: Rook en Oker
Publisher: Afrikaanse Pers, Johannesburg, 1963

 The above poem in English translated:

Daisies in Namaqualand


Why do we still listen
to the answers given by the daisies
to the wind to the sun
what has become of the little kokkewiets

Behind the closed forehead
where perhaps a twig still tumbles
from a drowned springtime
Behind my word killed in action
Behind our divided home
Behind the heart locked against itself
Behind wire fences, camps, locations
Behind the silence where foreign languages
fall like bells at a funeral
Behind our land torn apart

sits the green mantis of the veld
and dazed we still hear
small blue Namaqualand daisy
answering something, believing something, knowing something

© Translation: 2007, Antjie Krog & André Brink
From: Black Butterflies
Publisher: Human & Rousseau, Cape Town, 2007
ISBN: 9780798148924
 

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This poem was written by C Louis Leipoldt, (1880 – 1947) – a South African poet and you can read an English translation here to, translated by Melissa on her blog…it is one of our best poets we’ve had and this poem is one of my favourites too…do read the English one and enjoy it!

WYS MY DIE PLEK
Wys my die plek waar ons saam gestaan het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, voor jou liefde vir my getaan het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde;
die silwer see
Blink in die sonskyn,
soos lang verlee
Dit eenmaal geblink het,
‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.

~~~

Wys my die plek waar ons saam gekniel het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, toe een siel vir ons saam besiel het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde; die hemel, blou,
Lag soos voorheen op my en op jou;
Dit skitter nog altyd ‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.
~~~
Wys my die plek waar ons saam geloop het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, toe ons harte so veel gehoop het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde! Net jy nie.
Vra,Wie van ons twee moet die meeste dra ?
Jy wat vergeet het – of ek wat boet
Vir my liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed ?
by C. Louis Leipoldt (ca. 1880 – 1947)
SHOW ME THE PLACE
Show me the place where we stood side by side,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, before your love for me died,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the silver sea
Shines in the sun’s rays, just like before
It once shined,
a welcoming
For our love that endured and everything enhanced.
~~~
Show me the place where we knelt together,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, when one soul possessed us,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the sky, so blue,
Smiles just as before on me and on you,
It continues to shine as a welcoming
For our love that endures and everything enhances.

~~~

Show me the place where we use to walk,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, when our hearts hoped so much,
Earlier, when you were mine.Look, it’s the same!
Except for you.
Which one of us has the most to bear ?
You, that has forgotten – or me,
that has to pay
For my love that endures and all enhances ?
Translated by……Melissa 

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Pretoria is the Capital of South Africa. One of 3 capitals actually! Cape Town and Bloemfontein are the other 2 Capitals of South Africa. Pretoria is the Admin Capital. The President’s Office is settled in the Union Buildings in Pretoria and for 6 months he spends his time in his office while the other 6 months, he’s in Cape Town in the Parliament! The Parliament is settled in Cape Town. Read more HERE on Wikipedia about Pretoria.

On THIS LINK on my blog, you can read more and see more pictures about Pretoria.




IT IS OCTOBER! and I can imagine….Pretoria…what you look like! Purple Jacarandas everywhere! You can’t hide yourself! This is the time when students are busy preparing for end-of-year exams…and…when they fall in love! I can remember how the men would come and visit with a bit of a Jacaranda branch! And..how you would go for a walk, bare feet…just to step on those blossoms and get your feet purple!
 

En jy dan ook saamstem met Louis Leipoldt se gedig…. hier..: OKTOBER MAAND!

Thunder…in the city!

SAReservebank

South Africa’s Reserve Bank in Pretoria, the Capital City

Union_Buildings

Pretoria: Union Buildings

Voortrekker_monument

Pretoria: The Voortrekker Monument – build in 1938 – The Great Trek was in 1838.

Image: fotothing.com

Downtown Pretoria…image: pbase.com

 

Voortrekkermonument-grafika

 

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Boer War Art Poetry and History

ABO Englishman

Read this newspaper clip below – where an Englishman described how kind the Boers were and that everything that was said in England about the Boers, was not true.
BoerWar_news

From the Boer War Facebook page

Boerwar-news

From the Boer War Facebook page

Artist: Ron Wilson….

LW: This post gets updated every now and then – more then than now –  when I find more resources and information…new information and links will be added at the bottom of this post. Most links  will  open in a new window. When you see this  link icon – you will know there’s a link to follow up. I hope this helps. I apologise and know it must be very confusing. Please check the bottom of this page for most of the links – without this icon. This post was written 12 years ago! I hope that all links will still be active.

Link11

link-icon (image above)

Boer War Diary

The following extracts from a diary, of the authenticity of which we have obtained sufficient assurance, illustrate one aspect of the process of “clearing” tracts of the country occupied by the enemy.

Amsterdam, New Scotland, February 14 1901. This morning, about eight o’clock, the cavalry of the enemy entered the town, the infantry following.

Every garden and tree was stripped of everything. All the livestock was taken. General Campbell arrived; he was very abrupt. He said they, the English, had come to give us food and protection.

Mother replied that we were quite satisfied with the food and protection our own people afforded us. Then he said we were to be ready to leave the following day at 10 a.m.

Feb. 15. Worse than ever. The Provost Marshal, Capt. Daniels entered the house and began searching. They took what they wanted – soap, candles, mealies & c. even to white sewing cotton. When mother came in, Capt. Daniels turned to her and said, ‘Those devils of Boers have been sniping at us again, and your two sons among them, I suppose. If I catch them, they will hang.’

Feb. 17. At dawn Capt. Ballantyne said we would be allowed a quarter of an hour to load, and only to take the most necessary things. Beds, clothing, mattresses, chairs, chests & c., odds and ends of all kinds were burnt. Foodstuffs were also taken. At 9 p.m. we out-spanned in a hard rain. It was pitiful to hear the children crying all night in the wet wagons for water and food.

March 5. Annie very sick. Must be the food, as we have only meat, and mealies (corn) when we can pick them.

March 6. Annie very ill all day. A driving misty rain. Oxen with lung sickness are made to pull until they fall down in the yoke to die.

April 19 [in captivity at Volksrust]. Message that Major Watt, Assistant District Commissioner, wanted to see [Mother] at once. Mother, Annie and Polly Coltzer went with the policeman. Major Watt was in a dreadful rage.

‘You are Mrs. Cameron?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘You are a most dangerous woman, you have been speaking against the British Government. You are an English woman.’ ‘All my sympathies are with the Boers.’ ‘Make a note of that. All the concessions we intended making you will be withdrawn. You will not be allowed to receive any parcels.’

April 25. We received the following: ‘I beg to inform you that you are to proceed to Maritzburg tomorrow by the 11p.m. train. A wagon shall convey your luggage to the station.’

B. R. Cameron,Prisoner of War, May 31 1901. Green Point, Pietermaritzburg, Natal.

Resource: Link11https://www.theguardian.com/news/1901/sep/26/mainsection.fromthearchive


A history to be proud of – till 1992

Image: anglo-boer.co.za

“When is a war not a war?” — “When it is carried on by methods of barbarism in South Africa,” referring to those same camps and the policies that created them.

–see my link in this post: “Churchill makes me smile”– for more on this…see bottom of the page for the link.

Image: anglo-boer.co.za

Image: Tararualibrary…Wording on back:

“Boer war 1900 Troops parading prior to their departure.

Site: Cnr Millers Rd and Stanley St Paynes house on the right still there HBF garage on left hand corner”

Link11Above image: HERE on the site of Tararualibrary. The link will open in a new window.

The British controlled government implemented Pass Laws in 1923 paved the way for further restrictions on non-Whites social and political freedoms when Afrikaner-led political parties gained control of the government in 1948 (the birth of Apartheid). This segregation along racial lines has further widened the gap between the White Afrikaans speakers and Coloured Afrikaans speakers…

Source:

Link11http://www.diversitysouthafrica.co.za/afrikaans.htm

Since the people were of white European descent, nobody was seriously punished for their part in the war….so…if they were black??

Read what ELN says on this link…

Link11http://elliotlakenews.wordpress.com/2007/03/17/british-concentration-camps/
Source:
http://everything2.com/e2node/Concentration%2520Camps%252C%2520A%2520British%2520Idea

The Boer War (1899 – 1902)

The Boer War shaped the destiny of South Africa and, as Rudyard Kipling remarked, taught the mighty British Empire ‘no end of a lesson’.

It was said to be the last of the ‘gentleman’s wars’, a ‘white man’s war’ and it would be over by Christmas. It was none of these things. The Boer War was brutal, racially explosive and it took the greatest empire in the world nearly three years to beat a Boer army smaller than the population of Brighton.

The Boer War capitulated the world into the 20th Century, prefiguring the worst excesses of modern conflicts: the indiscriminate bombing of civilians, scorched earth, rape, concentration camps. It was a civil war dividing families, communities and races.

It was a bitter conflict between two small Boer nations fighting for their life and freedom and a great empire asserting what it saw as it’s legitimate authority.

Link11Source: 
http://neilmulligan.com/JamesMulcrone.htm

I often get people who got directed here – via google – with the search engine term: Boer – well, I would like to suggest you go back to google, put in a search the following: ‘South African farmer[s]‘ – you might like what you’ll see. Good Luck.

THE BOER NATIONS (“boer” is the Dutch word for “farmer”)

Take a community of Dutchmen of the type of those who defended
themselves for fifty years against all the power of Spain at a time
when Spain was the greatest power in the world. Intermix with them a
strain of those inflexible French Huguenots who gave up home and
fortune and left their country for ever at the time of the revocation
of the Edict of Nantes. The product must obviously be one of the most
rugged, virile, unconquerable races ever seen upon earth. Take this
formidable people and train them for seven generations in constant
warfare against savage men and ferocious beasts, in circumstances
under which no weakling could survive, place them so that they acquire
exceptional skill with weapons and in horsemanship, give them a
country which is eminently suited to the tactics of the huntsman, the
marksman, and the rider. Then, finally, put a finer temper upon their
military qualities by a dour fatalistic Old Testament religion and an
ardent and consuming patriotism. Combine all these qualities and all
these impulses in one individual, and you have the modern Boer — the
most formidable antagonist who ever crossed the path of Imperial
Britain. Our military history has largely consisted in our conflicts
with France, but Napoleon and all his veterans have never treated us
so roughly as these hard-bitten farmers with their ancient theology
and their inconveniently modern rifles.
See link at the bottom of this page to continue reading…
Concentration Camps
In early March 1901 Lord Kitchener decided to break the stalemate that the extremely costly war had settled into. It was costing the British taxpayer 2,5 million pounds a month. He decided to sweep the country bare of everything that can give sustenance to the Boers i.e. cattle, sheep, horses, women and children.

This scorched earth policy led to the destruction of about 30000 Boer farmhouses and the partial and complete destruction of more than forty towns.. Thousands of women and children were removed from their homes by force.They had little or no time to remove valuables before the house was burnt down. They were then taken by ox-wagon or in open cattle trucks to the nearest camp.

Conditions in the camps were less than ideal. Tents were overcrowded. Reduced-scale army rations were provided. In fact there were two scales. Meat was not included in the rations issued to women and children whose menfolk were still fighting. There were little or no vegetables, no fresh milk for the babies and children, 3/4 lb of either mealie meal, rice or potatoes, 1 lb of meat twice weekly, I oz of coffee daily, sugar 2 oz daily, and salt 0,5 oz daily (this was for adults and children who had family members on commando).

In the camps – image – photosearch

hmmm….not very nice of them burning down people’s houses, hey… we all know war is war…but…to take away from women and children! That’s really not very humane!

Link11Image: http://www.erroluys.com/BoerWarChildsStory.htm

Image: …soldiers on a koppie…(hill) war-art.com/lucknow.htm

Battle of Colenso…1899…Image:www.war-art.com/lucknow.htm
Link11See more art here : http://www.war-art.com/lucknow.htm

On this next link, you can read extracts from the Parliamentary debates  that were going on during the War in the British Parliament…you will see the death numbers too – not sure if that is correct, you know what politics are like…they will of course hide the exact figures as we all know – anyway..children’s deaths are about 10 times more than adults and women were held as prisioners as they were not allowed to leave the camps if they wished too. I’m sure more of the deaths could be prevented if people were not held in the camps. To say they were “fed” is just an excuse! They knew it was the only way to force the Boers to surrender, as the Boers couldn’t let these women and children dying in the camps like sheep on their way to a butcher!

Link11http://www-sul.stanford.edu/depts/ssrg/africa/hansxcv1.html

Concentration Camps
In early March 1901 Lord Kitchener decided to break the stalemate that the extremely costly war had settled into. It was costing the British taxpayer 2,5 million pounds a month. He decided to sweep the country bare of everything that can give sustenance to the Boers i.e. cattle, sheep, horses, women and children. Read more on the link I’ve given you. — What a shame for the Britain! Putting women and children in concentration camps to starve… that’s just as cruel as Hitler’s gass chambers! Killing people in this way when you know you can’t defeat them…. And what’s more… Britain has already got more experience in fighting and wars than the South Africans, a small upcoming nation…..Hierdie Engelse sal ook nooit “jammer” se oor wat hulle weet hulle gedoen het nie. Hierdie konsentrasiekampe was vir my net so erg soos die Duitsers met hulle gaskamers! Ek het ‘n boek gekoop by ‘n museum op Lady Smith and daarin lees ook toe die naam raak van ‘n niggie van my ouma wat in ‘n kamp was! As jy die link “great grandad” volg, sal jy verstaan waarom ek so ‘n passie vir die oorlog-geskiedenis het en gedurig weer terugkeer na iets wat daarmee te doen het. Ek sal graag meer kuns en gedigte wil kry om hierdie week te plaas, veral kuns en ek was nogal verbaas om hierdie een van Coetzer te kry. Ek het afgekom op ‘n baie oulike webbladsy van ‘n ou in die USA en ek gaan die link hier plaas, daar is verskillende

Link11Sources: Enslin Vosloo painting…

 

Ladysmith Town hall image: tokencoins.com/book/boer.htm#zar04

“Duty called the Cordons to South Africa and the plains of the Transvaal to fight the Boers. The Boers were regarded as an easy enemy and naturally would be overcome quickly. Boers were self reliant farmers dressed in civilian khaki suitable for the vast veldt. Most of British Army still favoured red jackets, white pith helmets and Crimean War tactics. Whereas the Boers formed commando groups to move across country swiftly and stealthily living off the land. They were extremely good shots armed with the accurate Mauser rifle and a common cry was Victory through God and the Mauser.”…from the same site as the site where the image comes from…

Link11On THIS LINK you can read more about the War…read these poems too….see more pictures…some very upsetting…the link will open in a new window.
C Louis Leipoldt (excerpt)
A poem written by Leipoldt in Afrikaans and it was translated…
You, who are the hope of our people;
You, who our people can barely spare;
You, who should grow up to become a man;
You, who must perform your duty, if you can;
You, who have no part in the war;
You, who should sing and jump for joy –
You must perish in a children’s camp
You must be eliminated for peace:
Fold your hands tight together,
Close your eyes and say amen!
Whooping-cough and consumption, without milk:
bitter for you is the fate of life!
There is your place, at the children’s graves –
Two in one coffin, a wedding couple!
Al you gain is that we will remember:
Our freedom more precious than woman or child!

~~~~~ also the next one…by Leipoldt
In the Concentration Camp
(Aliwal North, 1901) C Louis Leipoldt (excerpt)
You are cringing away from the gusts of the wind
The chill seeping through the hail-torn tent –
Your scanty shield against torturing torrents;
The June chill bursts over the banks of the Vaal –
And all you can hear are the coughs from your child, and the
ceaseless patter of rain on the canvas.
A candle stub, just an inch before death
faintly flickering in a bottle
(a sty offers more comfort and rest)
But here, at night every thought is
a round of torture and tears.
Here, the early-born child flounders
Here, the aged fades away
Here, all you can hear is wailing and sighs
Here, every second is a lifetime of dread;
Every minute leaves scars on your soul, sacrifice without end.
Forgive? Forget? Is it possible to forgive?
The sorrow, the despair demanded so much!
The branding iron painfully left its scar
on our nation, for ages to see, and the wound is too raw –
Too close to our heart and to deep in our souls –
“Patience, o patience, how much can you bear?”
~~~

Leipoldt also wrote heartbreaking verses on a soap box to the memory of children who could at least be buried in this luxury:

Image: http://appiusforum.net/hellkamp.html – where I refer to hellkamp at an image, it refers to this site (update 2019 – site link is dead – don’t bother to visit!)
They made you in England, little soap box
To serve as coffin for our children
They found little corpses for you, soap box
And I have witnessed you as coffin
 

Equally unforgettable is AG Visser’s description of an orphan in the concentration camp in his poem,
The Youngest Burgher:

The camp of women is ruled by silence and darkness
The misery kindly concealed by the night
Here and there a minute light is flickering
Where the Angel of Death is lingering.
In this place of woe and of broken hearts
A young boy’s muffled whimpers quiver through the night
Who can count all the tears, who can measure the grief
of an orphan alone in the world

Later on in the poem De Wet describes the struggle to the escaped child who wishes to join the commando:
Freedom demands from our ranks
Men of courage who taunt mortal danger.
But also in the camp, the mother, the nurturer
And the innocent child on her breast.
And the reward? Perhaps on the plains
A lonesome grave doused by no tears.
Sometime, perhaps, posterity might honour our heroes…
Boy, do you feel up to it? General, I do!

This Afrikaans poem is about a solder that was beheaded…by a bomb.

Die ruiter van Skimmelperdpan

Op die pad wat verdwyn in die Skimmelperdpan,
By ‘n draai in die mond van die kloof,
Het ‘n bom in die oorlog ‘n vlugtende man
Op ‘n perd soos ‘n swaardslag onthoof.

Aan die saalboom krampagtig die hande verstyf,
Met ‘n laaste stuiptrekkende krag,
En die bene geklem soos ‘n skroef om sy lyf,
Op die perd sit die grusame vrag.

Met sy neusgate wyd en die ore op sy nek,
Soos die wind yl verbysterd die dier,
Met die skuim in wit vlokke wat waai uit sy bek,
En gespan soos ‘n draad elke spier;

By die huisie verby waar ‘n vrou staan en kyk …
In die afkopding ken sy haar man …
Met ‘n onaardse geil val sy bleek soos ‘n lyk …
Perd en ruiter verdwyn in die Pan!

Wee die reisiger wat daar onwetend kom skuil
Waar bouvallig die huisie nog staan,
En vreesagtig by wyle ‘n nagdiertjie huil
By die newelige lig van die maan!

Want by middernag waai daar ‘n wind deur die kloof,
Waai en huil soos ‘n kindjie wat kerm,
En dan jaag daar ‘n perd met ‘n man sonder hoof …
Wie dit sien, roep verskrik: “Heer, ontferm!”

Want die vuurvonke spat waar die hoefslae dreun,
En dit vlam uit sy neus en sy oog;
Styf en stram sit die ruiter na vore geleun,
En die bloed uit sy nek spuit ‘n boog;

En dan eensklaps van uit die vervalle gebou
Kom ‘n vreeslike skrikbeeld gevaar,
Al die hare orent – ‘n waansinnige vrou
Met ‘n hande-wringend gebaar:

“Waarom rus jy nie, rus jy nie, Jan van der Meer?
Waarom jaag jy my elke nag op?
Sal daar nimmer ‘n einde kom … altyd maar weer
Die galop … die galop … die galop?!”

Die afgryslike klank – nog gehuil nog gelag –
En die perd met die romp van ‘n man …!
Dis geen plek vir ‘n Christenmens daar in die nag
Langs die pad na die Skimmelperdpan!

A.G. Visser
Uit: Die Purper Iris.

Slagveld – Majuba

So sing die jonges vol van vreugde,
maar ag, oom Gert se hart is seer
as hy straks diep en dieper peinsend
gaan langs die slagveld van weleer.

Dáár lê Majuba, donker kleurig,
sy sye een en al terras;
dis of die berg van alle eeue
vir wonderdaad geskape was.

Daar lê Laingsnek; dis of Gods hande
dit vir ‘n skanswerk uit wou bou.
En daar’s Ingogo’s kronkelbedding—
net om die vyand op te hou.

Daar’s nog die wonderlike hoeke,
net om die vyand vas te keer;
maar ag, oom Gert voel nou so anders,
sy hart is onverklaarbaar seer.

Hy sien nou oral groot kanonne,
hy weet nie of die ding sal gaan.
Die treine voer nou alle soorte
van wapens uit die hoofstad aan.

Daar is hom ook so baie mense,
en baie goed word aangevoer;
voorheen was daar so min maar nodig:
‘n ryperd, biltong en ‘n roer.

Dis nodig, ja, die tyd die vorder,
en daarom swyg hy maar en kyk.
Maar heel die Amajuba-wêreld,
alles wil hom so anders lyk.

Tog leef hy weer, die troue krygsman,
al trek hy nou maar same net:
‘n oorlogsperd die stamp en runnik
wanneer hy hoor die krygstrompet!

Uit Goue Gode…XV : Verse van Totius
C. Louis Leipoldt:
DIE KOPERKAPEL
Die koperkapel kom uit sy gat
En sluip die randjie rond:
“Dit het gereën; die veld is nat,
En nat is die rooi-geel grond.”
Die meerkat kom, en sy ogies blink,
En hy staan orent en wag.
En die stokou ystervark sê: “Ek dink
Die reën kom weer vannag.”
Maar die geitjie piep: “Dis glad nie reën!
Dis kollerig, swart en rooi:
Kom jy sulke reën in jou lewe teen –
So glad, so styf, so mooi?”
En die wyse steenuil waag sy woord:
“Dis bloed, dis mensebloed!
Dis die lewensbloed wat hierdie oord
Se bossie-wortels voed!”

Wittekind in die Konsentrasiekamp
(Aliwal Noord, 1901) O, pazienza, pazienza che tanto sostieni! Dante. Jou oê is nat met die trane van gister;
Jou siel is gemartel, deur smarte gepla;
Van vrede en pret was jy vroër ‘n verkwister;
En nou, wat bly oor van jou rykdomme? Ja,
‘n Spreekwoord tot steun–daar’s geen trooswoord beslister:
“Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan dra! Hier sit jy te koes teen die wind, wat daar suie
Yskoud deur die tentseil, geskeur deur die hael–
Jou enigste skuil in die nag teen die buie;
Die Junielug stort oor die stroom van die Vaal–
Jy hoor net die hoes van jou kind, en die luie
Gedrup van die reendruppeltjies oor die paal. ‘n Kers, nog maar anderhalf duim, voor hy sterwe,
Brand dof in ‘n bottel hier vlak naas jou bed.
(‘n Kafhuis gee makliker rus: op die gerwe
Daar lê ‘n mens sag, en sy slaap is gered!)
En hier in die nag laat jou drome jou swerwe
‘n Aaklige rondte met trane besmet. Hier struikel die kind, wat te vroeg was gebore;
Hier sterwe die oumens, te swak vir die stryd;
Hier kom ‘n gekerm en gekreun in jou ore;
Hier tel jy met angs elke tik van die tyd;
Want elke sekond van die smart laat sy spore
Gedruk op jou hart, deur ‘n offer gewyd. En deur elke skeur in die seil kan jy duister
Die wolke bespeur oor die hemel verbrei;
Geen ster skyn as gids; na geen stem kan jy luister–
(Eentonig die hoes van jou kind aan jou sy!)
Wat sag deur die wind in jou ore kom fluister:
“Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan ly! Vergewe? Vergeet? Is dit maklik vergewe?
Die smarte, die angs, het so baie gepla!
Die yster het gloeiend ‘n merk vir die eeue
Gebrand op ons volk, en die wond is te na,
Te na aan ons hart en te diep in ons lewe–
“Geduld, o geduld, wat so baie kan dra!” Uit: Oom Gert Vertel en Ander Gedigte,  C. Louis Leipoldt, Uitg. Mij. v/h. J. Dusseau & Co, Kaapstad 1921

Images..:south-africa-tours-and-travel.com

Image:www.heliograph.com…Jan Smuts

Link11Read on THIS LINK about Jan Smuts. The link will open in a new window.


Image: mcelroy.ca/history/mcelroy/images/002-0251.jpg

 
Shaw, John Byam : The Boer War (1901)
 

Wednesday, 5 March 2008

The title of a painting,” said Marcel Duchamp, “is another colour on the artist’s palette.” He also talked of treating the title “like an invisible colour”. Duchamp’s remarks were part of his ongoing argument with the art of painting…………………………….

The painting shows – well, what it obviously doesn’t show is the Boer War, or any individual episode from Britain’s Imperial war in South Africa, which had ended the year before this picture was painted. But the likely link between words and image isn’t hard to find. A lone woman stands by a stream at the bottom of a field or garden. She was the fiance or wife or sister of a man killed in the war. She’s lately heard the news, and gone off on her own. Or she’s been in mourning some time, but the place – this is where they used to walk, and never will again – calls out a sudden pang of memory and grief.

The Boer War is her back story, then, her motivation, the reason for her state of mind. It is the content of her invisible thought bubble. It is, in a sense, a perfectly straight descriptive title for this picture. For how do you show the Boer War except by depicting scenes from the war? And why shouldn’t those scenes include, not only battlefields and sieges, but also the scenes of bereavement and desolation that were the immediate consequence back home?

Link11Read the complete article… HERE ….
This next poem was written by Totius and it’s about the Afrikaner nation/Afrikaans that was stepped upon/damaged by the English and his message in this poem for the Afrikaner nation/Afrikaans is: “you’re strong, you will get up again, you will be a strong nation again and you should forgive what was done to you. The scars will be there, but you should grow to be strong again.”… a very deep poem…
Vergewe en vergeet

Daar het ‘n doringboompie
vlak by die pad gestaan,
waar lange ossespanne
met sware vragte gaan.

En eendag kom daarlanges
‘n ossewa verby,
wat met sy sware wiele
dwars-oor die boompie ry.

“Jy het mos, doringstruikie,
my ander dag gekrap;
en daarom het my wiele
jou kroontjie platgetrap.”

Die ossewa verdwyn weer
agter ‘n heuweltop,
en langsaam buig die boompie
sy stammetjie weer op.

Sy skoonheid was geskonde;
sy bassies was geskeur;
op een plek was die stammetjie
so amper middeldeur.

Maar tog het daardie boompie
weer stadig reggekom,
want oor sy wonde druppel
die salf van eie gom.

Ook het die loop van jare
die wonde weggewis –
net een plek byl ‘n teken
wat onuitwisbaar is.

Die wonde word gesond weer
as jare kom en gaan,
maar daardie merk word groter
en groei maar aldeur aan.
Totius

The Concentration Camps

1. Introduction The concentration camps in which Britain killed 27,000 Boer women and children (24,000) during the Second War of Independence (1899 – 1902) today still have far-reaching effects on the existence of the Boerevolk. This holocaust once more enjoyed close scrutiny during the visit of the queen of England to South Africa, when ten organizations promoting the independence of the Boer Republics, presented her with a message, demanding that England redress the wrongs committed against the Boerevolk.

Women and children in the camps – image:hellkamp

2. Background The Second War of Independence was fought from 1899 to 1902 when England laid her hands on the mineral riches of the Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek (Transvaal) under the false pretence of protecting the rights of the foreigners who swarmed to the Transvaal gold fields. On the battlefield England failed to get the better of the Boers, and decided to stoop to a full-scale war against the Boer women and children, employing a holocaust to force the burghers to surrender. 3. Course of the holocaust 3.1. The war against women and children begins Under the command of Kitchener, Milner and Roberts, more than homesteads and farms belonging to Boer people were plundered and burned down. Animals belonging to the Boers were killed in the cruellest ways possible while the women, whose men were on the battlefield, had to watch helplessly.

Leaving sheep to rotten – image: hellkamp

The motive behind this action was the destruction of the farms in order to prevent the fighting burghers from obtaining food, and to demoralize the Boers by leaving their women and children homeless on the open veld.

Before the blast – images:hellkamp

The Blast

After the blast

Destroyed for king and country

 However, England misjudged the steel of the Boer people. Despite their desperate circumstances, the women and children managed to survive fairly well in the open and their men continued their fight against the invader.

Women and children on the run…away from the English

More severe measures had to be taken. The English hoarded the Boer women and children into open cattle trucks or drove them on foot to concentration camps.

3.2. False pretences

To the world England pretended to act very humanely by caring for the fighting Boers’ women and children in “refugee camps”. An English school textbook published in 1914 in Johannesburg, but printed in England, Historical Geography: South Africa, by JR Fisher, makes the following claim:

“During the later stages of the war, the relations, women and
children, of those Boers still in the field, were fed and cared
for at the expense of Great Britain, a method of procedure which,
though humane, postponed the end of the war, at the expense of
many valuable lives and much money.”
This statement is contradicted by various sources. The Cape Argus of 21 June 1900 clearly states that the destitution of these women and children was the result of the English’s plundering of farms: “Within 10 miles we (the English) burned not less than six farm homesteads. Between 30 and 40 homesteads were burned and totally destroyed between Bloemfontein and Boshoff. Many others were also burned down. With their houses destroyed, the women and children were left in the bitter South African winter in the open.” The British history text book says nothing about this.

 
 Awfully generous of the English to care for those whose houses they destroyed!

Breytenbach writes in Danie Theron: “The destruction was undertaken in a diabolic way and even Mrs Prinsloo, a 22 year old lady who gave birth to a baby only 24 hours ago in the house of Van Niekerk, was not spared. A group of rude tommies (British soldiers), amongst whom a so-called English doctor, forced their way into her room, and after making a pretence of examining her, they drove her out of the house. With the aid of her sister, she managed to don a few articles of clothing and left the house. Her mother brought a blanket to protect her against the cold. The soldiers robustly jerked the blanket out of her mother’s hands and after having looted whatever they wanted to, put the house to fire. Afterwards the old man was driven on foot to Kroonstad by mounted kakies (British soldiers), while his wife and daughter (Mrs Prinsloo) were left destitute on the scorched farm.”

England’s claim of caring for the Boer women reminds one of somebody who boasts to have saved the life of someone he himself has pushed into the water. However, there is one vital difference: The holocaust on the Boer women and children began in all earnest once they had been forced into the concentration camps under the “care” of the British!


Family at the beginning – newly arrived with tea and bread (Nasty English Propaganda)

Despite the English claims that the concentration camps were “voluntary refugee camps” the following questions must be asked:

– From whom did the refugees flee? Certainly not from their own husbands and sons!

– How can the fact that the “voluntary” women and children had to be dragged to the concentration camps by force be explained?

– Why should the “voluntary refugee camps” be enclosed by barbed wire fences and the inmates be overseen by armed wardens? Kimberley camp had a five meter high barbed wire fence and some camps even had two or three fences!

– Why would one of the camp commanders make the following statement quoted by Emily Hobhouse: “The wardens were under orders not to interfere with the inmates, unless they should try to escape.”? What kind of “voluntary refugee” would want to escape?

Perhaps the words of the Welsh William Redmond are closer to the truth: “The way in which these wretched, unfortunate and poor women and children are treated in South Africa is barbarous, outrageous, scandalous and disgraceful.”

3.3. Planning for death

The English claim of decent actions towards the Boer women and children are further contradicted by the location of the concentration camps. The military authorities, who often had to plan and erect camps for their soldiers, would certainly have been well aware of the essential requirements for such camps. Yet the concentration camps were established in the most unsuitable locations possible.

Boer-family in the camps

At Standerton the camp was erected on both banks of the Vaal River. It was on the Highveld, which ensured that it was extremely cold in winter and infested with mosquitoes in summer. The fact that Standerton had turf soil and a high rainfall, ensured that the camp was one big mud bath in summer, even inside the tents.

The same circumstances were experienced in camps such as Brandfort, Springfontein and Orange River. At Pretoria, the Irene Camp was located at the chilly southern side of the town, while the northern side had a much more favourable climate. Balmoral, Middelburg and other camps were also located on the south-eastern hangs of the hills to ensure that the inhabitants were exposed to the icy south easterly winds.

Merebank camp was located in a swamp where there was an abundance of various kinds of insects. Water oozed out of the ground, ensuring that everything was constantly wet and slimy.

By October 1900 there were already 58 883 people in concentration camps in Transvaal and 45 306 in the Free State.

The amenities in the camps were clearly planned to kill as many of the women and children as possible. They were accommodated in tattered reject tents which offered no protection against the elements.

Emily Hobhouse, the Cornish lady who campaigned for better conditions for the Boer women, wrote: “Throughout the night there was a downpour. Puddles of water were everywhere. They tried to get themselves and their possessions dry on the soaked ground.”

(Hobhouse: Brunt of the War, page 169.)

Dr Kendal Franks reports on the Irene Camp: “In one of the tents there were three families; parents and children, a total of 14 people and all were suffering from measles.”

In Springfontein camp, 19 to 20 people where crammed into one tent.

There were neither beds nor mattresses and nearly the whole camp population had to sleep on the bare ground, which was damp most of the time.

One person wrote the following plea for aid to the New York Herald: “In the name of small children who have to sleep in open tents without fire, with barely any clothes, I plea for help.”

According to a British journalist, WT Stead, the concentration camps were nothing more than a cruel torture machine. He writes: “Every one of these children who died as a result of the halving of their rations, thereby exerting pressure onto their family still on the battle-field, was purposefully murdered. The system of half rations stands exposed and stark and unshamefully as a cold-blooded deed of state policy employed with the purpose of ensuring the surrender of people whom we were not able to defeat on the battlefield.”
 

3.4. Let them die of hunger
The detainees received no fruit or vegetables; not even milk for the babies.

The meat and flour issued were crawling with maggots. Emily Hobhouse writes: “I have in my possession coffee and sugar which were described as follows by a London analyst: In the case of the first, 66% imitation, and in the case of the second, sweepings from a warehouse.”

In her book, Met die Boere in die Veld (With the Boers in the field), Sara Raal states that “there were poisonous sulphate of copper, grounded glass, fishhooks, and razor blades in the rations.” The evidence given on this fact is so overwhelming that it must be regarded as a historical fact.

3.5. No hygiene

The outbreak of disease and epidemics in the camps were further promoted by, inter alia, the lack of sanitary conveniences. Bloemfontein camp had only 13 toilets for more than 3 500 people. Aliwal North camp had one toilet for every 170 people.
A British physician, Dr Henry Becker, writes: “First, they chose an ill-suited site for the camp. Then they supplied so little water that the people could neither wash themselves nor their clothes. Furthermore, they made no provision for sufficient waste removal. And lastly, they did not provide enough toilets for the overpopulation they had crammed into the camps.”

 

A report on a Ladies’ Committee’s visit to Bloemfontein camp stated: “They saw how the women tried to wash clothes in small puddles of water and sometimes had to use the water more than once.”

3.6. Hospitals of homicide

Ill and healthy people were crammed together into unventilated areas conducive to the spreading of disease and epidemics. At first there were no medical amenities whatsoever in the camps.

Foodline

Later doctors were appointed, but too few. In Johannesburg there was one doctor for every 4 000 afflicted patients.

A report on the Irene camp states that, out of a population of 1325 detainees, 154 were ill and 20 had died during the previous week. Still this camp had only one doctor and no hospital.

In some camps matters were even worse. The large Bloemfontein camp did not have a single doctor; only one nurse who could not possibly cope with the conditions. During a visit to Norvalspont camp Emily Hobhouse could not even find a trained nurse.

The later appointment of medical personnel did not improve the conditions. They were appointed for their loyalty towards the British invasion; not for their medical capability. They maltreated the Boere.

Emily Hobhouse tells the story of the young Lizzie van Zyl who died in the Bloemfontein concentration camp: “She was a frail, weak little child in desperate need of good care. Yet, because her mother was one of the ‘undesirables’ due to the fact that her father neither surrendered nor betrayed his people, Lizzie was placed on the lowest rations and so perished with hunger that, after a month in the camp, she was transferred to the new small hospital. Here she was treated harshly. The English disposed doctor and his nurses did not understand her language and, as she could not speak English, labeled her an idiot although she was mentally fit and normal. One day she dejectedly started calling:
Mother! Mother! I want to go to my mother! One Mrs Botha walked over to her to console her. She was just telling the child that she would soon see her mother again, when she was brusquely interrupted by one of the nurses who told her not to interfere with the child as she was a nuisance.” Shortly afterwards, Lizzie van Zyl died.

Treu, a medical assistant in the Johannesburg concentration camp, stated that patients were bullied and even lashed with a strap.

Ill people who were taken to the camp hospitals were as good as dead. One woman declared: “We fear the hospitals more than death.”

The following two reports should give an idea of the inefficiency of the camp hospitals: “Often people suffering from a minor ailment were violently removed from the tents of protesting mothers or family members to be taken to hospital. After a few days they were more often than not carried to the grave.”

“Should a child leave the hospital alive, it was simply a miracle.”

(Both quotations from Stemme uit die Verlede – a collection of sworn statements by women who were detained in the concentration camps during the Second War of Independence.)

3.7. The highest sacrifice

In total 27 000 women and children made the highest sacrifice in the British hell camps during the struggle for the freedom of the Boerevolk.

Mrs Helen Harris, who paid a visit to the Potchefstroom concentration camp, stated: “Imagine a one year old baby who receives no milk; who has to drink water or coffee – there is no doubt that this is the cause of the poor health of the children.”

Should one take note of the fact that it were the English who killed the Boers’ cattle with bayonets, thereby depriving the children of their food sources, then the high fatality rate does not seem to be incidental.

Despite shocking fatality figures in the concentration camps, the English did nothing to improve the situation, and the English public remained deaf to the lamentations in the concentration camps as thousands of people, especially children, were carried to their graves.

The Welshman, Lloyd George, stated: “The fatality rate of our soldiers on the battlefields, who were exposed to all the risks of war, was 52 per thousand per year, while the fatalities of women and children in the camps were 450 per thousand per year. We have no right to put women and children into such a position.”

An Irishman, Dillon, said: “I can produce and endless succession of confirmations that the conditions in most of the camps are appalling and brutal. To my opinion the fatality rate is nothing less than cold-blooded murder.”

One European had the following comment on England’s conduct with the concentration camps: “Great Britain cannot win her battles without resorting to the despicable cowardice of the most loathsome cure on earth – the act of striking at a brave man’s heart through his wife’s honor and his child’s life.”

The barbarisms of the English is strongly evidenced by the way in which they unceremoniously threw the corpses of children in heaps on mule carts to be transported to the cemeteries. The mourning mothers had to follow on foot. Due to illness or fatigue many of them could not follow fast enough and had to miss the funerals of their children.

According to PF Bruwer, author of Vir Volk en Vryheid, all the facts point out that the concentration camps, also known as the hell camps, were a calculated and deliberate effort by England to commit a holocaust on the Boerevolk

4. Consequences

4.1. “Peace”

As a direct result of the concentration camps, the “Peace Treaty” of Vereeniging was signed, according to which the Boer Republics came under British rule.

4.2. Called up by the enemy

It is a bitter irony that during World War I England laid claim to the same boys who survived the concentration camps to fight against Germany, which was well-disposed towards the Boerevolk.

Thereby they had to lay their lives upon the line for the second time to the benefit of England.

Kroniek van die Kampkinders (Chronicle of the camp children) by HS van Blerk describes how, after World War I, this generation were, in addition, kept out of the labor force and how they were impoverished – all simply because they were Boers.


4.3. Immortalised in our literature

In this modern world it seems as if few people realize the hardships our forefathers had to endure in order to lose our freedom only without forfeiting the honor of our people.

Therefore, it is proper to look at the reflection of the concentration camps in our literature, where the nobility of our forefathers is immortalized.

4.4. We may not forget

In total there were 31 concentration camps. In most cases, the adjoining cemeteries are in still in existence and are visited as often as possible by Boer people to mentally condition themselves to continue their struggle towards freedom.

There were concentration camps at: Irene, Barberton, Volksrust, Belfast, Klerksdorp, Pietersburg, Potchefstroom, Vereeniging, Turffontein, Balmoral, Nylstroom, Standerton, Heilbron, Kimberley, Bloemfontein, Middelburg, Kroonstad, Heidelberg, Krugersdorp, Vryburg, Vredefort, Brandfort, Springfontein, Bethulie, Norvalspont, Port Elizabeth, Aliwal North, Merebank, Pinetown, Howick and Pietermaritzburg.

4.5. Pillars of support

Amidst all the misery brought upon our people by the English, there were pillars of support: firstly the certainty that our cause was just and fair and based upon faith. However, there also were people who made major sacrifices in an effort to ease the burden of Boer women and children.

No study of the concentration camps could possibly be complete without mention of the name of Emily Hobhouse. This Cornish lady was a symbol of light and decency for Boer women and children.

Emily Hobhouse did everything within her power to assist the women and children. As a result of her efforts to persuade the invaders towards an attitude of humanity and reason, she was banned from South Africa by the British authorities.

However, the Boerevolk remains grateful towards Emily Hobhouse for her efforts and her remains are resting in a place of honor under the Women’s Monument in Bloemfontein.

Other people who spoke out against the barbaric methods of England were: J Ellis (Irish), Lloyd George (Welsh), CP Scott (Scottish), William Redmond (Welsh) and Ramsey McDonald (Scottish).

5. Effects

Today, the numbers of the Boerevolk are at least 3 million less that it would have been, had the English not committed genocide on the Boerevolk. This robs our people of our right to self-determination in the new so-called democratic system. (In truth, democracy means government by the people and not government by the rabble as is presently the case in South Africa.”)
The holocaust, together with treason committed by Afrikaners (take note: not Boere) such as Jan Smuts and Louis Botha, forced the Boerevolk to sign the peace accord of Vereeniging which deprived our volk of its freedom.
The alien and inferior British culture was forced onto our people.
The various indigenous peoples of South Africa were insensitively bundled into one Union without giving a thought to their respective identities and right to self-determination.
As in the case of the Boerevolk, the local black nations were effectively robbed of their freedom, which gave rise to the establishment of the ANC in 1912 (two years after the foundation of the Union) to struggle for black nationalism.
The British system of apartheid, which they applied all over the world (for instance also in India, Australia and New-Zealand), had to be imported to control the mixed population. The first manifestation of this were signs reading “Europeans” and “Non-Europeans”. No Boer ever regarded himself as a “European”. Apartheid invoked racial friction and even racial hatred which has in no means abated to this very day, and the bitter irony is that the Boerevolk, who had not been in power since 1902 and who also suffered severely under apartheid in the sense that apartheid robbed them of their land and their work-ethics, are being blamed for apartheid today.
England’s pretence for the invasion was the rights of the foreign miners. Yet after the war, these very same miners were treated so badly by their English and Jewish bosses that they had to resort to general strikes in 1913 and 1922 (3 and 12 years after the establishment of the British ruled Union), during which many mine-workers were shot dead in the streets of Johannesburg by the British disposed Union government. So much for the rights of the foreign miners under English rule.
The efficient and equitable republican system of government of the Boer Republics was replaced with the unworkable Westminster system of government, which led to endless misery and conflict.
6. Summation

The concentration camps were a calculated and intentional holocaust committed on the Boerevolk by England with the aim of annihilating the Boerevolk and reeling in the Boer Republics.

Comparing the killing of Jews during World War 2, proportionately fewer Jews were killed than Boer women and children during the Second War of Independence.

Yet, after World War 2, England mercilessly insisted on a frantic retribution campaign against the whole German nation for the purported Jewish holocaust. To this day, Germany is being forced to pay annual compensation to the Jews, which means that Germans who were not even born at the time of World War 2, still have to suffer today for alleged atrocities committed by the Germans. Should England subject herself to the same principles applied to Germany, then England must do everything within her power to reinstitute the Boer republics and to pay annual compensation to the Boerevolk for the atrocities committed against the Boerevolk.

“Their only crime was that they stood between England and the gold of Transvaal.”

Sources

http://www.boer.co.za/boerwar/hellkamp.htm
Message of Vryheidsaksie Boererepublieke to the queen of England.
Mediadienste. –1995–P 1 – 7.
Suid-Afrikaanse en Algemene Geskiedenis vir Senior Matriek, (Tweede Uitgawe) by BG Lindeque. Juta —1948– Pp 235, 239, 240, 249 – 258, 268 – 272.
Juta se Nuwe Geskiedenisleesboeke vir primêre Skole, Standerd IV by Alice Jenner. Juta. (Date of publication unknown) Pp 41, 42, 49 – 54.
Russia and the Anglo-Boer War 1899 – 1902 by Elisaveta Kandyba- Foxcroft. CUM Roodepoort. –1981– P 254.
Vir Volk en Vryheid by PF Bruwer. Oranjewerkers Promosies. –1988– Pp 346, 348, 407, 411 – 413, 416 – 455.
Die Laaste Veldslag by Franz Conradie. Daan Retief Publishers. —1981—Pp 62, 77, 78, 83, 123 – 126, 129 – 132.
Historical Geography of South Africa. Special edition for Standard III of South African Schools edited by F Handel Thompson. Henry Frowde, Oxford University Press, Hodder & Stoughton, Warwick Square EC. –1914– Pp 160, 165, 167 – 168.
Gewapende Protes by PG Hendriks. Oranjewerkers Promosies. –1988–Pp 8, 11, 12, 21, 24, 27, 29, 30, 46, 53 – 62, 94, 95.
Kroniek van die Kampkinders by HS van Blerk. Oranjewerkers Promosies. –1989– Pp 35 – 38, 49, 65 – 67, 70, 74, 75, 152.
From Van Riebeeck to Vorster 1652 – 1974. An Introduction to the History of the Republic of South Africa by FA van Jaarsveld.Perskor.—1975—Pp 197, 199, 202 – 205, 209, 217 – 220, 253.
Vyftig Gedigte van C Louis Leipoldt, ‘n keur deur WEG Louw. Tafelberg Publishers. (First edition 1946–Pp 19 – 23.
Gedigte by AG Visser (third print). JL van Schaik. –1928– Pp 57 -61.
Family narrations as recounted since the Second War of Independence from generation to generation. (Author’s great-great-grandmother was detained and tortured in the concentration camp at Heilbron.)
Source …….. http://appiusforum.net/hellkamp.html [if the link doesn’t open on this link, type “hellkamp.html” in after the main url and you will find the actual link of the Source]

Recently a kind lady from Louisiana mailed me a copy of the “History of the Boers in South Africa,” written in 1887 by a Canadian missionary with no political axe to grind: namely George McCall Theal.

It contains a map showing the territories which were being farmed by the Boers: from the Olifants/Limpopo rivers in the north to below the Orange River in the South (Colesburg).

It shows the names of the towns they had started wihich carried names such as Lydenburg, ( Place of Suffering) Vryheid, ( Place of Freedom) Pietermaritzburg, (named after the famous Voortrekker leader) Pilippolis and Bethulie, (named after their beloved Bible) and Potchefstroom, Rustenburg, Winburg and Bloemfontein… as they Trekked, the Boers named the map of South Africa, and many of its vegetation and wildlife as well.

All these Boer names are now being wiped off the map of South Africa in one fell swoop by the ANC-regime — even though the Boers’ official history had ended in 1902, long before the elitist-Afrikaners who ran the secret Afrikaner Broederbond cabal had started apartheid in 1948.

Yet this is not the first time that the Boers are facing such an ethnic cleansing campaign by a nation which is hell-bent to remove their very rights to exist in South Africa – this is actually already the third time in Boer history.

The first time the British tried to eradicate them from the map of South Africa with their vicious war and their even more vicious concentration camps where many tens of thousands of Boer women, children and elderly starved to death within just a few months.

After this first genocide to target the Boer nation, their descendants still managed to cling to their identity for at least another generation – until …..

Link11…Read more HERE
Report of Emily Hobhouse…


Image: and source: http://www-sul.stanford.edu/depts/ssrg/africa/cotext.html#676

Drummer Hodge ~Thomas Hardy
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined – just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.

Young Hodge the Drummer never knew –
Fresh from his Wessex home –
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.

Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge forever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellation reign
His stars eternally.

Boer War and the movies…

Sean Mathias is directing Colossus, based on Ann Harries’ Manly Pursuits, a novel about the Boer War. According to The Hollywood Reporter, the film’s scored a pretty impressive cast, considering that its budget is a relatively small $15 million: Colin Firth, Rachel Weisz, Ian McKellen and Susan Sarandon are all on-board. Though it’s not yet been announced which roles the stars will play, the movie “tells of ailing arch-colonist Cecil Rhodes’ [probably McKellen] belief that he can only recover his health if he can hear the sound of English song birds outside his window in Cape Town.” Get this: Someone is sent from England with 500 freaking songbirds. When he gets there, he falls in love and decides he needs to stop the Boer War from happening. Ah, if only all men in love would immediately resolve to end wars — what a lovely world this would be.
Source:

Link11
http://www.cinematical.com/2006/05/21/cannes-casting-news-tenderness-colossus-woman-of-no-importanc/




















Link11Please click HERE for the Gutenberg-files about the Boer Women during the War and then click on this file-number: files/20194/
Click HERE for a list of Africana books about the war, there’s a list of about 177…English as well as Afrikaans.

Available below is a 1901 recording of the Boer War sentimental favourite Goodbye Dolly Gray. An extract of the song’s lyrics are also provided.

The song was written by Will D. Cobb (lyrics) and Paul Barnes (music). Although it gained widespread fame during the Boer War it had earlier been sung in the U.S. during the U.S.-Spanish War of 1898. The song saw renewed airings with the onset of the First World War in 1914.

Listen to the song here:

Goodbye Dolly Gray

I have come to say goodbye, Dolly Gray,
It’s no use to ask me why, Dolly Gray,
There’s a murmur in the air, you can hear it everywhere,
It’s the time to do and dare, Dolly Gray.

So if you hear the sound of feet, Dolly Gray,
Sounding through the village street, Dolly Gray,
It’s the tramp of soldiers’ true in their uniforms so blue,
I must say goodbye to you, Dolly Gray.

Goodbye Dolly I must leave you, though it breaks my heart to go,
Something tells me I am needed at the front to fight the foe,
See – the boys in blue are marching and I can no longer stay,
Hark – I hear the bugle calling, goodbye Dolly Gray.

Link11Source: http://www.firstworldwar.com/audio/goodbyedollygray.htm


Image and caption: nzhistory.net.nz/media/photo/boer-soldiers-posing
General Joubert’s unit of Boer soldiers and their African servant stop for lunch at Newcastle, Natal, less than a week after war was declared in 1899. Several of the soldiers are leaning against Dr Visser’s travelling medical wagon. Photographed by Robert Gell, 17 October 1899.

British tactics during the South African War included the burning of farmhouses and destruction of livestock so that they would not fall into the hands of Boer commandos. Here members of New Zealand’s Seventh Contingent pose with the carcasses of chickens and sheep.

Fashion could be important, even out on the veldt, as the garments of these Boer women suggest. Photographed by Rough Rider John McGrath

Drummer Hodge…poetry of the Anglo-Boer War.

Drummer Hodge: Poetry of the Boer War—van Wyk Smith, M.
Clarendon Press, Oxford  1978
ISBN: 0198120826  Source: elizabethsbookshop.com.au

These people were as near akin to us as any race which is not
our own. They were of the same Frisian stock which peopled our own
shores. In habit of mind, in religion, in respect for law, they
were as ourselves. Brave, too, they were, and hospitable, with
those sporting instincts which are dear to the Anglo-Celtic race.
There was no people in the world who had more qualities which we
might admire, and not the least of them was that love of
independence which it is our proudest boast that we have encouraged
in others as well as exercised ourselves.
Source:

Link11http://infomotions.com/etexts/gutenberg/dirs/etext02/gboer11.htm

Shaw, John Byam : The Boer War (1901)

Wednesday, 5 March 2008

The title of a painting,” said Marcel Duchamp, “is another colour on the artist’s palette.” He also talked of treating the title “like an invisible colour”. Duchamp’s remarks were part of his ongoing argument with the art of painting.
His point was that painting should not be understood as a purely visual or optical or (to use his favourite jibe), “retinal” art. That was the state to which Impressionism had reduced it. But painting should mobilise all its resources of meaning, among them the title. This verbal component shouldn’t be neutrally descriptive, nor be seen as something extraneous. It could be an integral effect, like another colour.  

Comparing titles to colours was, of course, provocative, because colour is often considered the least verbal, the most inarticulate and untranslatable factor in a painting. But Duchamp’s phrase is more than a tease. It suggests that the title should be liberated. It should be used, not as a caption that presides over the whole picture, but as one more ingredient in the mixture, an active element in the picture’s drama.

Titles were to be given free play. Duchamp’s own were often spectacularly lateral, puzzles and mini-poems in their own right. There was Tum’. There was The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even. And other 20thcentury artists, Dadaist, surreal, abstract, conceptual, took up the challenge, putting the oblique title through all its possible paces.

But the device itself was not the invention of modern art. In the 19th century, while Impressionism flourished in France, another kind of painting had sprung up in England, which would later be criticised, not as “retinal”, but on the contrary as “anecdotal”. In the works of the pre-Raphaelites and their contemporaries, the title of the picture was often made to do crucial extra business.

The Last of England, The First Cloud, The Awakening Conscience, Our English Coasts – these titles are vital ingredients. They introduce story, symbolism, state of mind and always something more or something other than what the picture shows. They make the viewer’s mind jump from the image to an idea behind or beyond the image. And sometimes the jump itself, the sense of distance between the title and the rest of the picture, is where the work’s real power lies.

John Byam Shaw’s The Boer War is far from being a great work. But it’s a work that understands the rich possibilities of the oblique title. The ways that its title performs in the viewer’s mind, both connecting and disconnecting to the image, makes it a kind of masterpiece.

The painting shows – well, what it obviously doesn’t show is the Boer War, or any individual episode from Britain’s Imperial war in South Africa, which had ended the year before this picture was painted. But the likely link between words and image isn’t hard to find. A lone woman stands by a stream at the bottom of a field or garden. She was the fiancée or wife or sister of a man killed in the war. She’s lately heard the news, and gone off on her own. Or she’s been in mourning some time, but the place – this is where they used to walk, and never will again – calls out a sudden pang of memory and grief.

The Boer War is her back story, then, her motivation, the reason for her state of mind. It is the content of her invisible thought bubble. It is, in a sense, a perfectly straight descriptive title for this picture. For how do you show the Boer War except by depicting scenes from the war? And why shouldn’t those scenes include, not only battlefields and sieges, but also the scenes of bereavement and desolation that were the immediate consequence back home?

So the title fits. But at the same time, clearly, we’re to feel a great rupture and estrangement between those words, The Boer War, and the scene before us. And this distance can stand for and stress the various other distances – geographic, experiential – that the work evokes.

There is the distance between peace and war. There is the distance between the green English countryside and the dusty South African veldt. There is the distance between the woman and the man who was absent far away and is now absolutely dead and gone. There is the distance between the woman, with her mind fixed on loss and death, and the burgeoning natural world around her – further emphasised by the way her figure slightly sticks out against the landscape like a piece of collage.

The classic pre-Raphaelite manner of Byam Shaw’s painting, with its manic eye for the proliferating detail of nature, contributes to this effect. You can see it as how the woman herself sees her surroundings. Shock and grief can cause the mind to become blankly transfixed by the minutiae of the physical world, seeking something clear and particular to hold on to – as the narrator in Tennyson’s poem “Maud” focuses on a tiny sea shell after his