Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘music file’ Category

The Afrikaans Language Monument, Paarl, Cape Province, South Africa

The Afrikaans Language Monument…from a different angle

http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/Africa/South_Africa/photo600228.htm

The original idea behind the Afrikaans Language Museum in the 1970’s was to honour the members and work of the society – GRA – founded in 1875 in Paarl. Their aims were to establish Afrikaans as a written language, to standardise the language and to start publishing in Afrikaans. Gideon Malherbe was one of the founders.

This post will be mainly in Afrikaans…You can enjoy the images with the captions in English. As 14th Aug is an important day for Afrikaans, the language, -the most beautiful language in the whole wide world! -I would like to dedicate this post to Afrikaans, the language of my mother tongue, the language I love and the language I cherish! I do write many posts in English, as I have chess players on Chess World that come here often to read and the whole idea of my blog in the start was to blog about South Africa- the country I love – and to introduce them all to the most beautiful country in the world!  On this link – on my blog – you can see magazine covers in Afrikaans and also read some bits from the family magazine – “Huisgenoot” dated 1916 – Advertisements in English.https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2007/09/28/huisgenoot1916/
Here’s an extract of Steve Hofmeyr’s song…”Gatvol”

Net een ding irriteer  my meer as ‘n Engelssprekende Suid Afrikaner   wat aanmatigend oor sy taal is. Daardie een ding wat my so grensloos irriteer en wat ek selfs verafsku, is Afrikaners wat probeer Engels wees. Sulke spontane kulturele selfverkragting is tipies van ‘n sekere tipe agterlike Afrikaner. Ja, diegene ly blykbaar aan’n intense minderwaardigheidsgevoel oor hul herkoms…http://www.praag.org/mambo/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=40&Itemid=37

Die  inligting wat nou volg,  het ek van Roosmaryn se blog gekry. Ek geniet haar blog geweldig en kuier gereeld daar. Jy sal haar blognaam kry in my verwysings. Hierdie inligting is alles wat in my soektog op haar blog opgekom het toe ek na inligting oor die GRA gesoek het. Sommige van julle sal weet dat 14 Aug altyd as “Afrikaanse dag”  – “herdenk” is. Dit is die dag waarop die GRA (Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners) gestig is ..14 Aug 1875. Lees hierdie brokkies van Roosmaryn, dis werklik interessant. Aan die einde van hierdie pos is daar twee gedigte…jy kan op die bladsy “my poetry-gedigte” nog meer Afrikaanse gedigte ook vind.
FAK se Taalkomitee gestig
2 Junie 1967

Die Hoofbestuur van die FAK het sy Taalkomitee gestig om hom te adviseer oor die wyse waarop die FAK sy taak ten opsigte van die handhawing en bevordering van Afrikaans kan uitvoer. Die komitee het van meet af aan doelgerig aandag geskenk aan die bevordering van Afrikaans onder meer in die sakewêreld, die hotelbedryf, die staatsdiens, die vervoerwese, op alle onderwys vlakke en die naamgewing van strate en dorpsgebiede. Dit is gedoen by wyse van gereelde briefwisseling en persoonlike onderhoude. Boek uitstallings, soos die omvangryke boeke fees in die Taalfeesjaar in die Paarl in 1975, is ‘n gereelde projek van die komitee om die lees van die Afrikaanse boek te bevorder. Die Langenhoven fees is in 1973 gereël, die gevierde skryfster M.E.R. is met haar honderdste verjaardag vereer, en huldigingsfeeste vir Totius (1977) en A.G. Visser -1978- is gehou. Die publikasies Afrikaans ons Pêrel van Groot Waarde en GRA Herdenk is op inisiatief van die komitee in 1974 en 1975 uitgegee. Afrikaans was by verskeie Algemene Vergaderings die kongres tema, en gereelde artikels oor al die aspekte van taalbevordering word vir Handhaaf gelewer. FAK–365Spore.blogspot.com


22 April 1923
D.F. (Oom Lokomotief) du Toit oorlede

Daniel Francois du Toit, D.P. seun, in later jare alombekend as Oom Lokomotief, is op 15 Januarie 1846 op die plaas Kleinbos, Daljosafat, gebore en is in Bloemfontein oorlede. Hy was ‘n stigterslid van die Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners. In 1878 word hy redakteur van die Afrikaanse Patriot, en hy oefen op die wyse geweldig baie invloed uit op die Taalbeweging. Van Die Patriot het hy ‘n gevestigde koerant met invloed gemaak. Hy het so eie met die lesers gesels dat hulle vertroue in sy koerant gehad het. Alle moontlike vrae word daarin beantwoord; daar word raad gegee, moed ingepraat en koers aangedui. Daar ontstaan ‘n onverbreekbare band tussen leser en redakteur. Met die veranderde politieke houding van sy ouer broer, ds. S.J. du Toit, leier van die GRA, kon hy nie saamgaan nie, en hy verlaat saam met C.P. Hoogenhout in 1891 Die Patriot. In 1892 verhuis hy na die Vrystaat, waar hy later in Bloemfontein argivaris was. Aka fak P.J.N–365Spore.blogspot.com

1874
W. Postma gebore

Willem (dr. O’kulis) Postma was ‘n Gereformeerde predikant, baanbreker skrywer en streng Calvinis. In Bloemfontein beywer hy hom vir die erkenning van Afrikaans as taal en voorspel dat Afrikaans een van die amptelike tale van Suid-Afrika sal word. Hy het as CNO-man die Engelse Onderwysstelsel in die OVS heftig teëgestaan. Gevolglik stig hy die eerste CNO-skool in 1905 in die voorportaal van die Gereformeerde Kerk, Bloemfontein. In 1916 word hy voorsitter van die provinsiale onderwyskommissie in die OVS. Op die eerste vergadering van die Bybelvertalings kommissie (22November 1916) verteenwoordig hy die Gereformeerde Kerk en in dieselfde jaar verskyn uit sy pen ‘n vertaling in Afrikaans van die Nuwe Testamentiese boek Titus. In 1914 word hy die regterhand van genl. J.B.M. Hertzog tydens die stigting van die Nasionale Party. In 1909 verskyn sy werk, Die esels kakebeen. Hy is op 13 Desember 1920 op Reddersburg oorlede. Aka fak D.E


1876
Eerste Beginsels van die Afrikaanse Taal gepubliseer

Die voorstanders van Afrikaans het dadelik besef dat ‘n Afrikaanse spraakkuns onontbeerlik is. Nog voor die stigting van die Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners skryf Een Ware Afrikaander (ds. S.J. du Toit) op 30 Januarie 1875 aan Klaas Waarzegger jr. (C.P. Hoogenhout) oor die Eerste Beginsels van die Afrikaanse Taal onder meer die Eerste Beginsels van die Afrikaanse Taal onder meer Die eerste vraag sal wees …wat is die Afrikaanse taal? Die eerste boekies is geskryf en gedruk ooreenkomstig ‘n bepalingin die statute van die GRA. Die naam van die vroegste werkie is Eerste Beginsels van die Afrikaanse Taal (1876), wat veral die hand van ds. S.J. du Toit verraai, maar waaraan ook eerw.. J.W. van der Rijst en C.P. Hoogenhout meegewerk het. Dit was maar dun en het slegs 29 bladsye leesstof bevat. Ses jaar later is dit herdruk en in 1897 deur ds. Du Toit enigsins omgewerk, toe 6 000 eksemplare van die Fergelykende Taalkunde fan Afrikaans en Engels, soos dit nou heet, gedruk is. In 1902 was ‘n herdruk al nodig. Die GRA is op hulle vergaderings gereeld op die hoogte gehou van die vordering wat gemaak is met die skryf en publikasie van Eerste Beginsels. Aka fak P.J.N

1859
E.J. du Toit gebore

Erns Johannes du Toit, oorlede op 12 Januarie 1924, was hoof van die drukkers firma D.F. du Toit en Co. en later lid van die Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners. Hy het verskeie van die eerste Afrikaanse boeke uitgegee en ook die laaste jaargange van die koerante Die Afrikaanse Patriot en die tydskrif Ons Klyntji.
Aka fak prof. dr. P.J. Nienaber

1876
Die Afrikaanse Patriot verskyn vir die eerste keer

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. ‘n Rubriek van vrae en antwoorde is ontwerp om weetgierigheid op te wek en te bevredig. Afrikaners is aangemoedig om bydraes te stuur, sodat hulle kon leer om hulle taal ook te skryf. Die redaksie het lesers aangespoor om gedigte hou foutief ook al, in te stuur. Deur taal bespreking wou die GRA liefde, eerbied en belangstelling opwek vir die Afrikaanse taal. In eenvoudige spreektaal sou die lesers ingelig word oor die vernaamste nuus. So kon plattelandse Afrikaners bereik en opgevoed word vir wie die Hollandse en Engelse taal moeilik leesbaar was. Die Patriot het sterk teenkanting ontvang sowel van Hollandse as van Engelse kant. Medewerkers het onder skuilname geskryf en moes dikwels onder growwe spot deurloop. Die sterkste teenkanting het van die voorstanders van Hollands gekom, wat Nederlands as die volkstaal gesien het en Afrikaans as ‘n “patois”, ‘n Hotnotstaaltjie beskou het. Ten spyte van teenkanting het die redaksie soms met groot opoffering voorgegaan, en teen 1880 was Die Patriot die mees gelese blad in Suid-Afrika. Dit was veral te danke aan die politieke houding wat die blad aangeneem het, gebaseer op Christelike beginsels en die strewe om die Afrikaanse volksaak te bevorder. In 1904 is die blad gestaak na kwynende belangstelling, veral as gevolg van die veranderde politieke beleid van S.J. du Toit, wat sy steun aan Rhodes toegesê het. Die redaksie van Die Patriot het insig in die behoeftes van die volk gehad en was daarop ingestel om by die eenvoudige Afrikaners die behoefte aan geestesvoedsel op te wek en dan daarin te voorsien. Die blad het leiding gegee in landsake en die Afrikaner laat belang stel in die politiek. Die Patriot het baie bygedra tot die ontwaking van ‘n Afrikanernasionalisme deur die Afrikaner bewus te maak van die skoonheid van sy taal, sy eie grootse geskiedenis en sy unieke geestesbesit. Dit het die Afrikaner leer lees en skryf en hom laat besef dat sy spreektaal nie vir Hollands as skryftaal hoef terug te staan nie. As die eerste Afrikaanse koerant, het Die Patriot ‘n onberekenbare bydrae gelewer tot die opheffing van Afrikaans tot skryf- en volkstaal. Aka fak prof. dr. P.G. Nel

1865
Jan F.E. Celliers gebore

Johannes Francois Elias Celliers was ‘n bekende Afrikaanse skrywer, digter en dramaturg. Hy lê sy Landmeters eksamen in Nederland af, maar word later ‘n amptenaar in die onderwysdepartement van die ZAR en in 1894 staatsbibliotekaris in Pretoria. Met die uitbreek van die Engelse Oorlog, sluit hy hom by die kommando’s aan, en in 1902 vertrek hy na Europa, waar hy sy beroemde gedig: Die Vlakte skryf. In 1907 keer hy na Suid-Afrika terug en werk by die Departement van Binnelandse Sake in Transvaal. In 1919 word hy ‘n buitengewone professoraat aan die Universiteit van Stellenbosch aangebied. Baie van sy verse weerspieël sy huislikheid en liefde vir kinders. Behalwe sy digterlike arbeid, werk hy ook mee tot die stigting van Die Brandwag. Hy was ‘n volksdigter, “een wat in woorde vaslê wat in die hart van die nasie omgaan” (Preller). Sy prosawerk is van weinig literêre waarde, maar as digter beklee hy ‘n besondere plek in die Afrikaanse letterkunde. Hy vestig hom na sy aftrede aanvanklik in Kaapstad maar later op Harrismith, waar hyop 1 Junie 1940 oorlede is. aka fak prof. dr. P.G. Nel


Vryheidslied

Vrome vad’re fier en groot!
Deur vervolging, ramp en nood,
was hul leuse, tot die dood:
Vryheid! Vryheid!

Erfnis van hul moed en trou
is die grond waar ons op bou.
Juigend tot die hemelblou:
Vryheid! Vryheid!

Ere wie die dood mag lei
om te rus aan hulle sy,
met die sterwenswoord te skei:
Vryheid! Vryheid!

Op dan, broers en druk hul spoor,
voorwaarts, broers, die vaandel voor,
laat die veld ons krygsroep hoor:
Vryheid! Vryheid!

Woes geweld mag hoogty hou,
kettings mag ons lede knou,
maar die leuse bly ons trou:
Vryheid! Vryheid!

Jukke mag vir slawe wees,
manneharte ken geen vrees,
duld geen boei vir lyf of gees:
Vryheid! Vryheid!

Woorde: JaN F.E. Celliers
Musiek: Emiel Hullebroeck


Die vlakte

Ek slaap in die rus van die eeue gesus,
ongesien, ongehoord,
en dof en loom in my sonnedroom,
ongewek, ongestoord.
Tot die yl-bloue bande van die ver-verre rande
skuif my breedte uit,
wyd-kringend aan die puur al-omwelwend asuur
wat my swyend omsluit.

Jong aarde se stoot het my boesem ontbloot
bo die diep van die meer;
en volswanger van lewe ‘t oor die waat’re geswewe
die gees van die Heer.
Uit die woelende nag van haar jeugdige krag
brag die aarde voort
Lewiatansgeslagte, geweldig van kragte –
storm-ontruk aan haar skoot.
Diep in my gesteente berg ek hul gebeente –
die geheim van hul lewe en lot;
maar gewek uit die sode herleef uit die dode,
na die ewig hernuwingsgebod,
die van d’ verlede in vorme van d’ hede,
in eindeloos komme en gaan;
wat die dood my vertrou ‘t, ek bewaar dit as goud,
en geen grein sal ‘k verlore laat gaan.

As die son oor my vloer in die more kom loer,
en die dou van my lippe kom kus,
dan kyk ek net stom met ‘n glimlag om
en ek le maar weer stil in my rus.
Hog bowe die kim op sy troon geklim,
is hy heer van lewe en dood;
na wil of luim gee hy, skraal of ruim,
verderf of lewensbrood.

Uit die gloeiende sfeer brand hy wreed op my neer,
tot my naaktheid kraak en skroei,
en my koorsige asem in bewende wasem
al hygend my bors ontvloei.
In sy skadetjie rond om sy stam op die grond
staat ‘n eensame doringboom,
soos die Stilte op haar troon, met dorings gekroon,
wat roerloos die eeue verdroom.
Geen drop vir die dors aan my stofdroe bors:
my kinders* versmag en beswyk,
en die stowwe staan soos hul trek en gaan
om my skrale dis te ontwyk.

Soos ‘n vlokkie skuim uit die sfere se ruim
kom ‘n wolkie aangesweef,
maar hy groei in die blou tot ‘n stapelbou
van marmer wat krul en leef –
kolossaal monument op sy swart fondament,
waar die bliksem in brul en beef.
En o, met my is die windjies bly:
hul spring uit die stof orent
en wals en draai in dwarrelswaai
oor my vloer, van ent tot ent:
die gras skud hul wakker om same te jakker,
tot hy opspring uit sy kooi
en soos mane en sterte van jaende perde
sy stingels golf en gooi.

Met dof-sware plof, soos koeels in die stof,
kom die eerste drupples neer,
tot dit ruis alom soos deur die gebrom
en gekraak van die donderweer.
Met kloue vooruit om te gryp en te buit
jaag ‘n haelwolk langs verby,
soos ‘n perde-kommande wat dreun oor die lande
vertrap en gesel hy-
en sy lyke-kleed sien ek ver en breed
in die awendson gesprei.

Stil in die duister le ‘k so en luister
hoe die spruite gesels en lag;
maar bowe die pak van my wolkedak
het die maan al lank gewag:
nou breek en skeur hy ‘n baan daardeur
om te deel in my vreug benede;
hy sprei die waas van sy romig-blou gaas-
en ek lag so stil-tevrede.
Plek op plek, soos die wolke trek,
sweef die skaduwees onder mee,
soos eilande wyd oor die waat’re verspreid
op die boesem van die grote see.
Met ‘n afskeidskus gaan die maan ook ter rus,
en ek wag op die daeraad-
so skoon en so mooi soos ‘n fris jong nooi
wat lag in haar bruidsgewaad.

Oor die bukte se rug slaat die gloed in die lug
van die brande wat ver-weg kwyn,
en doringbome fluister in rooi skemerduister
van gevare wat kom of verdwyn.
Uit slote en plas, uit die geurende gras,
styg ‘n danklied op ten hemel;
en dis net of ek hoor hoe die kriekies se koor
weergalm uit die sterre gewemel,
waar wêrelde gaan op hul stille baan
tot die einde van ruimte en tyd.
So, groots en klaar, staat Gods tempel daar,
wyd – in sy majesteit.

* “kinders” is wildsbokke
Uit “Die Vlakte” -1908-

1847
Ds. S.J. du Toit Gebore
Stephanus Jacobus du Toit is op Dal Josafat by die Paarl gebore. Hy het sy skool-en teologiese opleiding respektiewelik aan die Paarlse Gimnasium en die Kweekskool op Stellenbosch ontvang. S.J. du Toit was onder die invloed van Arnoldus Pannevis ‘n vurige voorvegter vir Afrikaansas selfstandige taal. Sy politiek-nasionale doelstelling- “om te staan vir ons taal, ons nasie en ons land” – het hy deur die stigting van die Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners (GRA) op 14 Augustus 1875, met as spreekbuis Die Afrikaanse Patriot, die Afrikanerbond in 1879 en sy aandeel in die opstel van die Afrikaanse Volkslied, bevorder. Hy kan daarom as die eerste Afrikaanse Nasionalisbeskou word. In 1882 het hy Superintendent van Onderwys in Transvaal geword. Sy onderwyswet het die onderwys in die Republiek bevorder. Sy eersug en betrokkenheid by Transvaalse politieke aangeleenthede, soos die Wesgrens-kwessie, die Pretoria-Konvensie, aandelespekulasies in die Goudstad, leerstellige aangeleenthede en sy teenkanting teen die regering se konsessiebeleid, het hom in regeringskringe ongewild gemaak. In 1888 het hy as Superintendent van Onderwys bedank en hom weer in die Paarl gaan vestig, waar hy hom met die vertaling van die Bybel in Afrikaans, ‘n taak deur die GRA in 1885 aan hom oorgedra, besig gehou het. Hy was dus ook ‘n baanbreker op die gebied van die Afrikaanse Bybelvertaling. Na sy terugkeer in die Paarl het hy die beleidsrigting van Die Patriot gewysig. Sy kritiek op die Krugerbewind en pleidooie vir konsiliasie tussen Brits- en Afrikaanssprekendes het hom verder van sy mede-Afrikaners vervreem. Die gevolg was dat die Eerste Taalbeweging, waarvan hy die vader was, teen 1900 doodgeloop het. In sy tweede Paarlse tydperk het ds. S.J. du Toit egter verbasend veel ter bevordering van die Afrikaanse taal en letterkunde sowel as oor algemene en godsdienstige onderwerpe gepubliseer. Hy het verskeie Afrikaanse boeke geskryf, soos Die Koningin van Skeba (1898), die eerste Afrikaanse gepubliseerde drame. Hy het ook gedigte geskryf, maar hulle is nooit gebundel nie. Hy is algemeen beskou as die “Vader van die Afrikaanse taal; stigter van die Afrikanerbond en stryder van die Calvinisme”. (Die inskripsie op sy graf). In sy lewe was hy predikant van die NG Kerk, Calvinistiese teoloog, Bybelvertaler, leier van die Eerste Afrikaanse Taalbeweging, skrywer, Superintendent van Onderwys in Transvaal, en koerant- en tydskrifredakteur. Op ‘n besoek aan Calvinia in Augustus 1910 het sy perdekar omgeval. Die ernstige beserings wat hy in die ongeluk opgedoen het, het uiteindelik gelei tot sy sterwe op 28 Mei 1911 op Kleinbosch, Dal Josafat. Dankie aan Roosmaryn! 365Spore.blogspot.com

The National Afrikaans Literature Museum in Bloemfontein

Charlize Theron…Afrikaans speaking..and proud to admit it!

This T-shirt says…”my dad is bigger than your dad!”…you all know that one for sure!

As jy ‘n DelaRey t-shirt het…sal jy die woorde ken!

This t-shirt says: Daddy’s little sperm!! hehe

This card says…”I love you” in Afrikaans.

Afrikaans on T-shirts…image found on google

Jou afwesigheid
Die son se stilte sprei oor die more-dou
en maak jou afwesigheid soveel moeiliker
Tyd kan nie uitvee die herinneringe
En moeiliker die misverstande
Nog die gebroke siel heel
Maar die soete verlede van lank gele’
Steek vas en onderhou my geheue
Verblydend is jou bestaan
Wat my wêreld  verkleur!

–©Nikita–

 

birds_flying

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
Afrikaans
Jy is nou
Afrikaans
Jy is besonders
Afrikaans
Jy is uniek
Afrikaans
Jy is getrou
Afrikaans:
My denke
My wese
My lewe!
©Nikita 2008
Nadat ek die kort gediggie geskryf het, het ek dit op verskeie webbladsye gelees – en ek is bly julle almal geniet dit! Maak asseblief net seker dat jy krediet gee aan wie dit verskuldig is.
Afrikaanse stories op hierdie link op my blog:
Dankie weereens aan Roosmaryn: 365Spore.blogspot.com

O, BOEREPLAAS

Woorde: C.F. VISSER
Musiek: JOHANNES JOUBERT; verwerk: ARTHUR ELLIS

O boereplaas, geboortegrond!
Jou het ek lief bo alles.
Al dwaal ek heel die wêreld rond,
waar so gelukkig, so gesond?
O boereplaas, geboortegrond!
Jou het ek lief bo alles.

O moederhuis, waar ooit so tuis?
Jou het ek lief bo alles.
Die wêreld, rykdom, prag en praal
kan jou verlies my nooit betaal.
O moederhuis, waar ooit so tuis?
Jou het ek lief bo alles.

O moedertaal, o soetste taal!
Jou het ek lief bo alles.
Van al die tale wat ek hoor,
niks wat my siel ooit so bekoor.
O moedertaal, o soetste taal!
Jou het ek lief bo alles.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


Image:icecreamjournal.turkeyhill.com

 My blog is this month…ONE year old!! The actual “birthday” is the 9th….I’ve decided to link this “celebration” to some “memories”…after a year, you always think back/reflect on things that happened throughout the year..and you try to improve the next year…so: I’ve decided to “reflect” a bit…not really…hehehe…it’s just a blog! but to “refresh” some minds…I’ve decided to blog about the things I like/love…well, by just looking at that Springbok rugby player…I don’t have to say more!! Go to Sept/Oct 2007 and you’ll find about 10 entries on the World Cup Rugby…mostly about the Springboks ( of course!!)  and their games..but there is at least the one of England against France too! I love rugby…and that’s due to my very first boyfriend…he played rugby for about 3 clubs…the same time!.. and I  used to spend my days at Loftus!! ….all those days chewing biltong (jerky for the Americans!) and droëwors! with the other girls…the links to entries on my blog  is self explainable…according to the stats since Nov 2007.
Most popular Chess link …Bobby Fischer.. was and is…the most popular POETRY link….and the most popular ART link…all of these links have had 1000+ hits till now…and this link is the MOST popular link on my site…with 1500+ hits since I’ve moved my blog to WordPress in November.

Image: bestbiltong.com


I’m sure that TESSA wouldn’t mind me blogging  one of her fantastic pictures again..this is South Africa! and follow the link to see some more beautiful images!

I couldn’t help myself blogging this video! It has taken me back a couple of years…I  took piano lessons from  age 11…and when I was in secondary…. I was desperate to play this piece of music!! I practised it myself…it’s from a book which I didn’t use with my teacher….I could play it about half way at the end…but hey!! this piece of music is so tricky!! I really admire anybody that plays it like this lady does in the video! I still wish I could play it like that…<sigh>…sweet memories…ENJOY!
Here is an audio file to listen to… from THIS SITE

If the above link doesn’t work, try this NEW link here.

Percy Montgomery!…my favourite Springbok rugby player.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

Let us not forget today….People who died for our freedom during the wars! People who served during the wars….Remembrance day…11 November, 11 am….
A bit Afrikaans…
*****My gedagtes gaan ook na my eie pa wat in WWII geveg het, hy het skool op ouderdom 16 verlaat om ‘n Bomwerper te wees. Vandag het ek sy log-boek in my besit – omdat ek sy naamgenoot is – waarin al die vlugte opgeteken is, al die bomme wat afgegooi is, waar dit afgegooi is, watter teikens getref is…ens ens. Hy was in Egipte/Italie. Hy’s op ‘n vroeë ouderdom oorlede aan ‘n hartaanval en die dokter het gemeen dis die spanning van die oorlog, want blykbaar het baie soldate – van WWII –  op ‘n vroeë ouderdom gesterf deur spannings-verwante probleme wat die nagevolg is van die oorlog-spanning. *****
Image: sparkyteaching.com
Why the Poppy?
Scarlet poppies (popaver rhoeas) grow naturally in conditions of disturbed earth throughout Western Europe. The destruction brought by the Napoleonic wars of the early 19th Century transformed bare land into fields of blood red poppies, growing around the bodies of the fallen soldiers.In late 1914, the fields of Northern France and Flanders were once again ripped open as the First World War raged through Europe’s heart.The significance of the poppy as a lasting memorial symbol to the fallen was realised by the Canadian surgeon John McCrae in his poem In Flanders Fields. The poppy came to represent the immeasurable sacrifice made by his comrades and quickly became a lasting memorial to those who died in the First World War and later conflicts.
Listen to the song…”The Green Fields of France”…and you can download it here: http://olc.spsd.sk.ca/De/resources/remember/links.html …..

Click on THIS LINK to watch a video about  a Canadian Veteran talking about the war.

Read more here

In Flanders Fiels

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

By John McCrae 1915

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Reply to Flanders Fields
Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders sky
That dims the stars to those below.
You are our dead, you held the foe,
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We’ll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders Fields.
Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom’s cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders Fields.

As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders Fields.

And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.

– John Mitchell

Poppies, picture by Tom Barret 

The most famous Canadian poem was inspired by one of the fiercest battles of the First World War.

During a lull in the battle, Lt.-Col. John McCrae scribbled the 13 lines of In Flanders Field on a scrap of paper, describing the horror he had seen at Ypres and the hope that it would not be forgotten.

McCrae, a tall, boyish 43-year-old member of the Canadian Medical Corps., was an artillery veteran of the Boer War in South Africa. He went to the line in at Ypres on April 22, 1915, the first time the enemy used poison gas.

But the first attack failed and so did the next wave and the next. For 17 days the allies repulsed wave after wave of the attacking enemy.

“One can see the dead lying there on the front field,” McCrae wrote ‘And in places where the enemy threw in an attack, they lie very thick on the slopes of the German trenches.”

McCrae, worked on the bank of the Yser Canal, dressing hundreds of wounded. At times the dead and wounded actually rolled down the bank from above his dugout. Other times, while awaiting the arrival of batches of wounded, he would watch the men at work in the burial plots which were quickly filling up.

Finally, McCrae and his unit were relieved and he wrote home: “We are weary in body and wearier in mind. The general impression in my mind is one of a nightmare”.

In April 1915, his closest friend was killed.

McCrae, who had written poetry since childhood in Guelph, Ont., sat down and distilled his thoughts about the war into his famous poem.

A full life … As well as being poet and author, John McCrae was a teacher and doctor before going overseas to fight the war.
He mailed the hand-written sheet off to Punch magazine in England and it was published in December 1915.

McCrae never returned home from the war. He died of pneumonia in Boulogne, France on January 28, 1918.

Near the town of Mennin, in Flanders, Belgium, they’ve restored as a shrine the battlefield bunker where McCrae wrote his famous poem. In memory of McCrae and other war dead, a bugler plays the Last Post every evening.

Born to a Scottish family that operated woolen and lumber mills, McCrae graduated from Guelph Collegiate with a scholarship to the University of Toronto.

He earned a B.A. and a medical degree at Toronto, did graduate work at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, served as a gunner with Canadian Field Artillery in the Boer War and then moved to Montreal.

His Guelph home is now a museum that attracts visitors from Belgium, France, Britain and Germany.
Source: http://www.canoe.ca/RemembranceDay/mccrae.html

This next poem was written by a South African poet about a South African that died at Vlaandere during the war…

Aan die graf van ‘n onbekende Boerseun in Vlaandere

Erens in Vlaanderland het jy die stof
van ou Europa met jou bloed verjong;
maar by jou wrede heengaan kon g’n tong
jou vroom toeprewel: “Stof is jy, tot stof. . .”

Met ragtime-deuntjies in jou kop het jy
uiteindelik jou Golgota gevind. –
0, opdraand was jou skofte, trekkerskind, –
jy kón nie in jou tuiste vatplek kry!

En êrens in ou VIaanderland staan daar
In eensame klein kruisie. – Seun van God!
Moet ons ou volkie aanhou offer tot
ons, soos U Kruis, oor heel die wêreld staar?

Stil, stil, my hart, al kan jy niks meer dra; –
in Vlaand’re rus ‘n seun van Afrika!

JRL Van Bruggen

An American, Miss Moira Michael, read In Flanders’ Fields and wrote a reply entitled We Shall Keep the Faith:

Oh! You who sleep in Flanders’ fields,
Sleep sweet – to rise anew,
We caught the torch you threw,
And holding high we kept
The faith with those who died.
We cherish too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valour led.

It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies,
But lends a lustre to the red
Of the flower that blooms above the dead
In Flanders’ fields.

And now the torch and poppy red
Wear in honour of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders’ fields.

Other poets of the time were also stirred to write responses to McCrae’s poem.

America’s Answer
Rest ye in peace, ye Flanders’ dead.
The fight that ye so bravely led
We’ve taken up. And we will keep
True faith with you who lie asleep
With a cross to mark his bed,
In Flanders’ fields.

Fear not that ye have died for naught.
The torch ye threw to us we caught.
Ten million hands will hold it high,
And Freedom’s light shall never die!
We’ve learned the lesson that ye taught
In Flanders’ fields.

R.W. Lilliard

Reply to In Flanders’ Fields
In Flanders’ fields the cannons boom,
And fitful flashes light the gloom;
While up above, like eagles, fly
The fierce destroyers of the sky;
With stains the earth wherein you lie
Is redder than the poppy bloom,
In Flanders’ fields.

Sleep on, ye brave! The shrieking shell,
The quaking trench, the startling yell,
The fury of the battle hell
Shall wake you not, for all is well;
Sleep peacefully, for all is well.

Your flaming torch aloft we bear,
With burning heart and oath we swear
To keep the faith, to fight it through,
To crush the foe, or sleep with you,
In Flanders’ fields.

J. A. Armstrong

Reply to Flanders’ Fields
Oh! sleep in peace where poppies grow;
The torch your falling hands let go
Was caught by us, again held high,
A beacon light in Flanders’ sky
That dims the stars to those below.
Your are our dead, you held the foe
And ere the poppies cease to blow,
We’ll prove our faith in you who lie
In Flanders’ fields.

Oh! rest in peace, we quickly go
To you who bravely died, and know
In other fields was heard the cry,
For freedom’s cause, of you who lie,
So still asleep where poppies grow,
In Flanders’ fields.

As in rumbling sound, to and fro,
The lightning flashes, sky aglow,
The mighty hosts appear, and high
Above the din of battle cry,
Scarce heard amidst the guns below,
Are fearless hearts who fight the foe,
And guard the place where poppies grow.
Oh! sleep in peace, all you who lie
In Flanders’ fields.

And still the poppies gently blow,
Between the crosses, row on row.
The larks, still bravely soaring high,
Are singing now their lullaby
To you who sleep where poppies grow
In Flanders’ fields.

John Mitchell

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »