Everything/Anything and…Chess…"Despite the documented evidence by chess historian HJR Murray, I've always thought that chess was invented by a goddess"–George Koltanowski: from the foreword to:"Women in chess, players of the Modern Age"
Die 8ste Januarie het ons met aanlyn skool begin en vandag – 3 Maart – was die laaste dag – en ek dink ek het ‘n drankie nodig – soos die gedig hierbo se! Dit was harde werk, al die beplanning moes oorgedoen word sodat ons deur Zoom dit kon onderrig en die kinders dit tuis kon doen met die hulp van ouers – na die Onderwyser se aandeel afgehandel is. Dit was ‘n heeltemal ander manier van ‘doen’ en aanpassings moes gemaak word – waarmee Onderwysers baie goed is. Baie keer – byna daagliks, moet jy aanpassings maak, want sommer uit die bloute kan heelwat dinge in die skool gebeur en jy moet op jou tone kan dink en gereed wees vir daardie aanpassings. Dus, jy moet buigbaar wees en dit kan hanteer as jy vinnig dinge moet verander, vir welke rede ookal.
Die vertaling van die gedeelte van die gedig in plein Engels: I wish I had some vintage wine that has been stored for years deep in the belly of the earth, wine that tastes of flowers and the countryside, of dancing, folk singing, and happy sunshine!
Ek is nie ‘n wyndrinker nie – daarmee bedoel ek dat dit nie deel is van my daaglikse lewe nie, maar ek is eerder ‘n een-keer-‘n-jaar-glasie-persoon. Rooiwyn is my gunsteling – ek kry hoofpyn van witwyn of sjampanje.
Die Karlienblom is my groot gunsteling blom! Ek het so bietjie rondgespeel met die waterverf – iets wat ek nog nooit regtig aangepak het nie – eerder iets wat ek die kinders leer en dis iets wat hulle moet doen – hierdie keer het ek self probeer. Ek het net rondgespeel om die verf en papier te toets, veral die kwaliteit van die verf en wat dit op die tipe papier doen om te weet of ek ander verf moes koop – en ook dalk ander tipe waterverf papier. Ek het dit nogal geniet en dink dat verf met waterverf nogal ‘n lekker tydverdryf kan wees en baie makliker as olieverf is. Ek hou daarvan dat jy ‘n fout ken ‘fix’ met die waterverf. Ek het eenkeer olieverf op ‘n klein doek probeer, dit het nogal uitgekom soos die video wat ek gevolg het, maar dit was uiters moeilik om met die olieverf te werk – veral as jy dit nie voorheen gebruik het nie. Ek dink nie ek sal dit weer probeer nie, terwyl die waterverf iets is wat ek beslis weer wil probeer. Ek hoop jy het my pampoen raakgesien!
From The Tempest: Miranda and Ferdinand playing chess
Image: Wikipedia The Chess Players attributed to Karel van Mander. This was identified in 1916 as an image of Ben Jonson and Shakespeare playing chess. Most scholars consider this to be pure speculation, but the claim was revived in 2004 by Jeffrey Netto, who argued that the chess game symbolises “the well known professional rivalry between these figures in terms of a battle of wits”.
Update: 2016 – Shakespeare died 400 years ago and today is Shakespeare day! I’ve decided to repost an entry of 4 years ago. Please enjoy my ‘contribution’ to Shakespeare day. The following is my entry of 2012.
I’ve written another cento – I had to, because it’s a chess one! I’ve taken again Shakespeare lines – like my Moonrider-cento , where I also used Shakespeare. A cento is a form of poetry, where you use lines of different poems. In this case [like Moonrider], I’ve used lines of Shakespeare’s works – and not different poems. This cento was much easier to put together than Moonrider, as they are shorter lines and I didn’t really spent that much time thinking how to merge it into a poem that makes sense. I couldn’t give it a title other than ‘A Game of Chess’. I have made minor changes here and there – to the word order or adding of an exclamation mark – just for effect. This ‘poem‘ is almost like a dialogue – as it’s various characters speaking in role from Shakespeare’s plays.
A Game of Chess Sweet lord, you play me false For a score of kingdoms you should wrangle and I would call it fair play How fares the king? His hour is almost past
A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse! And I have horse – will follow where the game makes way. I have his horse! Give me another horse! So, the good horse is mine. My day’s delight is past, my horse is gone. The rascal hath removed my horse.
Are the knights ready to begin their triumph? A wandering knight? I am undone! The knight is here! Great shouts within all cry ‘the mean knight!’ Great is the humour of this dreadful knight.
I dare thereupon pawn My life I never held but as a pawn I have not pawn’d to you my majesty? I pawn’d thee none! I’ll send some bishop to entreat The bishop will be overborne by thee Wat says my bully rook?
There stands my castle! His queen, it was his queen! Queen of queens, how far dost thou excel? Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen Sir your queen must overboard! Will take your queen Farewell sweet queen!
I’ll move the king. The skipping king, he ambles up and down This may gall him for some check No mates for you! We’ll draw! My lord, your son drew my master Where’s the master? Play the men! Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown
[Shakespeare-lines -] Click on this link to read more about the Cento and to read what Folger Education think about my cento. I feel humble – you can view their comments in their comments box. Thank you!
–Click on this link to see the complete list of chess quotes with the references to the works of Shakespeare.
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.
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.
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.
CENTO A poem consisting only of lines from other poems. This, from the Italian word for patchwork, is almost a technique rather than a form, especially as it can be of any length, and any metre, and need not rhyme; however, as the finished poem is referred to as a cento, just as a sonnet is called a sonnet, it is a form.
This is not my own poem. It’s actually not even a ‘real’ poem. All these lines are Shakespeare’s writing. What I’ve done, was to take lines – with the same theme, which is the moon, and put them together – and I was trying to get it to make sense. The title is my own though, of course. This is what you call a ‘cento.’
I do love Shakespeare and my favourite is Hamlet, maybe because it was the book prescribed when it was my matric-year. It was always a nightmare, having to study Shakespeare and knowing all those quotes – I think I studied about 50 of the quotes. We had to know from what Act/Scene the quote was and you never knew which quotes you would get, but even that didn’t put me off from Shakespeare.
Moonrider
The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth It is the very error of the moon Swifter than the wandering moon Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires
Sweet moon, I thank thee for they sunny beams So many journeys That I, being govern’d by the waterymoon Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon You moonshine revellers and shades of night How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Another moon: but, o, methinks, how slow And the moon changes even as your mind Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon
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.
We drove off this afternoon – I wanted to keep my sanity, with all the marking of GCSE Coursework – and took the road down where we live into the countryside. The first photo was taken about 500m from our house and the others – as we travelled down Chartridge Lane. Photo 13 and 14 were taken along the road which I travel daily. I have more pics to share, but thought to spoil you a bit later with more. Seasons in the northern hemisphere change rapidly. Now you see bare trees, now you don’t! We new those lovely colours would be gone by next week and I’m glad I was in time to show you what it looks like during Autumn where we live now. Enjoy the Autumn-poems too.
Die plekkie waar ons bly is nie baie groot nie, maar heelwat groter as wat ek gedink het. Wat klein is, is die besigheidsarea – daar’s nie ‘n verskeidenheid van winkeltjies nie. Wat wel lekker is, is hulle Boeremark op Saterdae. Heerlike vars groente en vrugte is te koop. Ons naburige Amersham – byna 1 myl van hier af, het ‘n groot en lekker Tesco wat 24 uur oop is en hulle hoofstraat word in die week toegemaak en dan’s daar ook ‘n straatmark. Die twee plekkies – Chesham en Amersham – het altwee ‘n baie ou gedeelte wat hulle die “old town” noem. Ek het foto’s geneem van Chesham se old town gedeelte, alhoewel dit ‘n klein gedeelte is, Amersham se gedeelte is groter en ek gaan Saterdag daar lekker foto’s neem om te blog. Albei die plekkies het geboue wat dateer uit Doomsday! Dit skep natuurlik atmosfeer wat jy nie sommer kan beskryf nie. Natuurlik is daar ook hordes villages al om hierdie areas, baie klein. Hierdie Pub in hierdie possie is in so ‘n klein village afgeneem – “The Lee”.
Vroegherfs: NP van Wyk Louw
Die jaar word ryp in goue akkerblare,
in wingerd wat verbruin, en witter lug
wat daglank van die nuwe wind en klare
son deurspoel word; elke blom word vrug,
tot selfs die traagstes; en die eerste blare val
so stilweg in die rookvaal bos en laan,
dat die takke van die lang populiere 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 ver 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.
Uit Vroegherfs
To Autumn by William Blake
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
‘The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.
‘The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.’
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture’s sight would bar,
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
A closet never pierc’d with crystal eyes
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To side this title is impannelled
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye’s moiety, and the dear heart’s part:
As thus; mine eye’s due is thy outward part,
And my heart’s right, thy inward love of heart.
Shakespeare
Have fun and create your own Wordlehere. The link will open in a new window. Follow the link and copy/paste your text and…voila! This is my Shakespeare contribution and I hope you enjoy it too!
Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no, it is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
What if life is a dream, are we the imagination of ourselves?
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!
The day we arrived in South Africa for our holiday (2007), we were quite shocked to see on the news that the plantations in the Eastern part of the country…The Lowveld… were all under fire! Especially for me it was very sad to watch the news as that part of the country is where I grew up and used to travel a lot. If you’ve travelled the country, you will know that the Kruger National Park is also in the Lowveld-area. Also, it was in that part of the country where we were headed for a week’s holiday too. I took photos of the plantations, but I really don’t want to look at it. If you click on the page that says..”movies”, you can watch the “Swadini”-movie and see one or two photos from the plantations… As far as I know, it was the first time ever that there was a fire, to this extend, in the plantations. Recently, I came across the site where I found these images of the fire and if you visit the website, you will be able to see enlarged images of the fire. I was also lucky to find an artist’s works of the “Lowveld fires”. I don’t want to say “enjoy” as any fire like this is really not to “enjoy”, I only want to share the images with you. I also have great respect for every dedicated fireman in the world, doing their important job!! Enjoy the poem/prayer and the beautiful music to “cool you down” after viewing these fire images!:) The music is the beautiful “Blue Danube” of Strauss.
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Robert Frost
The Fireman’s Prayer
When I am called to duty, God
Where ever flames may rage,
Give me the strength to save some life
Whatever be its age,
Help me embrace a little child
Before it is to late,
Or save an older person from
The horror of that fate,
Enable me to be alert
And hear the weakest shout,
And quickly and efficiently to put the fire out
I want to fill my calling and,
To give the best in me
To guard my every neighbor and protect his property,
And if according to your will
I have to give my life,
Please bless with your protecting hand
My children and my wife.
It’s not anything, and it’s not something, yet it isn’t the negation of something, either. Traditional logic is no help, since it merely regards all negation as derivative from something positive. So, Heidegger proposed, we must abandon logic in order to explore the character of Nothing as the background out of which everything emerges.
Carefully contemplating Nothing in itself, we begin to notice the importance and vitality of our own moods. Above all else, Nothing is what produces in us a feeling of dread {Ger. Angst}. This deep feeling of dread, Heidegger held, is the most fundamental human clue to the nature and reality of Nothing.
Human Life as Being-There Human beings truly exist, yet our “being-there” {Ger. Dasein} is subject to a systematic, radical uncertainty. Because we know that we will die, concern withour annihilation is an ever-present feature of human experience: Death is the key to Life. The only genuine question is why we are at all. Once we experience the joy[!?!] of dread, we recognize that our lives are limited—and therefore shaped—by death.
In just the same way, Heidegger argued, so Nothing is what shapes Being generally. This reveals the most fundamental, transcendent reality, beyond all notions of what-is slipping over into what-is-not. Even in the historical tradition, according to Heidegger, Nothing is shown to be the concomitant rather than the opposite of Being. The only genuine philosophical question is why there is something rather than nothing.
Source here
Parts of this book deserve 5 stars. Much of what Sartre has to say in it is cuttingly insightful, indeed life-changing. His writing is lucid (perhaps too lucid for philosophy – this was Merleau-Ponty’s opinion) and the book is a great read. But underlying everything, with huge passages directed exclusively to it, is Sartre’s own ontology, mish-mash of Descartes (via Husserl), Hegel and Heidegger, which falls well short of Heidegger’s own subtlety. This has led to a certain contempt among serious continental philosophers for Sartre’s work. Ironically, for all that, he has had an obvious powerful influence on many of them. This is not a book to be ignored by ANYONE….amazon.co.uk….reader-review
Jean-Paul Charles Aymard Sartre (21 June 1905 – 15 April 1980), commonly known simply as Jean-Paul Sartre (pronounced [ʒɑ̃ pol saʁtʁə]), was a French existentialist philosopher, playwright, novelist, screenwriter, political activist, biographer, and literary critic. He was the leading figure in 20th century French philosophy.
In 1964 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, but he declined it[1] stating that “It is not the same thing if I sign Jean-Paul Sartre or if I sign Jean-Paul Sartre, Nobel Prize winner. A writer must refuse to allow himself to be transformed into an institution, even if it takes place in the most honorable form.Read more about Sartreon this link which will open in a new window.
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.
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.
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.
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)
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)
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”.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/unluckypuppy/482675237/in/set-72157594195589241/ I know Wipneus is going to freak out about these images from “unluckypuppy” on flickr. She’s a “stargazer!” and loves anything about space. This lily-flower’s name is also Stargazer! I think it’s beautiful! When I came across these images, I had to post it with some poems and I’ve found these lovely poems, enjoy them with the song by Don McLean–Starry, Starry Night! I like Van Gogh’s art too, so thought you would enjoy his “Starry Night” at the same time, also, I’ve Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata for you to enjoy too! and the link where you can download it.
Image:pickupflowers.com
A Sonnet of the Moon
Look how the pale queen of the silent night
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With her full tide is ready her to honor.
But when the silver waggon of the moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.
So you that are the sovereign of my heart
Have all my joys attending on your will;
My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,
When you return their tide my heart doth fill.
So as you come and as you do depart,
Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.
I saw thee once — once only — years ago:
I must not say how many — but not many.
It was a July midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,
Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven,
There fell a silvery-silken veil of light,
With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber,
Upon the upturn’d faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe —
Fell on the upturn’d faces of these roses
That gave out, in return for the love-light,
Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death —
Fell on the upturn’d faces of these roses
That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted
By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence.
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
I saw thee half reclining; while the moon
Fell on the upturn’d faces of the roses,
And on thine own, upturn’d — alas, in sorrow!
Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight —
Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow,)
That bade me pause before that garden-gate,
To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses?
No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept,
Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven! — oh, God!
How my heart beats in coupling those two words!)
Save only thee and me. I paused — I looked —
And in an instant all things disappeared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!)
The pearly lustre of the moon went out:
The mossy banks and the meandering paths,
The happy flowers and the repining trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses’ odors
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.
All — all expired save thee — save less than thou:
Save only the divine light in thine eyes —
Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes.
I saw but them — they were the world to me.
I saw but them — saw only them for hours —
Saw only them until the moon went down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a wo!, yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How daring an ambition! yet how deep —
How fathomless a capacity for love!
But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,
Into a western couch of thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees
Didst glide way [[away]]. Only thine eyes remained.
They would not go — they never yet have gone.
Lighting my lonely pathway home that night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.
They follow me — they lead me through the years.
They are my ministers — yet I their slave.
Their office is to illumine and enkindle —
My duty, to be saved by their bright light,
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in their elysian fire.
They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope,)
And are far up in Heaven — the stars I kneel to
In the sad, silent watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still — two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!
On this link, you can find all Poe’s works and his biography too.
Image: flickr…unluckypuppy..follow the link at the first image
Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer’s day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.
Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze, Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent’s eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist’s loving hand.
For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.
Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can’t forget.
Like the strangers that you’ve met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they’re not listening still.
Perhaps they never will…
Love one another, but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup, but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread, but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together.
For the pillars of the temple stand apart.
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.
Alfred Noyes (September 16, 1880 – June 28, 1958) was an English poet, best known for his ballads The Highwayman (1906) and The Barrel Organ.
Born in Wolverhampton, England, he was the son of Alfred and Amelia Adams Noyes. Noyes attended Exeter College, Oxford, leaving before he had earned a degree.
At 21 years of age, he published his first collection of poems, The Loom Years. From 1903 to 1908, Noyes published five volumes of poetry books, including The Forest of Wild Thyme and The Flower of Old Japan and Other Poems.
In 1907, he married Garnett Daniels. He was given the opportunity to teach English literature at Princeton University, where he taught from 1914 until 1923. Noyes’ wife died in 1926, resulting in his conversion to Roman Catholicism. He wrote about his conversion in The Unknown God, published in 1934.
Noyes later married Mary Angela Mayne Weld-Blundell, from an old recusant Catholic family from Ince Blundell in Lancashire. They settled at Lisle Combe, near Ventnor on the Isle of Wight and had three children: Hugh, Veronica, and Margaret. His younger daughter married Michael Nolan (later Lord Nolan) in 1953.
He later started dictating his work as a result of increasing blindness. In 1953, his autobiography, Two Worlds for Memory, was published.
Noyes died at the age of 77 and was buried on the Isle of Wight. He authored around sixty books, including poetry volumes, novels, and short stories.
During the next five years, Noyes published five additional volumes of poetry, including Poems (1904). One of Noyes’ most ambitious works, Drake: An English Epic, was first published in 1906. The twelve-book, two hundred page epic is thought to be too long by some critics, but nonetheless, an impressive example of Noyes’ talent and creativity. Arguably Noyes’ most beloved poem, The Highwayman, was published in Forty singing seamen and other poems in 1907.
Noyes spent much of the Second World War in North America, returning to Great Britain in 1949. Two Worlds For Memory, in which he described his life between America and Great Britain, was published in 1953. He published his last volume of poems in 1956, A Letter to Lucian, and his last book in 1957, The Accusing Ghost, or Justice for Casement. (During the First World War Noyes, while engaging in propaganda work for the British government, publicly alleged that the recently-exexcuted Irish Nationalist Roger casement had been a homosexual. After WB Yeats published a poem on Casement in the 1930s attacking Noyes by name, Noyes announced that he now believed the diaries cited as evidence of Casement’s homosexuality were forged. THE ACCUSING GHOST argues this case. The diaries were not then available to the public; they were released after Noyes’ death and most (though not all) commentators now believe them to be genuine.)On 25 June 1958, Alfred Noyes died on the Isle of Wight and was buried in the Roman Catholic cemetery at Freshwater.”
The Highwayman a poem by Alfred Noyes
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.
He’d a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He’d a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle
His rapier hilt a-twinkle
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord’s daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened–his face was white and peaked
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I’m after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o’er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching
Marching marching
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
“Now keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
“Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.”
She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding
Riding riding
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.
Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
Her musket shattered the moonlight
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.
He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
And still on a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy’s ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding
Riding riding
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter
Bess, the landlord’s daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
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.
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’.
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 !
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.
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!
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.
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
This is just to say:
I’ve just eaten
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!!
The soothing twilight of my mind Self-evidently frolicand 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 HEREto 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.
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.
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
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
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
This coming Sunday it’s Mothering Sunday in South Africa and in a few other countries. Please click HEREto 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 alltheir 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.
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
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
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
For English readers… this is a short Afrikaans song about Spring and the second song/poem is about the little mini-beasts, birds, children and even the small plants are happy…they all want to dance and sing and play…
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.
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!
Kry AL daardie liedjies wat jy nooit kan onthou nie, se woorde op hierdie link!
Die foto’s is geneem so 3min se stap van ons huis af. Moenie dat die weer jou flous nie, dit het gesous gedurende die oggend. Die foto’s is om en by 5:15 nm geneem.
Update 1/9/2013 : Ek was net bly om te sien dat die link met die musiek [blerkas] net geskuif het en nie verdwyn het – soos die oorspronklike link.
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”
‘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
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 LINKyou can read more about him and read one of his books online…”The Soul of the White Ant”… a study of termites…
Read HEREon 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…THISis the “valley” of the rain queen.
Rain Queen Modjaji
More about the Rain Queens on this link…..Please click HEREto 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 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
Today…15th October 2008…I’ve received this msg from Wayne Visser…(see his poem and site in this entry too….(poem about Africa)…and if you’re interested in his request…then please contact him…he’s looking for people writing poems..but about Africa!
Hello again I thought I’d let you (and your lekker vriende) know that I’ve launched a “Poets of Africa” blog – http://poetsofafrica.blogspot.com/.Just email me on wayne@waynevisser.com and I will give permission for you to post. www.waynevisser.com
Afrikaanse digters welkom! Kwa heri Wayne” Links will open in a new window.
Today…21st March 2008… is World Poetry Day! I do love poems, I love to read poems and I like to write my own too. On my blog at the top you will now find a page saying…”My poems…gedigte”…a few of my own poems…also you will find a couple of English poems which I’ve translated from Afrikaans…beautiful poems…one from a famous writer/poet/scientist/naturalist…Eugene Marais…”The Dance of the Rain..” take a look and enjoy! also one by Totius…his little daughter died after being struck by lightning..in his arms and he wrote a poem about her…very sad poem….or you can read it HERE…the link will open in a new window. You can also read “The Dance of the Rain” on THIS LINK it’s a very powerful/beautiful poem…full of metaphors…and read about Eugene Marais and the Rain Queen…on that link. The link will open in a new window.
enjoy…the Dance of the Rain!..originally in Afrikaans…”Die Dans van die Reën” by Eugene Marais. If you click on the page saying…”My Poems/gedigte”…you will find more of Wayne Visser’s poems also one which he has asked me to translate…and some of my own poems too, also the poem of the girl that was struck by lightning is to be found on that page. – see the top of my blog for the page-link and I’ve translated Wordsworth’s poem (from English to Afrikaans)…I wandered like a lonely cloud…
Image:tploy.com
The Dance of the Rain Song of the violinist: Jan Konterdans
translated by:Nikita
This next poem was written in Afrikaans by Ingrid Jonker and adapted by e.e. cummings…many of her wonderful poems were translated in English and other languages. I love her poems!
Image:johnfenzel.typepad.com 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 On THIS LINK you can read more about Ingrid…a link to Wikipedia…there’s a Youtube-song to watch…Afrikaans song…one of Ingrid’s poems…and there’s another song to listen to! The link will open in a new window.
and….on THIS LINK you can read more about e e cummings…the link will open in a new window. If you’re a teacher THIS SITE is really a great site to use for poetry/literacy…try it- the link will open in a new window.
image:worldgolf.com/images/destinations/africa/southafrica.jpg This next poem is written by Wayne Visser…you can read about him on THIS LINK …the link will open in a new window.
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
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
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 pass
Ingrid Jonker March 1960
(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter of Ingrid
On THIS LINK you can see podcast-videos of her poems in both Afrikaans/English…worth visiting! The link will open in a new window.
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.
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!
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.
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
Wow, one chess player on the chess site tells me he’s busy reading this book! E..er…
Checkmate…or in short..mate… means…the game is over! You don’t capture the King… the King is in such a position that he can’t move… like some children would say…”he’s stuck”…. The ultimate goal in chess is to checkmate the King…Read HERE more about checkmate!
Enjoy this poem! one of my favourites since High School!
“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.
It was all for our rightful king We left fair Scotland’s strand; It was all for our rightful king We ever saw Irish land, My dear – We ever saw Irish land.
Now all is done that men can do, And all is done in vain, My love and Native Land farewell, For I must cross the main, My dear – For I must cross the main.
He turned him right and round about Upon the Irish shore, And gave his bridle reins a shake, With adieu for evermore, My dear – And adieu for evermore!
The soldier from the wars returns, The sailor from the main, But I have parted from my love Never to meet again, My dear – Never to meet again.
When day is gone, and night is come, And all folk bound to sleep, I think on him that is far away The live-long night, and weep, My dear – The live-long night, and weep.
In this chess game I played, I had to think carefully how to move my Queen so I don’t cause a stale mate! This is something that can easily happen. I played black.
Rest in Peace Bobby Fischer —b. 1943 – d. 2008
You can read my Bobby Fischer-poem HERE… On THIS LINK you can read an article about him that was published in the UK Times.
I was age 11, when I got my first chess set and chess book. It was a book written by Cor Nortje in Afrikaans…”Skaak!” In the back of the book, there are the games of Bobby Fischer and Boris Spassky. I used to play through those games to “teach” myself a bit more of the game. Nobody else in the family played chess! I got to like Bobby F and he was always – and will always be! – my favourite chess player! It’s very sad to know that he’s passed away, and as somebody said on the chess site… at the age of 64! A “good” number, as there are 64 squares on the board!! Bobby had an IQ of 187! A very gifted and talented player, for sure… What happened to him was really sad and even more sad that the American government “chased” him because of violating sanctions… that means that you don’t have the freedom to do what you love and what you are brilliant at! Sad….that is what politicians are good at…ruining other people’s lives! ..and sometimes with their “fantastic” ideas… even divide nations all over the world!
Fisher died in a Reykjavik, Iceland, hospital on Thursday of kidney failure after a long illness.
Born in Chicago and raised in Brooklyn, N.Y., Fischer faced criminal charges in the United States for playing a 1992 rematch against Boris Spassky in Yugoslavia in defiance of international sanctions.
This chess book is written in Afrikaans and was my first chess book at the age of 11. It has all the games of Spasski and Fischer.
Robert James “Bobby” Fischer (born March 9, 1943), won the World Chess Championship on September 1, 1972 and lost the title when he failed to defend it on April 3, 1975. He is considered to be one of the most gifted chess players of all time and, despite his prolonged absence from competitive play, is still among the best known of all chess players.
“Chess is war over the board.
The object is to crush the opponent’s mind.” – Bobby Fischer
“I am the best player in the world and I am here to prove it.” – Bobby Fischer.
He dropped out of competitive chess and largely out of view, emerging occasionally to make erratic and often anti-Semitic comments.Fischer, whose mother was Jewish, once accused “the Jew-controlled U.S. government” of ruining his life.
He fell into obscurity before resurfacing to win a 1992 exhibition rematch against Spassky on the Yugoslav resort island of Sveti Stefan in violation of sanctions imposed to punish then-President Slobodan Milosevic.
A fierce critic of his homeland, Fischer became wanted in the United States for violating the sanctions.
“The United States is evil. There’s this axis of evil. What about the allies of evil — the United States, England, Japan, Australia? These are the evildoers,” Fischer said.
Source: Click here for the news. Fischer told reporters that year that he was finished with a chess world he regarded as corrupt, and sparred with U.S. journalists who asked about his anti-American tirades.
He renounced his American citizenship and moved to Iceland in 2005.
Japanese Release Bobby Fischer
Ex-Chess Champ Heads to Iceland
By Anthony Faiola
Washington Post Foreign Service
Thursday, March 24, 2005; Page A14
NAGOYA, Japan, March 24 — Bobby Fischer, the chess legend who feared deportation to face charges in the United States, was freed Thursday by Japanese authorities after eight months in prison, the Justice Ministry said. He left immediately for the airport to fly to Iceland.
The deal to free Fischer came after Iceland — a chess-loving nation that hosted his historic Cold War-era victory over the Soviet Union’s Boris Spassky in 1972 — granted Fischer citizenship this week in a move to help him avoid trial in the United States. Fischer, 62, who grew up in New York, has dodged a U.S. arrest warrant since playing a chess match in Yugoslavia in 1992 in violation of U.S. sanctions.
Read the rest of the article HERE …
Bobby as a 15 year old teenager….and America’s champ!
Born in Chicago and raised in Brooklyn, Fischer was a U.S. chess champion at 14 and a grand master at 15. He beat Spassky in a series of games in Reykjavik to claim America’s first world chess championship in more than a century.But his reputation as a genius of chess soon was eclipsed by his idiosyncrasies.A few years after the Spassky match, he forfeited the title to another Soviet, Anatoly Karpov, when he refused to defend it.
Bobby Fischer, the reclusive American chess master who became a Cold War icon when he dethroned the Soviet Union’s Boris Spassky as world champion in 1972, has died. He was 64.
Fischer died Thursday in a Reykjavik hospital, his spokesman, Gardar Sverrisson, said. There was no immediate word on the cause of death.
Fischer’s first Filipino friend: He was very special
By Artemio T. Engracia Jr.
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 00:10:00 01/20/2008
MANILA, Philippines–FLORENCIO CAMPOMANES, the country’s chess pioneer and former president of the International Chess Federation (Fide), was Bobby Fischer’s original Filipino friend.
They met in New York in the mid-1950s when Fischer was emerging as a chess phenom barely into his teens and Campomanes was shuttling between New York and Washington DC while working for the State Department Read the complete article here.
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 HIERlees en nog meer op die bladsy-link bo-aan my blog gemerk met “my poems/gedigte”. Enige kommentaar sal verwelkom word!
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 linkHERE 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
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!ReadHERE more about INGRID JONKER. 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!
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 REALLYvery 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 hereto 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!
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!
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.
Some of you know already how much I love the Poetry of William C Williams! And this poem…. –my year 5/6 (mixed class) children, wrote their own poems based on this one…– it’s such a cute little poem!
This is just to say…
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.
— William Carlos Williams
Then, a “reply” was found to this poem….
Reply
(crumped on her desk)
Dear Bill: I’ve made a
couple of sandwiches for you.
In the ice-box you’ll find
blue-berries–a cup of grapefruit
a glass of cold coffee.
On the stove is the tea-pot
with enough tea leaves
for you to make tea if you
prefer–Just light the gas–
boil the water and put it in the tea
Plenty of bread in the bread-box
and butter and eggs–
I didn’t know just what to
make for you. Several people
called up about office hours–
See you later. Love. Floss.
Please switch off the telephone
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Click HEREto read more about the reply.
Landcape with the Fall of Icarus
Willimas Carlos Williams
According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell it was spring
a farmer was ploughing
his field
the whole pageantry
of the year
was awake tingling
with itself
sweating in the sun
that melted the wings’ wax
unsignificantly
off the coast there was
a splash
quite unnoticed
this was Icarus drowning
The Red Wheelbarrow
William Carlos Williams
so much depends
upon
a red wheelbarrow
glazedwith rainwater
beside the whitechickens. Poems inspired by William Carlos Williams. You can read his bibliography on this link too.
Some poems have only 16 words! Emily Dickinson
We introduce ourselves
To Planets and to Flowers
But with ourselves
Have etiquettes
Embarrassments
And awes
One chess player sent me this poem, he wasnt’ sure if his friend copied it from somewhere and if his friend wrote it himself…
This is what Nicky looked like. I’ve found this photo on the internet as our photos of Nicky and Lompie are packed away.
She was a cat found at a nursery. It was a rainy day in Centurion. I wanted to get some plants for a big clay pot in my class. I walked into the nursery. While looking around in the section where they kept all sorts of pots and stands with seeds, I heard a cat mewing. It was a soft, fainted mew and I couldn’t make out where it was coming from. I kept on looking around, but saw nothing. There were tons of shelves, covered in hessian with stuff on display. I starting lifting up the hessian, near where I heard the cat. There she was! A very young kitty with a plate of milk. I couldn’t resist stroking her and picked her up immediately. There was a man serving customers – with a wheelbarrow busy doing all sorts of odd things. Stroking this beautiful little kitty, I walked to him and asked him whose cat it was.”Nobody’s, I only feed her while she’s around.” I pleaded to have her and he agreed as it was nobody’s cat anyway.
That day was my lucky day! I locked her in my car and ran back to get the plants. I couldn’t get my plants fast enough and to get back to the car. I got back to the car and there, very pleased with herself, she was waiting on the back seat, looking me very thankfully in the eyes through the window. I still remember those large green eyes, head a bit tilted sideways. When I got into the car, it was only a loud purrrr-purrrr I could hear and I knew she was happy. She looked at me as if she has been mine for years.
Nicky loved water! It was funny. I found her on a rainy day and she loved water so much, she liked it if you poured it all over her. She would then look over her shoulder and just say…”purr-mew”…as if she was asking for more! I used to have a small red watering can and when I had it with me, she came to me as if she was asking to have water running down her spine. When I poured the water down her spine, she would then wriggle her body and, “purr-mew”, to show how she enjoyed it.
She was friends, big friends, with Lompie. Lompie was the Blue Lilac-point Siamese! They were like kids – crazy kids, chasing one another up and down the flat – and later in the house [when we moved into a house] and around the garden, looking a bit silly most of the times, making us laugh when they were doing it. Lompie would start to chase and then suddenly turned around and then Nicky would chase Lompie. Completely two ‘silly’ children. We had great fun with them and could sit in the garden looking at them playing ‘hide-and-seek’ with one another, hiding behind plants, or going up a tree. It was as if they enjoyed entertaining us and knew how we enjoyed them. Their tails were swishing from side to side when they were taking position, when playing. It was funny.
The following pictures were found on the internet. I was looking for pictures that portray her personality the best.
Nicky used to get into the basin quite often and loved it when you open the tap slightly to drink some water from the tap. I think she enjoyed the coolness of it too.
She loved to wriggle on the carpet, also when they played, she was always the one on her back, defending herself from Lompie.
Nicky was curious, very curious and I know we have a similar photo of her which we took in our garden, almost this very same position, looking at ‘something’.
In our flat, we also had a beam like this! [behind the front door]. She loved to walk on it, sometimes she was ‘hiding’ there when she heard us coming up the stairs [from outside] and when we opened the door, she would “purr-mew”, as if she couldn’t help herself saying, “hello, here I am!” or maybe it was her way of saying, “wha! got you!”
Very strange but this photo IS Nicky!! 100% Nicky! Found on dreamstime.com, but this is SO, SO Nicky! 500%!
This is typical what Nicky was like, at times. Lazy-looking, self-content expression on her face.
Enjoy this cat-poem.
Cat in the window
What do you see? Cloud, wind, birds,a bird in a tree. The daffodils shivering the February breeze, A puddle in the road beginning to freeze.
Snow on the wind Dusk in a cloud. Leaves in a frenzy, The bird’s head cowed. Winter – though the sun shines. Blizzard, and the north wind’s whine.
I want to continue my Friday’s mood….so here goes…
William Morris was an artist too…on the pic here you can see some of his art…
There is so much going on in this world of us…do we ever stop! and think….think about an ant crossing a road…a caterpillar on a leave…honeybee buzzing on a flower……a bird seeking for crumbs….a newborn calf trying to get up…..newborn kittens struggling their way to their mummy’s milk……children with Aids! sleeping hungry, crying for their mums….orphans….are we thinking what difference we can make to other people’s lives? Let’s start thinking how we can alter our lives to make a change to other people’s lives, to bring love, joy and happiness to everybody in the world!
William Morris
Love Is Enough
Love is enough:
though the World be a-waning,
And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining,
Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover
The gold cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder,
Though the hills be held shadows,
and the sea a dark wonder,
And this day draw a veil over all deeds pass’d over,
Yet their hands shall not tremble,
their feet shall not falter;
The void shall not weary,
the fear shall not alter
These lips and these eyes of the loved and the lover.
Morris, William1834—96, English poet, artist, craftsman, designer, social reformer, and printer. He has long been considered one of the great Victorians and has been called the greatest English designer of the 19th cent. Read more about William Morrishere.
Something else that’s great about South Africa!
South Africa is the only country in the world to have acquired, and subsequently fully dismantled, its nuclear-weapons capability.
Spoken by great men:"Give me 20 divisions of American soldiers and I will breach Europe. Give me 15 consisting of Englishmen and I will advance to the borders of Berlin. Give me two divisions of those marvellous fighting Boers and I will remove Germany from the face of the earth." - Field Marshal Bernard L. Montgomery, Commander of the Allied Forces during WW2.
"The Americans fight for a free world, the English mostly for honour, glory and medals, the French and Canadians decide too late that they have to participate. The Italians are too scared to fight, the Russians have no choice. The Germans for their Fatherland. The Boers? Those sons of Bitches fight for the hell of it." American General, George 'Guts and Glory' Patton.
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Chessalee 
