Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

africansunset

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

IF

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

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

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

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

Rudyard Kipling

 

Read Full Post »

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.

Enjoy Shakespeare day with some chess dancing!

Read Full Post »

sa

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

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

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

seagold-

My siel op haelwit wolke

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

==Nikita 14/08/2015 


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

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

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

Read Full Post »

boerwar_concentration_camps

Picture from FB: Mother with her dead child – Boer War: Concentration camps. I was so shocked when I saw this picture. How this mother must have felt and the poor little kids. This is what went through my mind:

The camp
White tents like white ant hills.
Strange, awkward stenches fill the war-torn air
Weak, though proud, with no disinfectant
Sitting around in poverty: deprived!
Waiting for food. Waiting for water.
Humiliation. Disgrace. Filth.
Dead bodies carried along white rows
They don’t care, they don’t think!
They can’t think. They  just kill!
The pain inside: it cuts deep, very deep.
No sound. No breath. No life.
No words. No food. Only thoughts.
Only thoughts. Only Blue vitriol.
Children crying, children dying

Hunger screams, hunger wails
Endless waiting.  Timeless prayers.
Shock. Horror. Pain.
Forgotten lives.
Panic. Fright. Terror.
God! My child is dead!
Footsteps. No words.
Empty arms. Eyes watching.
Not my child!
Patience because:
‘Another seepkissie will arrive soon.’
Silence.

Nikita 22/8/2013

Read Full Post »

Click on the images to read about the images – taken by twitter-users. I’ve chosen these images, as they are from the moon from various locations – and not like most other images, images from the moonlanding, Neil Armstrong, newspaper clippings, etc. Enjoy the poem by Walter de la Mare – and I like the next quote from a statement by Neil’s family, just after the news of his death had emerged:

“For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink.”

Source: http://www.nasa.gov/topics/people/features/armstrong_obit.html

Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in silver feathered sleep
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

Walter de la Mare

To the Moon
“O, thou.”
–CLAUD HALCRO.
BLESS thy bright face! though often blessed before
By raving maniac and by pensive fool;
One would say something more– but who as yet,
When looking at thee in the deep blue sky,
Could tell the poorest thought that struck his heart?
Yet all have tried, and all have tried in vain.
At thee, poor planet, is the first attempt
That the young rhymster ventures. And the sigh
The boyish lover heaves, is at the Moon.
Bards, who — ere Milton sung or Shakspeare played
The dirge of sorrow, or the song of love,
Bards, who had higher soared than Fesole,
Knew better of the Moon. ‘T was there they found
Vain thoughts, lost hopes, and fancy’s happy dreams,
And all sweet sounds, such as have fled afar
From waking discords, and from daylight jars.
There Ariosto puts the widow’s weeds
When she, new wedded, smiles abroad again,
And there the sad maid’s innocence — ‘t is there

That broken vows and empty promises,
All good intentions, with no answering deed
To anchor them on the substantial earth,
Are shrewdly packed. — And could he think that thou,
So bright, so pure of aspect, so serene,
Art the mere storehouse of our faults and crimes?
I’d rather think as puling rhymsters think,
O; love-sick maidens fancy — Yea, prefer
The dairy notion that thou art but cheese,
Green cheese –than thus misdoubt thy honest face.

–From Poems of John Brainard / by John Brainard 
Brainard, John G. C. (John Gardiner Calkins), 1796-1828
Courtesy of the University of Michigan Humanities Text Initiative American Verse Project.
http://www.windows2universe.org/art_and_music/tothemoon.html

Read Full Post »

image: googleimages

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

-Shakespeare-‘lines’ (c) Nikita

Read Full Post »

image:weatherphotos.org

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

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

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

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

Read Full Post »

Adam Ladds spotted this poem chalked on the pavement at the western end of Fordhook Avenue W5 in Ealing – West London. It’s written ‘upwards’ so you can read it as you walk along.

Love on the Streets

Sometimes it’s faded and harder to see,
Sometimes not looking, it jumps out at me,
But it always is there, right under your feet,
As you walk through the world, there is love on these streets.

By Ella Grace, 2012

I quite like this ceativity of a person taking an idea and see what the ‘world’ makes of it. This is great/romantic. This was written on the day of Valentine’s Day. We lived near Ealing till about 3 years ago.

Source:http://londonist.com/2012/02/love-on-the-streets-of-ealing.php


Enjoy!

Read Full Post »

moon_1

It was National Poetry Day today in the ukay and I want to share this song by Steve Hofmeyr to celebrate poetry, not just in the ukay, but everywhere. Do listen to the words of this song – beautiful!  Poetry, love and music…touching the strings of my heart.[and of course…chess!]
If you like this song, click
here to listen to more songs from a variety of artists and to read a few love poems in English as well as in Afrikaans.

[Sorry, I’ve removed the song due to another site getting people to download it from my site..that is illegal]
AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

SA mosaic

You can click on this mosaic for a larger view.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was dit Hoogenhout wat in ‘n gedig gesê het:

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

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

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

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

More interesting facts – from quite a few years ago:

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

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

Afrikaanse Patriot

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

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

LEES HIER!!

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

 

Suid-Afrika: my land

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

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

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

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

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

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

sidewalk people

Sidewalk People

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—translated–nikita

sypaadjiemense

image: google

Sypaadjie Mense

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Sypaadjie Mense – Johan vd Watt

 

Sonja Herholdt, Ek verlang na jou.

Herman Holtzhausen – Transkaroo

Read Full Post »

elwe

 Image: Wikimedia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nikita-25/6/09
Oorspronklike gedig deur Goethe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

erl dancers


The Erl-King

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1778)

Read Full Post »

De Rust01

http://www.derust.org.za/gallery.htm

The Karoo is one of the beautiful places in South Africa. If you travel from Pretoria to Cape Town, you have no choice of travelling through the Karoo too! There are some spectacular places, like this small town called De Rust! We stayed a night at a B&B and I always say I would like to go back to De Rust one day! I have two Afrikaans songs about the Karoo, do yourself a favour and listen/watch it for the beautiful music firstly and secondly for the beautiful scenery.  The second song is about the Trans Karoo Train that takes you to Cape Town. I haven’t travelled by this train, but by looking at the video, I think it can be fun! Oudtshoorn is famous for the ostrich farms and you can go and have a ride on an ostrich! I’ve done it…it’s great fun! All images in this post are from the different websites in this post. If you click on the “movie”-page of my blog, you will find 3 links to movie-entries on my blog  about places in SA.

De Rust

This is a donkey taxi in De Rust!

De Rust4

De Rust waterfall

Klein Karoo

http://www.earthfoot.org

kleinkaroo1

ostrich

De Rust 02

http://www.littlebrak.co.za/content/view/26/

klein-karoo


Image: routes.co.za
All these places in the Western Cape is a must! Next stop for me when I go there, will surely be Matjiesfontein!

http://www.matjiesfontein.com/About/Matjiesfontein spring

Spring in the Karoo – image: http://dan-yvonne.myopus.net/travels/

A poem about frogs – Karoo frogs! An Afrikaans poem for Primary children

Karoo-Kikkers
(Uit: Goue Lint my storie begint: Tafelberguitgewers)
Kikkerland is op Kransplaas in die Karoo.
elke dag as die son skyn, sit die kikkers on ‘n
stokou karee by die diep, koel kuil op die klippe en kik.
Snags, as die maan op sy rug in die kuil dryf, sit
hulle in die biesies in ‘n kring en sing in die kikkerkoor.
Die klein kikkertjies klik-kliek-klik, klik-kliek-klik.
Pappa-Kik en Mamma-Kik kwaak. Oupa-Kik maak
sy keel dik en kra-a-a-k …. kra-a-a-k kontrabas.
Klein Hikkie-Kwik wip na Oupa-Kik se sitklip en vra:
“Oupa-Kik, hoekom staan ou Reier altyd op een been
in die vlak water van die kuil?”
“Ek wag en wag en wag en jy vra nou eers “ sê
OupaKik. Hy loer alkante toe en fluister toe asof hy
bang is iemand luister: “Slim ou Reier staan op een
been in die vlak water van die kuil om klein kikkertjies
te kul. Hulle dink s lang, dun been is sommer ‘n rietjie.
En as hulle naby kom – SWIEP!”
Swiep, Oupa-Kik?”
Ja-a-a, Dan rek hy net sy lang sweepnek en hy
kry ‘n kikkertjie met sy snawel beet!”
“En dan, Oupa-Kik?”
“O-o-o, Dan sluk hy die klein kik in!” Oupa-Kik maak sy
keel dik en syrek groot. “Julle moet mooi loop vir ou
Reier. Hier in die droë Karoo vang ou Reier
koggelmanders en kewers, krieke en kwarteltjies,
kiewietkuikens en klein kelkiewyntjies, as hy hulle kan
kry. En kikkertjies!”
Hikkie-Kik wip plieps! in die koel kuil in. Al die ander
kikkertjies moet eers hoor wat Oupa-Kik gesê het:
“Klik-kliek-klik,” klik die kikkertjies –
“KIK!
Die kikkies moet vir Reier Skrik!”
Daardie aand dryf die goue maan op sy rug in die
diep, koel kuil. Die kikkertjies sit op die koorklip.
Hulle sit in ‘n kring en sing:
“Ou Reier, ou Reier Rietjiebeen,
ou Reier met sy sweepnek,
ou Reier , ou Reier met sy Rietjiebeen
het mos mooitjies sy nek verrek!”
Die klein kikkertjies klik-kliek-klik, klik-kliek-klik.
Pappa-Kik en Mamma-Kik kwaak. Oupa-Kik maak sy
keel dik en kra-a-a-k … kra-a-a-k kontrabas.
Hulle sing tot die son opkom.

Image:themaxefiles.blogspot.co.uk/2010_05_01_archive.html
AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

shakespeare-wordle

Sonnet 46

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 Wordle here. 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.

Read Full Post »

blue-rose

Image: crystalphoenixgallery.com..’blue rose’

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

whatif

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

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

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

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

–©Nikita–29 November 2008

surfing

image: rafaelhenrique.com


Roger Wittaker: I don’t believe in if anymore

Read Full Post »

chess-art-two-lives

Image: Chesscentral.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Music: Jim Brickman: Dream comes true

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

carlsen

Carlsen

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

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

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

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

ivanchuk

Ivanchuk

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

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

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

yelenadembo

Yelena Dembo

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

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

david-navara

image: Greekchess.com..David Navara

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

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

Image: chessbase..Nigel Short

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


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

Read Full Post »

dance_alone

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

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

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

 


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

by W.H. Auden (1907 – 1973)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

nightmail

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


Image: buckinghamcovers.com

jacksonbrowne

Jackson Browne

For a Dancer..by Jackson Browne

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


http://www.lefpa.co.za/index.php/media/our-photo-gallery

All links will open in a new window.

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.

~~Author Unknown~~
http://www.avfd.com/poems/

Kim Berman…Lowveld Fire I and II

http://www.art.co.za/

Blue Danube..I’ve lost the website where I found this image!

Read Full Post »

Nothingness

Not aware of the dullness between now and then
Oblivious of my existence I
Treasure the conundrums of your thoughts and
Hold on to the never-changing monotony voices of identicalness, stepping
In the dryness of an exciting
Nowhere watching the sluggishness of time
Grabbing the stillness of the wind moving soundlessly through the flatness of my thoughts
Nobody that cares, only the sameness and the harmony of my mind that
Engulfs the unanimity and wholeness of my being
Sometimes my imagination drifts in the minds of angels, then
Stumbles upon the singleness of life!
—©Nikita—18th October 2008

Image: belgers.com

What is Nothing, anyway?

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 Sartre on this link which will open in a new window.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


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

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

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

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

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

Sea of Dreams..by Angelle

Sleepy Time…by Angelle

Hennie Bekker…Tranquil Realms

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hennie Bekker

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


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

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

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

odd postures

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

BEHAVIORAL DEFINITION

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

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

AS reflects deviations or abnormalities in four aspects of development:

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

These dysfunctional features can range from mild to severe

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

AS is characterized by:

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

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


Image: babyzone.com

DF Malherbe (1881-1969)


Slaap


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

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

To Sleep
by John Keats.

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

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

Sea of dreams by Martin Sramek

Dreams
by Langston Hughes

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

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

My Piano….by… artistnina.com

 

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

Image:Brittanica.com

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

 In die Hoëveld

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

On the High-veld

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

image:mooikrans.co.za

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

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

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

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

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

My venster is ’n blanke vlak

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

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

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

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

VROEGHERFS

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

Osterley Park

Nagreën

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

Image: wvs.topleftpixel.com

Grense

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

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

Image: astroden.com/images.htm

Voël

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

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

Die liefde in my

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

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

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


Nog eenmaal

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

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

Voorspel 1950

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

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

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

Afskeid

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

Uit: Tristia (1962)

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

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

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

This was my 1000th entry…!

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

winds come winding, breathing bliss
of summer’s heat and springtime mists
ring out the bells
ring out the bells
ring out the bells and sing for joy

—shadowscapes
See more Angels on this link which will open in a new window.

MY SONG
You are every moment of the day
The land and the shore
A celestial reflection
Of my island-universe
That weaves these lines
The round caress
Between the sky and sea
A quick kiss you seem
A buried memory
Of my lost dream . . .

You are every word
True or false
The sign memory
Of a recurring sound
The unfurled voice
That always swells aloud
The echo of the crowd
The scent of Spring
Expressing our minds
When we meet again . . .
© 2002, Patrizia Gattaceca

© Translation: 2002, Sarah Lawson

See Patrizia in video here.The link will open in a new window. This post is nr 999! One more to go!
Patrizia Gattaceca is a Corsican poet and a singer. She began singing in public when she was a 13-year-old secondary school pupil and set her first poem to music. She is co-founder of the Nouvelles Polyphonies Corses, a female trio singing traditional Corsican songs.
Read more about
Patrizia here on the link which will open in a new link.

Read Full Post »

Image: allposters.com

From Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, 1601:

DUKE ORSINO:
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o’er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
‘Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe’er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.

Swallows in Durban – see the news article in this entry from ENS news

Enjoy “Village Swallows” by  Mantovani and his orchestra. It is a composition by Josef Strauss, one of the Strauss-brothers.

 

hmmm…just what I need…flowers and chocolates!! and on this video…the music of Strauss…”Roses from the South”

Swallow Flocks and World Cup Airport Try Coexistence

DURBAN, South Africa, November 12, 2007 (ENS) – This year, as five million barn swallows migrate from across Europe to roost in South Africa’s Mt. Moreland Reedbed, they will be greeted by air traffic controllers. The controllers will be waiting to warn pilots of the swallow flocks coming in to land so that bird-plane collisions can be avoided.

The plan to protect the birds was announced Monday at a ceremony at the reedbed, attended by the nonprofit conservation group BirdLife South Africa.

The decision to protect the swallows was made in response to global outcry last November, when BirdLife outlined its concern about the expansion of La Mercy Airport at Durban, in preparation for South Africa’s hosting of World Cup 2010.

The airport is being expanded to handle traffic expected for the soccer event and the KwaZulu Natal government wants to see the project completed by 2009.

The Airports Company of South Africa, which administers the existing Durban International Airport, owns the La Mercy land where the $8 billion King Shaka International Airport is under construction, 30 kilometers (20 miles) north of Durban.

The new airport is expected to replace Durban International, which will be decommissioned. But for the swallows at the Mt. Moreland Reedbed, without special planning and accomodation, the airport would have been deadly.

Both the reed bed and Mount Moreland are situated South West of the proposed development are aligned exactly with the proposed runway and so are in the flight patch of aircraft leaving or arriving the airport.

The controllers at La Mercy Airport have been among those watching the millions of birds come in this year from all over eastern and western Europe. They will leave again at the onset of winter.
The threat that planes at an expanded La Mercy Airport would pose to the swallows roosting at the reedbed, among Africa’s largest roosts, was put across by conservationists and BirdLife partner organizations throughout Europe.The barn swallow, Hirundo rustica, undertakes one of the world’s most remarkable migrations. The birds fly thousands of miles from southern Africa in spring to breed in Europe and then repeat the feat in reverse in the autumn, to winter back in Africa.

“This has been a fantastic result, and we’re delighted to report on this outcome after a year of negotiations and meetings. The support of so many people via letters and petitions has played an important part.” said Neil Smith, conservation manager at BirdLife South Africa, which led the campaign.

The Airports Company of South Africa has been supportive of making accommodations for the birds.

“Since our campaign started, the Airports Company of South Africa has really come on board, quickly realizing the importance of this site as a reedbed of international significance,” said Smith.

Following BirdLife’s complaint, consultants were brought in to examine the roosting and flocking behavior of the swallows, using advanced radar imagery. They confirmed that constant monitoring of the swallow movements during take-off and landing of aircraft would be required.

The Airports Company of South Africa now says it will install in the airport control tower the same advanced radar technology that the consultants used to study the movement of the swallows.

This will mean that planes can take the option of circling or approaching from another angle when large flocks of swallows form over the reedbed site in the late evening.

Environmental management staff will be employed to make sure that suitable management of the reedbed continues, the airports company said.

Bird conservationists feel somewhat reassured about the swallows’ future. “Losing such a valuable site could have affected breeding swallow populations across Europe,” said Dr. Ian Burfield, Birdlife’s European research and database manager.

“Conserving migratory birds is about more than ensuring one site is protected or well managed,” said Burfield. “It takes global effort: at breeding sites, at stopover sites during migration, and at important non-breeding sites like this, where large numbers of birds roost.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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.

Charles Best

http://www.vangoghgallery.com

To Helen…by E A Poe

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.

http://www.online-literature.com/poe/
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata 1st Movement

 http://www.mfiles.co.uk/scores/moonlight-movement1.htm

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…


AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

Love One Another

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.

Khalil Gibran

Read Full Post »

 

Image: google

Silver

Slowly, silently, now the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy coat the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.

– Walter de la Mare

When i came across this poem – which I did with my y5’s, I couldn’t help to send it to Wipneus as she loves space, planets-stuff and always shows us great pics of outer space taken with her magic camera that zooms to the fine surface of any planet! lol! That’s on her old WP-blog. I couldn’t resist blogging it tonight as it’s such a great poem! written by a great poet! And enjoy this very short film, which I also used with my y5’s during Literacy. We did some drama  too and had a great time doing this unit. Do enjoy this brilliant animation! That was when I was told by the headteacher that I’m a natural “actress”…but I didn’t take that serious…hehe..

The video is not anymore available on youtube, but you can watch it on the following link:

http://nationalstrategies.standards.dcsf.gov.uk/node/85960?uc=force_uj

It’s an animation of an Old Man whose Life and memories just go past him. He remembers stuff that is sad but the end is really great and happy.

Walter de la Mare…Image and info:poetryarchive.org

Walter de la Mare (1873-1956) was the prolific author of many volumes of poetry, short stories and novels, including one of the most enduringly popular poems in the English language, ‘The Listeners’. Born in Charlton, Kent, he was educated at St. Paul’s Cathedral Choir School in London. At sixteen he started work in the statistics department of Anglo-American Oil. He married in 1899 and had four children and for many years he struggled to balance the life of the writer with the financial demands of family until, in 1908, he received a Civil List pension which enabled him to concentrate on writing.
Read more
HERE about him.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


Image and info…Wikipedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Noyes


A Friday-night poem to enjoy!

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.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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

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

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

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

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

©–Nikita 4 Sept 2008 20:30

 

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

Suid-Afrika – my skaduwee

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

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

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

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

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

©Nikita 17 Junie 2008

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


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

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

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

Image: DK-images…Langebaan, Cape Town

Ek is van Afrika

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

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

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

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

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

©Nikita — 2nd September 2008

The English version:
I Am An African

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

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

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

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

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

Copywright: Wayne Visser – 2005

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

Images: hotelsbible.com/travellog 19

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

Image: dailymail.co.uk

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

DIS HEERLIKE LENTE

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

Dis heerlike lente, die winter’s verby;

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

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

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

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

AL DIE VELD IS VROLIK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

KYK, DIS SEPTEMBER WEER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Die Beste

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

C. Louis Leipoldt

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


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

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

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

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

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

William Wordsworth

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

lonely-cloud

Die Affodil-dans

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

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

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

©Nikita 26th August 2008

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

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

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

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

Wordsworth Museum

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

Plaque inscription

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

Rear garden through a window in Wordsworth’s house

Hand water pump!

Rear garden and house as seen from the garden

Bench in rear garden

Foot bridge behind Wordsworth house across River Derwent

River Derwent… River Cocker and River Derwent meet in Cockermouth

Dove cottage in Grasmere…which we didn’t visit

Image: and read more…

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

 

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

This is just to say

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

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

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

Doritos, my other favourite

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

Read Full Post »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

image: digitalcameraclub.co.za

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

Ver op hoë berge
Pagina: 431/431

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

 


Image: by Julie Rogers…Woven thoughts

Die strelende skemer van my gemoed

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

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

[For a friend to understand the Afrikaans]

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

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

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


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

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

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




AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


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

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

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

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

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


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

 

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

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

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

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

© Nikita…Mei 2008

Image:digitalekameraklub.co.za

image: digitalekameraklub.co.za

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2006 Wayne Visser

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

Image: digitalekameraklub.co.za

 

images:digitalekameraklub.co.za

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2006 Wayne Visser

 

Image:flickr

I am an African…

This poem was written by Wayne Visser.

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

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

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

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

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

© 2005 Wayne Visser


Please click
HERE to visit Wayne’s site.

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

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

Poet: unknown

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

Mother’s Day in South Africa

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

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

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

Earliest History of Mothers Day

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

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

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

purple carnations

image:fiftyflowers.com

Image: teacherscorner.net

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

anna-jarvis1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

white flower

Elisabeth Eybers (geb. 1915)

Die vrou

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

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

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

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

For My Children

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heather Smit

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

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

Read Full Post »

This picture was taken today… the church can be seen from our house! Click on the image for a larger view. Enjoy the poem I’ve chosen to support the picture…

Sunset

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

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

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

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

Rita Umali

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

P2190017

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.

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

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

AL DIE VELD IS VROLIK

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

 

Read Full Post »

Harrismith

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

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


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

Read my translation on this link too…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Uit: Versamelde gedigte – Eugene Marais]

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

termite

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

rainqueen1

Rain Queen Modjaji

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

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


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

 

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

Read Full Post »

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

Dance_in_rain_peerflydotcom

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

 

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

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

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

“Winter’s Night”

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

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

Eguene N Marais
WINTERNAG
by Eugene Marais

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

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

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

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

dvdreen_laurinda

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

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

Read Full Post »

 

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

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

© 2006 Wayne Visser

Enjoy this next poem by Edgar..Poe!

Annabel Lee

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.

Edgar Allan Poe


Image…http://project1.caryacademy.org
 

The next poem…by Ingrid Jonker…
The Child
The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart
~~~
The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride
~~~
The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain
~~~
The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a 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.


Image: http://farm1.static.flickr.com

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

Love Poems



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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

 

T S Eliot

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

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

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

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

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

Love Song

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

~~~William Carlos Williams

 

 

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

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

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

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

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

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I do not think that they will sing to me.

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

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

Song to Celia
by Ben Jonson

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

Read about Ben Jonson HERE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–Robert Browning

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

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

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

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

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

Ballade van die roos

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

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

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

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

red_roses1

Andries Gerhardus Visser (1878 – 1929)

visser_lettie

Image:  http://users.telenet.be/

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

Princesse Lointaine

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

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

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

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

prinses.jpg

Stille Rivierstroom….Nick Taylor

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

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

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

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

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

Chorus

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

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

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

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


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

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

love all night

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

love rose

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


Thomas Stearns Eliot (1888-1965) was born in St. Louis, Missouri, of an old New England family. He was educated at Harvard and did graduate work in philosophy at the Sorbonne, Harvard, and Merton College, Oxford. He settled in England, where he was for a time a schoolmaster and a bank clerk, and eventually literary editor for the publishing house Faber & Faber, of which he later became a director. He founded and, during the seventeen years of its publication (1922-1939), edited the exclusive and influential literary journal Criterion. In 1927, Eliot became a British citizen and about the same time entered the Anglican Church.
READ
HERE more about TS Elliot.

On THIS LINK you will find the entire “Wasteland” by TS Elliot.
A Game of Chess
by T. S. Eliot
The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid— troubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carved dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
“Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

“My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

I think we are in rats’ alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

“What is that noise?”
  The wind under the door.
“What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
  Nothing again nothing.
  “Do
“You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
“Nothing?”

I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
“Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”
  But
O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
It’s so elegant
So intelligent
“What shall I do now? What shall I do?”
I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
“With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
“What shall we ever do?”
  The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said—
I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
(She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be alright, but I’ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don’t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot –
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

nikita.jpg

Read Full Post »


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!

 

See MORE WAYS here…

And… HERE’S even more checkmate positions!

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.

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »


Robert Burns is Scotland’s national poet. Here’s to £40k to keep Burns’ memory alive.

Read HERE more…

IT WAS A’ FOR OUR RIGHTFUL KING

It was a’ for our rightful king
That we left fair Scotland’s strand;
It was a’ for our rightful king
We e’er saw Irish land,
My dear,
We e’er saw Irish land.

Now a’ is done that men can do,
And a’ is done in vain!
My love, and native land, fareweel!
For I maun cross the main,
My dear,
For I maun cross the main.

He turn’d him right and round about,
Upon the Irish shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
With, Adieu for evermore,
My dear!
And adieu for evermore!

The soldier frae the war returns,
And the merchant frae the main.
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
My dear,
Never to meet again.

When day is gone and night is come,
And a’ folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that’s far awa
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.

Robert Burns

Read more HERE about Burns.

Source: HERE

Read Full Post »

 This is my 3-minute “poem” to Bobby Fischer, my favourite chess player!

“Someone great… has passed…”

Today, today  only  64
He made his last move
– the most important –
to the square of “death”

no more breath
or even check!
no more castling

only en passant’ing!

His sword has swung
after years of struggle
ruined by politicians
he moved like a knight

Threatened and powerless
he moved quite swiftly
across the board of
64 squares!

Each square a knightmare
Till he found his “piece”
Iceland, oh Iceland!
Where he rests in peace!

©Nikita~~

The next poem is based on a poem of William C Williams…This is just to say…

This is just to say
a great chess master
has passed away
on Thursday
17th January
at age 64

Forgive me
If I say
that he is the BEST
of the Millennium
he was so great
so creative
and so bright!
(c) ~~Nikita

Click on the red link for :William Carlos Williams This is just to say…

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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.

Read here…about Bobby’s death Read on THIS LINK about his first rated tournament.


NIGEL SHORT about Fischer:

“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.

Read Full Post »

Gister en vandag

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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


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

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

Henry Steel…..

saope.png

Henry Steel is South Africa’s Closed Chess Champion 2007. South Africa’s Closed Chess Championship took place during December, just before Christmas!
Please click HERE for the results.

Click HERE to play through the games of round 11.
This is a good end-position between Klaasen and Op’tHoff in round 11.
klop.png

On this next image you can see another good end-position of Cawdery and Mabusela’s game in round 11.

cama.png

I came across Tauriq’s blog…and he seems to be getting very excited about chess events taking place in South Africa, as his blog contains poems about different events! I think it is quite cool! Well done Tauriq! I like it! Here’s one about the Closed Championship…..enjoy!

SA Closed
12 Warriors entered the circle
3 will stay in the cube
The rest must die.

9 tombs will scatter
the terrain of 64 squares
Engraved, the names of sacrifice.

But unlike most wars,

there are no funerals here.
Flowers remain strewn everywhere.
Unlike most battles,prisons have no cells,
dungeons hold no chains.

The blood is spilt in the mind,
And in this cube, only the strong remain.

The Warrior of The Grey Zone
The Guru of Soweto,
The Pretorian Prince,
And a doctor who finds
solutions in the stars,
have gathered.

Aribters stalked the main stage
And the Bard found his way
on a table among trivial manuscripts.

It was a time when the young lions
faced initiation at the hands of the elders
and ragged-toothed, smelt the shores
of Dresden.

The Guru was laid low by a swing of Steel
The Greyzone was silenced into purgatory
A man from Springbok bullied on tops boards,
while luck ran out for the man of Gluck.

Later a Berg of Will departed, forced,
as death spoke of a pawn unpromoted.
Remain the mountain, my friend.
We await with arms open on e8,
humbled as we mourn.

The doctor is yet to return from the atmosphere.

Dresden will shudder
and smile,
when we say,
” A Cube has fallen from the stars
and out of its many values…
…we will finally become understood.”
Click HERE for more chess poetry by Tauriq!

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

bodysoul.jpg

Body and Soul

Standing by the window

I feel your closeness uncovered

looking back my eye catches a sunbeam

touching your unwrapped muscular body…

my soul surfing the lines

of your thoughts…

orbiting the aura that precedes

my imagination;

reaching and bursting through

the crust, entering my heart and

suddenly…I turned and the desire to meet

is far beyond my understanding.

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

Read Full Post »

suncatcher.pngThis is the most beautiful song by Laurika Rauch and Valiant Swart.  They sing about the sun….”Suncatcher” – ….Laurika Rauch is really one of our best artists in South Africa… she’s a beloved singer, well, I do love her music and I think most other South Africans too as you will notice the reaction of the audience when she appears on  stage to sing with Valiant. She’s really done her bit for Afrikaans and she’s a big legend in SA.  This song is in Afrikaans and I’ve tried my best to translate this “Sonvanger” (Suncatcher) in English, please listen to the music while following the words as  this is a special song! You can also follow the words as I’ve translated her song in English. Enjoy!

Please click HERE to listen to her singing an English song, called… “The old folk”…beautiful! 

SONVANGER

Valiant Swart

KYK OF JY VIR MY DIE SON KAN VANG
DAAR’S ‘N KAMER IN DIE HUIS WAAR ONS DIE SON KAN HANG
DIS DONKER BY DIE VENSTER IN DIE MIDDEL VAN DIE DAG
ONTHOU JY HOE HELDER DIE KAMER KON LAG

KYK OF JY VIR MY DIE SON KAN BRING
DAAR’S ‘N LIEDJIE IN DIE GANGE WAT DIE SON KAN SING
WANT DIS STIL IN DIE HOEKE, HIERDIE KOUE SEISOEN
KAN JY SIEN WAT DIE WIND EN DIE REËN AAN MY DOEN

REFREIN:
S-O-NVANGER
EK VRA JOU MOOI, LAAT HOM WEER VIR MY KOM SKYN
S-O-NVANGER
LAAT MY VERSTAAN
HOE ‘N SOMER SOMMERSO IN DIE NIET KAN VERDWYN
EN LAAT HOM SKYN

KYK OF JY VIR MY DIE SON KAN KRY
DAAR’S ‘N HUISIE IN MY HART WAAR DIE SON KAN BLY
KYK OF JY VIR MY DIE SON KAN STEEL
DAAR’S ‘N PLEKKIE IN DIE TUIN WAAR DIE SON KAN SPEEL

REFREIN
BRING ‘N BIETJIE LIG VIR DIE DRAAIE OP MY PAD
EN ‘N HANDJIEVOL STRALE VIR DIE DONKER IN MY HART

S-O-NVANGER

Suncatcher

See if you could catch me the sun
There’s a room in the house where it can be hung
It’s dark by the window in the middle of the day
Do you remember how brightly the room could laugh?

See if you could bring me the sun
There’s a song in the corridors the sun can sing
Coz it’s quiet in the corners, this cold season
Can you see what the wind and rain do to me?

Choir:
S-u-ncatcher!
I ask you, please, let it shine for me again
S-u-ncatcher!
Let me understand
How a summer disappear like that in the nothingness
And let it shine

See if you could get me the sun
There’s a home in my heart where the sun can live
See if you could steal me the sun
There’s a place in the garden where the sun can play

Choir:
S-u-ncatcher!
I ask you please, let it shine for me again
S-u-ncatcher!
Let me understand
How a summer could disappear like that in the  nothingness
And let it shine

Bring some light for the meanders on my road
And a handful of rays for the darkness in my heart

~~~Nikita

This next song is sung by Helmut Lotti, a Belgium artist….singing Afrikaans….a very old folk song called “Sarie Marias”.
Steve Hofmeyr…..from the TV-series (couple of years ago)….”Agter elke man..” ….(“Behind every man…”)

 

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

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

BITTERBESSIE DAGBREEK
Ingrid Jonker

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

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

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

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

Eggo is geen antwoord
antwoord hy alom
bitterbessie dagbreek
bitterbessie son

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

 

 


Another Afrikaans poem of Ingrid…
Madeliefies in Namakwaland
~~~Ingrid Jonker
Waarom luister ons nog
na die antwoorde van die madeliefies
op die wind op die son
wat het geword van die kokkewietjies
Agter die geslote voorkop
waar miskien nog ’n takkie tuimel
van ’n verdrinkte lente
~~~
Agter my gesneuwelde woord
Agter ons verdeelde huis
Agter die hart gesluit teen homself
Agter draadheinings, kampe, lokasies
Agter die stilte waar onbekende tale
val soos klokke by ’n begrafenis
Agter ons verskleurde land
~~~
sit die groen hotnotsgot van die veld
en ons hoor nog verdwaasd
klein blou Namakwaland-madeliefie
iets antwoord, iets glo, iets weet
. 

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

Read Full Post »

I would like to blog about Edgar Poe…I came across poems and just loved his poetry, in particular, this one about Annabelle Lee….and in the same time, thought to find bits about love, as this poem is about the love for Annabelle Lee…I couldn’t link the site here from where I found these bits about Love I agree with, as there are links to adult sites and it wasn’t appropriate for all to read. It’s been quite a time that I gathered information about Love, as people have different “views”, but I do think most people agree about more or less the same when it comes to love. Feel free to list what you think “love” is! I will make my list with about 10 here…this list could be much longer, as we all know there are so much to say about this topic!
Love is…..
…..a cup of tea in bed when you’re still sleepy!
…..a flower from your own garden…
…..the chirping of birds in trees
…..a smile saying….”I love you!”
…..carrying those heavy bags of whatever!
…..massaging tired shoulders!
…..getting the bathtub ready!
…..showing polite manners….
…..the sunbeam on your face….
…..raindrops splashing about….

 

 Edgar Allan Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849) was an American poet, short story writer, editor, literary critic, and one of the leaders of the American Romantic Movement. Best known for his tales of mystery and the macabre, Poe was one of the early American practitioners of the short story and a progenitor of detective fiction and crime fiction. He is also credited with contributing to the emergent science fiction genre.[1]Born in Boston, Edgar Poe’s parents died when he was still young and he was taken in by John and Frances Allan of Richmond, Virginia. Raised there and for a few years in England, Poe grew up in relative wealth, though he was never formally adopted by the Allans. After a short period at the University of Virginia and a brief attempt at a military career, Poe and the Allans parted ways. Poe’s publishing career began humbly with an anonymous collection of poems called Tamerlane and Other Poems (1827), credited only “by a Bostonian.” Poe moved to Baltimore to live with blood-relatives and switched his focus from poetry to prose. In July 1835, he became assistant editor of the Southern Literary Messenger in Richmond, where he helped increase subscriptions and began developing his own style of literary criticism. That year he also married Virginia Clemm, his 13-year old cousin.Read more about Edgar Poe here…
And on THIS LINK you will find all his poems and works.

How do you define love?
Some say it’s mysterious, magical, complex, difficult, imaginary, thought-provoking, inspirational, intuitional, joyous, immeasurable, ecstasy, and undefinable. Perhaps.
It is important to stand in Love, not fall into it.
Love is waking up to find the object of your affection in the dream you were having asleep on your shoulder.
Could it be that Love is a story that can never be fully expressed?
Love is a bond or connection between two people.
Love is the ability and willingness to allow those you care for to be what they choose for themselves, without any insistence that they satisfy you. – Leo Buscaglia
   

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. – 1 Corinthians 13:5-7
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I do like this poem!! by Poe…..

 

Annabel Lee
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 End-


On this link
HERE you will find ALL of Edgar Allan Poe’s poems, prose and stories! Also a Biography and even a Resources-link!

 

Read Full Post »

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

O die pyn-gedagte

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh the painful thought

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Die Vierkleur…Wikipedia

Die Vierkleur
DIE VIERKLEUR IS WEER IN GEVAAR . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

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

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

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

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

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

Gee my Suid-Afrika.

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

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

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

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

Wees fier op ‘n voorgeslag waard,
in wil en in daad gespier!
Hul lewensweg het ons gewys
om trou te wees aan waarheidseis.
Wie laak mag laak, wie prys mag prys–Komaan!

Read Full Post »

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

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

Read more here

In Flanders Fiels

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

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

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

By John McCrae 1915

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

 

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

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

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

– John Mitchell

Poppies, picture by Tom Barret 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In April 1915, his closest friend was killed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aan die graf van ‘n onbekende Boerseun in Vlaandere

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

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

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

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

JRL Van Bruggen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

R.W. Lilliard

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

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

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

J. A. Armstrong

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

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

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

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

John Mitchell

AddThis Social Bookmark Button

Read Full Post »

When reading this poem about the moth…it reminded me about the poem written by one of our best poets/writers: C J Langenhoven. he also wrote “The Call of South Africa” our National Anthem. (You can listen to it in Afrikaans and English, it is somewhere on my blog…). If you know the Dutch language, or even Flemish, you would be able to follow it in Afrikaans, as Dutch is the “Mother” language of Afrikaans. Read more about Afrikaans HERE

The Moth

The moth toward the orb he flew,
In ever ascending spirals.
And in his harmonic mind there grew,
A feeling of sad tranquility.
For the destination was in sight,
As the ending of the day.
And even as his mind it merged,
so the atmosphere his body purged,
Until he faded and became one,
Unknown and unnoticed by each,
But not all.
—Phil
Read more about Langenhoven here.
DIE MOT EN DIE KERS
(the moth and the candle)
~~CJ Langenhoven
Die ander motte is dom en dwaas,
maar ék sal ver van die kers af bly.
Hier uit die skemerte sal ek kyk,
want hier is dit veilig en kyk is vry.
Maar ek hoef nie van een kant af net te kyk,
ek vlieg ‘n wye sirkel om,
dan weet ek van alkant af hoe hy lyk,
om beter te sorg om nie nader te kom.

My sirkel was skeef en ingebuig,
maar daar ook waar ek die naaste was,
het niks gebeur,
ek maak verniet
my sirkel so groot en so ver van die as.
Die wieletjie draai al vinniger om,
die lig en die gloed word al groter genot.
Die velling word nouer al rondom
die die end van die wiel,
is die as van ‘n mot!
The moth in this poem basically thought he won’t be so foolish like the other moths. He would stay away from the flame. But, then he narrows his orb and goes faster and faster…..and all that was left…some ashes!

Read Full Post »

Small road to the park

SONY DSC

Horses near the park
SONY DSC
SONY DSC

Yesterday I was on my bike in the park close to where we live. While riding around the park, I couldn’t help being touched by all the different colours of Autumn! My best season is Autumn, because of all the changes. So many changes are taking place and I was cross with myself for not having my camera with me, but here’s some photos I took last week.

Autumn days are here again!
In autumn when the trees are brown
The little leaves come tumbling down
They do not make the slightest sound
But lie so quietly on the ground
Until the wind comes puffing by
And blows them off towards the sky.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy,
while cares will drop away from you
like the leaves of Autumn.
by John Muir

Read Full Post »

Cathedral Rock South Africa

 

Drakensberg mountains

Sunset : Twelve Apostels…Cape Town

Knysna!

Just my mood…not in a mood to say anything today Wish I could be at these places in South Africa!! Follow the link at the bottom of this post to read more about Ingrid Jonker and her poems and to see a movie-file too…also on my blog.

Ingrid Jonker died by walking into the sea!
To: Ingrid Jonker…Poet…A van Heerden
I see her pain,
I hear her voice
No one understood,
on one looked up
She carried a burden,
She carried herself,
She carried alone
~
Through her words,
Through her thoughts,
Through her lines
Through her phrases
She opened her soul
She opened her heart
She cried out
All on deaf ear
Abandoned
alone confused
loved used
abused
She let them.
~
Their acceptance made her accept,
But she died of that,
inside her soul.
She had too much of this world to carry on…
The water was calling
In her own defence
She gave herself
At her own expense…

This poem is in Afrikaans/English….
Somewhere I have never travelled – Iewers het ek nooit gereis nie
Ingrid Jonker…..adapted by e.e. cummings
+
somewhere I have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near
~~~~~
iewers het ek nooit gereis nie daardie groen verte
verby alle herinneringe jou oë dra hul stilte
in jou geringste gebaar is daar iets wat my omsluit
of wat ek nie durf aanraak nie iets te ná
~~~~
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself
as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
~~~~
jou oë van landskappe sal my maklik blootlê
al het ek my hart gesluit soos twee hande
jy ontvou my keer op keer soos die lente
bedrewe en heimlik haar eerste roos
~~~~
or if your wish be to close me, I and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
~~~~
en as jy my sou verlaat geslote dan
sou my voorhoof sluit mooi en onmiddelik
soos die hart van ‘n blom sou droom
van ‘n wit sneeu wat alles oral bedek
~~~~
nothing which we are to perceive in this world
equals the power of intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
~~~~
niks wat ons in hierdie wêreld kan versin
ewenaar die krag van jou broosheid die tekstuur
van jou oë tref my die groen van sy veld
een bevestig die ewige en die vir altyd met elke sug
~~~~
(I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;
only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
~~~~
ek weet nie wat dit is wat jou laat vou
en ontvou nie ek verstaan net êrens op my reise
die stem van jou oë is dieper as alle rose
nee nie eens die reën nie het sulke hande

Poem found here:
http://parnassus-ad.blogspot.com/2007/07/ingrid-jonker-verwerk-ee-cummings.html

The Child

The child is not dead
The child lifts his fists against his mother
Who shouts Africa ! shouts the breath
Of freedom and the veld
In the locations of the cordoned heart

The child lifts his fists against his father
in the march of the generations
who shouts Africa ! shout the breath
of righteousness and blood
in the streets of his embattled pride

The child is not dead not at Langa
nor at Nyanga not at Orlando
nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station at Philippi
where he lies with a bullet through his brain

The child is the dark shadow of the soldiers
on guard with rifles Saracens and batons
the child is present at all assemblies and law-givings
the child peers through the windows of houses and into the hearts of mothers
this child who just wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere
the child grown to a man treks through all Africa
the child grown into a giant journeys through the whole world
Without a passIngrid Jonker March 1960

 

(Translation of: “Die Kind” ) Poems now owned by Simone Jonker…daughter Read on this link more and there’s a movie file too.

http://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2007/12/07/love-light-bitterbessie/


http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »

This poem was written by C Louis Leipoldt, (1880 – 1947) – a South African poet and you can read an English translation here to, translated by Melissa on her blog…it is one of our best poets we’ve had and this poem is one of my favourites too…do read the English one and enjoy it!

WYS MY DIE PLEK
Wys my die plek waar ons saam gestaan het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, voor jou liefde vir my getaan het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde;
die silwer see
Blink in die sonskyn,
soos lang verlee
Dit eenmaal geblink het,
‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.

~~~

Wys my die plek waar ons saam gekniel het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, toe een siel vir ons saam besiel het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde; die hemel, blou,
Lag soos voorheen op my en op jou;
Dit skitter nog altyd ‘n welkomsgroet
Vir ons liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed.
~~~
Wys my die plek waar ons saam geloop het,
Eens, toe jy myne was –
Vroeër, toe ons harte so veel gehoop het,
Vroeër, toe jy myne was.
Kyk, dis dieselfde! Net jy nie.
Vra,Wie van ons twee moet die meeste dra ?
Jy wat vergeet het – of ek wat boet
Vir my liefde wat uithou en alles vergoed ?
by C. Louis Leipoldt (ca. 1880 – 1947)
SHOW ME THE PLACE
Show me the place where we stood side by side,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, before your love for me died,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the silver sea
Shines in the sun’s rays, just like before
It once shined,
a welcoming
For our love that endured and everything enhanced.
~~~
Show me the place where we knelt together,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, when one soul possessed us,
Earlier, when you were mine.
Look, it’s the same, the sky, so blue,
Smiles just as before on me and on you,
It continues to shine as a welcoming
For our love that endures and everything enhances.

~~~

Show me the place where we use to walk,
Once, when you were mine –
Earlier, when our hearts hoped so much,
Earlier, when you were mine.Look, it’s the same!
Except for you.
Which one of us has the most to bear ?
You, that has forgotten – or me,
that has to pay
For my love that endures and all enhances ?
Translated by……Melissa 

Read Full Post »

Update: This is my post from 1 October 2007…It’s the 1st of October and in the top images you can see what Pretoria, the capital city usually looks like during October! On this link – which will open in a new window – you can see more images.

Leipoldt, C. Louis, 1880-1947
Leipoldt is a South African poet, one of the BEST poets…he describes in this poem the month October. He says October is the most beautiful month…for South Africa, that’s the truth of course if you look at my previous entry’s photos!

C. LOUIS LEIPOLDT

Oktobermaand

Viooltjies in die voorhuis,
Viooltjies blou en rooi!
Viooltjies orals op die veld,
En orals, ai, so mooi!

Dit is die maand Oktober,
die mooiste, mooiste maand:
Dan is die dag so helder,
so groen is elke aand,
So blou en sonder wolke
die hemel heerlik bo,
So blomtuin-vol van kleure
die asvaal ou Karoo.

Dit is die maand Oktober:
die varkblom is in bloei;
Oor al die seekoegate
is kafferskuil gegroei;
Die koppies, kort gelede
nog as ‘n klip so kaal,
Het nou vir welkomsgroetnis
hul mooiste voorgehaal.

Dit is die maand Oktober:
die akkerboom is groen;
Die bloekoms langs die paaie
is almal nuutgeboen;
En orals in die tuin rond
ruik jy sering en roos,
Jasmyn en katjiepiering,
lemoen en appelkoos.

Al was die dag soos yster,
lank in die vuur gesteek,
Die varings in die klofies
deur hitte geel verbleek,
Tog as die son daaronder
agter die berge gaan,
Dan word oor heel die wêreld
die mooiste geur geslaan.

Dit is die maand Oktober:
die kokewiet is uit;
Boomsingertjies en kriekies
die hoor jy orals fluit;
Fiskaal is op die oorlog:
daaronder by die sluis,
Daar is ‘n dor ou doringboom
sy spens en sy kombuis,

Dit is die maand Oktober:
ek dink, die mense vier
Vir ewig in die hemel
Oktobermaand soos hier!
Wat wens jy meer as blomme,
as helder dag en nag?
Wat kan jy beter, mooier,
of heerliker verwag?

Ek is nog in Oktober:
my tuin is nog so groen,
So wit met al wat mooi is,
met bloeisels van lemoen,
So pragtig in die môre.
so heerlik in die aand!
Ek is nog in Oktober,
die mooiste, mooiste maand!

Wat gee ek om die winter?
Wat praat jy nou van Mei?
Wat skeel dit, as ons later
weer donker dae kry?
Ek is nou in Oktober,
die mooiste, mooiste maand,
Met elke dag so helder,
so pragtig elke aand!

Viooltjies in die voorhuis,
Viooltjies blou en rooi!
Viooltjies orals op die veld,
En orals, ai, so mooi!

Read Full Post »

Some old favourites!

Jan F.E. Celliers (1865-1940) 

Die vlakte

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

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

As die son oor my vloer in die môre kom loer
en die dou van my lippe kus,
dan kyk ek net stom met ’n glimlag om
en lê maar weer stil in my rus.
Hoog bowe die kim op sy troon geklim,
is hy heer van lewe en dood;
na wil en luim geef hy, skraal of ruim,
verderf of lewensbrood.
Uit gloeiende sfeer brand hy wreed op my neer
tot my naaktheid kraak en skroei,
en my koorsige asem in bewende wasem
al hygend my bors ontvloei.
In sy skadetjie rondom sy stam op die grond
staat ’n eensame doringboom,
soos die Stilte op haar troon, met dorings gekroon,
wat roerloos die eeue verdroom.
Geen drop vir die dors aan my stofdroë bors:
my kinders versmag en beswyk,
en die stowwe staan soos hul trek en gaan
om my skrale dis te ontwyk.

Soos ’n vlokkie skuim uit die sfere se ruim
kom ’n wolkie aangesweef,
maar hy groei in die blou tot ’n stapelbou
van marmer wat krul en leef –
kolossaal monument op sy swart fondament,
waar die bliksem in brul en leef.
En o, met my is die windjies bly:
hul spring uit die stof orent
en wals en draai in dwarrelswaai
oor my vloer, van ent tot ent;
die gras skud hul wakker om same te jakker,
tot hy opspring uit sy kooi
en soos mane en sterde van jaende perde
sy stingels golf en gooi.
Met dof-sware plof, soos koeëls in die stof,
kom die eerste druppels neer,
tot dit ruis alom so deur die gebrom
en gekraak van die donderweer.
Met kloue vooruit om te gryp en te buit
jaag ’n haelwolk langs verby,
soos ’n perde-kommande wat dreun oor die lande
vertrap en gésel hy –
en sy lyke-kleed sien ek ver en breed
in die awendson gesprei.

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

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

Jan FE Cilliers

Dis al

Dis die blond,
dis die blou:
dis die veld,
dis die lug;
en ‘n voël draai bowe in eensame vlug –
dis al


Dis n balling gekom
oor die oseaan,
dis n graf in die gras,
dis n vallende traan –
dis al

 My own translation: see more of his poems translated on the “my gedigte/my poems”-page
That’s All

It’s the blond
It’s the blue
It’s the veld
It’s the air
and a bird circles above in a
solitude flight
That’s it

It’s an exile that came
across the ocean
A grave in the grass
A shed teardrop
That’s all.
–Nikita–2008

 

Trou

Ek hou van ‘n man wat sy man kan staan,
ek hou van ‘n arm wat ‘n slag kan slaan,
‘n oog wat nie wyk, wat ‘n bars kan kyk
en ‘n wil wat so vas soos ‘n klipsteen staan!

Ek hou van ‘n man wat sy moeder eer,
in die taal uit haar vrome mond geleer,
die verraaiersgeslag in sy siel verag
wat, haar verstotend, homself kleineer.

Die oog wil ek sien wat ‘n traan nog ween
vir ‘n heldegeslag, in hul rus daarheen,
maar ‘n blits van trou in die traan van rou,
wat aan liefde weer gee wat haar bron is ontleen.

Vir my d’Afrikaner van durf en daad,
wat mammon’s eer en loon versmaad,
sy hoof en sy hand vir sy volk en sy land
en ‘n trap van sy voet vir laag verraad!

O, ‘k hou van ‘n man wat sy man kan staan;
ek hou van ‘n daad wat soos donder slaan,
‘n oog wat nie wyk, wat ‘n bars kan kyk
en ‘n wil wat so vas soos ‘n klipsteen staan!

Jan F E Celliers

 

Read Full Post »


THE DOOR

Go and open the door.

Maybe outside there’s

a tree,

or a wood,

a garden,

or a magic city.

Go and open the door.

Maybe a dog’s rummaging.

Maybe you’ll see a face,

or an eye,

or the pictureof a picture.

Go and open the door.

if there’s a fog

it will clear.

Go and open the door.

Even if there’s only

the darkness ticking,

even if there’s only

the hollow wind,

even if nothing is there,

go and open the door.

At least there will be a draught.

~~~~Miroslav Holub –Russian Poet

Read abaout Miroslave Holub here.http://rpc.technorati.com/rpc/ping

Read Full Post »

 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
HERE to 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
glazed
with 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…

Poem In Sixteen Words

 Getting there

was half the fun,

or so said some

who had gone,

but not returned

Read Full Post »



This is what Nicky looked like. I’ve found this photo on the internet as our photos of Nicky and Lompie are packed away in South Africa.

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 meowing. It was a soft, fainted meow 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, as I love cats, I just couldn’t resit doing it. In the vicinity was a man serving customers – with a wheelbarrow busy doing all sorts of odd things around the nursery. Stroking this beautiful little kitty, I walked to him and asked him whose cat it was.”Nobody’s, ” he replied, I only feed her while she’s around. “Oh, my I have her!!” I pleaded very excitedly and continued, “I love cats and will look after her!” “Sure…I only fed her, because she came here, hungry….and nobody to look after her…”

That day was my lucky day! I locked her in my car and ran back to get the plants…very excited! I got back to the car and there, very pleased with herself, she was waiting on the back seat…paws curled up infront of her, 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 as if she was used to being in this car, for years and used to drive around like this – for years. I couldn’t wait to get home!

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-meow”…as she was asking for more…LOL!! 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-meow”, 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 uslaugh when they were doining 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 ont he 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-meow”, as if she couldn’t help herself saying, “hello, here I am!”  or maybe it was her way of saying, “wha! got you!” [hihi]

Very scary, but this photo IS Nicky!! 100% Nicky! Found on dreamstime.com, but this is SO, SO Nicky! 500% to be exact!

This is typical what Nicky was like, at times. Lazy-looking, self-content expression on her face. Very much like Nicky!

Enjoy this cat-poem.

 Cat in the window

What do you see?
Cloud, wind, birds,a bird in a tree.

The daffodils shiveringin the February breeze,
A puddle in the roadbeginning 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.

~~~Brian Morse

Read Full Post »



I would like to post this “essay”/poem here, after a chess player had asked me if I had read it….and….I do like it!!

Thanatopsisby William Cullen Bryant

To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And gentle sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;–
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around–
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air,–
Comes a still voice–Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that hourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolv’d to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrend’ring up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to th’ insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting place
Shalt thou retire alone–nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
, With patriarchs of the infant world–with kings
The powerful of the earth–the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre.–The hills
Rock-ribb’d and ancient as the sun,–the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The vernal woods–rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and pour’d round all,
Old ocean’s grey and melancholy waste,–
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.–Take the wings
Of morning–and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lost thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregan, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings–yet–the dead are there,
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep–the dead reign there alone.–
So shalt thou rest–and what if thou shalt fall
Unnoticed by the living–and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh,
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
The bow’d with age, the infant in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,–
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustain’d and sooth’d
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
1814

Bryant first wrote this poem when he was about 17, after reading the British “graveyard poets” (e.g. Thomas Gray, “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” and Robert Blair, “The Grave”)and William Wordsworth’s Lyrical Ballads. In particular, there are parallels to Wordsworth’s Lucy poems, especially “A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal”:A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth’s diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

Bryant enlarged “Thanatopsis” in 1821, 7 years later, adding the final injunction and giving the poem a kind of religious point. Do you think his youth is part of how he is viewing death at 17? How do you account for the change? How might he have rewritten it 20 or 50 years later?
Source and read more about Bryant
HERE

Read Full Post »

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 Morris here.

Read Full Post »

I know a place in Africa

I know a place in Africa

I can feel the sun on my back

And the sand between my barefoot toes

Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze

And the waves crash on the endless shore

I know a place in Africa

Where the mountains touch the skies of blue

And the valleys shelter vines of green

Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve

And the bushveld wears a coat of beige

I know a place in Africa

Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods

And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth

Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds

And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops

This is the place of wildness

Of evolution and dinosaurs

Where life began and mankind first stood

Of living fossils and elephants

Where lions roar and springbok herds leap

This is the place of struggle

Of desert plains and thorn trees

Where pathways end and hunters track game

Of horizons and frontiers

Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red

This is the place of freedom

Of exploration and pioneers

Where darkness loomed and light saw us through

Of living legends and miracles

Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright

My heart is at home in Africa

Where the sound of drums beat in my chest

And the songs of time ring in my ears

Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes

And the smiles of friends make me welcome

My mind is at ease in Africa

Where the people still live close to the soil

And the seasons mark my changing moods

Where the markets hustle with trading

And Creation keeps its own slow time

My soul is at peace in Africa

For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins

And her winds bring healing to my dreams

For when the tale of this land is told

Her destiny and mine are as one

© 2006 Wayne Visser

http://www.waynevisser.com/

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.

Read Full Post »