Being bilingual
There is something
in being bilingual
and when I grew up
we were forced
to take both
official languages at school
being English and Afrikaans.
It was another thing
to be taught maths in English,
when your home language is Afrikaans
and where I was taught in Afrikaans
up till then,
at a school that was
supposed to be
double medium
and to really struggle
with unknown terms
and not being able to comprehend
and to this day
I despise Mrs. Ritchie
who thought that I was stupid
and without the teacher caring
or being able
to teach in Afrikaans
I struggled along
but at university
a professor teaching
Algebra and Calculus
really did care
and taught me well.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Gross stupidity
It was at a time
where you had
to wear a uniform to school,
had to cut your hair
to a predetermined length
and got caned
if you were naughty,
failed a test,
or sometimes
to let the teacher
enforce his will.
If you complained at home
about getting a hiding at school,
you would probably
get another there too
if you deserved it,
but if you were right,
were punished unfairly
or without a real cause
it was seen in a different light
and a teacher
or whoever the punisher was
would have to face
your father in a fight
and could easily
be hit into hospital.
School regulations stipulated
that you couldn’t receive
more than six whippings on a day,
but at Estcourt high school
on my first day
at the new school
in standard nine (now grade eleven)
I received twelve.
We were lining up
to go to the hall
and a prefect told me
to cut my hair
which were just a bit
longer than how
they wanted it.
I said that I would
and while we were walking
to the entrance of the hall
I was told the same thing
over and over again.
On the eighth time
I told the English prefect
in Afrikaans
not to catch the pip
which was a Afrikaans adage
for do not catch a fit.
He told me to repeat
what I had said,
which I did
and thought
that I was cursing him
and took me
to the Headboy
who was English.
Where I had to repeat
myself again
and I did
as believed in telling
the truth.
The head boy took me
to the principal,
(Mister Robert Smith) ,
who thought
that I was saying
something like
go and play
with your member.
He called in the
vice-principal
(another Englishman) ,
a man with a red beard,
who was convinced
that I was cursing,
who shoved my head
under a table
and whipped me six times.
When I explained what it meant
they didn’t believe me
and called in a teacher
who taught Afrikaans
and the principal gave me
another six whippings
for being insubordinate
and wanted to expel me
if I didn’t have my hair cut
on by the next day.
I didn’t tell my stepfather
(who wasn’t a dad to me) ,
but even he
would have sorted
the headmaster
and vice-principal out
and it would have been
the Anglo-Boer war
all over again.
At the time I thought
that I was grossly stupid,
but thinking back
the headmaster and vice-principal
was probably more so.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Constantly I wonder how can I be part of it?
Constantly I wonder how can I be part of it
of a literature in which I read contempt to God,
in which people sing about relationships with the same sex;
use cursing words, the lowest language without fear?
Without Godly protection
even the mightiest fortress will fall
and this beautiful language, Afrikaans
is part of me as a born in thing.
When a great Afrikaans poet then tramples over me,
I know that he is not walking in the steps of God;
honour to the own self, self-elevation
is time and again betrayed by his words.
Still my verses in Afrikaans is holding strong,
while savages are ruling the country and are doing as they seem fit.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Soweto Flames
In 1976
In Soweto
The time was 7 o'clock
It was 16th of June
Children marching
Through the streets
Children chanting
On the streets
Protesting against Afrikaans
Protesting against Afrikaners
Children were gunned
For protesting against Afrikaners language
Children were gassed
For protecting African language
Afrikaans language
Afrikaners language
Africans baggage
poem by Barati Lesetlhe
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The School Of Nature
To be a poet
it is essential to be a student
of school of nature
to complete this study
one life is not sufficient
but has to take many births
its language and grammars are too tough
no university can meet it up
in the school of nature
the languages of stars, planets & all creatures
are taught for which you have to choose a teacher
God is the super teacher to teach you
in the school of nature.
poem by Ramesh Rai
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The literary life
We went to the house
of Afrikaans poetry together
on weekends and spent hours there
and listened to the master lecture
and met some poet friends
around a table
with a drink or two.
Sometimes the poetry was Afrikaans,
English, Dutch or even German
and we learnt form poets
around the globe.
We discussed what we had
just learned,
asked about his views
of certain things,
or what people in the group think,
discussed poetry, life,
sometimes even politics
and philosophy
as individuals of a group.
We read our poems,
listened to other poets,
reading their own,
analysed every word, every line
comprehending meaning, impact
and sharpened our art.
Your poetry was really great,
from when I read the very first line,
but mine had still to grow
from rhyme into free verse.
At times I hated comments
that forced me to move,
but realized that it was meant
with great goodwill
and even though I was in pain
I sharpened my verse
and free verse brought
a clearer ear, making it
much easier to write
great rhyme.
Now that I had to leave Pretoria,
weekends I really miss
that great writing school,
new poems from great poets,
learning something there,
experiencing poetry at its core,
lectures from that great master
and verses of his own,
but much more
your poems.
poem by Gert Strydom
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To My Most Beloved School-Teacher, Mr. B.E. Coates
Dressed in coat and suit and tie,
Anglo-Indian Teacher my;
Wearing shoes with shine always;
Tall in stature, meek, honest, Ayes!
Speaking English in great style;
Punctual, walking ev’n a mile;
Teaching subjects ardently;
A gentle-man seen, quite rarely!
He taught us English with great care,
Like how Englishmen would dare;
Its nuances, he laid thread-bare,
Pronouncing with Anglo-air!
He made the class so interesting;
Chiding mischief, not punishing;
A pious man who forgave fast;
Advising students till the last.
He was my class-teacher at times;
And read us poetry with rhymes;
He taught us Geography as well;
‘Be hard-working, ’ he’d always tell.
Because of him, I loved English,
And rose to levels, many wish;
He taught us Catechism too,
And say in life, ‘How do you do? ’
My teacher most-beloved was he;
He fanned my sparks of poesy!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-11-2007
Dedicated most lovingly to
Master BE Coates, CGMS, CBE
poem by John Celes
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My father was a professor of civil engineering at MIT, and my mother taught high school English.
quote by Eric Allin Cornell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Sent My Child To School Today
I sent my child to school today
With his little lunch box
When he came home he said his friend
Had gotten the chickenpox,
I sent my child to school today
And asked him what he learned
He told me about firemen
They taught him how not to get burned,
I sent my child to school today
He said, 'Do you know what they taught me? '
He told me they taught him numbers
As well as his ABC’s,
I sent my child to school today
A smile on his face
I gave him a kiss and a hug
And said, 'See ya funny face! ',
I sent my child to school today
His smile bright and wide
But an older child brought in a gun
How did he get it inside? ,
I sent my child to school today
As in every day
But the child with the gun started shooting
The reason? No one could say,
I buried my child after school today
All I can do is cry
I lost my child at school today
And nobody can tell me why.
poem by Doug Hollywood Davis
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Love Is Complicated
My love life is not taught.... meaning, love.... my life miserable teach, love teaching my life.... suffering, love to teach my life.... sad, love life taught me grief...., love to teach my life.... revenge, love to teach my life.... envy, love of life taught me.... hate, love.... my life teaching in fool, love life taught me.... in use, love.... my life teaching in one sense, love of life taught me.... sin, love to teach my life.... the journey is not endless.
Where they belonged
When I was in metric
(now grade twelve)
in the agricultural science class
an English girl took a chair
next to me
who had a secret crush
without getting
any attention from me.
I just wasn’t taken with her
and she was a little brash
and they lived
on the other side
of the railway tracks
and she had a reputation
of sleeping around.
When we studied
animal copulation
she acted as if
she didn’t really understand
and asked me some questions
which made me blush
and it was clear
that she had other plans instead.
Ignoring her didn’t help much
and heart broken she went to cry
on her sister’s shoulder
who was my class teacher
and taught me English
at the time.
We did an IQ test
(the first in my years at school)
and I scored only too well
and without really knowing
my personal circumstances
the teacher told the class
that I was lazy,
but much more than that
she marked my English grades down.
I didn’t know what had got into her
and in the second quarter
like a angel from heaven
a female inspector
(specializing in English)
visited the school.
She couldn’t understand
why my marks had slipped so much
and we had a very nice chat
where she demanded
all my English books and tests.
She graded everything again,
my grades took a hike,
the teacher was called in
and almost did the same
and after that
my grades were where
they belonged.
poem by Gert Strydom
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As long as algebra is taught in school, there will be prayer in school.
quote by Cokie Roberts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boss
(Nickolas Ashford/Valerie Simpson)
Fancy me
Thought I had my degree
In life and how love
Ought to be a run
I had a one step plan to prove it
Guide in my pocket for fools
Folly and fun
Love had to show me one thing
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(Taught me who was who was the boss)
I'd defy
Anyone who claimed that I
Didn't control whatever moved in my soul
I could tempt
Touch delight
Just because you fell for me
Why should I feel uptight
Love had to show me one thing:
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(Taught me who was who was the boss)
Love taught me
Taught me
Taught me
Taught me
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(Taught me who was who was the boss)
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boss
(nickolas ashford/valerie simpson)
Fancy me
Thought I had my degree
In life and how love
Ought to be a run
I had a one step plan to prove it
Guide in my pocket for fools
Folly and fun
Love had to show me one thing
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(taught me who was who was the boss)
Id defy
Anyone who claimed that i
Didnt control whatever moved in my soul
I could tempt
Touch delight
Just because you fell for me
Why should I feel uptight
Love had to show me one thing:
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(taught me who was who was the boss)
Love taught me
Taught me
Taught me
Taught me
I was so right
So right
Thought I could turn emotion
On and off
I was so sure
So sure (I was so sure)
But love taught me
Who was who was who was the boss
(taught me who was who was the boss)
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Masters
I learned the art of drawing from the sky
learned music from the oceans.
Sun who taught me to fight
and the Moon who taught me to weep.
Arithmetic and Algebra I don't like,
but the twinkling stars helped me a lot to count figures.
Geography and History those are my best.
After the examination I waited for my results
and saw it's written in the sky.
My parents won't believe this
I got a zero for each subject.
I was upset and came running
searching everywhere the Life-Tavern
to have a cup of pain killer,
Then I saw a ragged beggar
Who's never been to a school
Taught me to smile.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Witch At Church After Service Meeting
I was extremely lucky
early in life at primary school
I had the misfortune of
being taught several years
in a row by an extremely
opinionated female teacher?
Her learned perception
all small boys were bad...
I was seated in a group
she never taught
never talked to
never answered
questions from...
only down spoke to
with insulting
condescending remarks.
I as example was destined
at later primary school
she enthusiastically
informed her entire class in
another rage anger fit...
was destined to be arrested
put in prison where I belonged
being of no use to society.
Years later she recognized me
at a church after service meeting
stared at me with loathing hate
obviously church was not
where I belonged in her scheme
of judgement cosmic certainties...
I pleasantly ignored her
having missed her prophecy
incarceration destination
by then I was a journeyman
accredited qualified tradesman
bonus a university degree
never was I a vindictive
child soul destroying teacher
voicing rage as she was...
I had been at primary dyslexic undiagnosed
remedial reading elementary rage taught
will not aid or remedy special needs students...
post graduate Diploma Of Teaching I studied
Students With Special Learning Needs
taught with patience empathy diverse skills heart...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Who's To Blame
Oh Mother Ghana; Mother Ghana
What has happened to you?
What has happened to your culture?
They say we've fold arms against 'Vernacular' language
Instead opened arms wide to 'English' language
Oh Mother Ghana Mother Ghana
Why?
At school, we are taught the things we do not know
By the 'English' language
Why not 'Vernacular' language?
Oh Mother Ghana, Oh Mother Ghana
Where is your true identity as pure African?
Where is your pride as true Ghanaian?
Oh Mother Ghana, Oh Mother Ghana,
Day after day
When we put on the uniform as students
We are forbidden to speak 'Vernacular' language
Instead the 'English' language
Why Mother Ghana, why Mother Ghana?
When we speak 'Vernacular' language; your culture,
They say: 'Speak English' someone's culture!
When we speak 'English' that someone's culture
They say: 'Abrofosem; speak vernacular language' your culture!
Oh Mother Ghana, Oh Mother Ghana
Who's to blame?
'English or Vernacular language'
Oh Mother Ghana; Oh Mother Ghana.
poem by Francis Julian Zewu
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Gunface
Gonna go downtown
Gonna get my gun
Gonna dress real sharp
Gonna beat my drum
I ain't gonna lie
Gonna walk so slow
Gonna talk just right
And my diamond ring
Gonna shine so bright
I ain't gonna lie
I've got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna cry
I put a gun in your face
You'll pay with your life
And I got my ears
And I got my eyes
And I got my narks
And my alibis
I won't waste your time
You made one false move
You made one mistake
When the juice is squeezed
That's the way it breaks
You'll pay for your crime
Your tongue lickin' way out of place
I'll rip it out
I'll stick a gun in your face
You'll pay with your life
I taught her everything I taught her how to dream
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to scream
I taught her all she knows
I taught her how to lie
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to cry
And you cause me hurt
And you cause me pain
And you turned the tap
On my burning rage
And I can't put it out
Gonna leave no sign
Gonna leave no trace
Gonna leave this town
In a state of grace
Give me the power
I got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna lie
I put a gun in your face
You'll pay for the crime
I taught her everything
I taught her how to speak
I taught her all she knows
I taught her how to eat
I half invented her
And now she acts so chic
I taught her everything
But now she's obselete
I taught her everything
How to read and write
I taught her all she knows
She was a neophyte
I taught her everything
I loved to watch her grow
I taught her everything
And now I want to see her go
I taught her everything
I got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna cry
I'll put a gun in your face
You're playing with your life
I taught her everything
I taught her how to cheat
I taught her all she knows
She was so indiscreet
I taught her everything
I taught her how to lie
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to cry
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Bridges To Babylon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What I Know About My Dad Is Only A Few Things
What I know about my dad is only a few things,
eyes that radiates in seriousness,
he was sometimes strict but it was measured by love,
he was a god fearing man, but an Afrikaner
into the depths of his soul
and a teacher of history and Afrikaans
I remember his voice
reading the poems that he prepared
for post graduate studies in literature,
which made me get gooseflesh
from enjoyment
and so 'early autumn, '
'the headless horseman'
'Maria' and 'I will go to my father'
and many other poems
became to lie deep in my heart.
poem by Gert Strydom
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And we will be out to achieve great things of chaste
When I joined the school it was June
I cried and cried that day till it was noon
But, who was that lady going round and round
Comforting kindly each one to calm down
I came to know that she was our teacher
Whom we should be afraid of, I was told later
To keep quiet, when in the middle did she chatter
Otherwise she would prove to be a harsh beater
But, the fact was that it never happened
She was strict, though never she frightened
She was punctual, though never she threatened
She was wonderful, though we realized at the end
She taught us alphabets, how to write
She taught us manners, how to be right
She taught us maths that made us bright
She taught us that never others we should slight
She used to say whether you become doctor or engineer
But she insisted that we should never lose our cheer
She emphasized that we should never give room to fear
Even when we would be in the middle of fire
We thank her for developing a learning skill
Which will guide us like a lantern life time full
We know that a lot remains to be done still
Her guidance will for sure help our sweet dreams fulfill
We all thank her immensely for the taste
She developed in us, quietly, without any haste
And this fire of learning desire will never go waste
And we will be out to achieve great things of chaste
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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My father was the son of immigrants, and he grew up bilingual, but English is what my father taught me and what he spoke to me. America's strength is not our diversity; it is our ability to unite around common principles even when we come from different backgrounds.
quote by Ernest Istook
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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