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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Related quotes
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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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 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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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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The Study
When I walked with small,
almost baby small steps into his study
after coming slowly down the long passage
I saw him writing in the half-light,
marking exam papers or reading some poetry,
getting the words, the rhythms into balance,
and I walked in deeper to be with him,
where I heard the hoofs beating of the horse
carrying its headless Boer citizen,
and my emotions were sometimes on the edge,
when his mighty voice
folded and pulled along the Afrikaans words
but without any kind of worry or fear
for even the cannibal I heard him reading verses
that still does awake feelings in me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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I wrote a verse and thought no more
(to the Afrikaans poet Louis Esterhuyzen)
I wrote a verse and thought no more,
will I write, not another thought to paper put,
and I will be free from petty critics, who with words do cut,
be free from elitist poets who my work deplore,
who claim that I write faster than they can type,
that no real expertise is found in my art,
that I have sold my soul to every reader in parcel and part
that I am the stereotype
of the rubble that are trying to become something
and when I put my pen down
while my thoughts were wandering,
You reminded me that I am Your very own,
that my talent, the words I do impart,
flow freely from my heart.
poem by Gert Strydom
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If you keep straying with unhappiness (in answer to Koos A. Kombuis)
If you keep straying with unhappiness
and take the beauty out of everything
are looking for evil in everything
your life turns into a miserable story
you are wandering through the desert
where your tears disappear,
you are scorched
while the sun is shining overwhelming for others
you find thorns on the most beautiful flower,
are already old, before age sets in,
as if you are cursed by a spell
that gives words even if your are dumb
and you break Afrikaans down to clay,
as if nothing have to remain of that language and people
and you take LSD and who knows what
to find life in something
and to you life is a lost dream
as if it is allotted to another man, another guy
and your trousseau and love is buried
where nobody can explore
and you are in your own whirlpool.
[Atlantis in jou lyf (Atlantis in your body) by Koos A. Kombuis.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Elegy to Eugene Terreblance
You are gone without a farewell
and like a great De Wet
or De La Rey
you stood single
for your people
to also have
a place in the sun.
When your men went into Bophuthatswana
there was fear in me
that they wouldn’t be able to bring peace there
and would get death for their trouble.
Time after time I have listened
to your electronic Afrikaans poems
about the field, nature
and God to whom
you bended your knee
and the beauty of it
and your humanity
came to lie in my heart.
I was at Church Square
when you on the day of the covenant
read a piece out of the Bible
and prayed for your country, your people
and that God reach out His hand
against the dark might
that takes their humanity away,
but in your sleep
you were hacked to pieces
with a Panga-blade
and a martyr was made of you.
Let dark Africa rejoice
and declare killers as heroes
and reveal themselves to journalists
and the wide world.
Let people interpret you wrongly
as a bellicose person
that wanted to bring conflict.
l’Envoi
I see a honourable man
who wanted to serve his Lord,
who set his people first
and your death plucks through me
and cuts where it hurts most,
as in a way
every Afrikaner is portrayed in you.
poem by Gert Strydom
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God Bless Mckay Hatch
some people insist
on cursing in speech
their words just consist
of language that breach
animosity and anger
bullying and such
they are not any better
And need curses as crutch
uplifting language
is never out of place
it will suit any age
and bless any race
thank God for a young man
who cared so much
let his club fill the land
God bless Mckay Hatch!
Note: Mckay Hatch is a 15 year old who started the 'No Cussing Club' to promote uplifting language and replace cursing with better words.
Copyright Cynthia Buhain Baello
February 25,2010
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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The language with largest vocabulary
It has only seven letters
And has the largest vocabulary
There is no dearth
Of expression
For any situation or emotion
One same thing
Can mean a million things
King Solomon deciphered
Ants’ impression using this language
Indian mythology has it that
A much revered teacher
Taught all his disciples
Using this language
Clearing their all doubts
On any subject
It is not written
It is not spoken
It is not heard
But has in-depth meaning
And a lot application
It is not formally taught
As it has no syllabus
People pick up this
In their life paths
Some do not just pick this up
But, make excellent use of it
And successfully overcome
Difficult and challenging maneuvers
This language came into being
Long before the creation of this universe
Yes, it is not a just a global language
It is a universal language
This is in use world over
This is a common language
But often not used
This language has no grammar
No problem of spelling words wrong
There are no present, future or past tenses
There is no subject, predicate or object
As there are no sentences framed with this language
When used the person can still keep smiling
Often understood as a consent granted
Even the just new born is
As much as much eloquent
With this language
As the person who is preparing for departure
There is none to teach
But the language is learnt
The language is quoted as golden
As it can hurt no one
Much learned people resort to this
When they are to negotiate
Challenging situations
Some great philosophers
Teach their students
Comprehensively with the use of this language
By using this language
You are sure to win
Great many things
Use this wonder language
Effectively and appropriately
The language of silence
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Love For Language
Sound denotes the tune
Tune shapes the word
Words sprout of strong feelings
Feelings have no limit, no boundary
But it is clothed by the language
Language endows with the identity
Identity confers recognition
Recognition offers self esteem
To the human beings in the society
Thus everyone has to devote time
and give all out efforts for protection
restoration and growth of one's own language.
poem by Ratnakar Rout
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Ramdas, Start Talking With New Language!
Ramdas, start Talking with New Language,
Talk with people and every life,
That language which can take world to new dimension,
Or world shine with beauty and freshness,
Be the one among builders of new world!
Language of love and acceptance,
language that comes from the
depth of the heart,
affectionate and humble,
language that is full of gratitude,
Free of doubts and fear, Language of smile and presence
of mind,
Mindfulness which uses silence
and words well balanced,
the world to new dimensions,
Make world Look like a new world in the light of wisdom!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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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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I will resist this injustice
Never will I like C.L. Leipoldt say:
“My country is not mine anymore;
my nation is dead from the struggle,
my courage is not heroic anymore -
God, please forgive me! ”
and although my people
now stay right over the world
and my country has been taken away
the struggle continues forever
as long as prayers go up
to God in heaven
who is almighty in control
and even during times of impossibility
practises His will.
as long as a Afrikaner
stand on his right
to lead a life
I will get a ray of hope
from somewhere
and as long as I am alive
I will resist
this unfairness.
[This is my translation of C.L. Leipoldt’s Afrikaans verse.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The meeting
I caught your eye
in the Afrikaans literature class
while studying business
at the private university
and you watched me
but the day your car cooked
on the soccer field,
we really met.
I saw your car parked
on the soccer field
and asked Marthinus
my roommate and friend
why it’s parked there?
He said that it belonged
to a really beautiful girl
who probably has trouble with it,
but that people like him and me
didn’t have a chance
with a girl like you.
So I asked him to introduced us
and your eyes were like the sky,
but not blue,
ever changing
sometimes green and brown
and your auburn hair
glittered in the sun.
I fiddled with a connector on the fan
and suddenly it came on
and when I looked
into your eyes
it was into your soul.
You smiled like an angel
and like magic
we were as if alone
and I was under your spell
and when I smiled back
it did something to you
and I knew
that you were the girl for me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Farewell To The Poets And Poetesses Of Nature
Farewell to the poets and poetesses of Nature
Their beautiful rhymes are a gift of the heart
In literature they will always be remembered
For their promotion of Nature in which they played a huge part.
In their verses they captured some of the beauty of the Natural World
And their legacy in words is still with us today
In their poems one can visualize the wild birds singing
And in the warm Summer breeze get the sweet scent of hay.
Not all of them World famed or publicly acclaimed
Though a literary gem or two they created with us does remain
They played their own part in the promotion of Nature
And their likes perhaps we may not see again.
I love those old wordsmiths and their musical verses
They sung of the beauty around them they see
They had music in them their words so well written
With Nature they lived in complete harmony.
Farewell to the poets and poetesses of Nature
Their beautiful words do not have in them a use by date
To them we feel grateful for promoting Nature
And we thank them for the beauty that they did create.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Heidelberg recollections
Too many memories cling
to the places where you life and stay
from being small and in thoughts you pass
the pain and think about the joy,
so as if good things can make up for that which hurts.
Poems was in my dad’s heart, so as if Afrikaans
is a living thing,
from being small I was aware
of his voice letting words cling to me,
even at the mourning,
where without really realizing
what the meaning of it is
I stood at his grave in the red-brown sand
and saw crying people passing
and for me it was as if he just went away,
but his big black car
with the fins was still there and daily
mother used it to drive to work
and I was really scared
that at a time she would also take to the road
and when she in the mornings was leaving
I was wondering if I would see her again?
The black jacket and hat
with which dad made us scared
when we did not want to eat
or did not want to learn
what he was teaching us
still was hanging behind the door
and time and again I looked
at these objects
expecting them
to on a day come to life again
with dad disguising him self in them
like when I was naughty,
when he came in through the back door.
poem by Gert Strydom
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English Language
The English language it contains thousands of words
Which includes nouns, adjectives, constants and verbs
Structuring them together to create novels or speeches
So we can speak or read or listen while a teacher teaches
And of those thousands words that we have at our command
Some are the few words that decent people have banned
Sadly those few words most people use to swear and to curse
They are crude, coarse and obscene which are used alone or in a verse.
The English language contains thousands of words
Which equals to the stars in the sky or the multitude of birds
They are used in conversation and to define who we are
Words are the building blocks from a vast reservoir
But then we have those few words that are very crude
People use them to hurt or to insult and also to be lewd
Judge a book by its cover and the people by the words they use
When we speak, speak with caution and ponder and then be a muse.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Poetothemics
No magician can make
Moon: A beautiful lass.
A poet can............
No device can grasp
The language of celestial
A poet can.....
You know! He dug out the beauty
From sorrow and melancholy
Mixed it with wine and enjoyed.
And He, enjoyed the song of her,
language was not known to him.
And He, depicted spirit of revolution
As a spiritual bird.An Albatross.
Bursted he and questioned to me.
'What device a poet has?
How they operated the device? '
I replied..
When a vinsect bites to a poet
Poetothemics activated.
'Never heard such words before! '
Now you heard from me!
He said...A poet can...
............***...........
poem by Aftab Alam Khursheed
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The Sacred And Profane
give me tears
give me love
let me rest
let up on
send the bored
your restless
the feedback-scarred
devotionless
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
will love ever be enough
just in time to prove
will words ever be enough
just in time to lose
give me signs
that arrest
it could snow
and happiness
give me time
give me peace
and i will prove
my release
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
will love ever be enough
just in time to prove
will time ever be enough
will love ever be enough
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
you're all a part of me now
and if i fall
you're all a part of me now
in the sun
you're all a part of me now
will love ever be enough
will love ever be enough
will love ever be enough
just in time to prove
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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