I am from Pretoria
Notwithstanding the way
that the country and world goes,
I still want to stand for many years
in the streets with purple-blue
Jacaranda trees.
Let my friends go and live
in London, New York,
Amsterdam and Sydney
but in Pretoria I earn my keep
and no other city
calls me away from my fatherland
since only Pretoria
is right for me.
I am from Pretoria,
a place where princes stay
and if you go to Pretoria
you will find many Afrikaner princes there.
In Pretoria noble Afrikaners are everywhere
and they build their lives
in the right way
and like their ancestors,
still cling to the hand
of the Almighty God.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
You’re in another country called Cape Town
I peer at a city
while the rain is pouring down
and see blue-white thunder
falling from the sky
while dark clouds are milling up high
blown by storm winds
and the smell of rain
rises fresh from the earth
and my thoughts loiter
and I know where I am
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
Below me I see the zoo
and a city stretched out
in clear squares,
great buildings among statues
and gardens,
and on a hill
the sacred place of a nation
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
The houses in the suburb
are build for the summer heat
with verandas and big rooms,
with yellowwood floors,
with fans in the ceilings
and yards as big as parks
and trees with purple blue blossoms
lining every street
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
I hear a crowd roaring
in the stadium near to the university
for their rugby team to win
and everywhere blue flags are waving
and some faces are painted blue
and some heads have caps
with horns thrusting into the air
and you’re in far off Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
On the other side of the mountain
avocado and some tropical trees grow
and here I stand in the hero’s acre
among the fallen great
and to Andries Pretorius
I offer my salute
and in church square
my eyes stare
at the statue of uncle Paul
who still faces north
now turning green
and you’re in another country called Cape Town
and I in my Pretoria.
[Reference: To -. Composed at Rotterdam by Thomas Hood.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Without a car in Pretoria
There are few things that bother as much
as to look for you car
and almost to count the other car’s,
when you come round a corner
and to be without a car in Pretoria
and to know the fear
that it is stolen.
There are fewer things that bother as much
as when two of your cars get stolen
and something is wrong with the insurance of both
and to be without any car in Pretoria
and to tell everyone that you call
of your predicament
and no Police ever being able to find any car
and every similar car that drives by
looks to you like the stolen one
and the robbers are now much better off than you.
There are few things that bother as much
as to walk
and stand with a hand stretched out
and the worst is to tell other people
and to be without a car in Pretoria
and to read comprehension in their eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lord Robert's Triumphal Entry into Pretoria
'Twas in the year of 1900, and on the 5th of June,
Lord Roberts entered Pretoria in the afternoon;
His triumphal entry was magnificent to see,
The British Army marching behind him fearlessly.
With their beautiful banners unfurled to the breeze,
But the scene didn't the Boers please;
And they immediately made some show of fight,
But at the charge of the bayonet they were put to flight.
The troops, by the people, were received with loud cheers,
While many of them through joy shed joyous tears;
Because Lord Roberts from bondage had set them free,
Which made them dance and sing with glee.
Lord Roberts' march into Pretoria was inspiring to see,
It is reckoned one of the greatest achievements in our military history;
Because the Boers were watching him in front and behind,
But he scattered them like chaff before the wind.
Oh! it was a most beautiful and inspiring sight
To see the British bayonets glittering in the sunlight,
Whilst the bands played "See the conquering hero comes,"
While the people in ecstasy towards them run.
The British marched into Pretoria like the rushing tide,
And the Boers around Pretoria there no longer could abide,
Because the British at the charge of the bayonet made them run with fear,
And fly from Pretoria just like wild dear.
Then Lord Roberts cried, "Pull down the Transvaal Flag,
And hoist the Union Jack instead of the Transvaal rag;
And shout 'Britannia for ever,' and 'Long live our Queen,'
For she is the noblest Queen the world has ever seen."
Then the Union Jack was hoisted and unfurled to the breeze,
Which certainly did the Boers displease,
When they saw the Union Jack flying o'er their capital,
The sight thereof amazed them, and did them appall.
And when old Kruger saw Lord Roberts he shook with fright,
Then he immediately disguised himself and took to flight,
Leaving his poor wife in Pretoria behind,
But the British troops have treated her very kind.
Now let us all thank Lord Roberts for his great bravery,
Who has gained for the people of Pretoria their liberty,
By his skillful tactics and great generalship, be it told,
And the courage of his soldiers, who fought like lions bold.
Lord Roberts is a brave man, be it said,
Who never was the least afraid
To defend his Queen and country when called upon;
And by his valorous deeds great battles he has won.
Then success to Lord Roberts and the British Army,
May God protect them by land and by sea;
And enable them always to conquer the Boers,
And beat all foreign foes from our shores.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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On A Day That Felt Like Any Other
On a day that felt like any other,
where the sun was hot
in a Pretoria spring,
when the jasmine and almost every flower
were open and flowering
suddenly and unexpected,
three black men rushed
into a house in Pretoria’s Capital Park,
found a woman painter busy in her studio,
painting a rural scene.
A pistol was trying to drill
a hole into the side of her head,
before a big black hand covered
the sudden scream
coming from her mouth.
Her clothes was ripped from her body
and for moments she was blinded in shock
smelled the stinking hot breath in her face,
while her body felt as if paralysed
and not being able to move,
the first black man entered her womanhood,
penetrating violently, tearing
and ripping her open
while his left hand
groped at her breasts
one after the other,
with the others laughing
and waiting for their turns.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sometimes I remember a house
Sometimes I remember a house
in the eastern suburbs of Pretoria
and there at a time I was with you
and were you aware of my feelings then?
I remember the mystery of your humanity and that house
in the eastern suburbs of Pretoria
and the electric blanket and I was there more than at home
and I was under your spell, from the way that you looked at me.
I remember the mystery of your humanity and that house
and moment after moment
you were with me
and I was under your spell, from the way that you looked at me
and that place I cannot get out of my thoughts
Sometimes I remember a house
where you were with me
and I at a time with you.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Six o’clock on a Friday morning
It’s six o’clock on a Friday morning
and I wait for my bus
and across the street,
the lights are burning cheerful and yellow
in the square and dome shaped windows
of the state library
and I wonder what documents are kept there
Street hawkers sell newspapers and sweets
in front of the Pretoria News,
while passengers are already
catching busses in rows.
There’s an icy chill
that hangs in the morning dawn light
and there’s a skew pointed obelisk
that is in front of the high court chambers
and a newspaper heading
talks about the recession
that is blowing hot and cold,
but it’s freezing
and the cold even eats
right through my leader jacket.
On the east side of Vermeulen Street
the sky becomes a light yellow,
while the blue of the heaven
folds open all over the rest
and streetlights stand in a long row
up the street past traffic lights.
Schoolgirls dressed in blue
are watching school boys with red jerseys
and young women
stand and shake
from the cold and I wonder,
how the old red delivery bicycle
behind the pillar
are not getting stolen
where it stands every morning on its place.
There’s a street sign that points to the Pierneef museum
into the L te Groen Eureka factory building,
but it’s still too early
to go and look at paintings
and I wonder how
the Pierneef paintings inside looks.
On the side of a building
I am amazed at the Tswane sign,
but this big city
will always stay Pretoria for me
and I wonder how people
can build buildings so pressed into each other
and look at old and new buildings
standing rowed in onto each other
and the bus stays away,
while others come and go
and I wait
a while longer in the cold.
poem by Gert Strydom
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In this winter
In this winter
it is as if it’s spring
when I get on my motorbike
and in a flash
drive down the road to Pretoria
and even if the cold folds around me
there is a sun
coming out of your arms
and your perfume
has a noble fragrance
like a garden
full of jasmine.
poem by Gert Strydom
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At Springs
I am trying to get a job
at Springs
and wonder why people live here
away from Johannesburg
and Pretoria
and what fountains
spring out at this place
and all that I find
is rotten smells
rising from the Blesbok river
where sewerage is flowing in freely.
The town lies stretched out
up to Brakpan
and has two internet cafés
that I know about
and a computer shop
where the people
know less about computers than I
and my animals
may not come into the house
and I must explain why
they are barking at the gate.
One of my cats
Lurks in the a storm water drain
against the road
and I am tired and fed up
with lifting concrete blocks
with a crowbar
to free the Persian cat
on his cries for help.
The mines are stripped bare
and at places there are pans
with poison
that has accumulated there for years
and at times there are friendly neighbours
with whom I talk
and virtually every second day
the weather is overcast
with falling rain
and thunderbolts
hitting outside around my animals
but mother’s garden
is a real idyllic spot
with hollyhocks bursting out pink
over fallen trees
in a rock garden,
geraniums of all colours
growing very rampant,
flame lilies blooming orange,
morning glories coming up anywhere
and a much larger vegetable garden
than I could plant in Pretoria
and over the yard
the Creator spreads His hand
and there are new flowers
sprouting almost every day
and I am astonished
at how easy
things grow here
and how high
the plants are suddenly
and the yard is so big
that the animals
almost play in a field
and it’s actually past lovely
to stay for a time
with my mother
as she loves me very much.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Rum Parade
Now ye gallant Sydney boys, who have left your household joys
To march across the sea in search of glory,
I am very much afraid that you do not love parade,
But the rum parade is quite another story.
For the influenza came and to spoil its little game,
They ordered us to drink a curious mixture;
Though at first it frightened some, when we found it mostly rum,
Parade became a very pleasant fixture.
Chorus
So it's forward the Brigade, if they'll hold a rum parade
At Pretoria there's nothing to alarm ye;
And it's easy to be seen if they leave the quinine,
Ye'll be there before the blessed British Army.
Then a corporal he come and he said I drank the rum,
But the quinine never reached its destination;
For begob he up and swored that I threw it overboard,
Sure my heart was filled with grief and indignation.
For I'm different to some, I prefer quinine to rum,
And I only take the rum just as a favour,
And it's easy to be seen I'm so fond of the quinine,
That I keep it lest the rum should spoil its flavour.
When we get to Africay we'll be landed straight away,
And quartered with the troops of Queen Victoria;
And we hope they'll understand that the moment that we land
We are ready for a march upon Pretoria.
And we'll pay off all the scores on old Kruger and his Boers,
And just to prove our manners aren't a failure,
And to show we are not mean, shure we'll give them the quinine,
And drink the rum in honour of Australia.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Pretoria
I am Sizzla in Pretoria and,
I am like the bug living next to your door;
But keep holding on to your lover because,
My dreadlocks are the signs seen around so easily.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Interviews at employment agencies
The appointment can be at any thing
from a shack, house, palace
or office block.
You respond to an advertisement in a newspaper,
or from the internet with jobmail, pnet and career junction
that stands in the front line with available positions.
You have to drive to somewhere in Pretoria
or Johannesburg, Midrand, Randfotein or Krugersdorp
to find work in Pretoria or Midrand.
At times there’s something wrong with the directions
and if you do not know the place,
you drive at your own cost totally lost.
At the place a receptionist makes you fill in forms
and let you wait in a very small office,
where the heater behind a closed door tries to fry you.
a Girl with just a metric certificate interviews you,
about your degree/s and experience
and you try to impress her.
At times your photograph is taken
and at times they demand your fingerprints
and you have to sign that Kroll may look at your business.
The agencies demand that Kroll verify
your qualifications, credit worthiness
and see if you have a criminal record.
Certainly people like doctor? Carl Niehaus
that finds doctor’s degrees in lucky packets,
is probably responsible that a person have to go through this hell.
Sometimes lies are told about the available position
to build a data base,
or you have to wait until the client wants to see more people.
If you are lucky a appointment is immediately set,
or your Curriculum Vitae is emailed on
and you are called
for an appointment with the employer.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The bus that drives to Vryburg
From Pretoria station
I take a bus that drives to Vryburg
to go and fetch a car.
Cornfields flashes past
and all of the people round me
tells a bit of the things that hurt.
One is going to a funeral because her brother died
and the bus drives on
with the road that stretches out in front of it.
Another is going to her parent’s home
she can find nowhere else to go
and is unmarried and pregnant.
The nearer we get to Vryburg
the more scared she becomes
and the bus drives on.
An Older man has lost his job
and restarts his career in Vryburg.
So everyone of us are caught
our own world with freedom that always stays away
and fate from which everything hangs
and I wonder when everybody in this country
will ever get a Vryburg.
[Vryburg=> The name of a city in the Northern Cape province. Meaning place of freedom or free city.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Today the eastern horizon is yellow gold
Today the eastern horizon is yellow gold
and buildings are framed
like pieces of a puzzle
against the sky
in the way that they fit into Pretoria.
a Few doves pass above
and it looks as if the Jacaranda’s
are already getting life
, and I see the first green leaves appear,
but some are still stripped
like skeletons against the air.
There’s a white taxi
that drives reckless
and cuts in in front of us,
to stop a hundred meters further
in the middle of the road
to pick up someone.
The sun becomes a white-hot ball
and to bright to look at
while it climbs higher in the air
and the morning gets direction.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Op ‘n koppie buite die stad
On a hillock outside the city
a monument build from marble and stone
guards forevermore,
catching the sun’s
rays one new day dutifully.
It tells true stories
of a nation’s struggle to survive and be free
from oppression and a great trek
across the veldt and over high mountains,
of vicious wild men
and the belief
in the creator God
who came to aid
to save from total annihilation
when they called on Him.
[Reference: Voortrekker monument just outside Pretoria.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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On a hillock outside the city
On a hillock outside the city
a monument build from marble and stone
guards forevermore,
catching the sun’s
rays one new day dutifully.
It tells true stories
of a nation’s struggle to survive and be free
from oppression and a great trek
across the veldt and over high mountains,
of vicious wild men
and the belief
in the creator God
who came to aid
to save from total annihilation
when they called on Him.
[Reference: Voortrekker monument just outside Pretoria.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Nothing can make a day last longer
Nothing can make
a day last longer
but being in love
with the sun.
I long to live
in Cape Town
when it’s summer time,
where at eight
the sun still hangs high
as it did at three
but in winter
when the chill sets in
give my Pretoria to me
and then you can have
your Mediterranean climate
with intermittent rain
and north of the Magaliesberg
I will bask in the sun
and look at a blue sky
unless you invite me
to your lair
and we share
a Cape winter there.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There are devotees of Goethe, of the Eddas, of the late song of the Nibelungen; my fate has been Shakespeare. As it still is, though in a way that no one could have foreseen—no one save one man. Daniel Thorpe, who has just recently died in Pretoria. There is another man, too, whose face I have never seen.
Jorge Luis Borges in Shakespeare's Memory (1983), translated by Andrew Hurley
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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City of Pretoria
Our pride stem
You are named after
Opportunist and racist
Voortrekker leader Andries Pretorius
And now non-racial democratic and prosperous City
Welcome to home of procurement policies
Multi- cultural and multi- racial City
Unisa and Medunsa are in you
I boldly know that
You are better for living
So clean and leaning on Mountains
Africans gathers in you like ants heap
To dig your gold
I've seen a beautiful Pedi Girl
Great Sekhukhune and Tshwane
Dwelled in you neighborhoods
Lights like heavenly streets
Number one in none and world class city
A home of parastatals
And a pillar of economy
Welcome to Pretoria
Tsheane ya Mamelodi
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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Johanna Brandt
To me Johanna Brandt is a prime example
of such a person, who were clinging
to her integrity and bravely lived
to what she thought was right.
She was the daughter
of the well known reformed minister
Nicolaas Jacobus van Warmelo
who played a leading role
during the first Anglo-Boer war
that came to an end
with the Boer victory at Majuba hill.
Johanna had a beautiful
soprano voice and got music instruction
form a Mrs Uggla,
(a Swedish music teacher) ,
and used to sing the solo parts
at choir performances.
While living on a prime estate called
Harmonie in Pretoria, the family
were friends with President Paul Kruger,
general Piet Joubert and his wife
and dr. W.J. Leyds (the secretary of state) .
On Harmonie there was an abundance
of willow trees where it was situated
near to the Apies River
and Zuid-Afrikaansce republic
government buildings.
During the Jameson raid,
Johanna was visiting her uncle
in Florida (near to Johannesburg)
and at the time when this trouble
was at its worst
she by herself rode by horse
all the way back
to her home in Pretoria.
While studying music in Germany in 1897
Johanna fell in love
with the reformed minister Louis Ernest Brandt
whom she met in the Netherlands
who was a rowing champion of Holland
and a well build good looking man,
but Johanna returned to live in Pretoria
and was there
when the British invaded that city
living on the Harmonie estate.
Thousands of British soldiers
marched hungry and tired
into Pretoria, dressed in kaki
and were dirty from the travelling.
The British soldiers came to a halt
in front of the open square
near to the government buildings
and on command sat down on the ground
Some started eating the rations
that they were carrying along,
some immediately started sleeping
and one looked up into the face
of the young girl saying:
"Thank God, the war is over, "
but with a voice full of feeling
Johanna replied:
"Tommy Atkins, the war has only just begun! "
There were some soldiers camping
on the grounds at Harmonie,
Lord Kitchener had his headquarters
right next door
and till the end of the war
she never had a moment of peace
but this did not bother Johanna
as she and her mother
became spies for the Boer leaders
and by love letters to Louis Ernest Brandt
Johanna was sending coded messages
to President Paul Kruger in the Netherlands.
Johanna even smuggled explosives
and explosive fuses
into that part of Pretoria
which was occupied by the British
that was concealed
in a lady's hat box
and the British officer
did not even realise that the hat case
was quite heavy for such a slender girl.
A message to the paper "Review of Reviews, "
about the inhuman conditions
in the Irene concentration camp
where Johanna was working as a nurse
was smuggled in a cacao tin
all the way to Great Britain.
On her way to be married
in the Netherlands Johanna travelled by ship
and while the British people aboard
were celebrating and partying after their victory
and the peace of Vereeniging
Johanna kept to her cabin,
as she only felt the bitterness and pain
of a nation whose farms, towns
and women and children
were destroyed.
She could not shake off
the wasted children,
in the Irene concentration camp
the cruelty of the British doctors,
the cold bloodedness
of the British soldiers.
She got married to Louis Brandt in Arnhem,
convinced her new husband
to come to South Africa
where her country, and people
after war was living in poverty
and where he was a reformed minister
and eventually for about twenty years
the moderator of the reformed church.
Johanna was diagnosed
with stomach cancer
from the results of X-rays
and in 1917
the doctor wanted to do an operation,
but Johanna decided not to have the operation
and to stick to her principles
of a natural cure by eating grapes,
drinking only water and milk
and trusting in the power of God.
The doctor gave her only weeks to live
but she kept to what she did believe
and was totally cured living
another forty-seven years.
While her husband was moderator
of the Dutch reformed church
Johanna claimed to have been visited
by a angel from God
and by the Lord Jesus Christ himself,
she did believe to have had some visions
about the need of her Afrikaner people
to convert from their sinful ways,
that the second coming of Christ
was drawing closer
and that He had chosen
the Afrikaner people,
and was coming back
to establish his kingdom
right here in South Africa.
She prophesied about a coming
world wide time of great tribulation
and the Dutch reformed faith
ignored what she was saying,
publishers did not want to publish
her book called the millennium,
which she published at her own cost
and she was mocked
by the newspapers,
by the political parties
and her warnings
to the South African tribal people
which she translated
into their indigenous languishes
was totally ignored by them
and although she did not know
visionary Nicolaas Van Rensburg
while they were living
at the same time,
some of her predictions
run hand in hand to his.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Give me the good news
Old song stays with me
that says, “give me the good news”
and I wonder
what the news will be today
and what I am going to read in the papers.
The banner headlines are
“teenage sword killer in jail,
taxi driver guilty,
Caster gender shock results
and Transnet still off the rail.”
I wonder where our old world
is going too,
while I stand in front of the offices
of the Pretoria News.
It like other events
has changed the truth
and the record that was broken,
are now without importance
and we are in a country
where nobody,
is sure of his life.
The Wimpy is already open
and I walk there,
to buy a Mega coffee
and a young girl smiles at me
while she is also getting a coffee.
Outside there’s
a bright orange sun
that is hanging
under a few loose clouds
and the Jacarandas are starting to flower
with the first blooms
that is coming out blue.
It’s Friday and the weekend
lies around the corner
and the summer
wants to burst out everywhere
and I wonder why
I want better news
when it’s already
going great with me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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