Winter (parody)
(with apologies to fanie olivier)
Already early in May you can feel the wind gallop,
it is already cutting icily from twelve o’clock
and blows sand
leaves and old plastic bags sky-high.
Across the street the neighbour’s drain is overflowing
and sewerage flows along at the end of the yard,
while the other neighbour’s wife forwardly winks at me
and she’s a flamboyant girl,
her husband is well built and somewhat angry
and she has got a teenage daughter, who draws attention like her mother,
dressing at times somewhat nakedly,
while the neighbour comforts himself with bottles of brandy,
sometimes wanting to know about his wife’s wiles from me,
when I see pain and grief eating at him.
[Reference: “winter” by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The expelled farmer (parody)
(with apologies to fanie olivier)
At five to eleven there is thunder slamming down outside,
the winter chill is already cutting through his body.
Now in the folds of the bed he draws the blanket tightly
and look somewhat clinical at how it is flashing outside.
From above everything is washed neatly clean,
there is darkness covering the blue,
while like last night, he does not trust the peace,
being alone in his double bed.
He remembers how it had been
at the farm near to Pongola,
now with stripped grass, overgrazed, used far too much,
with shabby pineapples and he is fed-up,
has had too much of broken houses and poles,
of the joblessness with which the government
is trampling over white people.
The rain flows while he smells new life,
his county is being run into the ground.
[Reference: “retoer” “return trip” by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Does The Lotus Shrink Away For Everyone?
(after A.G. Visser)
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
an expensive car stops on the sidewalk,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
with many knights
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan
and he’s just left when the neighbour’s wife rushes past
without loosing a moment.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
where in the darkness of night he leaves
to be involved with his commitments
with many knights,
while the winter wind cuts through me,
the gaze of the neighbour’s wife chills the leaving car,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where in the palace Fatima made herself lovely
and the sultan had just left
to be involved with his commitments,
the neighbour’s wife hurries and do not want to avoid her lover
and I read insubordination, pleasure and rebellion on her face,
early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away.
When a horseman appears as the emir of the Badewyn
Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the sultan had just left
and the neighbour is really dedicated
exemplary, friendly and he wears glasses,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where they meet each other and make love for hours
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
and Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the neighbour is with other knights when his wife is wooed
while she is begging for other attention.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away,
there’s an old legend that returns to me:
Does the lotus shrink away for everyone, does it wither
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan?
[Reference: “Divan” by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Neighbour
Neighbour
is good
Friend...
Neighbour is
good relation...
Neighbour is
Your brother...
Neighbour is
Your sister...
Neighbour is
Your mother...
Neighbour is
father and gran father...
All are thear...
Neighbour is
Not neighbour...also
your family...
Love it...
Help it...
Enjoy it...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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From an Upper Verandah
What happier haunt could the gods allot
For loftiest musing to sage or bard?—
Yet I would that this upper verandah did not
Look down on my beautiful Neighbour's Back-yard!
I stir the afflatus: Descend, O ye Nine!
Let the crystalline gates of the soul be unbarred!
No. My thoughts will keep running in one fixed line—
The clothes-line that hangs in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
Let me gaze on the hills; let me think of the sea;
Of the dawn rosy-fingered—the night silver-starred:—
(What dear little feet must the owner's be
Of those stockings that hang in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Let me tune my soul to a measure devout:—
Ah, the musical mood is all jangled and jarred,
While things with borders, and things without,
Keep flutt'ring down there in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
Are the True and the Good and the Beautiful dead,
That I win not one gleam of Pierian regard?
(Does she suffer, I wonder, from cold in the head?—
Such a lot of mouchoirs in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Comes the fit. While it sways me, high themes would I sing!
Prometheus! Achilles! Have at you! En grade!
Alexander the Great—(oh that I were a string
On that apron hung out in my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
I will shut my eyes fast—I have hit it at last,
Now my purest Ideals flit by me unmarred;
And odours of memory rise from the past,
(And an odour of suds from my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Ah, yes! when the eyelids together are prest,
Every vestige of earth we throw off and discard.
(These are flannels, I think. Is she weak in the chest?—
There! I'm looking again at my Neighbour's Back-yard!)
Since the Muses back out, let Philosophy in:
Let me ponder its problems cold and hard.
Ah! Philosophy dies in a celibate grin
At that bolster-case down in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
Oh shame on my rapidly silvering hairs!
Oh shame on this veteran battered and scarred!
I to be witched with these frilled—affairs!
Confound my neighbour! Confound her Back-yard!
Why seek for the blossoms of Auld Lang Syne,
When the boughs where they budded are blasted and charred?—
Faugh! the whole concern's too alkaline—
It's washing day in my Neighbour's Back-yard!
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Buy your neighbour's ox, and woo your neighbour's daughter.
Generation Next Motto
'U love someone
U marry someone else.
The one u marry becomes ur wife or husband.
And the one u loved becomes the password of Ur mail id'
-
There's only one perfect child in the world & every mother has it.
There's only one perfect wife in the world & every neighbour has it.
-
If someone says u r ugly, its ok, if someone says u r stupid, its ok,
If someone says u r genius slap him as tight as you can n say there
is a limit of kidding n u r now crossing the limit.
-
Three dreams of a man:
To be as handsome as his mother thinks.
To be as rich as his child believes.
To have as many women as his wife suspects...
-
Husband & wife are like liver and kidney. Husband is liver & wife kidney.
If liver fails, kidney fails. If kidney fails, liver manages with other kidney.
-
What's the diff between Dava &d Daru?
Dava is like girlfriend, that comes with expiry date and
Daru is like wife, Jitni purani hogi utna sir chad ke bolegi.
-
Wife ko Begum kyon kehte hain?
Kyonki shaadi ke baad saare gum to husband ke hisse mein aate hain or
wife Be-Gum ho jaat hai.
-
The Japanese have produced a camera that has such a fast shutter
speed it can take a picture of a woman with her mouth shut
poem by Shashidhar Kumar
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Threatening Signs
IF Venus in the evening sky
Is seen in radiant majesty,
If rod-like comets, red as blood,
Are 'mongst the constellations view'd,
Out springs the Ignoramus, yelling:
"The star's exactly o'er my dwelling!
What woeful prospect, ah, for me!
Then calls his neighbour mournfully:
"Behold that awful sign of evil,
Portending woe to me, poor devil!
My mother's asthma ne'er will leave her,
My child is sick with wind and fever;
I dread the illness of my wife,
A week has pass'd, devoid of strife,--
And other things have reach'd my ear;
The Judgment Day has come, I fear!"
His neighbour answered: "Friend, you're right!
Matters look very had to-night.
Let's go a street or two, though, hence,
And gaze upon the stars from thence."--
No change appears in either case.
Let each remain then in his place,
And wisely do the best he can,
Patient as any other man.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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There the river is bridged (in answer to fanie olivier)
There the river is bridged,
meandering place to place is bounded,
a road cuts right across the mountain’s back
and when in the evening you find a tired traveller
he has stopped at a place
where the sea to the furthest horizon
stretches to the heaven
and there are lorries crawling up the hill,
the town lies beneath sparkling like stars
with lights everywhere shining
where people from near and far
at times find a resting place
even the old black man riding past on his bicycle,
or the braggart that cuts through the mountain pass with his grand car.
[Reference: “hier breek die dorp die pad se rug” (here the town breaks the road’s back) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Dreams Of Leaving
Someone stopped the clock when we should have started early
If we miss the morning meeting our lives will be in danger
Someones trying to stop us, there is someone in our party
It is someone with a grudge and they wont let us reach the border
Our lives are in his hands, we pay with krugerands
The currency of pain to help us leaving
While back in our homeland the ones who make a stand
Are taken from their homes and no one hears of them again
I felt I had to come here, I thought things would be better
The situations changed but I find Im still resented
Someone wants my job it is someone in this building
Someones spreading rumours and I dont feel I can stay here
I think Im going north and nows the time to leave
The people there they say are good to strangers
And if I do my best and try to settle in
Im sure I can be just like someones neighbour
Im sure I can be just like someones neighbour
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There’s a black child (in answer to fanie olivier)
There’s a black child
finding his way with goats through the cliffs
and his hair is blown in the wind
while grasses are braiding galloping around his feet.
He knows of the urge to want more,
how to take with force,
to draw his cross on the ballot paper, to say his say
and his feet walk on a dusty road
and in the dark night some of the tribe
gather around the fires, where spears are being melted
leaders armed with rifles arrive, who talk about plundering
torture and murder
and they are laughing as the war is over,
on what their hands fall they can take,
when suddenly they strike
a shaking white woman is raped
and there’s darkness hanging black over the country,
a darkness that no light can pierce,
with black faces smiling
in a circle around the fire.
[Reference: “by ruacana” (at ruacana) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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How is possible that dreams here are broken? (in answer to fanie olivier)
How is possible that dreams here are broken,
with life suddenly becoming threatening
with black criminals attacking, sneaking in at doors
and every home is barred like a fortress?
From every alleyway a drug peddler peeps out
or there’s a street whore
that patrols up and down at the corner
and I am just another white Afrikaner
that see my country is falling apart,
I hear shots being fired at the child’s school
where car hijackers suddenly strike
and numerous crimes are being committed
and no crying bird have got to warn me
about the new upside-down existence,
that every strange black man may be a criminal or terrorist
while jobless I worry about bread for my table
and it’s no war zone or the border that I am visiting
but raping robbers strike at the home on the corner
where the police later ineptly
gather with numerous cars.
[Reference: “grensbesoek” (border visit) by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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That past is still within our living memory, a time when neighbour helped neighbour, sharing what little they had out of necessity, as well as decency.
quote by Mary McAleese
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sage
I planted some sage along
with other herbs
and got small bushes
with blue-purple flowers
and greyish-green leaves.
We used the sage
in the cooking
and sometimes in salads
to flavour it,
but in my mother’s garden
at the front gate
a gigantic blooming bush of sage
greeted me
as if I was setting my foot
into Eden itself.
It was almost a metre high
and twice that breadth
and almost similar in shape
as the neighbour’s rondavel
across the street
and I rubbed some leaves
between my fingers
and it smelt like mint to me.
[Reference: rodavel = a type of round brick hut with a grass roof.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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This Noise
The noise that disturbs your neighbour is like,
A swimmer without a life-jacket!
But, i will live to lead you on peacefully;
However, this noise around you is like a hammer hitting the head of the nail.
The noise that disturbs your neighbour is like,
Creating the silent war within your neighbourhood!
And like the heart of a summer around many others;
For, i know when it matters most.
Try to learn and try to live with one another,
Try to do your best without disturbing your neighbour!
For, this noise will surely not bring you peace among them.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Neighbour once over the hedge, neighbour over it again.
Crane
A neighbour finds a crane noble
who neither warns nor boasts.
Ripples, hindrance to scheme,
trigger the neighbour's dream
of visiting a lake, as needed,
but living in the sky
where nobility's required:
'An albatross, you know,
would flop around down here;
should always only fly.
I disdain the ripples.
I keep my thought on high.'
poem by Douglas Scotney
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On Any Other Day
You want something corny?
You got it
Theres a house on my street
And it looks real neat
Im the chap who lives in it
Theres a tree on the sidewalk
Theres a car by the door
Ill go for a drive in it
And when the wombat comes
He will find me gone
Hell look for a place to sit
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
Cut off my fingers in the
Door of my car
How could I do it?
My wife is proud to tell me
Of her love affairs
How could she do this to me?
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
Throw down the morning papers
And spill my tea
I dont know whats wrong with me
The cups and plates are in a
Conspiracy
Im covered in misery
My wife has burned the scrambled eggs
The dog just bit my leg
My teenage daughter ran away
My fine young son has turned out gay
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
And it would be ok on any other day
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Graced
I am graced and I greet you with open arms,
Hands are stretched out to keep your heart.
My heart has good wishes for you,
I want to complain, I need some time to explain.
The neighbour is to be loved,
That neighbour is you and my heart.
I want to marry the dream of my choice,
That next-door person is you, my choice.
I read the complaint I make, and I have warmth,
For warm feelings deliver a peace.
You are to be loved like the one next-door,
The neighbour of decisions, no lies.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Feud’s abode
Feud is born and exists
Where affinity or identity rules.
Brother vs. brother and Neighbour vs. neighbour,
Have more hatred and less harmony.
25.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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