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Poezja

	Gert Strydom
	PROFIL O autorze Przyjaciele (13) Poezja (1888) Proza (37) Fotografia (5)

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Gert Strydom, 23 lipca 2012

When winter suddenly comes

When winter suddenly comes
year upon year I am caught by it,
when there is an end to growth,

when sudden change in age
strip branches, let’s them hang lonely,
when winter suddenly comes

and it seems as if all of nature is dying,
when you long back to summer,
when there is an end to growth,

when with the ripe every spring flower wilts
and that an end is coming scares you,
when winter suddenly comes

you are astonished by the yellow-brown creeping death,
when even the bright bird songs wither,
when there is an end to growth,

and subtle even death claims its own property,
after years of decline of a life,
when winter suddenly comes,
when there is an end to growth.

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Gert Strydom, 20 lipca 2012

This I by experience know (English sonnet) (in answer to Dorothy Parker)

This I by experience know,
that although to some love brings misery
or a severe kind of woe,
some people trod its path quite happily

and although at times I had been alone
in my later years,
I now have got the very one
who brings bliss and joy instead of tears.

Even if I had experience heartache before
now my life is merry and gay
even though a lady showed me the door,
another is at my side on this happy sunny day.

This I know that sometimes love brings happiness,
has something magical in every caress.

[Reference: “Wisdom” by Dorothy Parker.]

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Gert Strydom, 20 lipca 2012

I met a girl (Novelinee)

I met a girl called her at times a child
in her forties, she was really mature,
her glances did draw me, drove my heart wild
to love her every glance did me allure,
suddenly my feelings for her was strong
as if something sweet could happen with us,
I thought that I might have it somewhat wrong
that forgetting of her I really must
she smiled, turned all my fears to dust.

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Gert Strydom, 19 lipca 2012

At the graveyard (in answer to T.T. Cloete)

It’s exhausting, painful with tears
there at the grave,
old ladies blow their noses and cry, old men
pass away all of the time
with surreptitiously a big argument about who
will inherit everything,
when cousins glance at each other
sometimes kiss, embrace and reach out hands.

[Reference: “Ballade van die kerkhof” (Ballade of the graveyard) by T.T. Cloete.]

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Gert Strydom, 19 lipca 2012

Graveyard

(after Jean Pierre Rawie)

In a whirlpool of emotions
I stand at the grave,
half full of grief with the tender remembering
of things that went wrong,
somewhat ashamed that things had not been different
and the strangeness is startling,

I am astonished by other persons
for whom tears come so easily,
about how meaningless life is,
about how death touches caring,
about how the final farewell
drives love to its limit.

[Reference: “Kerkhof” (Graveyard) by the Dutch poet Jean Pierre Rawie.]

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Gert Strydom, 19 lipca 2012

Graveyard in the city

The caretaker did not spare the work
and everywhere there are flower beds
that comfort with bright colours
the lawns are neat and cut to perfection
and the granite of each tomb glitters
that the sun falls shining on them,
that people walk around
as if they are maybe in a park
but the idyllic peace
every now and then shattered
when rows of cars draw near,
when coroners carry
a deceased person to the grave,
when crying people want to come to peace.

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Gert Strydom, 18 lipca 2012

Landmine

When the Buffel troop-carrier detonates a landmine
we see dark dots moving in the bush
and I break loose with the light machinegun
that the empty burning-hot caps hit against me

and as long as there is movement
on the other side of the dry riverbed
our fire is drawn
until everything is motionless.

With the smell of gunpowder hanging around us,
a skimpy goat-herdsman
crawls out from behind a giant ant hill
and cries about his dead goats.

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Gert Strydom, 18 lipca 2012

A Phosphorus projectile explodes

A Phosphorus projectile explodes
burns soldiers to particles of dust
when an enemy tank fires
hitting a Ratel armoured car in a bright glare,
burns hissing right through the blood of boys,
it becomes a terrible hour
where humanity goes totally dim.

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Gert Strydom, 17 lipca 2012

In my childhood days I pick lilies in the marsh

In my childhood days I pick lilies in the marsh,
I pick lilies, the most beautiful that I can find
in colours of red, yellow and white
but now a tar road cuts past.
The highway runs almost to eternity,
I wonder where the dilapidation did start
see no coots, plovers calling
broken lies the marshland that I love
and I have to search into the bright blue
to cling to the untouched
while smoke clouds of white, yellow and grey hang
like a blanket that is folding over everything
while wealth increases, nature becomes distorted,
and the plain has offices that is encroaching it.

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Gert Strydom, 17 lipca 2012

Like ants living clustered in (cavatina)

Like ants living clustered in, we do live
and are rushing
without noticing the red rising sun;
and everything
falls into place in our quickened pace
and each feeling,
action, glance is set in a quick-fix day
where we do loose the ability to pray,

with significant others instead of
husbands and wives,
where our children do not have to obey,
living their lives
totally Godless as they reach for more
and are in strive
with the laws and the ways of society
as everything centres just on I and me.