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Poezja

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

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Gert Strydom, 5 stycznia 2012

If she do not love me, or regard me (Collins Sestets)

(after George Wither)

Will I over her be in some despair
as she is beautiful, in her looks fair,
like a blossom on a early spring day,
a fruit tree where all of the small birds play;
if she do not love me, or regard me,
what will I care, even if she is lovely?

How can she somehow come to my own mind
even if she is graceful, very kind,
even if she is tranquil by nature
and slenderness is of her a feature;
if she do not love me, or regard me,
what will I care, even if she is lovely?

If she cares for me true, her I will woo,
some pleasant things, all in my power do,
nothing to somehow cause her any grieve
while in her sincerity I will believe;
if she do not love me, or regard me,
what will I care, even if she is lovely?

[Reference: “The manly heart” by George Wither.]

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Gert Strydom, 5 stycznia 2012

Coda

(after Dorothy Parker)

There’s a time that there’s pleasure in living,
to it there is something really divine,
when love is essence to taking and giving,
and life sparkles happy like good red wine

but when time does it thing and rushes on
the body looses all its usefulness
when most of one’s days are totally gone;
cynical one views friends with aloofness

while in art you hunt for some catharsis,
some seek the beauty of a younger lady
while they do want the essence of bliss
but life at the end becomes somewhat shady

while you conclude final moves in life’s spell,
to grasp the ways between heaven and hell.

[Reference: “Coda” by Dorothy Parker.]

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Gert Strydom, 5 stycznia 2012

Far too often into my dreams you have dwelled (requiescat)

Too often in my dreams you have dwelled,
but tonight, in the bright silver moonlight
from me I want you to be expelled,
although I do miss you, I pray tonight

while the red sun is dying in the west
that peace and tranquillity will be yours,
in all love I am asking that you rest
in this world, in all of the darkest hours

and when our God a His time comes again
that He will raise you in righteousness,
the clouds are milling and I can smell rain
but there is just silence and darkness

while the hours pass and tiredness finds me,
in sleep there is some kind of sanctuary.

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Gert Strydom, 4 stycznia 2012

The journey

Motorcycling along
the N1 freeway
from Pretoria in the north to Cape Town

the flaming sun rises over the horizon
small like a ripe apricot
while its dimensions gets larger

and then tomato red
a little later it turns orange and like a ripe fruit
hangs untouchable up on the sky

and corn fields, fences and trees
fly past almost blurring
in the twilight sketched like pencil drawings

and the sun like a huge pit being spitted
crosses the sky
changes to yellow and then to white hot

and the sky turns from dusk grey
to bright blue
and later to a darker hue

and the hot wind bristles
as if with loving fingers
touching and stroking your whole body

and in the early fresh morning
you draw in at a garage,
make a pit stop, to check the oil,

to fill your motorcycle up
and have a breakfast
at a Wimpy roadhouse

and the smell of fuel
hangs in the air
and you find children there

looking with huge curious eyes
at your motorbike
and gazing at you,

as if a hero character
has just walk right out
of a cartoon magazine

and you remove your helmet
take off your leather gloves
visit the loo where a guy or two

looks at you and comments
on your motorcycle, your leather jacket
the weather and the road

and in the restaurant
the waitress pours a Mega coffee,
smiles dazzling

when she puts it on the table
with your breakfast of steak,
French fries and coke

and you can swear
that there’s a twinkling in her eyes
before she walks away

with a French plate swishing to and thro
and buttocks leaving a distinct impression
of female grace

but the sun is drawing water
and time is flying,
you motorcycle thunders alive

and you return to the freeway
where at speed you pass
cars, greyhound busses and trucks

and the road feels almost without end
right through the flat Orange Free State,
later the acrid hell hot Karroo

where you see grazing flocks of sheep
like white specks
and some windmills

flashing and reflecting the sun
on their huge spinning blades
somewhat like lonely landmarks

and you make some more pit stops
to refuel and stretch your legs
have another meal

and just before driving through
the last tunnel on top of a hill
dusk envolopes the world, the sun dwindles away,

the evening star is just above the horizon
and a little later star after star flies pass
like leaves in autumn falling from a tree

and you are free, almost at the end
of your journey
or maybe you are always just passing by,

travelling to a new destination
with the wind, the sun and sky
and some people that you meet on the trip

and sometimes you go very fast,
at other times almost creeping slow
until suddenly destiny causes the journey to end.

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Gert Strydom, 4 stycznia 2012

The road back home

Controlling a motorcycle on the road
is a lethal skill at which
you have to be a master
in order to survive on the road.

Dodging lorries, cars and luxury busses,
overtaking some very slow vehicles
on route twenty-one
in order to turnoff at the Benoni off ramp
I was in the left hand lane
when a old lady almost scattered me
on the rushing tarmac
by changing lanes while
I was right next to her.

The narrow piece of road
on the other side of the yellow line
came to my rescue
but anger ripped through me
and enraged dragons
wanted to throw flaming words at her

and the guy behind me
with the black pee pot on his head
driving a Hardly Davidson
almost ran right into her
and said the words instead
sounding like “you unreal foolish woman”
but realistic it was something much worse
while a car carrying truck
changed lanes cutting us off

and I still smell the rubber
from my motorbike’s braking wheels
and both of our motorcycles
narrowly avoided hitting that truck

but fortunately rows of cars parted
to let us through and the freezing wind,
some heavy fog and light drizzle
was with me the rest of the way home.

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Gert Strydom, 4 stycznia 2012

The raven (in answer to Edgar Allan Poe)

On a summer December I do remember
the sun like an ember, poetry on the floor
life in pieces, while my troubles increases
nothing eases the sorrow for the girl Lenore
while I read of a farmer who lived long before
while destiny had closed a door.

In that new tomorrow, the book I did borrow
and my own sorrow was replaced by the lore
with pain in my heart, life was falling apart,
my art was shattered as the tale I did explore
out of the blue I saw a raven black as ore
with its feet red with gore.

With a bolt of lightning that was frightening
happened something to the bird I did deplore,
with eyes green, her hair shone a bluish sheen
the loveliest girl I have seen then came to fore;
with her I would do almost anything just to score,
suddenly I did her adore.

Her voice had a melody, life was fair and free,
it just could not be, surf crashed on the shore,
I was not fit I did deem, or it was just a dream;
nothing was as it seem, it was a fable from yore,
I was thinking I am nuts, totally mad therefore,
but nothing I wanted more.

She was human alright, as we kissed in daylight,
loved during the night; to stay I did her implore,
I had just met her, suddenly we loved each other
without a bother, in my back her nails did bore
and what did my life without her have in store?
Our souls had bonded forevermore…

[Reference: “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe.]

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Gert Strydom, 2 stycznia 2012

Damocles

I am contended with being the courtier
of great Dionysius,
ruler of Syracuse
and with my solitude
and the glory of God and king
hunger, war, poverty
and natural catastrophe
has avoided me

but when talking out of turn
of the joy, grandeur and luxury
that my Sire enjoys

he invited me as an honoured guest
to a great party
and a banquet table was set
with the best food
that any man could desire

and charming beautiful maids
were serving, as if I were the king
and something strange was happening.

My eye caught a light reflected
on the silver wine cup
and when I looked up
a piercing sharp sword
swayed on the slight breeze
hanging on a single horsehair
above my head
and then I knew dread.

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Gert Strydom, 2 stycznia 2012

At Headquarters

It’s a evening in the week and the bar is packed,
while rain sieves down from a pitch black sky
with white lightning flashes streaking down
every now and then sounding as a growling monster.

Two half drunk yuppies raise their draughts
clinking the mugs before knocking each other around
bruising each other’s arms with a couple of blows
and going to the counter to fetch some more beer.

A couple of musclemen circle the pool table
shooting the billiard balls into the pockets
and one curses when he misses
and it’s the turn of one of the others.

A couple of girl’s are playing
at the gambling machines inserting coins
and pulling levers and when one hits a jackpot
the lot of them are cheering, sounding like choir.

There are puddles of water at the door
and the yellow and green neon light flashes outside
while a black and white cat sneaks around
among the parked cars

undisturbed by the human laughter,
the ruckus of partying people
and it finds shelter against a wall
when the rains starts pouring down again.

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Gert Strydom, 2 stycznia 2012

Into the happy new year (Catena Rondo)

There was some rain earlier in this dark night,
outside rockets again do whoosh and thump
in through the open window the cat jumps,
there was some rain earlier in this dark night;

outside rockets continually whoosh and thump,
crackers go bam, bam, ka-boom and ka-boom
dogs bark in fear, howl hysteric outside my room
outside rockets continually whoosh and thump,

crackers go bam, bam, ka-boom and ka-boom
and it is old year’s day that’s almost gone
while the brand New Year is now rushing on,
crackers go bam, bam, ka-boom and ka-boom

and it is old year’s day that’s almost gone
at half-past eleven the neighbours celebrate
a new message my cell-phone indicate
and it is old year’s day that’s almost gone,

at half-past eleven the neighbours celebrate
while they jollily loudly dance and sing
and with their music my ears do ring
at half-past eleven the neighbours celebrate

while they jollily loudly dance and sing
as if the New Year does hold something great
and not a moment longer they can wait,
while they jollily loudly dance and sing

as if the New Year does hold something great;
very later things quiet somewhat down
and in sleep I am coming to my own,
as if the New Year does hold something great

very later things quiet somewhat down
until at three a car hoots across the street
as if it wants the neighbourhood to meet,
very later things quiet somewhat down

until at three a car hoots across the street,
as if all my resolutions and patience to test,
the dogs, the cat and I get some rest
until at three a car hoots across the street,

as if all my resolutions and patience to test
before a thunderbolt crashes electric blue,
blazing at my eyes with its terrible white hue
as if all my resolutions and patience to test,

before a thunderbolt crashes electric blue
there was some rain earlier in this dark night,
people laugh at the car’s bright lights
before a thunderbolt crashes electric blue;

there was some rain earlier in this dark night,
outside rockets again do whoosh and thump,
in through the open window the cat jumps,
there was some rain earlier in this dark night.

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Gert Strydom, 30 grudnia 2011

When the world changes (Envelope couplet sestets)

When the world changes from what it was before
when men grow to the duties they exist for,
things do become very much better still,
when people have freedom of their own will
when the world does not anymore know war,
when the world changes from what it was before.

When the world changes from what it was before,
when a young couple each other do adore,
when a kiss is filled with special bliss,
words, acts and feelings do not go amiss,
we have the capacity to become much more,
when the world changes from what it was before.

When the world changes from what it was before,
changes from a place of only death and gore
when an honest sincere man governs a land,
places all of his people in God’s strong hand,
then much better things are always in store,
when the world changes from what it was before.