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Poezja

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

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 5 czerwca 2013

I wanted to find more in what love is

I wanted to find more in what love is,
and its depths I wanted to know as truth
while maybe like a child I did trust
that its part of a real experience
of witch you sometimes miss all of the parts
but something really essential of it still does remain.
I wanted to find more,

I wanted to have something more than just meaning
and then so suddenly and unexpected I did find you,
when I looked at eyes that unblemished caught mine
and now I know much more than only knowledge,
I wanted to find more…

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 5 czerwca 2013

When your hand folded around mine

When your hand folded around mine you did smile
and I saw the depths of your soul
as you caught the profile of my face,
and your skin was soft while you were so very near,
while the essence of my heart was very happy,
and I speak to the Lord of you when later I did kneel down.
When your hand folded around mine

all of my own emotions did betray me,
as I felt age-old like a fossil,
and I wondered if falling in love did inspire you
to take my hand in the church,
when your hand folded around mine

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 5 czerwca 2013

On holiday on a island in the sun (rondine)

The ocean was clear as cobalt blue glass
while we swam far out in the greater key,
playing in the warm pleasurable sea,
some colourful small lonely fishes did pass
and no nasty predators did harass
while we both were very happy and free.
The ocean was clear,

some fish swam slowly in a schooled mass
while the small waves rocked only gently,
you teased, played and smiled with me,
there was nothing that did us embarrass,
the ocean was clear…

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 4 czerwca 2013

Spitting cobra

As if killed, turned on its own back,
the serpent lies motionless, as if asleep
while something in the black eyes glow

while its measuring spitting, striking distance,
waiting as if by chance, brooding its hidden evil
as it comes alive as a deadly hissing, spitting thing

and kill it certainly will, when movement returns to it
and the white ring around its neck is bright
while it is ready to strike, to deadly hit.

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 4 czerwca 2013

That snake was a venomous thing (rondine)

I saw it whispering, suddenly hissing,
with its waving big head drawn somewhat back
it was looking deadly, ready to attack;
just moments before it was uncoiling,
of it I was very unsuspecting,
there was nothing close by with which to hack,
I saw it whispering,

I waited moments for the killing sting
my breath was away, its skin was black,
the sheer killing courage I did not lack
and now that snake was a venomous thing;
I saw it whispering…

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 3 czerwca 2013

There’s no thunder’s match falling from the sky (rondine)

There’s no thunder’s match falling from the sky
while for days without end rain sieves down,
while we both live in a world of our own
and the cold, wet winter passes us by,
something much deeper lies in your eye
while darkness covers the earth like a gown,
there’s no thunder’s match

in the winter rain, while time does fly
no shining stars are seen that make a crown,
the big pinewoods seem totally overgrown;
some twilight comes, as if the sun did die,
there’s no thunder’s match…

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 3 czerwca 2013

In that church I am the only one (rondine)

Bright light shine in, not much is going on,
I open an old door that behind me thud
when I am sure that all people are gone,
my eyes catch a single red rose bud
beneath my knees the floor is cold as stone,
I chew my prayers again like cows do cud.
Bright light shine in,

while my life feels dirty as the black mud
and in that church I am the only one,
feeling in the great world totally alone
while my own sins pierces like a sharp stud,
bright lights shine in.

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 3 czerwca 2013

In the old painting something was living (rondine)

In the old painting something was living
displaying dead men in eternal youth,
it had some deeply hidden kind of truth,
about the evanescence of everything,
about the spirit, integrity that was rising
always conquering shattering untruth.
In the old painting,

as forever in life’s own awakening spring,
with their eyes on the point of azimuth
and among them a heroic kind of Ruth
with feelings of a strange awakening
in the old painting.

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 30 maja 2013

Too many times (Tritina)

Too many times back to war I have went,
have seeToo many times back to war I have went,
have seen civilian men become soldiers
to face destruction, injury and death,

where they had lost all hope, to the death
did not anymore care when out they went
had become machines called soldiers

had hated, feared duty as soldiers
to be dealing out much havoc and death
had felt if all life away from them went,

but out they went as soldiers to face death.n civilian men become soldiers
to face destruction, injury and death,

where they had lost all hope, to the death
did not anymore care when out they went
had become machines called soldiers

had hated, feared duty as soldiers
to be dealing out much havoc and death
had felt if all life away from them went,

but out they went as soldiers to face death.

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Gert Strydom

Gert Strydom, 30 maja 2013

On some South African Afrikaans published poets (Catena Rondo)

(after Roy Campbell)

They praise there own elitist workmanship
then write a poem over and over again
until only their tinkered out words remain,
they praise there own elitist workmanship

then write a poem over and over again,
struggle along for more than sixty times,
abandon all love and poetics that rhymes,
then write a poem over and over again

struggle along for more than sixty times,
they despise a poet whose words do flow
while they struggle to complete every row,
struggle along for more than sixty times

they despise a poet whose words do flow
says that he types faster than they can write
does not even know the very day from night;
they despise a poet whose words do flow

says that he types faster than they can write
while the very words of other poets they copy,
are sheltered, from the rest of humanity,
says that he types faster than they can write

while the very words of other poets they copy,
they are fishes swimming in the tiniest pond,
are scared of the great world lying beyond;
while the very words of other poets they copy

they are fishes swimming in the tiniest pond,
their work is without any kind of profundity
and sometimes on them I have a kind of pity,
they are fishes swimming in the tiniest pond,

their work is without any kind of profundity,
they praise there own elitist workmanship,
they want others them as gods to worship,
their work is without any kind of profundity,

they praise there own elitist workmanship
then write a poem over and over again
until only their tinkered out words remain,
they praise there own elitist workmanship.

[References: “On some South African novelists” and “On the same” by Roy Campbell.]

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10 - 30 - 100

Pozostałe wiersze: For now and for always, The temptation of being near to her, Your walking away is measured in watt, In the garden (ABECEDARIUM), Just for a moment it is there, There are people, Unknowing we may be living in a war zone, Holiday, I yearn for the secrets of nature (sonnet), At 52 the nuts of my country are stripped, A strange dream (triolet), The beach, the morning, Where star systems do disappear in the nought (sonnet), Come to my flower garden, Warriors of the civil service, This morning the sky glitters blue, You must not show any fear, My dear loving God, Sad tidings, Morning, Mirror image, The sun hangs orange red, Divorce V, Divorce IV (Espinela), Divorce III, Divorce II (cavatina), Divorce, Respite, At times we are only set on passing (American sonnet), The peach tree, The gardener, The old guitar (cavatina), Dear Lord God, Still life, Two sides to everything (cavatina), I have missed my country, The sardine run, He lies stretched out in the sun, Africa, There’s no other country, When death’s fingers do me touch, I wonder where is an untouched place that firmly does stand, You never came, I am afraid, The silent countdown, Without matter, Dare you character?, Once I wrote a kind of happy song (Orléans rondel prime), There is no other saviour, Alone we come into the world (for my mom on mother’s day), With hunger in your eyes, Please do forgive, Hoba West Meteor, When I do consider how my time is spent, I see him doing carpentry, When the two of us met, John Phillip, On Pretoria (Italian sonnet), Return, Cecil John Rhodes (Italian sonnet) (in answer to Rudyard Kipling), Afterwards, I walk in the veldt near to Majuba hillock, Vain are the words and deeds that are mine (Rubiyat sonnet), When I do find no place of peace (sonnet), Why I remember the Anglo-Boer war (John Dee sonnet), Lord, only in Your footsteps (Persian / Rubiyat quatrain), On a night, Far too quickly time rushes on (Persian /Rubiyat quatrain), Like any other person, She lives beautiful (sonnet), Where this world is but a grain of sand, On the day of my birth, The crucifixion of the Son of God, Today my heart is full of joy, A prayer (Sonnet), On my birthday, My heart has gone quite in me (Persian / Rubiyat quatrain), Come to me, Soldier: yesterday, At this place I have been before (sonnet), There had been a kind of loneliness, When the early the morning does begin (cavatina), Constantly I am astonished, When I hold you tight, Life is a gift, Bus trip at night, I have not seen the spark of life, Kamikaze, Lucifer at sunrise, The things in a town, When from me she is out of sight, How chilly like winter, Some times, I love you, Long Beach, As my eyes gaze into the dark night, I see her dancing gaily, Right against the morass, African September, A room in the past, The secret room, It had been a hell of spring with the sun hanging scorching, The marsh, For my darling, with New Year, The old year, Today people are not interested, South Africa is also my country, In this distant country, What fanciful lives we lead, As if they are beacons, You are my darling (sonnet), On Christmas, Last night I dreamt of you, Where are we now?, I had dreamt of you, At night the mind plays its tricks, Inside you and I dance, One Military Hospital, Something about a bird in a tree, While the year hangs skeleton, I gave my love to you, No other painting, Field of maize, The red arum lilies, Would my words, When the front door, At dusk, Child, Cry, Maybe 4, Maybe 3, Maybe 2, To be us, Photocopy machine, I do love Africa, While everything is turning brown outside, The crumbling man, My small Jack Russell dog, With self contempt I stand in the veldt, The fallen Cuban soldier, There is a time when night sneaks in, After the farm invasions in Zimbabwe, The small redbreast sings and dances, I love you, Walls, A child is a strange thing, Baby lies so fast asleep, It is a pitch-dark night, Hecuba, A pastor,

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