Poets of Africa

Letters to Myself... "Politically Concious"

2012-02-12T09:20:00.001-08:00

My black nails,
Sing of wails that fail,
Because of an attachment,
So unattractive,
That fills me with pain,
In my blood vessels that pump with strain,
That burgundy liquid through scarlet flesh,
Through to my limp heart,
That fills with that pain,
From black nails,
That sing wails that fail.

Innocent fetus I have been,
But saved I have been,
For some it is not the same,
For some,
It is innocent fetus that has not been,
Aborted clear of the world,
I have breathed life,
An air of filth,
But I have breathed life,
I have been blessed to see love of a mother so destroyed,
But I have seen love,
With their slings they sting,
My spine whose strength I walk,
Through hills and valleys,
On land,
In the sea,
In space,
In my dreams,
My spine that enables me to bring,
The pennies of my sweaty brow,
The pennies of my swollen feet,
The pennies of my broken heart.

For longer than you and I know,
They have held the arrow and bow,
From their black nails like mine, they crow,
Like white masters that left so long ago,
We grieve over unfruitful seeds we sew,
That have been stolen right in front of our door,
And the thief has hands that are sore,
Possessed by greed and absent of compassion,
They threw it away and it landed on the floor,
Right in front of our door.

Do you love me now?
I am neither rich nor poor,
I am nothing in need of a cure,
Do you love me now?

Kavosa Assava

Letters to myself…To be who I am To who I am not.

2012-01-16T10:30:00.000-08:00

If I could fit at the top of a mountain line,

I would seat and watch the world intertwine,

As people whined and sighed over life's unforgiving signs,

I would seat and watch as they intertwined,

As people burst in the confusion and twirled in inconclusive illusions,

I would seat and watch as they intertwined.

I wish so desperately for seconds in a day to be alone,

To remind myself of what I am in my soul,

For confinement in my mind rediscovering that person sole....LY,

Never letting go of what I have been told,

To chew and swallow all that the world throws,

Whether hot or cold.

Because around all these demons,

You forget your cute little ribbons

of innocence, that transform into little horns,

Of deceit,

Numerous characters of you you have built,

To paint little mirages of deceit,

Numerous tongues you have slipped,

Little words of deceit,

To deceive the demons,

But you only deceive yourself.

You are who you are when alone,

Unbathed by flowery scented oils that mask your odour,

Untouched by airs beyond your vacuum that blow away your delicate leaves,

So if I could seat at the top of a mountain line,

I would sing with the birds,

Breath with the trees,

Fly with the clouds,

For we would be who we really are

Seize the Day: Favourite Inspirational Poems by Wayne Visser

2011-11-02T14:02:00.000-07:00

I'm delighted to announce that my new book of poems is out on Kindle (download the free app to read on PC/any device). Here's the blurb ...

SEIZE THE DAY: FAVOURITE INSPIRATIONAL POEMS

This unique collection brings together inspirational poems by South African poet and writer, Wayne Visser. The anthology includes many old favourites like "Poets Must Be" and "Horrendus Camena", as well as brand new poems like "The Writer" and "Seize the Day":

Sages through the ages wisely say:

Carpe Diem – seize the dawning day!

Oh, would that I could assuage that thirst

But the day conspires to seize me first!

Buy it now for little more than the price of a cup of coffee at:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Seize-Day-Favourite-Inspirational-ebook/dp/B0060LLHUA/ref=sr_1_4?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1320266601&sr=1-4

Shine, Africa, Shine! by Wayne Visser

2011-06-25T01:47:00.001-07:00

SHINE, AFRICA, SHINE!

By Wayne Visser

I. The Dark Continent

Africa – the dark continent:

So named by explorers

Because the candle of their knowledge

Was feeble and flickering;

Because their ignorance

Was a void of deep space.

Africa – the dark continent:

So named by conquerors

Because the torch of their mission

Was sordid and smoking;

Because their prejudice

Was a cave of grey ghouls.

Africa – the dark continent:

So named by scholars

Because the lamp of their enquiry

Was paltry and passing;

Because their theories

Were coded in white and black.

II. Enemies Of The Sun

Africa is the continent of light,

But there are enemies of the sun:

Despots who snuff out flames,

Gangsters who skulk in caverns

And traders who deal in darkness.

Africa is the continent of light,

But there are crevices of shade:

Valleys where black blood flows,

Corridors where corruption festers

And markets where slavery sells.

Africa is the continent of light,

But there is darkness, it is true:

For every beam casts its shadow,

Every sun has its eclipse

And there is no day without night.

III. The Day of Dawning

Yet Africa’s day is dawning,

So let those who talk of shadows

Bring their light to bear;

And those who proclaim darkness

Open their eyes wide.

Africa’s day is dawning,

So let those who feed the night

Find themselves cold and hungry;

And those who steal the light

Find themselves alone and imprisoned.

Africa’s day is dawning,

So let those who pedal black fear

Discover the beauty of sunrise;

And those who dwell in tunnels

Find their inner flame.

IV. The Land Of Sunshine

Africa is the land of sunshine

Where topaz skies stretch out

From here-now to forever

And each scarlet sunrise

Renews faith, hope and life.

Africa is the hearth of firelight

Where dancing flames leap up

For distant starry dreams

And glowing orange embers

Warm the hands of friendship.

Africa is the pot of rainbows

Where every pregnant storm cloud

Crackles with electricity

And each shroud of grey mist

Shimmers iridescent.

V. The Shining Continent

So shine, Africa, shine!

Nourish our shared earth

And feed our common roots;

Green our tree of life

And bear sweet fruits of peace.

Shine, Africa, shine!

Spark our imagination

And confound us with your brilliance;

Flame our deepest desires

And dazzle us with your colours.

Shine, Africa, shine!

Fire our greatest passions

And empower us with your stories;

Blaze brightly on our soul quest

And inspire us with your light.

Lagos Lives, by Wayne Visser

2011-04-24T02:31:00.000-07:00

Written after a recent (and first) visit to Nigeria.

Lagos Lives

By Wayne Visser

Lagos lives

Seeding and sprawling

Steaming and smoking

Grasping at the shoreline

Gasping at the skyline

Clinging to its oil-slicked ropes

And singing of its toil-stripped hopes

Praise be!

To the God who sets His people free

To the fiery preacher on TV

To the Sunday throng that still believe

Praise be!

To the beggar and the banker

To the fisher and the swanker

To the struggler and the smuggler

Praise be!

Lagos breathes

Coughing and crooning

Swaggering and swooning

Shouting at the winners

Flouting all the sinners

Unleashing hope with soaring psalms

And greasing all the outstretched palms

Praise be!

To the Son who died upon the tree

To the light that makes the blind to see

To the ear that hears each prayerful plea

Praise be!

To the leaders and the bleeders

To the hackers and the slackers

To the hopers and the jokers

Praise be!

Lagos moves

Churning and chugging

Squirming and slugging

Jamming on the highways

Cramming in the byways

Convulsing to the market mob

And pulsing to the Fela throb

Praise be!

To the Ghost who lit the flame in thee

To the Word of heavenly decree

To the Three in One and One in Three

Praise be!

To the movers and the shakers

To the moguls and the fakers

To the dealers and the healers

Praise be!

Lagos lives

And breathes

And moves

To a rhythm of its own

To an ancient mystic poem

To a purpose yet unknown

Lagos moves

And breathes

And lives.

Observe The Grain

2011-01-03T05:08:00.001-08:00

It is the women that build the men,

Playing 'mother,'

Then later tear them down as good for nothing beasts,

(Brutes) only out to bight them...

I'm in a dream where I do not know my son in a class full of laughing children,

Tiny happy faces that do not seem of sex obsessed with right hood,

Where the music makes sense and the moving pictures are cool silent.

When I used to write from the heart,

Befriend the wild words then later seize the mind and clean the spaces in between them,

Groom the silence to be resplendent where the music will take birth,

Only to remind them that they are solely men and women in that silence,

Remind them that only the music makes sense...

Since it is the men that build the women,

Playing 'father,'

Then later tear them down as good for nothing beasts,

(Coots) only out to cut them...

Wide open from the heart and then write them out in parts,

To fill the room with laughing children in a class,

The dream where I

(Will not/ cannot)?

Find my son and know him.

New book: Wishing Leaves: Favourite Nature Poems by Wayne Visser

2011-01-02T05:28:00.001-08:00

My new poetry collection - Wishing Leaves - is out. Here's the blurb:

This unique collection brings together nature poems by South African poet and writer, Wayne Visser. The anthology includes many old favourites like "I Think I Was a Tree Once" and "A Bug's Life", as well as brand new poems like "Let Bells Ring Out" and "Wishing Leaves".

Here's an extract from Wishing Leaves, to give you a flavour:

Then as we turned our faces to the moon

Our hands entwined, our hearts in sync, in tune

We felt the fingers of the silken breeze

And made our wishes on the falling leaves

Order from the publisher, or Amazon.

'tip' by the hypesters

2010-11-04T08:21:00.000-07:00

'tip' by the hypesters
interesting...

I's like WORD!

2010-09-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

I’s like word!

Eyes all bulged out in a mind choking on what they heard…

I’s like take it!

I’s like, burn!

I’s like dance…

Burn n*gger!
Dance…

Burn!

Dance!

Burn!

Dance!

Burn in the toppling fat fires of your fierce material desires you proud miserly fool!

I’s like shoo! Go home, back home back to Godhead…

Child’s like ‘NO!’

dwellers of 'The Fifth Grove.'

2010-09-06T01:26:00.000-07:00

Dwellers of The Fifth Grove...
To those in your guise...
From where they fall,
Your shadows will stand erect from out the inside of those walls.
To dirty dance entranced in the sound of your demise…
Solid enough to be grabbed and hurled to the ground,
Hissing towards that dry hardness,
Where they will hit and shatter into hundreds of silent pieces, and then merge with the souls of our feet to sickly walk the paths to which we’re all bound…
These ghosts are now your children.
Food for the hype…
Riddled by the many trends fashioned from the latest hatred in this era’s slave trade.
Building blocks for the old hollow that shifts in fancy word jugglery to praise the dead with failed attempts to corrupt Absolute Truth…
And the divided dogs will bark themselves to bits in that night,
Fed by a fear of hunger, became fools who’d kill for this incredible stereotype,
As mad colorful beings stand in the white to sh*t this darkness into sight…

motherly love

2010-09-06T00:49:00.000-07:00

Motherly love,
What with brief relief from that which you might have not understood.
Though We may prostitute ourselves,
With the hope that in the end, It will not all mean a thing…

Give freedom,
A name fit for that wild girl child without a wish to be won,
Yet feed on their passion to will,
And kill us all off,
With the hows of how they became beautiful when ‘The Man’ finally gave them back to our world,
Armed to the tooth, with Molotov cocktails, and the isms of femininity,
To burn their woman down to that crisp of toasty brown,
Back to the filth out of which they were formed,
With clenched fists, and smiling teeth,
Before they were all declared found.

Forever Lost

2010-08-17T05:53:00.000-07:00

Forever lost, let your forevers be over so you may start anew without a hidden cost.

As the ripples begun to crack revealing a beautiful, intricate network of pathways leading ultimately to death,
Stood ‘crazy’, struggling to catch my breath, self reflecting rejecting the title of MC so I could clear see sound revealing the true me lost deep in the dark of this depth.

See,
I know you think you're young and want to floss with the girls...
But man you're wasting time and getting tossed by the world...
You’re readily accepting strife on the bodily platform of life,
Steadily chasing the hype with your mind in place of a knife,

Miserly wasting this life, struggling to worship a wife.
Hungrily snatching at night, hurriedly scheming of heights,
Deep in the thick of this cut, dead in the depth of your gut.
You dance in illusion and refuse to submit to the light,

Destroyed in the thick of the fight, totally robbed of your sight,
Maddened with greed as you kill for your meat thinking its sweet and so eager to savour the bight.

Yes!

Forever lost, let your forevers be over so you may start anew without a hidden cost.

Mouthfuls of nonsense!
That’s how stool escapes the eaters’ breath and confess to his ignorance complex!
So don't say a word coz I know what you're bound to say next...
Stinky, disturbing animal like sounds, sound describing exactly how you've become bound, come to embrace the madness you've become.

Tight wound!

Full-fledged lies forming freely at the tips of your fork tipped tongue... fast!
Carelessly shooting like unskilled hands holding a gun, shooting at the self, calling it fun
Openly boasting of a wealth you never had!
Mad crisp after the sense objects…

Thoughtless…

Forever lost, let your forevers be over so you may start anew without a hidden cost.

And nudist women raise nudist children.
Proud of what it is they know they do not know they're doing,
Born to be raped within the dirt of this material manifestation,
Smoothly swooning beastly men who know exactly what they're doing.

Je suis Africain

2010-08-13T13:58:00.000-07:00

I Am An African by Wayne Visser
French Translation

Je suis Africain
Pas parce que je suis né là-bas
Mais parce que mon coeur bat avec celui de l’Afrique
Je suis Africain
Pas parce que ma peau est noire
Mais parce que mon esprit est occupé par l’Afrique
Je suis Africain
Pas parce que je vis sur sa terre
Mais parce que mon âme est chez elle en Afrique

Quand l’Afrique sanglote pour ses enfants
Mes joues sont tachées de larmes
Quand l’Afrique honore ses anciens
Ma tête se baisse par respect
Quand l’Afrique pleure pour ses victimes
Mes mains se joignent pour prier
Quand l’Afrique célèbre ses triomphes
Mes pieds dansent pleins de vie

Je suis Africain
Parce que ses ciels bleus me laissent sans voix
Et que je suis plein d’espoir pour son avenir
Je suis Africain
Parce que son peuple m’accueille comme un fils
Et m’enseigne le sens de communauté
Je suis Africain
Parce que son état sauvage abreuve mon esprit
Et me rapproche de l’origine de la vie

Quand la musique de l’Afrique bat dans le vent
Mes battements de coeur suivent son rythme
Et je deviens l'essence du son
Quand les couleurs de l’Afrique éblouissent au soleil
Mes sens s’abreuvent à son arc-en-ciel
Et je deviens la palette de la Nature
Quand les histoires d’Afrique se racontent autour du feu
Mes pas marchent dans les siens
Et je deviens une empreinte de l’histoire

Je suis Africain
Parce qu’elle est le berceau de notre naissance
Et nourrit une ancienne sagesse
Je suis Africain
Parce qu’elle vit à l’ombre du monde
Et explose avec une luminosité radieuse
Je suis Africain
Parce qu’elle est la terre de demain
Et je reconnais ses dons comme sacrés

Creative Commons 2005
Translation by Cyrille Jegu & Clemence Viel 2010

African Dream by Wayne Visser

2010-06-27T10:21:00.000-07:00

AFRICAN DREAM
By Wayne Visser

My Africa!

As white-hot skies give way to bloodshot red
I breathe a sigh and rest my laden head
As dark descends and blinking stars pierce through
I close my weary eyes and dream of you

I dream a dream of genesis
Of teeming wildlife on the plains
I hear a tale of Eden’s bliss
Of sparks of knowledge fanned to flames

I dream a dream of beating drums
Of painted caves and hunters’ bow
I hear the voice of ancient ones
Who weave the web of what we know

I dream a dream of exodus
Of journeys over land and sea
I hear the song of restlessness
That swells with longing to be free

I run with cheetahs, graze with deer
I hunt with lions, know no fear
I soar with eagles, hide in dales
I swim with dolphins, sing with whales

I throb with music in the air
I see the swirl of rainbow flair
I feel the stomp of dancing feet
I sweat with fever’s tropic heat

I gaze into the firelight
I sit in silence, pure delight
I listen to the elders’ words
I rise upon the wings of birds

The rivers are flowing
The brown dust turned to green
The harvests are growing
In my African dream

The fathers are yearning
The mothers’ love redeems
The children are learning
In my African dream

The peace-buds are blooming
The hope-streets freshly clean
The love-stalls are booming
In my African dream

As visions fade, all blurred and bled
My world unwinds like loosened thread
As daylight breaks and jet sky turns to blue
I wake refreshed with glorious dreams of you

My Africa!

woke up today

2010-06-14T08:16:00.000-07:00

‘The arrivals’ portal codes have been over ridden,
Here’s to my super connection nodes in the stamp of life from which they rendered sober vision…’

Lone-gone-cold-turkey-‘quick-snaps’ clear stand the crackling fire,
Best beat the hearts heartbeat and blow this breath through a longhorn-horn to warn you few and upon call your messiah, chayote grown version of a tame Tarzan stands the harsh outback and sends his cackling laughter… ‘Casual-counters’ consider him a coot brute of no use for he wont save their virgin born captive

‘Woke up today and saw how it comes, it creeps.
It comes in a bottle or can,
To poison the remnants of suns as the children of forgotten man…
Tames the women wild, hearts and all,
And takes rule of the palm of my hand’

A portion of hell took loose late after a ‘so tired’ unsuspecting mother discovered her hard earned papers’ worth in proper possessions was in sorts of stunning waste… the mother stood to momentarily marvel, murmuring moods at the maddening mess in a stupendous and angered state, shelved her marvel in silence, shrugged, muttered a stutter and surely shuddered…

‘I now know who my Mother is, that is; I’ve come to know her person.
I am my Queens physical memory and the blood of my King,
If I come to forget why I’m alive in this vision, and where from my soul has been,
Her struggles strife would surely worsen.’

From this then stuck his hand into one of the sporadically timed spontaneous wormholes to retrieve this tired soul, grounded solid, bound earthly, the tamed Tarzan retired bound for dimensions beyond the minds perceive…

‘She goes by name of Woman, Queen whose Son’s by Fire-hidden,
She goes by name of Daughter and Flame,
She paints her face in Green, Red and Golden stripes…
She calls them Art of Woman.
I heard…
She wakes to cry then blinks to see the thief we eye,
Then wipes her face with black again, to call this Art by Woman.’

Surly some sprites sprout to the amusement of my eyes reflection,
So as to see the bridge of the nose that boards this pass to the grass,
But not what sees the slightly pronounced bridge of their noise soaked thick by the hardness glass hustle, and the illusion that then cracks when they pass…

‘I’ve seen the sky for what it is from where it lies in the west and kept to the rising sun,
Looked in the mirror to see if we were really there, truly here in fear…
Looked if we wished to see, then they looked now you neither see nor hear…’

So after realising his opponents’ move, he reversed time to counter his opponents’ move, only to reverse time again to counter his opponents next revised move without his points convincing prove…

‘Now what’s your perception? Your meaning in Africa that is, not the land I hope… she is a people, those that first came with the memory of God and is by them close to the name of God and that’s the point she proves…’

Poem: Wild Love, by Wayne Visser

2010-05-22T06:09:00.000-07:00

WILD LOVE

For some, love is tame

It is cute and cuddly

Like an adorable pet

Tail-waggingly happy

Purringly content

I have known this tame love

It did not last

Now, I know a different kind of love

A love that is wild

That is nervous and ferocious

Skittish and temperamental

One moment, it trusts enough to approach

The next, it bites the hand that feeds it

Such wild love can never be tamed

To cage it is to kill it

Any attempt at domestication

Denies its true nature

Wild love is sometimes fierce

And sometimes it is shy

Yet always it returns

Again and again

Seeking acceptance

Each time a little less afraid

A little less aggressive

Wild love always hurts

But the wounds it inflicts

The pierce of fangs

And the rake of claws

Are nothing but self-defence

For wildness is never malicious

This love comes from the shadows

It is born in the wilderness

It hunts in jungle and canyon

Prowls across desert and plain

Soars over ocean and peak

It is ever vigilant

And breathlessly alive

Wild love can never be conquered

It cannot be bought or won

Only earned, with patience

Patience that teaches understanding

Understanding that builds trust

Trust that creates safety

So that love’s caring instincts can take over

In love’s wild embrace

Defence gives way to protection

Aggression turns into passion

Fighting becomes playful

Wounds have a chance to heal

Even so, love is never subdued

To love is to risk injury

Flesh wounds are part of living

Bleeding is part of loving

And loving without restraint

Or fear of consequences

Is the way of the wild

Creative Commons 2010

Waiting for the Drums

2010-03-27T03:09:00.000-07:00

I’m still waiting for the fanfare
And the drums
For the banners and the sparklers
For the road signs
And the markers
Still waiting for the pricking of my thumbs

I’m still waiting for the bugles
And the bells
For that raucous benediction
That will justify my fiction
How much time I’ve wasted
Waiting for the drums

Fiona Jamieson 2003

Poetry Meets Digital Art

2010-02-26T19:58:00.000-08:00

I was honoured to be recently contacted by Tina Quatroni, a New York photographer and digital artist. This is what she said:

"I was surfing the internet on this snow day and came across your poem Life in Pieces ....you had my breath! I read it and reread it..and became completely inspired to do an abstract digital art piece. That is mainly how I create..something must bring me a muse."

Tina also did a second piece of art:

"I have been creative today..been snowed in here in NY so see one more I did to your poem Empty Spaces! It is a little on the dark side..but I really felt it captured an emotion that I felt when reading that poem.

I must say, I like both pieces. Life in Pieces is about things falling apart and the rediscovery of purpose. Empty Spaces was written for a friend who had lost someone close to them.

I also like the idea of different kinds of art inspiring one another. For example, I find painting extremely inspiring (galleries are among my favourite places in the world), but I probably express myself better in words than on the canvass.

This is one of the reasons why my poems are all published under a Creative Commons License, rather than Copyrighted. That allows great artists like Tina to spark off of my creativity, and vice versa.

Thanks Tina, keep answering the muse!

Life's A Gamble by Wayne Visser

2010-01-23T02:43:00.000-08:00

LIFE'S A GAMBLE?

By Wayne Visser

Some say that life’s a gamble

In which you win or lose

You deal the deck

You place your bets

You hold your breath

And then collect your dues

But life is not all chance

Nor game of fight or flight

Sometimes the dice is blank

Sometimes the cards are white

Some say that life’s a classroom

In which you live and learn

You make mistakes

You take your breaks

You grow your soul

And so the wheel turns

But life is not all graft

Nor school of tests and grades

Sometimes there are no lessons learned

Sometimes there are no accolades

Some say that life’s a journey

In which you wend your way

You choose a path

You make your hearth

You walk your talk

And rise to meet the day

But life is not all quest

Nor march from A to B

Sometimes you move in circles

Sometimes you only dream

Creative Commons 2010

http://waynevisser.com/poem_lifes_gamble.htm

Romanian translations of Wayne Visser's Africa poems

2009-12-27T02:34:00.000-08:00

The following Romanian translations of my Africa poems were recently published in CH Magazine. Translation was by Mădălina Gane.

AFRICA MĂ CHEAMĂ

(AFRICA CALLS TO ME)

Africa mă cheamă

cu bătăile tobelor ei, ce-mi marchează zilele

şi cu vorbele poeţilor ei, ce-mi îndrumă căile,

cu exploziile valurilor, ce-i îmbrăţişează malurile

şi cu ropotele ploilor, ce-i îmbibă tărâmurile.

Africa mă cheamă

cu lacrimile mamelor, ce-i pătează solul

şi cu râsetele copiiilor, ce-i îmblânzesc chinul,

cu şuieratul gloanţelor, ce-i perturbă calmul

şi cu zarva străzilor, ce-i cântă psalmul.

Africa mă cheamă.

Sunetele Africii

sunt plânsetele pruncului uitat de lume,

care ne readuc în pântecul creaţiei

Sunetele Africii

sunt cântecele sălbăticiei neîmblânzite ale lumii,

care ne inundă urechile cu imnurile jertfei.

Sunetele Africii

sunt ţipetele temerilor agitate ale lumii,

ce ne imploră să acceptăm transformarea.

Sunetele Africii

sunt cuvintele profeţilor ignoraţi ai lumii,

ce ne arată că-n stea e salvarea.

Africa-mi vorbeşte

prin briza murmurului din bazaruri

şi prin bocetul telalilor atât de oropsiţi,

prin pânzele umflate ale pescarilor de pe mări

şi prin vuietul taxiurilor din amurg şi din zori.

Africa-mi vorbeşte

prin răgetele leilor tolăniţi de după-masă

şi prin râsetele hienelor din noapte,

prin a elefanţilor gălăgie armonioasă

şi prin agitaţia gorilelor nevăzute.

Africa-mi vorbeşte

Sunetele Africii

sunt biciurile sclavilor, ce-i bântuie trecutul

şi cântecele despre victorie ale celor liberi.

Sunetele Africii

sunt fărămiţarea celor ce nu pot dăinui

şi speranţele în noi posibilităţi.

Sunetele Africii

sunt şoaptele din zarva disperării

şi sunetele din labirintul celor pierduţi şi găsiţi.

Sunetele Africii

sunt notele simfoniei pe care-o împărtăşim

şi bucuria din tărâmul luminii şi al suntelui.

Africa mă cheamă

cu ţipetele vulturilor ce-mi eliberează sufletul,

cu tăcerea dunelor ce-mi linişteşte mintea

şi cu cântecul greierului, ce estompează timpul.

Africa mă cheamă

cu trosniturile focurilor, ce-i luminează cerul

şi cu freamătul frunzelor, ce-i foșnăie suspinul,

cu melodiile cântecelor ei, ce picioarele-mi saltă

şi cu pulsul inimii ei, ce-o face şi pe-a mea să bată

Africa mă cheamă.

See original English version

AFRICA DE SUD:

POVESTEA UNUI DRAGON

(SOUTH AFRICA:
A DRAGON'S TALE)

Scoate fum, dragonul se trezeşte

Cască foc şi oftează cutremure,

Clipeşte furtuni din ochii lucitori

Scuipându-şi lava în potopuri.

Are spate arcuit din scoarţe schimbătoare

Şi labe cu gheare, falange din marne,

Are pielea graben din şisturi de bazalt

Şi încruntarea-i o crevasă din gheţar dezgheţat.

Pieptu-i cu ierburi mici şi cu ierburi înalte

Şi cu Marea Coastă ce se ridică de pe torace.

Cu un apetit cât Kalahari

Muntele Regat se înalţă în depărtări.

El cutreieră câmpii flancate de mare

Visând la comorile pe care la are

Cu aurul şi cu diamantele în tolbe

Bubuiturile bincuvântate pot să tune.

See original English version

SUNT UN AFRICAN

(I AM AN AFRICAN)

Sunt un african

Nu pentru că m-am născut aici

Ci pentru că inima-mi bate cu cea a Africii.

Sunt un african

Nu pentru că am pielea neagră

Ci pentru că mintea mi-e unită cu Africa.

Sunt un african

Nu pentru că trăiesc pe acest pământ

Ci pentru că sufletu-mi îşi are căminul în Africa.

Când Africa îşi plânge copiii,

Pomeţii-mi sunt udaţi de lacrimi.

Când Africa îşi onorează vârstnicii,

Capul mi se pleacă în semn de respect.

Când Africa îşi plânge victimele,

Mâinile mi se împreunează în rugăciune.

Când Africa îşi celebrează victoriile,

Picioarele-mi prind viaţă în dans.

Sunt un african

Pentru că cerul ei albastru îmi taie respiraţia

Şi pot spera într-un viitor mai luminos.

Sunt un african

Pentru că oamenii ei mă primesc ca pe unul de-ai lor

Şi mă învaţă ce înseamnă o comunitate.

Sunt un african

Pentru că sălbăticia ei îmi potoleşte sufletul

Şi mă apropie de esenţa vieţii.

Când muzica Africii se aude în vânt,

Sângele-mi pulsează în ritmul ei

Şi devin sunet pur.

Când culorile Africii strălucesc în soare,

Simţurile mi se îmbată din curcubeu

Şi devin paleta de culori a naturii.

Când poveştiile Africii răsună în jurul focului,

Picioarele mele păşesc pe aceleaşi căi

Şi mă transform în amprentele istoriei.

Sunt un african

Pentru că ea este leagănul în care ne-am născut

Şi pentru că păstrează o înţelepciune străveche.

Sunt un african

Pentru că ea trăieşte în umbra lumii

Şi pentru că emană o izbucnire de lumină.

Sunt un african

Pentru că ea e pământul de mâine

Şi-i consider darurile ca fiind sacre.

See original English version

Sahara by Wayne Visser

2009-12-26T09:43:00.000-08:00

SAHARA

By Wayne Visser

A silky dust devours the miles ahead

Between the barely living and the dead

The thirsty sun sucks every dewy drop

Up from the bare-ribbed sand dunes’ barren crop

Yet strung across the shimmering mirage

A silent camel-beaded entourage

Comes bearing treasured spices, oils and balms

To green oases under shaded palms

Along these trails our history is told

As stories trade and mysteries unfold

Connecting East and West in common cause

And teaching from the book of Nature’s laws

Creative Commons 2009

The Lost Children

2009-12-04T04:00:00.000-08:00

Small pink-bellied hands
like thirsty tongues
licking at my heart,
and brown eyes sad
beyond my understanding.

They break me, these small dark
children of the narrow streets,
These wisps of wild uncared for lives-
Round grey balls for knees,
and skin as rough as sun-dried leather.
They sniff, they shout, they smile,
There is joy like spilled sunshine,
There is life- run, jump, fall-
And never cry.

Where is their pain?
The same sun warms their sun-dried skins
As shines upon my garden wall
And makes the diamonds dance
In a million scattered drops
That flow from my sweet scented fountain.

Those drops that fall
And dry to nothing
on the hot white concrete floor,
Do they sparkle any the less
Before they fall?

Fiona Jamieson

Women of Africa (video)

2009-11-20T23:42:00.000-08:00

I was meant to attend the "Destiny Dinner" in London on Saturday, organised by Zimbabwean Yvonne Marimo, and read this poem, which I composed especially for the event. Unfortunately, work has taken me to Azerbaijan and I am unable to attend in person.

So I recorded this video of me reading the poem, which will be shown. The sound-sync is a bit out - probably something to do with the fact that I recorded it in a hotel in Tbilisi, Georgia - but hopefully you get the idea. For more information, see www.destinydinners.com.

Call for Submissions on Africa: A Journal of Artful Candor

2009-11-18T10:05:00.000-08:00

Aunt Chloe: A Journal of Artful Candor

Aunt Chloe: A Journal of Artful Candor is calling for submissions for its upcoming 2010 issue. Aunt Chloe, formerly Focus magazine, is Spelman College’s oldest literary publication. We favor work that tackles issues of the political, personal, mundane and earth-shattering in artful and candid ways, with the intent of illuminating the overlooked and the disregarded.

We are also accepting submissions for our special “Africa” segment. We will feature African artists, writers, and poets who, through their work, tackle social, political and cultural issues.

Aunt Chloe accepts poetry, visual art, photography, fiction, and nonfiction via e-mail only. Please visithttp://auntchloe.blogspot.com for submission instructions and guidelines. The deadline for submission is January 15, 2010. Please email your submissions to auntchloe@gmail.com .

Free Falling

2009-10-11T07:52:00.000-07:00

FREE FALLING
By Wayne Visser

Over the edge
At World’s End
And Adventure’s Beginning

Free
Falling
Unfixed and unnerved
With emotions jangled and raw
Past ties tangled
Taught and stretching
Fraught and frightening
Swan-diving into my fear
Cloud-riding

Free
Falling
Towards the promise
The hope
Of a New World
The scope to explore
To learn
To burn the fire of knowing
To feel the tug of growing

Free
Falling
Throwing the rope
That reaches across
Weaving the bridge
That breaches beyond
The restless ruthless tide
Of need amidst plenty
And want that is empty

Free
Falling
Straining to hear
My calling
My bliss
Somewhere in the mist
Over the edge
At World’s End
And Adventure’s Beginning

(2009)

Where I come from

2009-10-02T05:15:00.000-07:00

I come from a place so far away
Where the people are friendly
And children play
Where poverty’s rife
And life can be tough
Where I come from so far away

Smiles so wide and teeth very bright
But why
You may ask
Where poverty’s rife
And life can be tough
Where I come from so far away

There’s a lesson here which can be learned
For all the world concerned
Where poverty’s rife
And life can be tough
Where I come from so far away

No matter the hardship
Nor life of decay
Where poverty’s rife
And life can be tough
Yet the people still smile
Where I come from so far away

Donna Steward
2009

2009-09-30T10:06:00.000-07:00

Hope

Sweet chocolate children

Dipped in honeyed sun

Doughnut dandy,

Laughter on the run

Small hand round my finger

Dark on light

Dappled shade

Bright rainbows of the night

Sweet my children

Africa’s new seed

Grow in beauty

Where the brave have bled

From the bones

Of tragedy and pain

Build the ladder

To the stars again

Pushing petals outward

To the sun

Sweet my children

Hope at last begun

Fiona Jamieson

2007

Women of Africa by Wayne Visser

2009-09-08T01:40:00.000-07:00

WOMEN OF AFRICA
By Wayne Visser

Women of Africa
In the land of bow and spear
Of chieftain and warrior
Of hunter and hunted
You are the silent gatherer
The unsung provider
The hidden basket
We raise you up
And speak your praise

In the shifting sands of power
You are the pyramid of constancy
Standing firm
Against the fierce winds of time

On the endless plains of possibility
You are the gentle matriarch
Leading the way
Through the fickle seasons of life

In the thirsty dust of desperation
You are the baobab of sustenance
Rooted deep
In the quenching earth of faith

You gather the tears of the world
And in the midst of mourning
You find reason to smile

You gather the tribes of the world
And in the chaos of squabbling
You sow seeds of community

You gather the stories of the world
And in the firelight of remembrance
You keep the spirit burning

Women of Africa
The music of every place
Moves to your swaying hips
And shakes to your stamping feet

Women of Africa
The children of every time
Suckle on your ample bosom
And fall asleep to your lullaby

Women of Africa
The victims of every tragedy
Seek solace in your arms
And find comfort in your voice

You gather the light of the world
And in the darkest caves of evil
You spread your luminescence

You gather the orphans of the world
And in the villages of your heart
You give them a place called home

You gather the elders of the world
And in the sacred councils of trust
You show us a better way

When our past dries to a trickle
You are the river delta
That reunites our memories
With the sea of history

When our days are drought stricken
You are the tireless pestle
That grinds our hardship
Into the flour of wisdom

When our future lies in shadow
You are the wild prophetess
That divines our destiny
In the pattern of bones

Women of Africa
In a world of folly and fear
Of division and diversion
Of begetting and forgetting
You are the mighty gatherer
The harvester of wholeness
The maker of peace
We honour you this day
And forever more

(2009)

South Africa

2009-08-16T01:14:00.000-07:00

14th August used to be Afrikaans Language day in South Africa... "previously". I try to celebrate it each year with a poem about my language or my country. This year, I've done one on South Africa. On this link you can read interesting facts about South Africa, enjoy some beautiful images which I describe in my poem and also listen to a few Afrikaans songs and lastly, enjoy some beautiful poetry-art by a South African artist. On the same link you can read my poem about Afrikaans in my 2008-entry.

Suid-Afrika: my land

Jy’s indrukwekkend, manjifiek
jou sondeurdrenkte landskappe
weerkaats helder beelde in my siel
jou pragtige wonders flikker oneindig
lank in die stilte van jou nagrus

Mount Aux Sources – so elegant en grasieus
verrys jy vanuit die voetheuwels, soos
‘n fakkel by die Spele ets jy lekkende
beelde teen die muur van my geheue
en voel ek jou hitte gloeiend teen my hart

O Blyde! ek fantaseer oor jou
magiese kragte wat jy sorgloos
en galant in die galery van my
stille gemoed stilletjies uitpak terwyl
my dawerende applous eggo
oor die velde van my gedagtes

Moederstad! hoe inskiklik laat jy my
telkens hakkel wanneer ek my herinneringe
sagkens koester – jou fasades!
waar ek jou gambiet betree
en gewillig my pionne oorgee

En saans voel ek jou fluweelagtige
skoonheid van elke sonsondergang
stadig neerdaal in my gemoed terwyl
ek stadig drink van jou geloofs-fonteine
wat borrellend bruis in oorvloed

Fragmentaries vier ek feeste
ek dans en omhels jou en jy -
jy blus my gees telkens met jou
magiese heildronke: een-vir-een
op ‘n toekoms – wat mag wees!
–Nikita –14/8/09 14:00

Gone Too Soon

2009-06-15T23:49:00.000-07:00

GONE TOO SOON

By Wayne Visser

Like a raven in the night

You’ve taken flight

Taken flight

Towards the light

Like a sliver of the moon

You’re gone too soon

Gone too soon

With one last swoon

Like a current in the stream

You’re flowing free

Flowing free

Towards the sea

Like the whisper of a sigh

You’ve bid goodbye

Bid goodbye

With one last why

Like a rainbow in the mist

You’re dearly missed

Dearly missed

Forever missed

Creative Commons License 2007

Watch on Youtube

(Instrumental): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jjHCYFIN4I

(Read by the author): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=laSkFB1NqQo

In Memoriam: Margaret Legum

http://www.mg.co.za/article/2007-11-02-journalist-margaret-legum-passes-away

Everyday Inspiration launches

2009-06-14T12:52:00.001-07:00

I've decided to have a separate blog to share "everyday inspiration" - a daily dose of creativity, drawn from my poetry, art, quotes and prose. http://everydayinspired.blogspot.com. You can also follow this on Twitter (everydayinspire) and Facebook (Everyday Inspiration group). I hope to see you there!

In the spirit of the muse

Wayne

Life in Pieces by Wayne Visser

2009-06-13T08:58:00.000-07:00

LIFE IN PIECES

I. Paradise

My life was full
Crammed and spammed and jammed
Full of stuff and puff
Beyond enough
There were people to meet
Faces to greet
Hands to shake
Deals to make
No time to take a break
From the busyness of it all
The deadlines and budgets
The headlines and fudge-its
And that’s not even counting
The mounting expectations
And ladder climbing
To great destinations
Until the day
It all gave way

II. Disquiet

My life was full
A trumpeting horn of plenty
But gently
The cracks appeared
And what I feared
Came creeping
Seeping
Through the floors, the doors
And every gap in my crowded days
A shrouded haze of discontent
Malevolent
In silent ways
Sowing seeds of destruction
Growing weeds of corruption
Like the gnawing rust of years
And the clawing dust in gears
Like trickling sand
That’s how it began

III. Descent

My life was full
Then in a flash it crashed
And I was dashed
On rocks of shame
My ego smashed
By waves of blame
Nothing would ever be the same
I clutched at straws
And heard them snap
I ran through doors
Into a trap
A maze of dead-end rescue plans
A band of thieves and rival clans
I fled
I bled
And every thread I grabbed
Unravelled only more
Of what my life had been before

IV. Disintegration

My life was in pieces
Shattered and splattered
And scattered to the winds
Of indifference
Amazed, I gazed around and saw
Shards of love
Unspoken
Now broken
Stunned and numbed, I kicked
A fragment of work
Once polished
Now demolished
I did not have the heart
To start
To pick them up
Those pieces of me
Torn apart
So I just let them be

V. Despair

My life was empty
Weary
Dreary
Eerie
With shadows shifting, demons drifting
Yelling in my head:
I should be dead!
What’s the point? Just look around
Not a sound
Not a soul
None to console
No goal
No get-up-and-go
No flow
On life’s stage, this page
Is stained and torn
Time to get out of town
Time to bring my curtain down

VI. Desperation

My life was empty
My hand and the gun were one
My finger, the trigger
The barrel seemed bigger
From close up
Everything else was far away
All the things I’d done
The battles won
The hollow acclaim
The pride in my name
My faraway life with my faraway wife
These were things from a distant land
And a living past
Now fading fast
Now, close to hand
A squeeze on the gun
Then the sun
Broke through

VII. Redemption

My life was empty
It needed to be, for me to see
What life is worth
What can give birth through me
If I open up to a greater force
That invisible source
That fires the heart and inspires the mind
That quickens the spirit
And whispers ‘just do it!’
I’ve started again
Rebuilding my bridges
With paintbrush and pen
With family and friends
It’s more about people, less about reasons
Less about busy, more about seasons
Less about doing, more about knowing
My life is full
But not overflowing

We Could (new poem)

2009-06-13T04:44:00.000-07:00

We could …

But what about consequences?

I’ve thought about it

And savoured the thought

Dreamed about it

And woke up still smiling

So, we could …

But what about responsibilities?

The thrill of beginnings

Leads to the ache of endings

Happy-go-lucky now

Means sad-and-lonely later

Yes, we could …

But what about expectations?

I’ve danced with images

And felt the beat of anticipation

Sung the very scenery

And heard nature join the chorus

No doubt, we could …

But what about destinations?

The paths of travellers

Cross, tangle and part ways

The stars of destiny

Seldom blink and shine in sync

We could …

But would we? And should we?

What it means to be an African (TV interview)

2009-02-22T11:18:00.000-08:00

Today, I did a phone-in guest interview on VoxAfrica TV's "Shoot the Messenger" dialogue on what it means to be an African. I believe it will be published as a video recording on www.voxafrica.com.

Apart from my poem, "I Am An African" - which you can see on my website, here are some of the pieces from Ben Okri and Thabo Mbeki that I quoted:

Ben Okri – Mental Fight

The world is not made of labels. The world, from now on, will be made through the mind. Through great dreaming, great loving and masterly application.

Thabo Mbeki – I Am An African speech (1996)

I owe my being to the Khoi and the San whose desolate souls haunt the great expanses of the beautiful Cape.

I am formed of the migrants who left Europe to find a new home on our native land. Whatever their own actions, they remain still, part of me.

In my veins courses the blood of the Malay slaves who came from the East. I am the grandchild who lays fresh flowers on the Boer graves at St Helena and the Bahamas.

I come of those who were transported from India and China, whose being resided in the fact, solely, that they were able to provide physical labour, who taught me that we could both be at home and be foreign.

Being part of all these people, and in the knowledge that none dare contest that assertion, I shall claim that - I am an African.

Ben Okri – A Way of Being Free

The fact is that all organic things of single strain have short histories. Obsessions about purity of blood have wiped out empires.

We are all of us mixtures, and our roots are fed from diverse and forgotten places. The Yorubas of Nigeria trace their origins to the Middle East; some anthropologists claim that the real aborigines of Africa are the Bushmen of the Kalahari … the ancient Egyptians were black as well as dun-coloured.

This is the history of bodies. The histories of civilizations is even more eclectic.

My poem is on: http://www.waynevisser.com/poem_i_am_an_african.htm

Poem on Obama's Inauguration

2009-01-20T13:55:00.000-08:00

THIS DAY: THE INAUGURATION OF BARACK OBAMA

This day

Is not just any day

It is a day of days

A day of a lifetime

An epoch making day

At a time that cries out

For new beginnings

This day

Is a watershed day

A day that separates

Yesterday from today

And today from tomorrow

On a mindless march of days

That needed breaking

This day

Is a day to be marked

As something remarkable

A day to be celebrated

As something joyful

A day to be remembered

As something historic

This day

Is a tribute to the past

With its sacrifices of so many

A blessing for the present

Amidst looming clouds of despair

And a vision for the future

Welcomed with an open hand

This day

Is not the struggle's end

But the journey's beginning

It is not the death of prejudice

But the life of possibility

It is not the end of nights

But the start of days

This day

Is not so much a forging ahead

As a long overdue catching up

With changes at last

That begin to give life

To time-honoured ideals

And flickering hopes

This day

Is a day of coming together

When power meets responsibility

And rhetoric meets action

It is a day of empowerment

When the voiceless are heard

And the marginal become mainstream

This day

Is a day of reconciliation

When the past is laid to rest

And the future is awakening

It is a day of prodigals

When the lost find their way home

And a nation rejoins the world

Wayne Visser

20 January 2009

New Poetry Book: I Am An African

2008-12-12T00:54:00.000-08:00

I am delighted to announce the publication of a Collection of my poems on Africa, in a book entitled "I Am An African". As it says in the acknowledgements it is:

"Dedicated to the people of Africa, who never cease to amaze and inspire with their colourful diversity, their warm humanity, their unquenchable hope, their tireless resilience and their indomitable spirit."

For more information and to order, go to:

http://www.yourpod.co.uk/bookstore/browse_books.htm#africa

Poems included are:

I Am An African

If These Stones Could Whisper (Robben Island)

Separation

Lost City of Gold (Mapungubwe)

Little Foot

A Dragon’s Tale (South Africa)

Ode to the Elephant

First People

African Odyssey (Botswana)

Baobab: Africa’s Tree of Life

Where the World Once Began (Egypt)

I Know a Place in Africa

Africa’s Pride (Ghana)

I Weep for Africa

Place of the Skull (Okavango)

Prayer for Africa

Canyon of Mirrors (Namibia)

Music of Africa

Swahili Spice (Tanzania)

African Pace

Mandela and De Klerk (South Africa)

God Bless Africa

My thoughts

2008-11-21T12:54:00.000-08:00

My smekende gedagtes

Ek sak my hoof en oordink my vreugde
Ligsinnig verkrummel ek
die verdroogde blare
in my Afrika hand en ‘k laat
dit waai soos kaf in die wind
Dit smee my gedagtes mee
met die onrus in my hart
wat bly groei en bloei
Waarom verpletter ons die volke
van hierdie aarde?
Waar’s die regeerders
van hierdie wêreld?
Ken hul nie Sy toorn?
Offers bring en oë opslaan
uitroepe van “wees ons goedgesind!”
weerklink in my smekende gedagtes
Sal ons ooit die Tempel binnegaan?
Ek luister na my gedagtes in die mÔre
en laat die moordenaars en leuenaars
deur Hades swerwend dryf
hul ontmoet die gelag van Charon op Styx
Nooit sal hul die Elisiese veld bereik
Nóg betowerend; nóg kan in delf
Hul egosentriese voorland:
Tanatos!
Sál hul ag slaan op my geroep?
©Nikita 5 Julie 2008
You can read on THIS LINK why I've written this poem. My explanation is in English. I was quite upset when I wrote it. The link will open in a new window.

Mandela and De Klerk by Wayne Visser

2008-10-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

Divergent paths by twists of fate

Ordained to meet, then separate

High branches grown from different stems

That intertwined to make amends

Who are these sons of destiny

That changed the course of history?

Who are these dons of liberty

That led their people to be free?

Mandela – from the Themba clan

Among the hills of Transkei land –

Was schooled to be a royal chief

But chose instead the golden Reef

De Klerk – of Afrikaaner stock

Who staked their claim to Transvaal’s rlock –

Was steeped in National Party depths

And followed in his father’s steps

Both knocked upon unopened doors

Both tipped the scales of unjust laws

And each was raised to lofty heights

By willing hands and vexing plights

Mandela – asked to fight the ground

Where dignity was beaten down

De Klerk – compelled to guard the fort

Of privilege the past had bought

The stage was set for black and white

To go to war or lose the fight

There was no neutral ground to stand

Each corner backed their leading man

Mandela raised the nation’s spear

The State replied midst rising fear

The ‘pimpernel’ was put on trial

And banished to the Cape’s jail isle

For twenty seven years and more

The battle raged upon the shore

Until De Klerk set Nelson free

To take their place in history

Negotiations followed swift

To heal the wounds and mend the rift

And even while blood soaked the ground

A partnership was sought and found

Until the day – that happy dawn –

A rainbow nation’s dream was born

We owe a debt of thanks and praise

To those who led us through the maze

Mandela brought great unity

And showed that truth can set us free

His lack of spite inspires us still

To strive to serve a higher will

De Klerk’s great gift was letting go

And having faith that trust can grow

He showed that change is like a seed

That knows no bounds of race or creed

And so we raise our voice and say:

We celebrate upon this day

Two heroes of democracy

Who rescued our humanity.

Me, De Klerk and my co-author of "South Africa: Reasons to Believe", Guy Lundy

Picture 2003

African Pace by Wayne Visser

2008-10-20T11:11:00.000-07:00

Far from the cities

And far from the streets

Far from the people

Is where my heart beats

It beats in slow time

In the vast open space

It beats out the rhyme

Of an African pace

With the sun baking down

And the buzz of blue flies

With chirping cicadas

And gentle breeze sighs

There’s no need to rush

No deadlines to chase

Just the slow steady pulse

Of an African pace

The cool of the morning

The heat of high noon

The balm of the sunset

The silk of the moon

The stars’ steady march

The rivers’ etched face

The life loving rhythm

Of an African pace

(2007)

Die holtes van my gedagtes

2008-10-17T11:04:00.000-07:00

These two poems are about my thoughts, the first poem is more about my memories...follow the link at the bottom of this post and even English readers can read what I said about the waterfall in these images. I grew up on a farm and this waterfall was one of my favourite spots, it's about 2km away from the farm house.

Suid-Afrika - my skaduwee

In die skadu’s
van die groot ou Eik
stoot ek weer in die sand
Boeta se karretjies een-vir-een
‘is verstommend hoe die mierleeus uit hul tonnels
krioel met kierang-hier en kierang-daar

Langs die waterval
sit ek, halfbewus
my gedagtes vind perspektiwiteit
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit
op die kabbellende water

Op die meulwiel van vervloë
versamel ek babakatjies
pas gebo’, versteek
teen elemente daar buit’
en ek streel die sagtheid
wat ek koester
verder op my reis

Ek verdwaal tussen rante
soekend na onweerstaanbare
toktokkies en miskruiers
‘k neem ‘n honger teug
uit die kom van fluisteringe
“ons-vir-jou-ons-vir-jou”

Hoe sal ek jou kan vergeet
jou alledaagse ontwykende
en eindlose horison
onwetend
bly jy daar vir my
en ek vir jou
Hoe kán ek dan
Vergeet van: “ons-vir-jou”…?

©Nikita 17 Junie 2008

Die holtes van my gedagtes

As kind het ek
die punte van my siel
laat ploeg in die akkers
waar mensestemme
voorheen opgeklink het

Skrams het ek gevoel
hoe die tuimelende bergstilte
‘n deursigtige telegram
van vrede laat deursypel
na die binnekamers van my hart

Die diggeweefde bergstilte het
spatsels waterdruppels moeiteloos
in my gemoed afgeprent
en ek smag na die
holtes van my gedagtes

©–Nikita 4 Sept 2008 20:30
On THIS LINK you can read what I said about this waterfall on "our" family farm...it's mainly written in Afrikaans, but there is some English for English readers too.

I know a place in Africa

2008-10-17T09:35:00.000-07:00

This poem is my translation of Wayne's poem, "I know a place in Africa." You can enjoy the English poem here too if you can't understand Afrikaans.

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar ek die son op my rug voel skyn
En die sand tussen my tone speel
Waar ek die seemeeu op die windjie hoor
En golwe op eindlose strande breek

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die berge die blou lug ontmoet
En valleie die groen wingerde huisves
Waar bome hul pers kleed sprei
En die bosveld sy room kleed dra

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die dondergode hul stemme laat hoor
En sien ek hul weerligspiese neerdaal
Waar ek die reuk van reenwolke intrek
En die soet van die stowwerige doudruppels proe

Dis ‘n wildernis, die plek
Van Evolusie en dinosorusse
Waar lewe begin het, hier was die eerste mens
Van lewende fossiele en olifante
Waar leeus brul en springboktroppe spring

Dis die plek van swaarkry
Van woestyne en doringbome
Waar paaie doodloop en jagters jag
Van horisonne en grense
Waar reise begin en sonsondergange bloei

Dis die plek van vryheid
Van ontdekkings en pioniers
Waar donkerte geskuil - en die lig deurgebreek het
Van ware legendes en wonderwerke
Waar dagbreek begin en hoop helder brand

My hart is tuis in Afrika
Waar die tromme se ritme in my klop
En tydlose liedere in my ore sing
Waar die reenboogmis in my oë skyn
En vriende se glimlagte my welkom heet

My gedagtes ontspan in Afrika
Waar die mense na aan die aarde leef
En seisoene die veranderde gemoed aandui
Waar besige markte handel dryf
En die Skepping sy stadige gang steeds gaan

My siel is gelukkig in Afrika
Haar strome bring lewe in my are
Haar winde bring genesing vir my drome
Wanneer haar verhaal vertel is
Verenig dit in ons noodlot.

© Nikita…2008

I know a place in Africa

Inspiring poetry written by Wayne Visser,
a South African currently based in Nottingham, UK.

I know a place in Africa
Where I can feel the sun on my back
And the sand between my barefoot toes
Where I can hear the gulls on the breeze
And the waves crash on the endless shore

I know a place in Africa
Where the mountains touch the skies of blue
And the valleys shelter vines of green
Where the trees spread out a cloth of mauve
And the bushveld wears a coat of beige

I know a place in Africa
Where I can hear the voice of thunder gods
And watch their lightening spears thrown to earth
Where I can breathe the scent of rain clouds
And taste the sweet dew of dusty drops

This is the place of wildness
Of evolution and dinosaurs
Where life began and mankind first stood
Of living fossils and elephants
Where lions roar and springbok herds leap

This is the place of struggle
Of desert plains and thorn trees
Where pathways end and hunters track game
Of horizons and frontiers
Where journeys start and sunsets bleed red

This is the place of freedom
Of exploration and pioneers
Where darkness loomed and light saw us through
Of living legends and miracles
Where daybreak came and hope now shines bright

My heart is at home in Africa
Where the sound of drums beat in my chest
And the songs of time ring in my ears
Where the rainbow mist glows in my eyes
And the smiles of friends make me welcome

My mind is at ease in Africa
Where the people still live close to the soil
And the seasons mark my changing moods
Where the markets hustle with trading
And Creation keeps its own slow time

My soul is at peace in Africa
For her streams bring lifeblood to my veins
And her winds bring healing to my dreams
For when the tale of this land is told
Her destiny and mine are as one
© 2005 Wayne Visser

Ek is van Afrika

2008-10-15T05:01:00.000-07:00

I couldn't resit my first entry with this poem of you, Wayne, which you've asked me to translate as I feel it really says what I want to say about Africa...when my thoughts go home... in particular, to South Africa!
Ek is van Afrika
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek daar gebore is
Maar omdat my hart met Afrika klop
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat my gelaat donker is
Maar omdat Afrika my gedagtes omgrens
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek van haar leef
Maar omdat my siel tuis is - in Afrika

Wanneer Afrika oor haar kinders ween
Is my wange deur traandruppels deurweek
Wanneer Afrika haar voorvaders eer
Buig my hoof in respek daarheen
Wanneer Afrika oor haar slagoffers rou
Is my hande in gebed gevou
Wanneer Afrika haar oorwinnings vier
Dans ek op die maat van die oorwinningslied

Ek is van Afrika
Met haar asemrowende ylblou lugruimtes
Laat sy die toekoms skitterend skyn
Ek is van Afrika
Waar ek gegroet word asof familie
En ek ervaar die gevoel van meervoudig
Ek is van Afrika
Want haar wildheid bring vertroosting vir my siel
En bring my nader na die bron van Lewe

Wanneer Afrika-musiek in die wind weerklink
Volg my polsslag die ritmiese klop
En word ek een met die klank
Wanneer die Afrika-kleure in die son glinster
Verdrink my sintuie in haar reënboog
En is ek die natuur se pallet
Wanneer die Afrika-verhale om die vure op-klink
Volg my voete hul tydlose ‘wink
En is ek die spore van die verle’

Ek is van Afrika
Want sy’s die krip van geboorte
En troetel die oer-oue wysheid
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy leef in die skadu van die wêreld
En brand met ‘n gloeiende inspirasie
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy is die land van môre
En ek eer haar tydlose geskenke

©Nikita — 2nd September 2008
Read other poems here. The link will open in a new window.

Hierdie gedig het ek geskryf toe ek aan Suid-Afrika gedink het, die Xenofobie-slagting het my taamlik negatief gelaat en my gedagtes/siel was maar taamlik "broos".
Die Broosheid van my Siel
Dit is soos gister
dat my gedagtes swerf
op golwe van stormwinde;
ongesiens, verwyder dit
die eind’lose groenbedekte
ystergrendels van my hart

Verstommend genereer dit
beelde uit lande
versamel van die Ooste en Weste
die Noorde en van die see af
- ‘n half herwonne reis

Diep onder lê ‘n sluimerende stilte
ontsnapte krete reën om my
helder buitelyne van donker oë
kruis my lewenspad
en ek huiwer

Hunkerend na ‘n somers-motreën
blomruigtes, onweerstaanbare weerligstrale
waterfonteine, ‘n ontnugterde haelbui
Vind jy my siel op haelwit wolke

Ja, soos gister
stap ek deur die Dorsland
met lofoffers
en êrens omhels die broosheid
die gedagtes van my siel.

©Nikita 18 Junie 2008

I Am An African by Wayne Visser

2008-10-13T16:03:00.000-07:00

I am an African

Not because I was born there

But because my heart beats with Africa’s

I am an African

Not because my skin is black

But because my mind is engaged by Africa

I am an African

Not because I live on its soil

But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children

My cheeks are stained with tears

When Africa honours her elders

My head is bowed in respect

When Africa mourns for her victims

My hands are joined in prayer

When Africa celebrates her triumphs

My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African

For her blue skies take my breath away

And my hope for the future is bright

I am an African

For her people greet me as family

And teach me the meaning of community

I am an African

For her wildness quenches my spirit

And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind

My blood pulses to its rhythm

And I become the essence of sound

When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun

My senses drink in its rainbow

And I become the palette of nature

When the stories of Africa echo round the fire

My feet walk in its pathways

And I become the footprints of history

I am an African

Because she is the cradle of our birth

And nurtures an ancient wisdom

I am an African

Because she lives in the world’s shadow

And bursts with a radiant luminosity

I am an African

Because she is the land of tomorrow

And I recognise her gifts as sacred