Spookstories (ghost stories)

I grew up at a time when there was no such thing as television, there were no computers, no cell phones (very few people had even a landline telephone) and no shopping malls. This meant we had to make our own entertainment and my all time favourite was for a group of boys to sit around an open fire out in the veldt, listening to one or more of the older boys tell terrifying but wildly improbable ghost stories. This poem is written in Afrikaans, find out more about this language here.

Spookstories

ʼn Geniepsige wind en ʼn maanlose nag

en ʼn brak wat eentonig vir ʼn skaduwee blaf

ʼn Knetterende vuur en ʼn Eveready flits

en ʼn bibberende groep liggelowige niksnuts

ʼn Bouvallige kerkhof waaruit spoke snags rys

en geraamtes wat klater gee kits hoendervleis

ʼn Flitslig word stil onder ʼn kennebak gedruk

en die gedaante wat verskyn laat elke man skrik

ʼn Gruwelike spookstorie om ʼn kampvuur vertel

en byklanke wat eggo teen die pikswart nagvel

ʼn Geselliger byeenkoms sou jy nêrens kon vind

En sonder twyfel die lekkerste prêt vir dié kind

The City built on Gold

Like all the colonies of the major European powers, South Africa served as both a dumping ground for wayward noblemen and a happy hunting ground for adventurers and charlatans. The discovery of diamonds at Kimberley and gold near what would become the mining camp named Johannesburg, caused a veritable flood of fortune seekers to descend on both areas. Some would grab what they could and move on to the next big opportunity while others would become pillars of the new community. Life in the mining camp was harsh with hunger, disease, crime and deprivation the constant companion of all but the privileged and cunning few but the thought of the potential rewards made the suffering tolerable.

The City built on Gold

Come young man and listen close for I’ve a tale to tell,

Of vision, greed and spirit, of paradise and hell.

Of men who built a city where none before did stand,

And gave the very breath of life to our fair and sunny land.

They came from earth’s four corners, princes, paupers, thieves,

Plunged by fate in a melting pot to forge a brand new breed.

Strong of back or sharp of wit and most uncommon bold,

These were the noble sires of the city built on gold.

 

From Germany and England and Canada and France,

Came many fortune seekers all looking for the chance,

To pit their wits against nature to strike the mother lode,

And reap a richer harvest than man had ever sowed.

With single minded purpose they tunnelled in the earth

To extricate the golden flake that measured each mans worth.

Fortunes won and fortunes lost each time the dice was rolled,

No place for the faint hearted in the city built on gold.

 

Now close your eyes and in your mind conjure up the sight,

Of straining men and creaking gears toiling day and night.

Hear every spoken language in the hubbub of the throng,

And thrill as black men labour to the rhythm of their song.

See the rutted, dusty streets, the tents placed here and there,

Strange order midst the chaos, excitement midst despair.

Imagine each rough component that shaped the final mould,

In which was cast the future of the city built on gold.

 

Give image to that tent town of a hundred years ago,

Than overlay the present scene and you will surely know,

That though their motivation was solely for self gain,

They set events in motion, the first link in the chain.

Now built upon their bedrock there stands a magic sight,

A million blazing jewels fired by early morning light.

Glass fingers reach into the sky, a wonder to behold,

A thing of unique beauty is the City built on Gold.

 

Back now to those men of men as ‘cross the scene they strode,

Sing out their names, Barnato, Rissik, Harrison and Rhodes.

The wheelers and the workers, each played their destined role,

And left behind some legacy, the price of which, his soul.

Expensive? That’s as may be but of this you can be sure,

That if asked to do it over they’d choose the same once more.

Lie peaceful then you pioneer’s in graves so long grown cold,

We salute you, Founding Fathers of the City built on Gold.

Wild Africa, by Wayne Visser

WILD AFRICA

I.

Africa wakes up, hungry

She prowls in packs and preys

She wakes up wild and wary

And hides in herds to graze

Lurking low, Africa waits

She leaps out with surprise

She sets her traps for bait

And casts her dewy eyes

Africa takes off, soaring

She rides on wings and prayer

She tweets and hoots, imploring

And swoops down from the air

Lying still, Africa blinks

She twitches in her manger

She shuts one eye and thinks

She listens out for danger

II.

Baking sun and bright blue skies

Tinder sparks to flame

Blazing grass and fearful eyes

Of creatures wild and tame

Thunderbolts and flashing cloud

Torrential rain and flood

Quenching pools and splashing shroud

Roll-playing in the mud

Pitter-drops and patter-sounds

Amidst the mist and showers

Blossom-bursts and splatter-grounds

All painted bright with flowers

Mating calls in season’s heat

New playgrounds for the young

Rhyming with new reason’s beat

Fun frolics in the sun

III.

Africa, stretching far and wide

Herds migrate with season’s tide

Hippos snort, crocs lie in wait

Most survive, some meet their fate

Africa, living wild and free

Monkeys swing from tree to tree

Warthogs squeal and lions roar

Dolphins leap and eagles soar

Africa, teeming great and small

Lank giraffes and bugs that crawl

Zebras mix with wildebeest

Hyenas laugh while vultures feast

Africa, joining earth and sky

Gorillas nest and springboks fly

Elephants rumble, wise as sages

Life joins life across the ages

IV.

Rising from the dusty plain

With hope in every burst of rain

This land of everlasting strife

This Africa, our source of life

Breaking out of rusty chains

With wildness flowing in her veins

This land where all creation roam

This Africa, our common home

Reaching out across the years

With echoed genes and veils of tears

This land of skulls and mystery

This Africa, our history

Forever feral, never tamed

With restless destiny unnamed

This land of the eternal child

This Africa, forever wild

Copyright 2012 Wayne Visser

Genesis by Wayne Visser

GENESIS

Out of the void of anticipation

Out of the time before time began

Out of the fire that sparked creation

Out of the earth that rooted a clan

Africa swirled

Africa spun

Africa world

Africa one

Out of the lava of molten streams

Out of the swamps of fetid earth

Out of the semiotic dreams

Out of the soils of fecund birth

Africa rose

Africa spread

Africa chose

Africa bled

From frothing seas and putrid ponds

With plankton tide and Pisces spawn

Life bloomed and bred and burst with fronds

And oceans glowed with Darwin’s dawn

Africa yawned

Africa breathed

Africa formed

Africa seethed

From fertile plains and sandy shores

Some creatures crept and leapt to flight

With fleeting flanks and razor claws

While others learned to walk upright


Copyright 2012 Wayne Visser

I Am An African inspires as 2012 Grahamstown Festival in South Africa

Today I found out that my poem, I Am An African, featured in a dance show by the same title at the 2012 Grahamstown Arts Festival in South Africa. Here is the blurb from the official programme:

I Am An African

Festival: Fringe  Genre: Dance  Venue: Victoria Theatre

A theatrical dance explosion of rhythm, athleticism, artistry and entertainment. Technically awe-inspiring dancers unfold the intricacies and eccentricities of choreographic dance fusions. A foot-stomping, nail-biting, hand-clapping audience will marvel at the works of some of the proudest South African choreographers. This highly entertaining, proudly South African work is set to the hauntingly beautiful poem I am an African by Wayne Visser

Details

Duration : 70 minutes

Directed By : Kelsey Middleton

Choreographed By : Supa Zungu And Kelsey Middleton

Written By : Supa Zungu and Kelsey Middleton To The Poem Of Wayne Visser

Composed By : Aubrey

Performed By : Musicians in CHNA with Footprint

Featuring : Supa Zungu, Thabiso Khomo, Muzi Buthelezi

I'd like to get hold of the artists, so if anyone knows them, please put us in touch.

My Words

I use my words to express the sounds of the mute,

My words I use to give birth to the hopes carried within the youth,

This is poetry, just my heart singing words in tune…

I use my words to break the walls that hinder people to dream, dreamers dream dreams

My words I use to destroy disobedience that traps the visions of our Josephs,

This is poetry, just my heart signing words in tune…

With my words I enter forbidden territory, lines drawn to limit one’s faith,

I break the bond between destiny and fate,

Its poetry and words from my heart in tune…

My words possess the power to create and destroy, the authority given to me by the Spirit of the Living God

My words renew, restores, rejuvenates the said to be “damaged” walls of Jerusalem,

This is poetry, just my heart signing words in tune...

My worship, my prayer, my praise and my thanksgiving, all part of my heart

And through my words I sing them in tune.

-Hlogi

We Africans by Wayne Visser

I was listening to a track by the Nigerian legendary musician, Fela, and one of his phrases caught my attention - "we Africans" - two simple words that mean so much. I was inspired to write this poem.

We Africans

By Wayne Visser

We Africans

We, the spark of creation

We, first nation of nations

Remember us

For you flow from our ancestral streams

And your hopes are what mirror our dreams

We Africans

We, the crossers of high seas

We, the keepers of memories

Remember us

For you pulse with the blood of our veins

And you cry with the fear of our pains

We’re born, we rise

We open our eyes

We crawl, we walk

We’re learning to talk

We Africans

We, the fathers of hungry hands

We, the mothers of thirsty lands

Join with us

For your toil is sweat on our furrowed brow

And your guilt is shame for our here and now

We Africans

We, the sons of rusty chains

We, the daughters of dried-up rains

Join with us

For your suffering leaves tears in our eyes

And your great escape is our freedom’s rise

We plant, we reap

We strive, we weep

We serve, we slave

We hope, we brave

We Africans

We, the farmers of the plains

We, the hunters of the rains

Stand with us

For your food is our planted gorge

And your iron is our fiery forge

We Africans

We, the nomads of the sand

We, the stewards of the land

Stand with us

For your drink is our handpicked beans

And your wealth is our tunnelled seams

We dig, we drill

We bend our will

We melt, we mould

We bleed for gold

We Africans

We, the soldiers of the thorny cross

We, the seekers of the pantheons lost

Rise with us

For your chapels enact our daily sacraments

And your deities fill our starry firmaments

We Africans

We, the pilgrims of the crescent moon

We, the students of our earthly swoon

Rise with us

For your mosques echo our calls to prayer

And your mission is our promise to care

We kneel, we pray

We sing, we slay

We lift our pain

We praise His name

We Africans

We, the singers of life’s sorrow

We, the lovers of tomorrow

Reunite us

For your maps are our patterned mosaic

And your home is our ancient namesake

We Africans

We, the dancers of our freedoms

We, the voices of new seasons

Reunite us

For your culture is our rainbow display

And your genes are our twined DNA

We drum, we beat

We stamp our feet

We weave, we thread

We love, we wed

We Africans

We, the refugees of futile fighting

We, the tribes of lands uniting

Welcome us

For as you gain so we have lost

And what we give is without cost

We Africans

We, the migrants of opportunity

We, the leaders of the fair and free

Welcome us

For as we join as fragile friends

So we prosper in the end

We move, we tread

We search, we spread

We fit, we fight

We claim our right

We Africans

We, the archers of the starry sky

We, the askers of the question why

Celebrate with us

For the dawn is strung with morning dew

And our time has come to start anew

We Africans

We, the scatterlings of the rising sun

We, all proud Africans, every one

Celebrate with us

For our future fate is far from done

And we are all Africans, every one

Copyright 2012 Wayne Visser