Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

11.11.11

November 11 (11.11) is Pepero Day in South Korea. A Pepero 빼빼로 is a "cookie [stick] dipped in chocolate", a favourite snack in South Korea and Japan, where it is known as Pocky. Pepero Day is somewhat similar to Valentine's Day, but instead of chocolates, roses or other typical Valentine's Day gifts, the gift of choice is Peperos.

This year, however, November 11th is extra special in Korea as children born will have identity numbers that start with "111111". To ensure that their children have a sestet of ones in their identity numbers many pregnant mothers have gone out of their way to get c-section surgeries scheduled for today. According to Reuters, c-sections scheduled for 11 November 2011 is up by 20% from usual. (I'm obliged to a South African friend for sending me the link to the news article.)

Speaking of South Africa, annually on the weekend closest to 11 November, South Africa celebrates Poppy Day. It is in remembrance of those that died and fought in battle during World War I, World War II and other wars. World War I ended at the eleventh hour on 11 November 1918 when Germany signed the armistice. In South Africa it is known as Poppy Day because poppy flowers are traditionally sold as part of fundraising initiatives by the South African Legion to help veterans of war. The poppy was chosen because it grew on the battlefields of Flanders (Western Front), where many soldiers died. A poem written by Colonel John McCrae (a Canadian medic) brought wider attention to the poppie connection.

In Flanders Fields -- John McCrae
In Flanders fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place;wait and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead, short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields!
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands, we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields!

The red poppie became the symbolic flower of remembrance.

In South Africa Poppy Day remembrance ceremonies are held on the Saturday nearest 11 November and some services are also held on the adjacent Sunday. It is not a national holiday, so I'm not sure how many people actually observe it, but it's function is similar to Remembrance Day or Armistice Day celebrated by countries of the Common Wealth and Veterans Day in the United States which is also celebrated on November 11th. South African's typically use Poppy Day to remember South African soldiers who died in WWI, WWII, the Korean War and Border War, as well as surviving veterans of war. Ceremonies are typically held in Cape Town and Pretoria.

November 11 is also Nigel Tufnel Day kept by the cult following of the 1984 mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap. This day was chosen because of the recurrence of the number 11, which became a significant number in the movie, based on one particularly scene in which the character Nigel Tufnel explains how they can turn the volume of their amplifiers "up to eleven", making them "one louder" that other bands that can only go up to ten. The quote "up to eleven" has become pop-culture idiom, suggesting that something is done better, beyond it's expected limitations. I'm not sure exactly how one celebrates Nigel Tufnel Day; I guess you make sure to do something "up to eleven."

Also from popular culture and linked with 11 November 2011 is the movie that is supposed to have been released today, 11-11-11. While it may have gone on circuit in other parts of the world, I didn't see it showing in Korea (I went to the movies today). Then again, I'm not particularly interested as I avoid horror movies; this film was directed by Darren Lynn Bousman, the director of SAW II, III and IV, none of which I've seen. On the other hand, I do like science-fiction films and this is a sci-fi horror. I'll wait a bit and first see how it rates on RottenTomatoes before I make my decision.

On a more philosophical note, 11 November is the anniversary of the death of the Christian philosopher Søren Aabye Kierkegaard, the father of Existentialism. Existentialist thought was most notably expounded upon by later philosophers like Friedrich Nietzche, Martin Heidegger, and Jean-Paul Sartre, but it was Kierkegaard that first focussed on the human dilemma of freedom of choice and the existential angst this causes. He wrote about it in his book The Concept of Anxiety. One example in which he explains this angst requires us to imagine a man standing on the edge of a very tall building and looking down. The man experience two kinds of fear: "the fear of falling, and fear brought on by the impulse to throw himself off the edge. This second type of fear, or anxiety, arises from the realization that he has absolute freedom to choose whether to jump or not, and this fear is as dizzying as his vertigo" (The Philosophy Book, p. 195). In short, Kierkegaard argued that apart from the freedom to be born, God endowed us with free choice. Because making life-altering decisions always cause much angst in me, I'm quite attracted to the Existentialists. Kierkegaard died at the young age of 42 on 11 November 1855.

11 November 2011 is also a day on which New Agers celebrate "Interconnectedness Day", with heavy focus on the Green Agenda. Previous such Interconnectedness Days were celebrated on 10 October 2010 and 9 September 2009. I guess next year on 12 December 2012 will be the last year Interconnectedness Day will be celebrated in a very very long time.

On a personal note, my first best friend, Matthys du Preez, and I used to celebrate 11 November as our friendship day. I can't remember exactly what the reason was that we chose this day as our friendship day, but we celebrated it as a birthday. Matthys was literally my first friend. I cannot recall any friend before him. Our parents were friends and because we were of the same age we naturally became friends. We also went to the same elementary school (a "plaasskool") together. We grew up on farms in the same farming community and there was only one elementary school where all the children in the community went -- a little school with hardly 300 pupils. We were so close in personality that many people mistook us as twins, to our delight -- I guess the fact that we often dressed alike contributed to it. We often finished each other's sentences and my mother told me that we seemed to communicate telepathically as we would sometimes just look at each other and seem to know what the other was thinking. Unfortunately my first best friend moved away when we were about 11 years old and due to the distance our friendship waned until we completely lost contact. In recent years I've started to increasingly think about my old friend. I was able to look him up and sent him an email with the hopes of meeting with him at the beginning of this year while I was in South Africa, but he didn't respond to my email. I guess he's not as sentimental as I am about those early years. In our late teens, early twenties, we both lost our mothers to illness. I think we could have been a great comfort to each other had we stayed in contact. I sometimes wish I could have been there for him during that time of loss and during other trials he may have experienced as a child. I have fond memories of our friendship and I remember quite distinctly the good and caring friend he was. I am very blessed with some great friends in my life. I have, in part, Matthys to thank for that. Because my first friendship had been such a very close one, that has become my expectation of a real friendship. Matthys' care and loyalty as a young boyhood friend inspired me to become the same type of friend later in my life.

Happy 11 November, for whatever reason you decide to celebrate it.

Don't Smoke in Bed & A Poem About the Assassination of a Heart



One of my favourite songs is "Don't Smoke in Bed." I'm not sure why this song resonates with me, because I do not smoke and am unlikely to be romantically involved with someone that does smoke. Nevertheless, there is something wonderfully touching about the lyrics of this song. Even as the narrator is leaving her husband, she still cares for him, she still reminds him not to smoke in bed.

My favourite version is of course the one by Nina Simone, whom I've mentioned on this blog before (see here and here).

Apart from Nina Simone, the other person with whom the song is probably usually associated is Peggy Lee. I especially like the instrumentation in this version.



Patti Smith, the musician partly responsible for the punk rock genre, also does a riviting performance of this old jazz classic.



A more upbeat version in a lounge jazz style is performed by the Eddie Higgins Trio. You might be excused for getting up and dancing to this tune. The trio consists of piano, guitar and bass.



k.d. lang with her beautiful voice provides a beautiful full sounding version, but I do miss the rawness that one hear in Simone and Smith.




In around 2008 my then girlfriend and I broke up after somewhat of a tumultuous emotional period in our relationship. Shortly before we broke up I wrote her the poem below. In the poem the narrator speaks of his lover as an assassin of hearts that will soon come to murder (i.e. break) his heart and in so doing be the cause of his death. At the end of the poem I realised that I needed there to be a personal touch--a loving "don't smoke in bed". After sometime I added the line: "Don't forget to water the flowers"--the idea being that flowers are a symbol of romantic love and by caring for the flowers she will keep his remembrance and symbolically keep their love alive after his passing. In a strange way this poem I wrote was influenced by this song "Don't Smoke in Bed". Basically they have the same themes and tell the same story of broken hearts and separation. Soon afterwards I moved to Korea.


Throughout the night I battle sleep
(my fists broken       my temples bleeding
my knees and elbows chafed from fighting)
lest, like a calamity, the morning breaks
open like an egg       a skull       a heart stuffed
to the brim with love (that undaunted
heartless threatening damned type of love).
And now, as the day comes crawling
(my heart’s assassination on the agenda;
it will, I’m sure, be done with a knife)
and I have little fighting spirit left, I beg you
my love, be swift. I have already
both my stubborn shirt and chest
ripped open (I trust you’ll appreciate it).
My love, both my heart and I am ready
on this day (please don’t torture me further!)
to die enthusiastically an enormous death.
The angels (my guardian angel and yours)
are standing on their marks for a farewell number
(a necro-duet) to call me to the Big Slumber.
Don’t forget to water the flowers.

bygestaande selfmoord / "assisted suicide"

'n Opinie omtrent bygestaande selfmoord


Ek nes my lewe in klam rooigrond:

'n pêreltjie—oënskynlyk leweloos—skiet
skielik 'n harige stertjie suidwaarts,
'n kordadige nekkie priem noorde toe;
die gevuisde lentegroen koppie
vou oop soos twee palmpies na gebed
of voor applous en glimlag vlinderlik.

Natuurlik, figuurlikgesproke het ek my lewe
so geplant en met die selfde aanmatigheid
wil ek, wanneer die tyd ryp is,
die pêreltjie weer oes—sagkuns ontwortel,
die lewensare se konneksie met die klam
rooigrond kortknip, die vlinder laat verwelk
en die korreltjie wat aan my geleen is teruggee.

Want, toe ek ontkiem het,
was dit 'n deftige—tog toweragtige—affêre
en daarom wil ek ook op 'n betaamlike
manier sterf—sans towerkuns natuurlik—.

Lady Gaga se "Judas" en die stryd met sonde

Lady Gaga se nuwe song “Judas” vanaf haar onlangse album “Born This Way” word baie ongunstig in Suid-Afrika bevind. Vele radioluisteraars het gevra dat die lied van die lug af verwyder word.

Die spreker in die liedjie noem dat sy verlief is op Judas en dat sy Judas se voete met haar hare sal was. Die spreker trek dus 'n paralel tussen Jesus en Judas en sê dat soos Maria Magdalena Jesus se voete met haar trane gewas het en met haar hare afgedroog het, so sal die spreker ook Judas se voete was. Judas word dus 'n paralele Messias of aanbiddingswaardige figuur. Haar liefde aan Judas is onvoorwaardelik. Sy sal Judas vergewe al sou hy haar belieg (“[lie] through his brain”); selfs al sou hy haar bedrieg, “three times,” sal sy Judas vergewe. Judas is nie goed vir die spreker nie, nogtans het sy vir Judas onvoorwaardelik lief, en daarom beskryf die spreker haarself as a “Holy fool.” By implikasie is Jesus dan ook 'n “Holy fool” omdat Jesus se liefde onvoorwaardelik is en omdat hy ons wat hom so gedurig bedrieg vergewe.

Die lied maak 'n vreemde draai met die brug wanneer die spreker haarself as 'n “Fame hooker, prostitute wench” beskryf wat haar gedagtes “vomits.” Die prostituut wat Jesus se voete gewas het, het haar vergifnis vir haar misdade in Jesus gevind. Die spreker in die “Judas” liedjie vind haar vergifnis in Judas: “Judas kiss me if offensed.” Maar ons weet dat Judas se soen die soen van 'n verraaier is. Sy is ongelukkig dat haar lojaliteit aan Judas nie volkome is nie, want “something's pulling me away from [Judas].” Dit is Jesus wat haar wegtrek van Judas af. Sy vind haarself in 'n tweestryd: “Jesus is my virtue, / Judas is the demon I cling to.”

Wat presies Lady Gaga se intensie met die lied is weet ek nie. Indien Judas die sonde in haar lewe is waarmee sy 'n “liefdesverhouding” het, dan het ek baie simpatie met haar. Ek het ook al geskryf oor my eie (liefdes)verhouding met sonde—gedigte geïnspereer uit 'n stryd met gewoonte sondes.

Belydenis

Ek dans met haar. Vat haar styf
om die lyf. Speen aan haar peul-
bors. Hawe haar kors tortuur tong
in my mond. Stort my ongebore
half-kinders in haar kreng brakbuik.
Miopies beskou ek haar vigs
minnenswaardig. Noktambulis
eienaardig is my sinlike wellus
vir haar. Sonde is my houvrou.

Sonde

sy flankeer met my,
lek haar kraakblou lippe af met ’n skilfer tong
en flankeer met my
haar koue linkerhand krewel my broek af
haar benerige regterhand speel met my hare
haar asem, lou soos die dood, walm vanuit ’n diep kasme
in my nek – die tyd vir vrek het aangebreuk
my siel slaan in sweet uit soos na seks
bevlek met onne:
onheil
ongeregtigheid
onbarmhartigheid
só flankeer sy met my,
en ek weet – nou’s dit tyd om te sterf,
af te sterf en die wêreld ’n reiner plek agter te laat,
’n bietjie purer: daar’s een sondaar minder
en daarvoor sterf ek gewillig

En nes Lady Gaga het ek myself ook al as 'n hoerbeskryf, in baie erger terme as sy:

Soos ’n opgefokte hoer
met ’n pruimmoer, ’n suursmoel,
’n opgedroogte hart wat lanklaas
geklop het, lankal uitgeplukte oë
en afgekapte hande, vuilsiekte
en wonde, ’n swartsak vir ’n siel.
Só, het die sonde my gepimp.

Vier hierdie tipe gedigte het ek kritiek ontvang. Daar is vir my gesê dat deur ek oor die sonde skryf (al is dit my eie stryd daarmee), dat ek "rol in die sonde". Dat 'n mens nie in die sonde moet rol nie, is sekerlik goeie raad, maar die kunstenaar het 'n ander motief: om kommentaar te lewer oor die werklikheid. 'n Foto joernalis neem nie slegs fotos van blomme en mooi sonsondergange nie. 'n Ordentlike foto joernalis neem ook (of veral) fotos van ellende, van die afskuwelikheid van oorloë, van pyn en hartseer.

Enige een wat 'n eerlike bewustheid het vir sy of haar eie sonde, weet dat dit 'n tipe verliefdheid tot die daad is. Jy weet dit is sleg vir jou, maar kan dit nie help nie. Selfs die Apostel Paulus was eerlik hier oor:

Rom 7:18, 19, 24 “Want ek weet dat in my, dit wil sê in my vlees, niks goeds woon nie; want om te wil, is by my aanwesig, maar om goed te doen, dit vind ek nie. Want die goeie wat ek wil, doen ek nie, maar die kwaad wat ek nie wil nie, dit doen ek . . . Ek, ellendige mens! Wie sal my verlos van die liggaam van hierdie dood?”

Paulus was dit eens dat as 'n Christen voer 'n mens 'n tweestryd: “Want ek verlustig my in die wet van God na die innerlike mens; maar ek sien 'n ander wet in my lede wat stryd voer teen die wet van my gemoed en my gevange neem onder die wet van die sonde wat in my lede is” (Rom 7:23). Daar is twee wette in ons; twee magte: een goed en een sleg; die invloed van Jesus en die invloed van Satan. Lady Gaga se lied beskryf dit as: “Jesus is my virtue, / Judas is the demon I cling to.”

Daar is 'n oomblik van hoop in Lady Gaga se lied, daardie sinsnede “Jesus is my virtue.” Nêrens probeer sy haarself verdedig nie. Sy erken dat sy 'n “Fame hooker, prostitute wench” is wat aan sonde vasklou – byna sonder hoop. Paulus se uitlating is soortgelyk: “Ek, ellendige mens! Wie sal my verlos van die liggaam van hierdie dood?”

Maar dan antwoord Paulus sy vraag: “. . . Jesus Christus, onse Here!” (Rom 7:25); soos Lady Gaga: “Jesus is my virtue.”

Ek probeer nie Lady Gaga se liedjie verdedig nie. Ek stem saam dat dit 'n onsmaaklike trand het, nes my sonde-gedigte. Nietemin, dit openbaar 'n pertinente Christelike punt: Die stryd met sonde is 'n intieme werklikheid – byna soos verslawing en wat is verliefdheid anders as verlawing? Maar daar is hoop: “Jesus is my virtue.” Paulus gaan verder in sy rede en sê dat “die Wet van die Gees van die lewe in Christus Jesus het my vrygemaak van die wet van die sonde en die dood” (Rom 8:2). Paulus se raad is om ons hoop op God te hou en ons gedagtes weg te draai van die “vleeslike,” en eerder geestelike dinge te bedink. Dit verg 'n doelbewustelike keuse om eerder die “geestelike dinge” te bedink (Rom 8:5). Uiteindelik, soos Jesus gesê het, moet ons kies—ons kan nie twee meesters volg nie. Dis of Judas of Jesus.

Totdat jy nie self uit ervaring weet hoe moeilik dit is om teen intieme sondes te stry nie, moet nie te haastig wees om Lady Gaga te oordeel nie. Totday jy nie self weet hoe dit voel om deur sonde "gepimp" te word tot 'n "opgefokte hoer" nie, moenie my te vinnig oordeel nie.

Daar is twee dinge wat ek oor Lady Gaga kan sê. Dis nie my tipe musiek nie, maar daar is geen twyfel dat sy 'n uitmuntende stem het nie, en baie talentvol is nie. Tweedens, sy's braaf. Dit sit nie in enige een se broek om te doen wat sy doen nie. Noem dit maar sensasionalisme as jy wil. Hoe ook al, dit vereis binnegoed om jouself so bloot te stel.

Ten laaste, wat dink ek van die reaksie van Suid-Afrikaners om te vra dat die liedjie van die radiogolwe verwyder word? Ek hou daarvan. Verbruikers moet meer proaktief wees in wat hulle behoeftes is. Dit is nie nodig dat ons alles opvreet wat die media vir ons gooi nie. Ons moet 'n keuse gegun word en ons strewe moet wees na kwaliteit. Ek hoop Suid-Afrikaners sal ook begin om al daardie ander (Afrikaanse) gemors wat die radiogolwe so besoedel te kritiseer.

Gedig: Wie?

Wie, hier, kan vir my sê
waar die westewind
haar kop neelê;
waar die oostewind
haar skuiling vind;
waarom my mooi liefling
weggegaan het,
waarom sy my hier
agter gelaat het?
Wie?

'n Gedig aan my X


Toe jy verwagtend was

Ek wens ek was daar
toe jou maag volmaan rond
en vol lewe -- nuwe bloedjonklewe -- was
en jou borsies sappige geswolle
melkvrugte -- vrugte van die Boom van die Lewe -- was
en jou heupe oorlopens toe vol lewe was
en jy soos 'n amoeba te veel lewe gehad het
en twee lewens -- jy en 'n splinternuwe jy -- geword het.

Ek wens ek was daar
en dat ek daar saam met jou -- albei van jou -- gelewe het.

my vrou is 'n boervrou

my boervrou spit in die tuin
sy spit die aarde in klowe oop
groot vrugbare oopwondklowe
met haar groot ysterspit

soos Agdistis is my vrou
my boervrou bevrug Moeder Aarde
kloof haar oop en stort haar saad daarin
my vrou is 'n vrugbaarheidsgodin

Gedig


Op persketakke lê soos watte die voorvrugte.
Só, op my hart blom my liefde – onverdun.

My beminde, hou nie jou rooi hart gegrendel nie:
die hart is ’n papie wat eens nog moet vlerke kry,
wat oop moet maak soos biddende hande na gebed,
soos ’n lotus voor die son, soos twee pare lippe
vir mekaar, soos bene vir bekende heupe,
soos vriende se kaalpersoonlikhede.

Want in die laat winter bot die perskes
en deur die koue groei die liefde soos tienerborste.

My beminde, hou nie jou soet mond toe nie:
laat my tong soos ’n vinger jou snare stram,
jou perkussie plekke kielie, jou diep liefdesgrotte
maak eggo soos roepende katedraalklokke,
wat luidkeels ween oor die hoog gestookte liefde
en jou brandstapel waarop ek hartstogtelik verteer.

Hoogsomer dra die perskebome swaar aan vrugte
en loop die harte oor van bloed en liefde.

My beminde, vergeet nie die ou verhale nie:
van Adam (óf Romeo) wat deel aan die giftige perskes
en deel aan die lot, want die liefde se drif vrees nie
die dood nie, dit loop doelgerig die duisternis in –
braaf soos Christus, wánt, my beminde,
die slot van die dood bind nie die liefde nie.

Gedig: Haas terug

"Hot Stuff" by Lilivanili

Haas haastig terug, my beminde,
terug voordat jou rooirissie rusplek
afkoel voordat jou blossende borste
(spitsige rooiwangperskes) skaam word
voordat jou gedoude lippe soos mis
voor die dag        kom gou-gou terug!

Kom terug my beminde, vóór ek sterf!

One of my favourie John Keats (love) poems

Bright Star
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.