Because I do not wish to hope again
I
Because I do not wish to hope again,
to like an eagle spread my wings,
because I do not wish to gain
experience and to learn new things
and do not wish to soar up against the blue sky,
wondering what lies
beyond the scope of the vision of an eye
and with time in me all hope dies
why should I be afraid
when the darkness closes in,
when destiny has knotted my life in its braid
and I do not know what comes with the new morning?
II
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Here I am, a man that is world-weary (in answer to T.S. Eliot)
I
Here I am, a man that is world-weary,
in a month without rain
and passion and the pain
are still aflame and burning in me.
At the gates of death, destruction and desolation
I did in my youth trod
fired a rifle, a canon and whatever gun in angry shot
and then had a obligation
II
to be true to my country, to be true to you
but now I am getting weary
while life is slowly getting eerie
as if it’s coming to an end, as if I have lost the glue
that has hold my body and my spirit together
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poem by Gert Strydom
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The spoor
We were flown in
by a Puma helicopter
hot on the tracts
of a group of terrorists
who had attacked some farms.
A Bushman tracker was in the front
on the spoor, armed with a old R1,
two of the section
was armed with LMG’s
and I carried the a short barrel R5
and it was very hot
under a merciless sun.
The tracker told us
that one of the enemy
was wounded and at places
we saw drops of blood
and it looked
as if he was dragging his leg
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Buffelskraal
(after I. D. du Plessis)
At the Buffelkraal farmstead once lived a beautiful girl
near to the Matroosberg Mountain with a crown of golden hair
and when the first winter snow falls and covers the hills,
as the moon comes out glistening a scene is acted out.
White is the snow flaking down
and the moon is golden
when a gorgeous girl entices a boyfriend
and for moments they stand together
while moonbeams fall yellow
as she smiles as the loveliest girl in the universe;
white is the snow flaking down
while the moon is golden.
Just more than a hundred and forty years ago
the dreams of Francois came true like an answered prayer
when the loveliest girl in the district asked him for a flower
while she amazed him with a stolen kiss.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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A meerkat in the lounge
With great speed a thing runs
into the lounge
and braids past a bookcase
with aunt Leen behind it.
“Your cats are too useless
to catch the rats, ”
she says without breath
but they are chased out,
having to stay outside
and one sleeps at night
in a room at the garage
and the other I smuggle
into my study, my bedroom
and of this fact till now
she luckily bares no knowledge.
I go and fetch the black and white housecat Felix
from the outside,
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnets to my love
I. My woman among a world of women
My woman among a world of women,
I wonder when will I see you again?
You who live in every dream,
as part of me
and time is rushing by and my hope
grows dimmer like the winter sun
in the cold sky.
At night the darkness covers me
and the moon glitters bleak
and even it grows weak
while I long for you
and even my consciousness
declares that maybe
I am waiting in vain.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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The Long Journey
Motorcycling along
the N1 freeway
from Pretoria in the north to Cape Town
the flaming sun rises over the horizon
small like a ripe apricot
while its dimensions gets larger
and then tomato red
a little later it turns orange and like a ripe fruit
hangs untouchable up on the sky
and corn fields, fences and trees
fly past almost blurring
in the twilight sketched like pencil drawings
and the sun like a huge pit being spitted
crosses the sky
changes to yellow and then to white hot
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Ballade of the guard commander
II
At dusk the sun sets fiery red
behind the bushes
where in beauty it brings tranquillity to the bush-veldt.
There are guards that I inspect as commander
where they stand neatly in a platoon
and I look at them one after the other and then right through them
walk to the guardroom on top of the shooting tower
and in the camp in the operational aria
every thing is in order, the guards are capable.
Early in the evening another officer
comes and plays a game of chess
and we drink icy glasses of beer
but when it gets later their is silence and peace
as if it’s just another evening in a thousand
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poem by Gert Strydom
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Fishing on a small lake
You had just left me
and I had relocated from Bellville
near Cape Town
to Centurion at Pretoria
and had travelled by airplane
and there was storm damage
to the roads
and I was still waiting
on my removal to arrive
and apart from going to work
I had a lot of time on my hands
and thoughts in my mind,
since I have lost
the only fish that really mattered
and I didn’t really know how.
My rods and reels and fishing tackle
from when I was a boy
was at my mother’s
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Why This World Exists (In Answer To Louis Esterhuizen)
From the moment that I could think
I was wondering why this world does exist,
man is born in a place
where everything goes to destruction and decay?
What kind of God creates a place
where there is pain, suffering and hardship
where catastrophe at times hit mercilessly
as if every thing is going into damnation and darkness?
Some faiths believe that man
reincarnates over and over,
to in the end become part of a god,
have got to live though this desolation time and again.
Only the Christian faith declares
why our world is in this state,
about a almighty God who comes, to take up man’s guilt
with a salvation plan and how its going to end.
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poem by Gert Strydom
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