Posted by: De Waal | July 11, 2010

Luister! Listen!

You can now listen to poetry on Poem Crit

Nou kan jy na poësie luister op Vers-krit

Read some tips on how to record your own poem. Click here.

Here’s a satirical humorous poem I’ve written and have recorded. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

You are welcome to publish your own sound poems here as well. Simply send us your MP3 file and we’ll publish it for you.


Homage to the hackneyed phrase

I’ve ridden on you

so many times.

You have taken me

through thick semes of meaning,

through thin semi-permeable membranes

of meaning.

You have served me stoutly

when entities became hirsute

and howled edgar-allan-poetically

at the moon’s Mons Venus.

With wonderful panache

you have galloped me past

transports of joy,

trundling inevitably towards vales of tears.

On your back you carried me across

the swollen river

of opportune circumstances,

and with a desperate gathering of sinews

you have jumped over

the amazing splendour of love,

to land, stumbling, in hard reality.

Thank you, hackneyed phrase;

in my mind

you’ll always be

a frisky filly.

Posted by: skoonlief | July 8, 2010

Op ‘n afstand

 

            Versigtig snuif  jy die lug
luister aandagtig, sidder
en trek jou spiere styf.
Ek hou jou dop
sien jou naderkom,
             en wag.

             Met skrefiesoë
bek-lek en stertswaai jy
terwyl jy my dophou.
Vasgenael op ’n afstand
staan jy druipstert
               en wag.

               My hart is vol
klein spoortjies
wat jy getrap het,
toe jy laas hier was.

Oorspronklike weergawe:

Versigtig snuif jy die lug
luister aandagtig , sidder
en trek jou spiere styf.
Ek hou jou dop
sien jou naderkom,
              en wag.

            Met versluierde oë
en ‘n lyf wat vasgenael
is op een plek,
hou jy my dop.
Tydsaam kyk jy op
              en wag.

           My hart is vol
 klein spoortjies
 wat jy getrap het,
 toe jy laas hier was.

Posted by: Robin Hawkins | July 7, 2010

Lauren se lied

Ek skulp my hart hier in jou ring

al weet ek al’s is menslik tydelik.

Ek sien daagliks jou uurwerk verder kantel,

tel die klokslae saans soos hul

hul IV-drup so stil stil leegsypel

hier in my agterkamer van gebed.

Maar huil die sal ek kan ek nie.

Ek skulp my hart hier in jou ring.

Die vers na aanleiding van die verlowing van ‘n terminale pasient.

Posted by: Robin Hawkins | July 6, 2010

Die pedagoog, hy wil ‘ie meer.

Die pedagoog, hy wil ‘ie meer.

Kunsbedryf is lastig. Dis koue kos

wat sommer op mens afgedwing word

soos die mes die naelstring sny,

byproduk van nageboorte sonder bloed.

Pedagoog se kind die toor met woord,

sy les moedswillig dog betower

deur mis agter en om die power

leksikon van misverstand.

Posted by: hofmeyer | June 29, 2010

Kwatryn

Gemsbok in dolomietveld

In die lang rooigras staan hy en staar,

horings strek oop-arm die blou lug in;

onder kronkel ‘n diep aar

met skedels, voetbeentjies, waaroor ons gaan besin.

Posted by: Robin Hawkins | June 28, 2010

Willem se vers – ‘n voorsmakie

die wetenskap van dig

is woord wek woord,

suiwer en gestroop

metodies dig

bewoord

Posted by: De Waal | June 26, 2010

Swedish poet

Spoor

Twee-uur in die oggend: maanskyn. Die trein staan

in die veld. Ver ‘n dorp se liggies

wat koud flikker teen die horison.

Soos wanneer jy so diep in ‘n droom wegsak

jy nie eers kan onthou jy was daar

wanneer jy terugkom nie.

Of wanneer jy so diep wegsak in ‘n siekte

dat jou dae ‘n swerm flikkerende spikkels word,

yl en koud teen die horison.

Die trein staan doodstil.

Twee-uur. helder maanskyn, yl sterre.

Vertaler: De Waal Venter

Spår

På natten klockan två: månsken. Tåget har stannat
mitt ute på slätten. Långt borta ljuspunkter i en stad,
flimrande kallt vid synranden.

Som när en människa gått in i en dröm så djupt
att hon aldrig ska minnas att hon var där
när hon återvänder till sitt rum.

Och som när någon gått in i en sjukdom så djupt
att allt som var hans dagar blir några flimrande
punkter, en svärm,
kall och ringa vid synranden.

Tåget står fullkomligt stilla.
Klockan två: starkt månsken, få stjärnor.


Tomas Tranströmer (born 15 April 1931 in Stockholm) is a Swedish writer, poet and translator, whose poetry has been deeply influential in Sweden, as well as around the world.

Tranströmer received his secondary education at the Södra Latin School in Stockholm and graduated as a psychologist from Stockholm University in 1956. He began writing at thirteen, and published his first collection of poems, 17 dikter (Seventeen Poems) in 1954. His latest collection, Den stora gåtan (The Great Enigma), was published in 2004, and an English translation of his entire body of work, The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems, was published in 2006. He published a short autobiography, Minnena ser mig (The memories are watching me), in 1993.

Other poets – especially in the “political” 70’s – accused him for being apart from his tradition and not including political issues in his poems and novels. His work, though, lies within and further develops the Modernist and Expressionist/Surrealist language of 20th century poetry; his clear, seemingly simple pictures from everyday life and nature in particular reveals a mystic insight to the universal aspects of the human mind.

Tranströmer and the American poet Robert Bly are close friends and their correspondence has been published in the book Air Mail.

In 1990, he suffered a stroke that affects his speech, but he continues to write. He has often been mentioned as a candidate for the Nobel Prize in Literature, and many consider him one of Sweden’s foremost poets. Tranströmer’s awards include the Bonnier Award for Poetry, the Neustadt International Prize for Literature, the Oevralids Prize, the Petrach Prize in Germany,the Golden Wreath of the Struga Poetry Evenings and the Swedish Award from International Poetry Forum. His poetry has been translated into fifty languages; Bly, Robin Fulton, and the prominent American blues writer Samuel Charters have translated his work into English.

In 2007, Tranströmer received a special Lifetime Recognition Award given by the trustees of the Griffin Trust for Excellence in Poetry, which also awards the annual Griffin Poetry Prize.

In addition to his work as a writer, Tranströmer was also a respected psychologist before he had his stroke. He worked in juvenile prisons, and with disabled, convicts, and drug addicts. He is also a good piano player, something he has been able to continue after his stroke, albeit with one hand.

http://tts.imtranslator.net/BJrv

Posted by: izette | June 25, 2010

Ek het die poem ofgefieks

Thanks Robin. Ek het die poem gerivese soos jy gese het. Ek dink dit maak baie sense. Soos jy weet is die meeste mans maar pathetic. Maar ek dink jys ok. Ek sal die ander poem ook later reivise.

dis al wat jy kry

dissie sweet
in jou nek,vars,
wat my kry
Die warm van jou mond
jou hande wat hard vat
wat my kry
die grofgeit van jou ken
wat my skuur
wat my kry
Jy kan maar kom
hienatoe vanaand
los net jou attitude
want by my
issit net wat ek jou wil gee
wat jy kry
Posted by: De Waal | June 25, 2010

Eland

I’m placing a visual in between the poems from time to time, just to make it easier on the eyes. If it bothers anybody, please feel free to tell me. This blog belongs to all members and you must please indicate what you like and what you don’t.

I took this photo yesterday about 25 km from where I stay. It’s amazing how there are patches of land all over the country where people conserve nature and wildlife. It gives one hope.  🙂

Posted by: Robin Hawkins | June 24, 2010

afgrys

dis grys afgryslik en als woel duskant eenkant toe

my muilband trek jy soms so styf so styf ek hyg

na lewe sonder lus vir daardie asemslag wat net

te veel blerrie moeite is – so sonder wins eenvoudig

kuile van verdriet wat damgooi

voor my oog vlieg eende weg gatvol

vir die banale werklikhede van pa-speel

die passiespel van eindelose trane

wat uit jou geboorte vloei

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