Poetry that "touches"

[johan]

If you remember a poem that touched you at some point in your life, please post it here, or even your own.

This was very Inspiring to me at some point in my life, yet it also made me sad (Poet: John Treloar):

Once more into the Fray ...
Into the last good fight I'll ever know.
Live and Die on this day ...
Live and Die on this day ... ​

 

[Danny]

I have always found this to be meaningful, to me it fills me with both hope and despair. It speaks directly to our humanity and I dont think it can ever be reiterated too often.

Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night
Dylan thomas (1914-1953)

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

 

[Andre]

My favourite. Breyten Breytenbach in "die huis van die dowe":

And I must show his title poem in that collection:

 

[johan]

My wife wrote this after watching international news stations (its in Afrikaans though):

Saans wys God my as bevoorregte
'n duisend beelde agter glas

'n mense trein van onbekendes
lywe laag gebuk
voor swartbellaklava diere
wat gewere hou teen slape
van die mense, dom geskrik
soos skape
hulle beweeg verby
blêr vir my
agter glas

Ander weer roggelend vir hulp in modderslyk
hul huise en hul lywe vas
bly agter skoon deurskynde glas

benerige babas huil
mal mammas, maer pappas
bly veilig in die kassiehuis van glas

Maar ek, O God, kan hulle nie "touch"
hulle bly mos agter glas...

my oë word vogtig
en my bril word dof
voor my het 'n bom ontplof
die bloed spat agter glas
netjies en gepas

saans laat God my, as bevoorregte hoor,
hoe mense rou betoog en skree
maar ek kan hul niks gee
Hulle sit vas
gegiet in glas

ek kan hulle nie "touch"

van hulle deur water
van hulle deur vuur
van hulle deur aarde
wanneer kom my uur

soms met hande
soms met koëls

en ek begin al banger banger en allener voel

almal agter glas en ek alleen netjies en gepas
sit bevoorreg in my voorkamer veilig
heilig
agter glas
vas.

 

[Andre]

My wife wrote this after watching international news stations (its in Afrikaans though):

Saans wys God my as bevoorregte
'n duisend beelde agter glas

'n mense trein van onbekendes
lywe laag gebuk
voor swartbellaklava diere
wat gewere hou teen slape
van die mense, dom geskrik
soos skape
hulle beweeg verby
blêr vir my
agter glas

Ander weer roggelend vir hulp in modderslyk
hul huise en hul lywe vas
bly agter skoon deurskynde glas

benerige babas huil
mal mammas, maer pappas
bly veilig in die kassiehuis van glas

Maar ek, O God, kan hulle nie "touch"
hulle bly mos agter glas...

my oë word vogtig
en my bril word dof
voor my het 'n bom ontplof
die bloed spat agter glas
netjies en gepas

saans laat God my, as bevoorregte hoor,
hoe mense rou betoog en skree
maar ek kan hul niks gee
Hulle sit vas
gegiet in glas

ek kan hulle nie "touch"

van hulle deur water
van hulle deur vuur
van hulle deur aarde
wanneer kom my uur

soms met hande
soms met koëls

en ek begin al banger banger en allener voel

almal agter glas en ek alleen netjies en gepas
sit bevoorreg in my voorkamer veilig
heilig
agter glas
vas.

Skitterend!

 

[Cat]

It made me think about how i haven't seen news on tv much since 1994; since then, i haven't had tv, except sometimes when visiting mother. And i'd avoided it since sometime in the 1980's, when i realised that it was bad for me to eat with PW Botha ranting and wagging his finger.

google is not helping me, to find the Afrikaanse poetry book we had in highschool. i can almost see the cover, sort of blue and purple, but not a clue what it was.

Breyten Breytenbach, i'd almost completely forgotten about him. There was some book that made quite an impression, can't remember its name either.

 

[johan]

It made me think about how i haven't seen news on tv much since 1994; since then, i haven't had tv, except sometimes when visiting mother. And i'd avoided it since sometime in the 1980's, when i realised that it was bad for me to eat with PW Botha ranting and wagging his finger.

google is not helping me, to find the Afrikaanse poetry book we had in highschool. i can almost see the cover, sort of blue and purple, but not a clue what it was.

Breyten Breytenbach, i'd almost completely forgotten about him. There was some book that made quite an impression, can't remember its name either.

TV news is bad for anyone "Die Groot Krokodil" whom you refer to is like watching a Walt Disney cartoon compared to what is thrown at viewers today . If you remember your high school poetry book, let me know, I will most probably find it in my wife's library - scan it in and email to you.

 

[Cat]

wow Scan a book, that is some work. But now i have no idea what to search for. i vaguely remember it being disposed of, eventually, after lying in a cupboard for years. It's really bugging me.
The English poetry in high school, Std.8, i remember that i was touched by the WW1 poems, and there was a long list of names of boys from the school who had died at Delville Wood; there were two monuments in front of the old school building.

 

[huffnpuff]

Poetry doesn't need to be deep or foreboding to be memorable. Sometimes just entertaining. The one main theme that got constantly rammed down our throats in Afrikaans literature through highschool was "Smart en Lyding", so these little crass pieces by AG Visser really stand out for me and still conjure up a smile:

Winter
AG Visser
Fok, ...dis koud.

and my favourite...really lets the conservative types cringe:

Om te poep is nie ‘n sonde nie – Deur A. G. Visser


O’ gonna ek hoop dis die einde van die kerk
Ek kan nie meer sit nie, my maag wil werk
Die dominee praat lank en die son sit laag
Die vreeslikste pyne kruip rond in my maag

Eers word ek warm en dan weer koud
Nog nooit in my lewe was ek al so benoud
Dominee, dominee praat tog klaar
My rug trek krom die gort is gaar

Dit knal en dit kraak en my derms kreun
Toe los ek ‘n poep wat die gallery laat dreun
Die mense kyk om en ek bloos my bloedrooi
Die skaamste van almal was Sannie, my nooi

Die dominee bly stil sy oë omgedop
Die vrou ager my se hoed sit skeef op haar kop
Kort agter die hake van die stereo klank
Volg die gemeente se reaksie op die vreeslike stank

Party begin hoes en ander te proes
Ander weer waai met sakdoeke woes
My oë traan my kop die sak
Toe kom die vrees dak ek in my broek sal kak

Sowaar as wragtig net die volgende keer
Is dit toe presies wat moes gebeur
Ek dag dis ‘n poep want die drukking is kwaai
Te laat besef ek dis ‘n ander lawaai

Geskok na die gerommel soos ‘n donderstorm
Kom ek agter die poep het ‘n knopperige vorm
Die dominee bly stil en gluur my aan
‘n ouderling begin woedend sy weg na my toe baan

Ek spring met mening op om weg te hol
Maar word teruggetrek deur ‘n tienpond drol
Die ouderling kom nader sy arms bak
Ek skrik so groot dat ek ‘n groter bol kak

My broek is nat en die pype staan wyd
So het ek my laas as kind beskyt
Die ouderling gryp my ek kan nie beweeg
Toe maak ek vir “spite” die res op hom leeg

Nou is hy woedend en soos ‘n bees so sterk
Hy “freewheel” my kop tussen my bene uit die kerk
My sinne word dof van die walglike reuk
Die “cheek” om my kop tussen my bene te steek

My maag is so seer my bene die knak
Al wat ek voel is die groot bol kak
Die ouderling steun en druk and die bol
En druk die ding amper terug in my hol

Buite los hy my en storm na binne
Stadig herstel ek van my bedwelmde sinne
Die ding wat my sedertien nog altyd verstom
Is hoe het ek die Sondag by die huis gekom

Een ding het ek van kerkgang geleer
As jou maag wil werk sit naby die deur
En as jou derms begin draai en jou poephol blom
Sorg dat jy vinnig by die kakhuis kom

 

[Cat]

seriously lol a flowing rhyme, indeed. oh hell man, i left this page open and went away for couple hours, came back and found this. This would be a good one for my friend in Holland.

 

[DarthBranMuffin]

It has been a long time since I have penned a poem... waking up on the plane 15 minute before landing in Durban last night this one just sprung out of nowhere while staring out the window at the lights of the towns and the darkness inbetween...

Adrift, Apart...

We are scattered islands in an ocean of darkness
Nothing connecting them but an imaginary path
No way to tell if still connected or separated
What lies beneath the surface can make us cry, or laugh

If there was light, would you want to see
What lies between, you and me
Or is the shadowy abyss all that is left for us
Can we find a way to end the endless sus...

(Me - 29 May 2021)

 

[Hooked]

It has been a long time since I have penned a poem... waking up on the plane 15 minute before landing in Durban last night this one just sprung out of nowhere while staring out the window at the lights of the towns and the darkness inbetween...

Adrift, Apart...

We are scattered islands in an ocean of darkness
Nothing connecting them but an imaginary path
No way to tell if still connected or separated
What lies beneath the surface can make us cry, or laugh

If there was light, would you want to see
What lies between, you and me
Or is the shadowy abyss all that is left for us
Can we find a way to end the endless sus...

(Me - 29 May 2021)

Touching words @DarthBranMuffin

 

[Grand Guru]

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