A Tribute to Nelson Mandela. Hamba kahle Tata

Dr Maya Angelou 

 – His Day is Done –

 a tribute poem for Nelson Mandela 

 

His day is done.

Is done.

The news came on the wings of a wind

Reluctant to carry its burden.

Nelson Mandela’s day is done.

The news, expected and still unwelcome

Reached us in the United States and suddenly

Our world became somber.

Our skies were leadened

His day is done.

We see you, South African people

Standing speechless at the slamming

Of that final door

Through which no traveler returns.

Our spirits reach out to you

Bantu, Zulu, Xhosa, Boer

We think of you

And your Son of Africa,

Your father

Your One More Wonder of the World.

We send our souls to you

As you reflect upon

Your David armed with

A mere stone facing down

The Mighty Goliath,

Your Man of strength Gideon,

Emerging Triumphant

Although born into the brutal embrace of Apartheid

Scarred by the savage atmosphere of racism,

Unjustly imprisoned

In the bloody maws of South African dungeons.

Would the man survive?

Could the man survive?

His answer strengthened men and women

Around the world.

In the Alamo in San Antonio, Texas

On the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco,

In Chicago’s loop

In New Orleans Mardi Gras

In New York City’s Times Square

We watched as the hope of Africa sprang

Through the prison’s doors

His stupendous heart intact

His gargantuan will

Hale and hearty

He had not been crippled by brutes

Nor was his passion for the rights

Of human beings

Diminished by twenty-seven years of imprisonment

Even here in America

We felt the cool

Refreshing breeze of freedom

When Nelson Mandela took

The seat of Presidency

In his Country

Where formerly he was not even allowed to vote

We were enlarged by tears of pride

As we saw Nelson Mandela’s

Former prison guards

Invited, courteously, by him to watch

From the front rows

His inauguration.

We saw him accept

The world’s award in Norway

With the grace and gratitude

Of the Solon in Ancient Roman Courts

And the confidence of African Chiefs

From ancient royal stools.

No sun outlasts its sunset

But will rise again

And bring the dawn

Yes, Mandela’s day is done,

Yet we, his inheritors

Will open the gates wider

For reconciliation and we will respond

Generously to the cries

Of Blacks and Whites,

Asian, Hispanics,

The poor who live piteously

On the floor of our planet

He has offered us understanding

We will not withhold forgiveness

Even from those who do not ask

Nelson Mandela’s day is done

We confess it in tearful voices

Yet we lift our own to say

Thank You.

Thank You, Our Gideon.

Thank You, Our David.

Our great courageous man

We will not forget you

We will not dishonor you

We will remember and be glad

That you lived among us

That you taught us

And

That you loved us

All!

Johnny Clegg (With Nelson Mandela) - Asimbonanga - 1999 France

Here  are  the  words  to  the  above  song : 

Asimbonanga (We have not seen him)
Asimbonang' uMandela thina (We have not seen Mandela)
Laph'ekhona (In the place where he is)
Laph'ehleli khona (In the place where he is kept)

Oh the sea is cold and the sky is grey
Look across the Island into the Bay
We are all islands till comes the day
We cross the burning water

Chorus....

A seagull wings across the sea
Broken silence is what I dream
Who has the words to close the distance
Between you and me

Chorus....

Steve Biko, Victoria Mxenge
Neil Aggett
Asimbonanga
Asimbonang 'umfowethu thina (we have not seen our brother)
Laph'ekhona (In the place where he is)
Laph'wafela khona (In the place where he died)
Hey wena (Hey you!)
Hey wena nawe (Hey you and you as well)
Siyofika nini la' siyakhona (When will we arrive at our destination)  

Poem written by Johnny Clegg and recited at the `CAPE TOWN MEMORIAL DAY, Cape Town stadium 11th December, 2013 (with author's corrections as of 14/12/2013)

Izinyoni ezimbili ezindiza phezulu
kanti amagwababa
akhuza instumanistumani
umhlol'englehlela
athi abone inkunzi emnyama yaseQunu
eboshiwe esibayeni sabelungu for 27 years ..

athi ayibona lenhunzi iyaqwanda , iyanikinika ikhanda
iyabodla ithi :" sincane lesi isibaya , ngoba esami isibaya siwumhlaba wonke jikelele!
manini bantu bakithi, ngoba ngiyeza…."

nangempela wahluleka uDF Malan , wahluleka uVerwoerd, wahluleka uJohn Voster , Wahluleka uPW Botha
wazewathamba uFW De Klerk wathi ;" Sangathi baya phunyuka bemphethe lenkunzi
ngoba noma uzoqamuka ngapha uzodibana nendoda , noma uzoqamuka ngapha uzohlanagana nendoda , noma uzoqamuka
ngalena uzonyathela phezukwendoda"

sisho wena Madiba !!
ingane kaGadla
indodana kaPhakanyiswa
iphupho elihle elika Ngubencguka

bayajabula Abathembu
ngoba bazele ipompi elinganasivalo
lokhu ligeleza umoya ka-freedom
lithi: "how can you be free if I am not free and how can I be free if you are not free?"
uphondo olukhulu olugwaza isibahabaha sezulu
khona lizophuma ilanga libakhanyisele laba abamhlophe
abahlezi emyameni

okwezindaba ezixoxwa ePalamende
zisadinga wena Madiba
ngoba uyakhuluma, uyabulabula, uya-buwa, uya-praata , uyathetha 'macala
abanikazi be-English bayadumala ngoba uyabahlula ngolimi lwakubo
bazebabamba umlomo , bebamba ongaphansi ngoba ongaphezulu kunezindenda namafininyilo

ukhamba olukhulu olugcwele inhleko nomusa
umgqomo onganankitsho
indebe yabaThembu
uma uthi ayphuza uzothola
amanzi amtoti woxolo

Translation(by Johnny Clegg): This poem is written within the classic tradition of Zulu praise poetry and some phrases use exclusive idioms that cannot be precisely translated.

two birds flying in the sky
whereas they were crows
and they were struck by the portentous
event they saw below
they said they saw a black bull from Qunu ( Mandela's birthplace)
trapped in the cattle enclosure of the White People for 27 years
they say they saw the bull pawing the ground, shaking its head from side to side,
and bellowing " this enclosure is too small for me , for my true enclosure is the entire world ,
wait for me my people for I am coming …"

and indeed , DF Malan failed, Verwoerd failed, John Vorster failed, Pw Botha failed until FW De Klerk
softened and said " It is clear that this bull breaks those who think they are in charge of it
because if you were to appear from here, you would discover a Man , and if you were to appear from over there
you would still discover a Man , and if you were to appear from far yonder, you would have stepped on a Man!" (i.e. you will find him a man , from any direction and any perspective - always the same, true to his warrior nature and therefore also trustworthy)

we praise YOU Madiba
child of Gadla (Mandela's father's name)
son of Mphakanyiswa( Mandela's father's second given name )
beautiful dream of Ngubengcuka ( Mandela's great , great , great grandfather , king of the Tembu Tribe)

Happy are the Tembu
for they have sired a faucet
that cannot be closed
it (the faucet) says: "how can you be free if I am not free and how can I be free if you are not free?"
that constantly pours out the spirit of freedom

great horn that stabs the sky
so that the sun can appear and give light
to those white people still sitting in the darkness

of the matters that are discussed in Parliament
they are still in need of you
because you speak in all languages and preside over all deep issues
the owners of the english language are overwhelmed that you can use the language with such facility
they are so amazed that they grab their bottom lip because the top lip is too close to the mucous membrane

great clay pot full of laughter and kindness
great barrel that has no handles
drinking cup of the Tembu
such that if you drank it
you would find the sweet waters of forgiveness .

hamba kahle Tata

Obama's tribute to Mandela: The full speech : 

To Graça Machel and the Mandela family; to President Zuma and members of the government; to heads of state and government, past and present; distinguished guests – it is a singular honor to be with you today, to celebrate a life unlike any other. To the people of South Africa – people of every race and walk of life – the world thanks you for sharing Nelson Mandela with us. His struggle was your struggle. His triumph was your triumph. Your dignity and hope found expression in his life, and your freedom, your democracy is his cherished legacy.

It is hard to eulogise any man – to capture in words not just the facts and the dates that make a life, but the essential truth of a person – their private joys and sorrows; the quiet moments and unique qualities that illuminate someone’s soul. How much harder to do so for a giant of history, who moved a nation toward justice, and in the process moved billions around the world.

Born during World War I, far from the corridors of power, a boy raised herding cattle and tutored by elders of his Thembu tribe – Madiba would emerge as the last great liberator of the 20th century. Like Gandhi, he would lead a resistance movement – a movement that at its start held little prospect of success. Like King, he would give potent voice to the claims of the oppressed, and the moral necessity of racial justice. He would endure a brutal imprisonment that began in the time of Kennedy and Khrushchev, and reached the final days of the Cold War. Emerging from prison, without force of arms, he would – like Lincoln – hold his country together when it threatened to break apart. Like America's founding fathers, he would erect a constitutional order to preserve freedom for future generations - a commitment to democracy and rule of law ratified not only by his election, but by his willingness to step down from power.

Given the sweep of his life, and the adoration that he so rightly earned, it is tempting then to remember Nelson Mandela as an icon, smiling and serene, detached from the tawdry affairs of lesser men. But Madiba himself strongly resisted such a lifeless portrait. Instead, he insisted on sharing with us his doubts and fears; his miscalculations along with his victories. "I'm not a saint," he said, "unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying."

It was precisely because he could admit to imperfection – because he could be so full of good humor, even mischief, despite the heavy burdens he carried - that we loved him so. He was not a bust made of marble; he was a man of flesh and blood – a son and husband, a father and a friend. That is why we learned so much from him; that is why we can learn from him still. For nothing he achieved was inevitable. In the arc of his life, we see a man who earned his place in history through struggle and shrewdness; persistence and faith. He tells us what’s possible not just in the pages of dusty history books, but in our own lives as well.

Mandela showed us the power of action; of taking risks on behalf of our ideals. Perhaps Madiba was right that he inherited, "a proud rebelliousness, a stubborn sense of fairness" from his father. Certainly he shared with millions of black and colored South Africans the anger born of, "a thousand slights, a thousand indignities, a thousand unremembered moments … a desire to fight the system that imprisoned my people."

But like other early giants of the ANC – the Sisulus and Tambos – Madiba disciplined his anger; and channelled his desire to fight into organisation, and platforms, and strategies for action, so men and women could stand-up for their dignity. Moreover, he accepted the consequences of his actions, knowing that standing up to powerful interests and injustice carries a price. "I have fought against white domination and I have fought against black domination," he said at his 1964 trial. "I’ve cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die."

Mandela taught us the power of action, but also ideas; the importance of reason and arguments; the need to study not only those you agree with, but those who you don’t. He understood that ideas cannot be contained by prison walls, or extinguished by a sniper’s bullet. He turned his trial into an indictment of apartheid because of his eloquence and passion, but also his training as an advocate. He used decades in prison to sharpen his arguments, but also to spread his thirst for knowledge to others in the movement. And he learned the language and customs of his oppressor so that one day he might better convey to them how their own freedom depended upon his.

Mandela demonstrated that action and ideas are not enough; no matter how right, they must be chiseled into laws and institutions. He was practical, testing his beliefs against the hard surface of circumstance and history. On core principles he was unyielding, which is why he could rebuff offers of conditional release, reminding the Apartheid regime that, "prisoners cannot enter into contracts." But as he showed in painstaking negotiations to transfer power and draft new laws, he was not afraid to compromise for the sake of a larger goal. And because he was not only a leader of a movement, but a skillful politician, the Constitution that emerged was worthy of this multiracial democracy; true to his vision of laws that protect minority as well as majority rights, and the precious freedoms of every South African.

Finally, Mandela understood the ties that bind the human spirit. There is a word in South Africa – Ubuntu – that describes his greatest gift: his recognition that we are all bound together in ways that can be invisible to the eye; that there is a oneness to humanity; that we achieve ourselves by sharing ourselves with others, and caring for those around us. We can never know how much of this was innate in him, or how much of it was shaped and burnished in a dark, solitary cell. But we remember the gestures, large and small – introducing his jailors as honoured guests at his inauguration; taking the pitch in a Springbok uniform; turning his family’s heartbreak into a call to confront HIV and Aids – that revealed the depth of his empathy and understanding. He not only embodied Ubuntu; he taught millions to find that truth within themselves. It took a man like Madiba to free not just the prisoner, but the jailor as well; to show that you must trust others so that they may trust you; to teach that reconciliation is not a matter of ignoring a cruel past, but a means of confronting it with inclusion, generosity and truth. He changed laws, but also hearts.

For the people of South Africa, for those he inspired around the globe – Madiba’s passing is rightly a time of mourning, and a time to celebrate his heroic life. But I believe it should also prompt in each of us a time for self-reflection. With honesty, regardless of our station or circumstance, we must ask: how well have I applied his lessons in my own life?

It is a question I ask myself – as a man and as a president. We know that like South Africa, the United States had to overcome centuries of racial subjugation. As was true here, it took the sacrifice of countless people – known and unknown – to see the dawn of a new day. Michelle and I are the beneficiaries of that struggle. But in America and South Africa, and countries around the globe, we cannot allow our progress to cloud the fact that our work is not done. The struggles that follow the victory of formal equality and universal franchise may not be as filled with drama and moral clarity as those that came before, but they are no less important. For around the world today, we still see children suffering from hunger, and disease; run-down schools, and few prospects for the future. Around the world today, men and women are still imprisoned for their political beliefs; and are still persecuted for what they look like, or how they worship, or who they love.

We, too, must act on behalf of justice. We, too, must act on behalf of peace. There are too many of us who happily embrace Madiba’s legacy of racial reconciliation, but passionately resist even modest reforms that would challenge chronic poverty and growing inequality. There are too many leaders who claim solidarity with Madiba’s struggle for freedom, but do not tolerate dissent from their own people. And there are too many of us who stand on the sidelines, comfortable in complacency or cynicism when our voices must be heard.

The questions we face today – how to promote equality and justice; to uphold freedom and human rights; to end conflict and sectarian war – do not have easy answers. But there were no easy answers in front of that child in Qunu. Nelson Mandela reminds us that it always seems impossible until it is done. South Africa shows us that is true. South Africa shows us we can change. We can choose to live in a world defined not by our differences, but by our common hopes. We can choose a world defined not by conflict, but by peace and justice and opportunity.

We will never see the likes of Nelson Mandela again. But let me say to the young people of Africa, and young people around the world – you can make his life’s work your own. Over thirty years ago, while still a student, I learned of Mandela and the struggles in this land. It stirred something in me. It woke me up to my responsibilities – to others, and to myself – and set me on an improbable journey that finds me here today. And while I will always fall short of Madiba’s example, he makes me want to be better. He speaks to what is best inside us. After this great liberator is laid to rest; when we have returned to our cities and villages, and rejoined our daily routines, let us search then for his strength – for his largeness of spirit – somewhere inside ourselves. And when the night grows dark, when injustice weighs heavy on our hearts, or our best laid plans seem beyond our reach – think of Madiba, and the words that brought him comfort within the four walls of a cell:

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

What a great soul it was. We will miss him deeply. May God bless the memory of Nelson Mandela. May God bless the people of South Africa.

Hamba Kahle Tata 

 (Go well, father)

And this is the song that I have been thinking of all week and which ends this post :

Bright Blue `Weeping'

 

Mid-Term Break by Seamus Heaney

Mid-Term Break by Seamus Heaney

Posted by meredith kempthorne on Sunday, September 1, 2013 Under: Poetry

Image via The Telegraph : August 30^th, 2013

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were 'sorry for my trouble,'
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.

Seamus Heaney (1939 - 2013) remembered :

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/sep/01/seamus-heaney-roy-foster-appreciation

Seamus Heaney.....some of his best lines :

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/booknews/10276092/Seamus-Heaney-his-10-best-poems.html

Seamus Heaney - The Nobel Prize in Literature 1995 :

The Nobel Prize in Literature 1995

"I credit poetry for making this space-walk possible."

To Whom it may Concern by Sipho Sepamla

Posted by meredith kempthorne on Sunday, September 30, 2012 Under: Poetry

To Whom it may Concern

by

Sipho Sepamla                

Bearer

Bare of everything but particulars

Is a Bantu

The language of a people in Southern Africa

He seeks to proceed from here to there

Please pass him on

Subject to these particulars

He lives

Subject to the provisions

Of the Urban Act of 1925

Amended often

To update it to his sophistication

Subject to the provisions of the said Act

He may roam freely within a prescribed area

Free only from the anxiety of conscription

In terms of the Abolition of Passes Act

A latter-day amendment

In keeping with the moon-age naming

Bearer's designation is Reference number 417181

And (he) acquires a niche in the said area

As a temporary sojourner

To which he must betake himself

At all times

When his services are dispensed with for the day

As a permanent measure of law and order

Please note

The remains of R/N 417181

Will be laid to rest in peace

On a plot

Set aside for Methodist Xhosas

A measure also adopted

At the express request of the Bantu

In anticipation of any faction fight

Before the Day of Judgement.

-----------------------------------------------------------

“I Remember Sharpeville” by Sipho Sepamla      

On the 21^st March 1960

on a wrath-wrecked

ruined-raked morning

a black sea surged forward

its might ahead

mind behind

it had downed centuries-old containment…

it sucked into its core

the aged and the young…

into a solid compound

of black oozing energy

in a flash

of the eye

of gun-fire…

they fled they fell…

our heads bowed

our shame aflame

our faith shaken

we buried them for what they were

our fallen heroes and our history

  

Both the above photographs © Drum Social Histories / Baileys African History Archive / Africa Media Online

(Photographs by Peter Magubane, Ian Berry, G.R.Naidoo and W. Calder BAHA)

 

The  above  2  photographs  taken  from  : http://globalprep.wikispaces.com/Nelson+Mandela

Both of the above photographs taken from  : http://globalprep.wikispaces.com/Nelson+Mandela

 The  following  is  referenced  from  Wikipedia.org :

Sydney Sipho Sepamla,born 1932, Soweto, Johannesburg- died 9^th January, Brakpan, South Africa. He was both a poet and a novelist and published his first volume of poetry, Hurry Up to It!, in 1975. Sepamla has been grouped with poets such as Oswald Mtshali and Wally Mongane Serote, the group is often referred to as the “poets of the big cities” or “new city poets”. These “big cities” are not Johannesburg, Cape Town and Durban, but rather the “Black” cities of Soweto, Langa and Kwa Mashu.

Sepamla's early poetry was not entirely focused on political themes, unlike the other “big city poets”. However, in 1976 Sepamla became a member of the Medupe Writers Association (banned along with 16 other black consciousness movements on the 19th October 1977 by Jimmy Kruger, South Africa's Minister of Justice at the time)and after this more of his poems, developed a political undertone. The collection ‘The Soweto I Love' (1977) was banned during apartheid. 

He was a founder of the Federated Union of Black Artists (now the Fuba Academy of Arts) and editor of the literary magazine New Classic and the theatre magazine S'ketsh.

He published several volumes of poetry and novels. He received the Thomas Pringle Award (1977) and the French Ordre des Arts et des Lettres for his writing. More recently in democratic South Africa he was a member of the government's Arts and Culture Task Group.

Poetry

• Hurry Up to It! (Donker, 1975)
• The Soweto I Love (1977)
• Selected poems (Donker, 1984)
• From Gorée to Soweto (1988)

Novels

• The Root is One (1979)
• A Ride on the Whirlwind (1981

Tall Stories ____________________________________________

• Fine Books for Discerning Readers •

Dear Book People,

Tall Stories and the Book Concierge (and Agatha-Panther , book shop cat ) are pleased to invite you to a conversation between author (and book shop owner) Andre Kruger and Corina van der Spoel.

Die Twee Lewens Van Dieter Ondracek (Afrikaans, Paperback)
Andre Kruger

Spoorwegingenieur Dieter Ondracek word Gerhard Weber nadat hy vlug uit die puin van Nazi-Duitsland. In Suid-Afrika bring twee dinge vir hom hoop op 'n nuwe begin: sy werk by die spoorwee, waar hy weer met sy geliefde "vlamdiere" kan werk, en die buurdogtertjie Kietie en haar ma Magda. Dan daag sy eertydse SS kollega Kurt Wolff op, met dreigemente en gerugte oor ODESSA en Sabine. Dieter/Gerhard besef dat sy verlede uiteindelik besig is om hom in te haal.

Railway engineer Dieter Ondracek becomes Gerhard Weber after he flees the ruins of Nazi Germany. In South Africa, two things bring promise of a new beginning: his job at the railways, where he is once again surrounded by his beloved ”flame beasts”, an d little Kietie and her mother Magda, his neighbours. But when his former SS colleague Kurt Wolff arrives, with threats and rumours about ODESSA and Sabine, Dieter/Gerhard realises that his past has come back to haunt him.

Human & Rousseau : Cape Town (2012).
Royal Octavo. Pictorial Wrappers. Soft Cover.
ISBN-13 978-0-7981-5672-1
Barcode 9780798156721
Languages Afrikaans
Categories Adventure / thriller

"World domination is just a State of Mind".

André Krüger woon in Pretoria, maar kom van Johannesburg. Hy is tans ’n kieskeurige boekhandelaar - hy verkoop allerlei tipes solank hulle van papier gemaak is.

Hy was vroeër ’n te aterplekaanwyser, ontvangspersoon, vertaler, verkoopsman, prokureur en kwasi-professionele student. Tydens ’n uitgerekte, verbete poging om die lewe te ontduik het hy vier grade verwerf. Die Meestersgraad in Filosofie het hom laat huppel, terwyl die regsgrade hom gereeld laat ween het.

André Krüger lives in Pretoria, but comes from Johannesburg. He is a picky bookseller – he sells all types as long as they are made of paper.

He has been theatre usher, receptionist, translator, attorney and semi-professional student. During an extended and dogged attempt to avoid life, he finished four degrees. Of these four, the most pleasurable but also least useful one was a Masters in Philosophy.

Copies of the book will be on sale, wine will be provided by Leopard's Leap and snacks will be provided by Primi Piatti.

Please RSVP to :
tallstories@megaweb.co.za
Agatha-Panther book shop cat and I hope to see you there.

Wopko Jensma : SPANNER IN THE WHAT? WORKS

Wopko Jensma.Born 26th July, 1939. Disappeared without trace after August, 1993



Wolf Weinek - Walter Saunders - Wopko Jensma - opening at Gallery Y -
image© taken from the website : http://www.art-archives-southafrica.ch/JENSMA.htm

SPANNER IN THE WHAT?WORKS
i was born 26 July 1939 in ventersdorp
i found myself in a situation
i was born 26 July 1939 in sophiatown
i found myself in a situation
i was born 26 July 1939 in district six
i found myself in a situation
i was born 26 July 1939 in welkom
i found myself in a situation
now, when my mind started to tick
i noticed other humans like me
shaped like me: ears eyes
hair legs arms etc ... (i checked)
we all cast in the same shackles:
flesh mind feeling smell sight etc...
date today is 5 april 1975 i live
at 23 mountain drive derdepooirt
phone number: 821-646, post box 26285
i still find myself in a situation
i possess a typewriter and paper
i possess tools to profess i am artist
i possess books, clothes to dress
my flesh; my fingerprint of identity
i do not possess this land, a car
much cash or other valuables
I brought three kids into this world
(as far as i know) . .
i prefer a private to a public life
(i feel allowed to say)
i suffer from schizophrenia
(they tell me)
i'll die, i suppose, of lung cancer
(if i read the ads correctly) '
i hope to live to the age of sixty
i hope to leave some evidence
that i inhabited this world
that i sensed my situation
that i created something
out of my situation
out of my life
that i lived
as 'human
alive
i
i died 26 July 1999 on the costa do sol
i found myself in a situation
i died 26 July 1999 in the grasslands
i found myself in a situation
i died 26 July 1999 in the kgalagadi
i found myself in a situation
i died 26 July 1999 in an argument
i found myself in a situation

Wopko Jensma,born on 26 July 1939 was a South African poet and artist.

As a privileged,white artist, he spoke openly about the injustices that were experienced by Black people during apartheid. His poems Once and Now, speaks about racism experienced by young girls working as domestic workers. Written around the 1970s, these poems could also be read as an extension of his personal experiences with the South African government. He had a mixed racial marriage that was not allowed or even recognized by the South African laws. But, Once and Now, is not the only poem in which Jensma displays his distaste of apartheid laws, in Where White is the colour/Where Black is the number, critically looks at the meaning of being Whiter and Black in South Africa. Written in 1977, this poem was banned. He often makes use of multiple languages in his poems to empahsise his points.

Later in life, Jensma was diagnosed as a schizophrenic, which incapacitated his artistic skills and may have led to his becoming a vagrant. He was last seen at a shelter, the Salvation Army Men's Home, in August of 1993 before disappearing without a trace.

Prior to this he had been a family man married to an African, Lydia, with whom he had two children, a son and a daughter.

Poems

1973 Sing for our Execution

1970 Ophir 12

1975 Snarl 1

1977 I must show you my clippings

1977 Where White is the colour/Where Black is the number (banned)

Exhibitions

1968 New York USA

1970 UNISA (Sik-Screen Exhibition)

1971 DAM (Art SA)

1972 Wail for the Beast

1979 SANG (SA Printmakers)

Content for this posting has been taken from the following 2 sites :

http://www.sahistory.org.za/people/wopko-jensma

http://www.art-archives-southafrica.ch/JENSMA.htm

The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Lord Tennyson

"Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS (6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892) was Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom during much of Queen Victoria's reign............"

"...Born on August 6, 1809, in Somersby, Lincolnshire, England,Alfred Tennyson is one of the most well-loved Victorian poets. Tennyson, the fourth of twelve children, showed an early talent for writing. At the age of twelve he wrote a 6,000-line epic poem.......".

The Poem has inspired many artists & musicians.

William Holman Hunt,The Lady of Shalott, c.1889-92. Manchester, Manchester City Art Gallery.

W.E.F. Britten's photogravure

John William Waterhouse (1849–1917) I am half-sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott. 1916. Oil on canvas.

John William Waterhouse: The Lady of Shalott [on boat] - 1888.Oil on canvas.The Tate Gallery- London, England

Actual Size (W x H): 200cm x 153cm

You can listen to musician, Loreena McKennitt's version of the Lady of Shalott :

"Loreena McKennitt (born February 17, 1957) is a Canadian singer, composer, harpist, accordionist and pianist who writes, records and performs world music..........."
The Lady of Shalott

by

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Part I

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

To many-tower'd Camelot;

And up and down the people go,

Gazing where the lilies blow

Round an island there below,

The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes dusk and shiver

Thro' the wave that runs for ever

By the island in the river

Flowing down to Camelot.

Four gray walls, and four gray towers,

Overlook a space of flowers,

And the silent isle imbowers

The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,

Slide the heavy barges trail'd

By slow horses; and unhail'd

The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down to Camelot:

But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land,

The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early

In among the bearded barley,

Hear a song that echoes cheerly

From the river winding clearly,

Down to tower'd Camelot:

And by the moon the reaper weary,

Piling sheaves in uplands airy,

Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy

Lady of Shalott."

Part II

There she weaves by night and day

A magic web with colours gay.

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her if she stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro' a mirror clear

That hangs before her all the year,

Shadows of the world appear.

There she sees the highway near

Winding down to Camelot:

There the river eddy whirls,

And there the surly village-churls,

And the red cloaks of market girls,

Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,

An abbot on an ambling pad,

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,

Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

Goes by to tower'd Camelot;

And sometimes thro' the mirror blue

The knights come riding two and two:

She hath no loyal knight and true,

The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights

And music, went to Camelot:

Or when the moon was overhead,

Came two young lovers lately wed:

"I am half sick of shadows," said

The Lady of Shalott.

Part III

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,

He rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flamed upon the brazen greaves

Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow field,

Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung in the golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily

As he rode down to Camelot:

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armour rung,

Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together,

As he rode down to Camelot.

As often thro' the purple night,

Below the starry clusters bright,

Some bearded meteor, trailing light,

Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

"Tirra lirra," by the river

Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,

She made three paces thro' the room,

She saw the water-lily bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

"The curse is come upon me," cried

The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd Camelot;

Down she came and found a boat

Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Seeing all his own mischance--

With a glassy countenance

Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing of the day

She loosed the chain, and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white

That loosely flew to left and right--

The leaves upon her falling light--

Thro' the noises of the night

She floated down to Camelot:

And as the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

Till her blood was frozen slowly,

And her eyes were darken'd wholly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the tide

The first house by the water-side,

Singing in her song she died,

The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By garden-wall and gallery,

A gleaming shape she floated by,

Dead-pale between the houses high,

Silent into Camelot.

Out upon the wharfs they came,

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

And round the prow they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?

And in the lighted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer;

And they cross'd themselves for fear,

All the knights at Camelot:

But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, "She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott."