POEM FOR NELSON MANDELA

Madiba Bay

(Poem in honour of Nelson Mandela)

Through your streets I went wandering

saw Madiba and Biko smiling
and strolling through your townships

Blinded by the sun and silvery shacks

I saw you sheltered by angels from above
for future years and every nightfall

We salute you, Madiba

today we are sad, but not broken-hearted
because this rainbow nation
flies on wings of emancipation.

Lala ngoxolo, tata Madiba.

©2013 Selwyn Milborrow

"... I will always fall short of Madiba’s example, he makes me want to be better..." - Pres Barack Obama speaking at the memorial service for Nelson Mandela

"It is hard to eulogize 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." - President Barack Obama speaking at the memorial service for Nelson Mandela

ELEGIE VIR NELSON MANDELA

Elegie vir Nelson Mandela

Vandag, 5 Desember 2013, is dié dag –

‘n oomblik vir stilstaan, onthou en besin oor ‘n leier soos min.

In hierdie oomblik van stilte

laat ons mooier luister, beter verstaan
en sodoende duideliker praat –
nederig en sonder enige kwaad.

Met Hani se dood was ons land op ‘n mespunt

en het jy gepleit om sy dood nie te wreek,
maar liewer vrede en versoening te preek
en ons red van ‘n burgeroorloghel.

Jy’t onthaal met konings en presidente

en prinse en prinsesse, tee met tannies geniet
en 'n springboktrui by ‘n wêreldbeker gedra.

Onder jou leierskap het ons ver gekom

en nou kan ons alleen voortgaan
want jy laat agter ‘n morele kompas.

Jou heengaan laat ‘n leemte

nie net vir ons reënboognasie nie,
maar die hele mensdom.

Tata, die ouderdom het jou kom haal

nog lank voor die dood* kon,
maar jy’t ons geleer ‘n hartseertraan
word eindelik ‘n traan van blydskap.

Rus nou sag, tata Madiba –

Lala ngoxolo, tata.

* “Die dood is iets onafwendbaar. Wanneer 'n mens gedoen het wat hy as sy plig teenoor sy mense en sy land ag, kan hy in vrede rus. Ek glo ek het dit vermag en daarom sal ek in die ewigheid kan slaap.” - Nelson Mandela

©2013 Selwyn Milborrow

SHORT STORY - THE FIRST AID KIT

The first aid kit - Selwyn Milborrow

Ken stared blankly as he surfed the DSTV channels. "Mommy, please help!" he called. Then again, without waiting for a response, "Mommy!" "I am busy. What do you want, Ken?" He continued surfing the TV channels without answering her. Within seconds her footsteps approached him. "I am bored," he said sheepishly.

He knew it was the wrong thing to say because she folded her arms and glared at him for a second. "But seriously, mommy. I am bored. There's nothing on the TV." His mom took a deep breath. Her cheeks were flushing. "Over fifty channels and you are telling me there is nothing to watch!" His mother was fuming as she walked out of the lounge to continue ironing the clothes. After sulking for a few minutes, Ken switched off the TV and played a few games on his Playstation. It didn't take him too long to realize that he was bored again.

"You really are bored today," his mom said as she entered the lounge. "I didn't do anything this summer. I mean, I didn't go anywhere at all." She tilted her head and said, "well, I could give you more work to do, Ken." His eyes literally froze in his head. "No, mommy! I already did my chores this morning!" His mom nodded. "Then this calls for an emergency kit." Ken is confused. "Yes, a first aid kit, Ken" She enjoyed the state of confusion he found himself in. "Mommy, I am confused." "You told me how bored you are and I think the only way to rescue you from this boredom is to give you something special." With that, she turned and went down the passage. Ken followed her. He suddenly had a renewed hope in his mom's ability to bring excitement back into his boring life. He tried hard to keep from jumping up and down.

His mom was the kind who bought presents all year long and kept it for a rainy day. Today is one of those rainy days. "Go wait in the lounge, Ken" He knew he was not allowed in her closet. Before long, he was sitting on the couch and watching as his mom brought a medium-sized box out from behind her back. She had a smile on her face. "A box. What's in it?" She sat next to him. "It's guaranteed to keep you from being bored." "What is it?" Ken asked, picking up the box to shake it. "It is heavy!" His mom set the box on her lap and began telling him a personal story. "When I was a young girl, we didn't have DSTV or Playstation games. There was no DVD movies or game centres to entertain us during the long school holidays." His mom paused and cleared her throat. "But when we got really bored, there was one thing we could always do." She watched as Ken ripped off the paper around the box. "Mommy, it's books!"

His mom frowned, but her eyes were smiling. "Mommy, school is out. It's the December holidays. I wanted something fun to do. Not this; not something like reading a book!" His mom shook her head. "You know how much fun it is was when I read to you. You are now old enough to read to yourself." Ken didn't look pleased. "Besides, these aren't just any books. These books are filled with great adventures! And nothing is more fun than reading a great story." Ken stood up and walked to the front door. "Okay, I am out..." "Not so fast. Come back here, young man. If you learn to love a good story, you'll never be bored." He slid onto the couch and rolled his eyes. "I'll make a deal with you, Ken. Pick a book and go to your room and read it. When you are finished, you can come to the kitchen for a snack and drink." His eyes were bulging. "And then what." His mom smiled. "Then we will talk about the story you read, young man." His room's door closed behind him with more than its usual force. Ken picked a story called "Final first chance." Weird title he thought. He held the book upside down in front of him and turned the pages. "Go now, go to your room and finish that book." The picture on the cover showed a group of children playing in park. Next to a swing was a smiling boy in a wheelchair. The boy had the happiest face. Why is he so happy? Ken wondered. He started reading and didn't take his eyes off the page even when he lowered his legs and lay flat on the floor. Ken was lost in the story of the boy in the wheelchair. He watched as a snake dangled from a tree close to the paralyzed boy. Suddenly a child jumped against a branched and the snake fell down. Ken held his breath as he turned the page. He didn't blink. "Ken?" "Mommy, you scared me to death!" "That's okay." His mom laughed. "Join me in the kitchen for that promised snack when you finish your story."

Ken saw how the snake fell next to the boy in the wheelchair. Without blinking the boy pushed his wheelchair forward just enough to crush the snake's head. "Ken!" He started cheering for the boy. "Ken! Ken!" "Oh, mommy. Just a second. I have to see how the boy is being made a hero." His mom laughed. In the kitchen, Ken tried to talk with his teeth still stuck in his sandwich. "Mommy, you should read the story of the paralyzed boy. He is totally awesome." "So, reading isn't so bad, hey? Ken had a smile on his face. "Mommy, why didn't you give me the books sooner?" His mom enjoyed the moment. "Why, do you ask me that question, Ken?" "Because, mommy ... Because I could have been reading them all summer." She smiled. "Because I knew this day was coming, and I would need need a first aid kit." "I'm sorry, mommy. A big hug led to a moment

BIRD'S-EYE VIEW (A POEM)

bird’s-eye view

is it a sweet spring day

as you sit next to the road
in a strange country?

what’s in the bag next to you
is it filled with rainbows & hopes
does the city’s inner heart hear
your dreams of a better tomorrow?

have you written it down in your journal
for years later to ponder on?

go on -
lay your dreamy head on your hand
and enjoy the bird’s-eye view!

SCHOOLS KILL CREATIVITY

Do you agree with the following statement: “Schools kill creativity.”

Albert Einstein once said “Creativity is knowing how to hide your sources”. Well I tried my best, but have to mention Sir Ken Robinson in this article. He wants to know why don't we get the best out of people? He argues that it's because we've been educated to become good workers, rather than creative thinkers. Students with restless minds and bodies are ignored or even stigmatized, with terrible consequences. "We are educating people out of their creativity," Robinson says. It's a message with deep resonance.

It is a known fact that every education system on Earth has the same hierarchy of subjects: at the top are mathematics and languages, then the humanities, and the bottom are the arts.” I am an artist and believe me when I say the arts are being neglected. I believe that creativity now is as important in education as literacy, and we should treat it with the same status.

"The greatest scientists are artists as well," said Albert Einstein. As one of the greatest physicists of all time and a fine amateur pianist and violinist, he ought to have known! For Albert Einstein, insight did not come from logic or mathematics. It came, as it does for artists, from intuition and inspiration.

Sir Ken led led a massive inquiry into the significance of creativity in the educational system and the British economy. His 2009 book, The Element: How Finding Your Passion Changes Everything, is a New York Times bestseller and has been translated into 21 languages. His latest book, Finding Your Element: How to Discover Your Talents and Passions and Transform Your Life, was published in May 2013. 

Bottom of FormBottom of Form

For Albert Einstein, insight did not come from logic or mathematics. It came, as it does for artists, from intuition and inspiration. Makes one think!

DI SMS-TAAL WT OS PRAT

“Hi bru. K wndr wmj vndag. Dux j of is j al op?” Ek kry ‘n hol kol op my maag. Is my taal besig om te sterf? Ek dink aan prof. Ampie Coetzee, emeritus-professor in Afrikaans aan die Universiteit van Wes-Kaapland, se voorspelling dat Afrikaans gaan uitsterf as onderwystaal. ‘n Donker vooruitsig! Ek kyk na die onleesbare SMS wat ‘n vriend my stuur. Of is ek dalk disleksies? Ek antwoord nie dadelik nie. Na tien minute kom nog ‘n SMS boodskap deur. Weereens onleesbaar. Ek bel hom. “My selfoon se skerm is seker weer opgeneuk want jou SMS’e is nie leesbaar nie.” Hy lag. “Jy moet “kom by”, broer. Dis SMS-taal. ‘n Man het te min airtime om lang sinne te skryf. There’s no time for airtime. Hoe korter, hoe beter.

 

Ek kry anyway meer SMS’e uit soos daai!” Ek maak keelskoon. “O, ek hoor jou, maar ek sukkel om daai Latyns te verstaan...” Hy skree van die lag op die agtergrond. “Laat ek explain,” keer hy. “Hi k wndr wmj vndag. Dux j of is j al op?” beteken “Hallo, ek wonder wat maak jy vandag. Slaap jy of is jy al op?” Ek lees die SMS weer en verstaan meteens sy boodskap. “Nee, ek slaap nie. Ek is al douvoordag op want ek moet voor die einde van die week ‘n kortverhaal vir my uitgewer gereed hê. Die eerste en beste idees kom immers vroegoggend wanneer mens in voeling is met jou onbewustelike self. Is dan in staat om te delf in die rykdom van materiaal wat gedurende die dag begrawe word.” Hy skree weer van die lag. “Jy klink soos Paula van Sewendelaan, my broer!”

Later die dag kry ek weer ‘n SMS van hom af: “Bru wt mak ns di nawek? Of j leka ani slp?” Ek vuur 'n SMS boodskap af aan hom: “Fone me if u hav sometin 2 sy 2 me!" My sel lui. My “Latynse” vriend se nommer flits op die skerm. Ek kan sy gedempte lag hoor. “Jy kan mos lekker sms-taal gooi, broer!” Ek lag saam. “Stuur maar gerus nog van daai SMS’e na my toe. Ek wil ‘n volle rubriek doen in SMS-taal. Ek wil dit na ‘n koerant toe stuur.” Hy dink dis ‘n goeie idee aangesien dit meer jongmense sal lok om koerant te lees. “Dit gaan cool wees. Jongmense het nie altyd lus vir stywe Afrikaans nie. Afrikaanse SMS-taal kan dalk ook een van die land se amptelike tale word. Koerante is anyway vir jonk en oud bedoel,” voeg hy by. Later die aand bel hy en vra wanneer begin ek skryf aan my eerste SMS-rubriek. SMS-taal is cool, maar wat van Afrikaans? Basta! Hy meen ek is onnodig angstig oor Afrikaans se oorlewing. Maar beslis nie irrasioneel nie!

Die ontwikkeling van die internettegnologie het gelei tot die ontstaan van goedkoop en nuwe kommunikasiemiddele. Facebook en Twitter is op selfone beskikbaar. Ek begin toe hardop wonder: Is lesers gereed vir ‘n rubriek in SMS-taal? Is redakteure gereed? Ek reik na my selfoon en begin my SMS-dialek te oefen. Ek moet erken dat dié loslittige taal baie bevrydend voel. Selfoon-gebruikers glo mos immers dat SMS-dialek jou boonop tyd én geld bespaar. Ek dink weer aan die idee van ‘n rubriek in SMS-taal. Eendag wanneer daar so ‘n rubriek gaan verskyn, hoop ek dat dit myne sal wees.

GEDIG VIR ELISABETH EYBERS

gedig vir Elisabeth Eybers

dit was makliker

om as dogter en digter
die kollig te vermy

maar ag wat ‘n slag

toe jou seun heengaan
en die lewe sy bordjies
om jou raam

en ál waarop jy kon staan –

'n geslypte loopraam
wat soos ‘n diamant
in een hand pas
en die dood en lewe
wat die ander was

ELEGIE VIR 'N DIGTER

elegie vir ‘n digter
(vir Patrick Petersen 1951-1997)

ek is ‘n doodgewone ou
wie die reënboogkleure meng
en ‘n huldeblyk verf
nét vir jou

só swaar om protes en pyn
deur jou pen te voel vloei
tog was dit vir joú
ver verhewe bo vers en kwatryn

noú wil ek jou prentjie skilder
op ‘n doek wat nooit sal afskilfer

want ál onthou ek
die gehuil van ‘n pen
versteen in ‘n oomblik
toe bloed en metaal meng
weet ek ook jỳ
kon jou oë in vrede sluit
met jou laaste huistoery

٭ Patrick Petersen was ‘n dominee, digter en uitgewer. Hy het op 6 Junie 1997 in ‘n motorongeluk gesterf.

DIE SKILDER (POETRY/GEDIG)

die skilder

(by die afsterwe van Amos Langdown*)

vrouefigure beur teen die wind
in ‘n ander staan ‘n ma met haar kind
só kon jy nog altyd met ‘n kwasstreep
die lewe se kaalvoetmerke verf

buite teen ruite teken reёndruppels
kontoere deurweek in kleure

nóú wil my woorde
jou op hiérdie doek verf

want elke keer as dit reёn
word verf verwaterde trane
wat wegsink in Plet** se duine

stil is die skilder se hand

٭ Amos Langdown was ‘n bekende skilder van Port Elizabeth, Suid-Afrika. Hy het die skone kunste aan die Rijks­aka­de­mie van Beeldende Kunsten in Amsterdam, gestudeer. Hy was later dosent aan die Dower-opleidingskollege in Port Eli­zabeth.
Hy was al uitgenooi om van sy skilderye in München, Uganda, New York en Londen en op die Venesiese Biënnale uit te stal. Van sy werke is opgeneem in versamelings in Duitsland, Italië, Holland en die Smithsonian-instituut in Washington. Hy het illustrasies gedoen vir die skrywers Alba Bouwer, Pieter Grob­belaar en Hester Heese asook vir die digter P.J. Philander. Die Bruin Kokon, waarin hy die digkuns van Philander illustreer, het in 1965 die lig gesien. Langdown se eerste uitstalling was in 1964 in die Edrich-galery op Stellenbosch – ’n eerste vir ’n bruin skilder.

** Plet is ‘n afkorting wat inwoners van Plettenbergbaai gewoonlik gebruik wanneer hulle na die kusdorpie verwys. Amos Langdown is hier gebore.

FACEBOOK CONFESSIONS PAGES OF UNIVERSITIES

Nowadays most universities have a Facebook page where students anonymously post their confessions. They share saucy secrets and embarrassing moments. Reading through a few of the confessions on made me realize that students can finally share their frustrations and disillusionments with others.

These confessions are anonymous and understandably very candid and exposing. The posts demonstrate the amazing senses of humour students possess. One student wrote, “I like to stop the microwave at 0.01 seconds. Makes me feel like I’m defusing a bomb and saving lives.” Another wrote, “If I ran out of milk, I would quite regularly borrow my housemate’s and top it up with water.” Reading these confessions also made me realize just what a diverse population of students we have at universities. Some of these students possess outrageous survival techniques. Confessions range from students rolling out the toilet paper onto pens to take to their residence because they cannot afford it, other students having a crush on a lecturer, and some even selling the free condoms distributed at campus restrooms. To me this is the reality of South African student life.

The confessions page is the new alternate voice for students. It has become a new kind of soap box. Taboo topics are dissected and discussed at length. Needless to say you get your imaginative student who wants to live out his/her fantasies on this confession page. A colleague remarked that some of the confessions he read was loaded with wild fantasies. He thinks that many use the page for fun and as a break away from their books. One should however be aware of personal attacks or character assassination in these confessions. This is where those running the pages must play a huge role. They must ensure that posts aren’t offensive or discriminating. Unity should be at the top of their priority list followed by diversity and values.

ACHIEVE THAT DREAM!

I can only speak from personal experience, but separate from anything else that I've done with my life; one of my greatest achievements has been as a writer. I started off against all odds. At high school I was laughed at when I said that I want to be a writer. Maybe it was because I made the statement way back during the Apartheid era when there wasn't that many opportunities for Coloureds. Today I am a published author with more than four books and my articles and poems featuring in countless magazines and websites.

Dear reader, you were born with talents, gifts or strengths. But in order to clearly understand these attributes you must first dig deep to discover them. Once discovered you can use them in a way that brings joy to others.

I believe that you have a dream of writing a book. I can hear you saying loud and clear that you are not willing to only wish or dream about writing your book. I know that you are ready to move into action and achieve the dream that's inside of you.