Diana van den Berg-2

THE BEGINNING AND THE END . . . in the explosion of light they knew but they knew though they knew and they turned away and the darkness descended and they cried while they knew . . .

LOAD-SHEDDING AND SIXTH COPPER THEFT 21 July 2015 More copper wrenched out and waterless and lights out . . . but when was I ever there in gratitude for pipes and water, taps and light that are my almost every day and night? and when did I last ache for those they aren’t? and how little did you get to drag you wunga-down?

EARLY MORNING BATH 11 November 2001 Sun gold dazzle through frosted glass finds my face and soaks summer warmth into the strained muscles of my strengthening smile. Hot water wraps around me in a morning hug with promises of a sunny day and I emerge with pain dripping from me in splatters. I love the sun and the sun loves me and that is enough.

DÎTES AU VENT ± 1975 Dîtes au vent, dîtes au vent que je suis rentrée chez toi. Dîtes au vent, dîtes au vent de chanter au bois. Il était doux comme un chaton quand tu m’as retrouvé au soleil l’été sur la plage; Comme un petit chien qui aboit sans cesse pendant notre querelle; Sa voix était un cri déchirant la nuit que je t’ai quitté, avec ses reproches d’abandon. O, le vent, notre vent, partie de notre vie, qu’on lui dise, qu’on lui dise, qu’il retrouve dans nos vies les rapports d’harmonie. TELL THE WIND Tell the wind, tell the wind that I have returned to you. Tell the wind, tell the wind to sing in the forest. It was as gentle as a kitten when you found me again in the sun in summer on the beach; Like a little dog who yaps incessantly during our quarrel; Its voice was a raucous scream the night I left you, with his reproaches of abandon. O, the wind, our wind, part of our life, may it be told, may it be told, that it finds again in our lives the bond of harmony.

JAN ± 1974 Le soleil brille, la lune luit, mais toi, tu ne le sais pas. L’argent bruit, l’avenir luit, mais moi, je ne le sais pas. Je sens l’écorce du saule sous les doigts. À quoi sert te l’expliquer? L’épervier excite la compassion du moineau Toi, l’épervier, moi, le moineau. JAN The sun shines, the moon glows, but you, you don’t know that. Money jingles, the future glows, but me, I don’t know that. I feel the bark of the willow under my fingers. What is the use of explaining it to you? The hawk evokes the compassion of the sparrow, You, the hawk, me, the sparrow.

MY SORROW AT YOUR SELF-DESTRUCTION I long to comfort your anguish at being alone and your withdrawals from both your wild outreachings, but now I’ve learnt to nurture me as well so must reject my heart’s beseechings. The only safeguard from my dangerous caring and my wish to part, in sadness sharing, is no contact at all of any kind, nor telling you what’s on my mind, and this must hold no matter what the cost and so you pay and I ache for what you lost.

GRAINS OF SAND As she sat on the beach sifting sand through her fingers she watched the colours of time falling through to gone.

CHANCES IN THE MIST Words tiptoe towards the blue of distant hills looking back in supplication as they go and the edges of yesteryear whisper in gracious recognition of the tenuous tomorrows yet to be spoken.

THE TALE OF TAILS And there I thought that kittens had tails to help them balance. Little did I know they are for their siblings to catch. Diana van den Berg

STORYTIME Under whispering trees in dappled shade, come sit with me on this fallen log in the gentle hours. And I will read to you poetry of times long gone when forests breathed sweet fragrances and life was slow. Feel your worries slip away to the leaf-soft carpet unwelcome as you step into this wonderworld of magic tales and mystery. Let me paint your dreams and wishes and hopes and memories alive where the sun by day and the moon by night embrace you and let your spirit dance and sing, remembering. And when the poems end as all must do, may you arise and may your workaday be soft-edged and bright-hearted and for that I will be smile-glad.

LET US UNITE AND SAVE THE WORLD, TOGETHER 1 February 2015 Saving or destroying the world is a choice – a simple choice for cynics and defeatists and cowards to mock and for the brave and determined merely to do. Let us dare to recognise the constant of change. Let us dare to open our minds to it. Let us dare to be different. Let us dare to be mocked. Let us dare to guide the lost. Let us dare to fail and try again – and again and again and again. Let us know the triumph of failure and the glory of repeated failures for failure is merely the badge of attempt and determination, an achievement of note and without which we fade into nothing and die. Let us dare to smile through our tears and face and conquer our fears and look back and wonder why we let them keep us prisoners. Let us want, with united breath, to save the world, one element, one baby step, at a time and let us go ahead and do it. Let us not wait until the well is dry to learn the value of water. Let us tread lightly and with compassion on field and the hearts of foes. Let us awaken in the seed of our beings that which builds and nurtures and illuminates. Let us use our skills and talents to blend old wisdoms and modern living. Let us cherish and honour the moral code which bonds us, teaches us, protects us limits us to that which is good for all. Let us paint a wide-sky future for a diverse but united world. Let the wind and rain cleanse us of greed and replace it with the exhilaration of giving. Let us take from the earth and each other that which is freely given and only what we need, and let us return those gifts a thousandfold. Let us remember we chose our leaders and let us choose wisely those who truly lead. Let us use our complaints to find solutions. Let us clear the garbage from our minds and fill them with forest-air. Let us expose the delicious secrets of harmony and balance and savour them on our tongues with exquisite delight. Let us excite in each other a desire to protect, nurture and revere, each day at least one person, one animal, one plant, one idea, one beauty and uncover one ugliness to expose the beauty underneath. Let us look for a problem a day, to solve in the pleasure of the path to unity. Let us notice and relish the microcosmic and macrocosmic wonders of our miracle world of multiple hidden simplicities and intriguing complexities. Let our spirits grow our spirituality and harness them with power for progress. Let them overflow their limits and flood the earth with the growth and joy that our planet offers, if only we accept them, so that all beings can celebrate them together. Let us do, say and think that which is positive and effective for what purpose would any other actions, words and thoughts serve? Let us embrace our differences and use them to repair and strengthen what we cannot ourselves - and revel in our similarities in song and dance of body and mind. Let us take the effort that comes from caring and wrap it around the world in adoration. Let us take the camaraderie we know and leak it to a namaste, ubuntu world. Let us invest in the youth, the spring of our world, to blossom in their summer, and consolidate in their autumn, and pass on to earth’s progeny in their winter. Let us grow humility to drown our pride and egocentricity. Let us stimulate our intellect and explode in all, the joy of thought. Let the buck stop with us. The solution is as difficult as it is easy. Are you in?

GILBERT KHUZWAYO, WE WILL LOOK AT THE SUN AND REMEMBER YOU 17 January 2002 (NOTE: Gilbert was the head groom at the stables where I kept my horse, Flicka. Gilbert had been a groom at the stables for over 30 years, and most of that time he was the head groom. He was killed by a car on 13 January 2002, while walking on the side of the freeway. He was airlifted to hospital, but didn’t survive. My horse had been at those stables for 14 years. There is no exaggeration in the poem which is written in the tradition of a combination of a Zulu praise poem and a natural outpouring of grief.) Siyakala, siyakala, uGilbert wethu shonile . We, your siblings, your two wives, your children, your fellow grooms, the stable management, the committee, the horse-owners, the horses, the children who come here for riding lessons on the school ponies, their parents, riding members, non-riding members, friends of members, the people who delivered or collected, in fact, everyone you came into contact with, - whether once in your life - or every day - we cry our hearts empty and raw. Gilbert, the rivers overflow with our tears. The heavens echo with our calls to you. Our hearts are breaking. We don't understand why you had to go, but God does. He took you early because He needed another angel in Heaven and He chose you, of all indunas, to be an induna of other angels because you were the very best induna here on earth. You taught us all. You made us smile. You made us laugh. We were always happier because of you. We were wiser because of your wisdom. You were always happy. You calmed the angry. You lifted the spirits of the sad. You warmed the hearts of the lonely. You comforted the worried. The horses were shinier, happier, healthier, better cared for because of you. We all loved you, respected you, listened to you, did as you asked, asked your advice. You were our sunshine on cloudy days, our cool breeze in the burning heat of summer, our warmth in wintry weather, our shining light, a very present help, in times of trouble. You never turned anyone away empty-handed - you always had time for everyone - if there was no time, you made the time. We are so glad that you have no more pain. No harm can touch you ever again where you carry out your further tasks for God and all humanity, the way you did here on earth for us all and for our beautiful horses, with love in your heart for all. You were too good to remain on earth. You belong in Heaven with God and the other angels. Your laughter, will live on in the wind, the hum and clatter of the tractor, the clanging of the trolleys, the loud whinnies and soft nickers of the horses, the sweeping of the brooms. It will reverberate through the stableyard, and the hearts of your wives, your children, your family, and your family here at the stables, for we were all your family. You were Our Gilbert, Our Macici. You are still Our Macici, Our Gilbert. You will always be Our Gilbert, Our Macici. We will turn our heads or come round corners, expecting to see your smiling, happy face - and we will. It will be in the sunshine, the blue of the sky, the green of the grass and the trees, the neatness and cleanliness of the stableyard, the smiles and the greetings of the grooms, once the time for tears is over. We will ask you for the same advice, the same information, the same help, and we will feel your presence, and hear your voice in the stillness of our hearts, leading us, guiding us, helping us as you always did. We will read your answers and your messages in the sky - fluffy white common sense against ocean blue in the working day, vibrant, sensitive swirls and splashes - the colours of dreams and hopes - at the rising and the setting of the sun, and reassuring starlight and moonglow in the dark, dark night. Do you remember how you and I used to joke, - amongst so many other things - about your grey tractor-horse that you fed with petrol? Malume cries for his Gilbert too. Every single one of us has our own special memories of you, your smiles, your laughter your warmth. You were an induna par excellence. You never misused your position. Everyone looked up to you, looked for you, relied upon you. Your wives and children must be so very, very proud that so many, many people loved and respected you so very, very much. Now you are an induna amongst the angels, But we will always have Gilbert at the stables. Your laughter and your voice will ring everywhere. We will look for you when we hear the tractor starting. We will see you wave above its noise and carrying on with your daily tasks with excellence. We will hear you laughing and joking with the grooms and calling out to each other as you work in the harmony that is Gilbert. There will come a time that our tears will slowly dry although that seems impossible now. When that time comes we will remember you with smiles in our heart. We will forever remember your laughter, your smiles, your good nature, your friendship, your unstinting help. We will not forget you. We cannot forget you. You are a part of our lives. We will carry you here in our hearts. You will live forever in our memory. You will live in the calls of our horses. Each time they whinny or nicker, there will be a message for you, too. Your spirit will be with us always. None of us, alone, can carry the light that you carried in our lives, so we will have to help each other carry on your work of lighting up the lives of all around us. We will do that. We will do it for you and we will look at the sun - setting, rising, shining on high - and we will remember you. That is all that is left that we can do for you, now. We thank you for giving us and the stables and the horses so much of your life and your love. We are all the richer for your gift. And God, please take care of Our Gilbert, Our Macici. Make him feel at home amongst the other angels. They will love him too, we know. Nkosi siyacela ukuthi izinsuku zika Gilbert zibe nokukhanya njengoba uGilbert kade eletha ukukhanya empilweni yethu sonke ebesisebenzisana naye. We loved you, Gilbert. We love you still. We will always love you. We mourn for you, but we don't want our tears to spoil your happiness at being an angel of God. You will want us to pick up our hearts and carry your light, I can hear you telling us not to cry, but Gilbert, grant us our time to cry. It will help us heal. We will not cry forever, Gilbert. We promise that. When we have overcome the irrepressible tears, we will stop mourning your death, and we will again be happier because of you, and we will celebrate your life instead and we will carry your light for you, together, because of you, and with you, because your spirit will be with us helping us do that. But for now siyakala, siyakala, uGilbert wethu shonile. - from Diana van den Berg and Flicka (Malume) - on behalf of everyone who loves you _____________________ TRANSLATIONS OF ZULU Siyakala, siyakala, uGilbert wethu shonile We cry, we cry, our Gilbert has passed on. (Shonile is used for the setting of the sun as well.) Induna means headman or boss. Macici (meaning earrings because he wore sleeper earrings) was Gilbert’s nickname with the grooms. The ‘c’ is one of the 3 Zulu clicks and is sounded by placing the tongue behind the front teeth and against the gums, and then depressing the centre of the tongue, then release the tip of the tongue pulling it slightly backward. This is the click heard in the English tut-tut sound. Malume means Uncle. That was my horse, Flicka’s nickname between me and the grooms, because when Flicka’s sister, my two-legged daughter, Tania, gave birth to her first child, David, Flicka became an uncle. Nkosi siyacela ukuthi izinsuku zika Gilbert zibe nokukhanya njengoba uGilbert kade eletha ukukhanya empilweni yethu sonke ebesisebenzisana naye God, we pray that just as Gilbert brought light into our lives, may we continue his work and bring light to others.

PENSIVE A smile almost whispered across her October face washing it with morning light. Nobody knew nor would they have understood, nor could they, nobody, except her animals and everyone else’s and those running free. The trees mingled with her thoughts teasing them in soft greens and browns and greys, swirling them in kaleidoscope patterns that danced sacred memories in the breeze. She slow-breathed the fluff-ball acacia air permeated with dreams and lifted her face to the sky to be kissed by the sun, like a waking daisy basking in gratitude and happiness and the deep, deep secrets of the rich, brown earth. She was of her beloved earth since time began. She was one of its special secrets as it was hers.

LUCKY ME I smile my joy at my lucky life, full of blessings and beneficial strife – too many of each to list tonight, but three that are ever burning bright: music, soulful, soft and real, and poetry that holds my heart in quiver-seal, and a forest that breathes and moves and grows, born of dreams that a rainbow sows. I want to hold on to each fluid note that charms my ear and savour every taste of it just like each sparkle-word of every poem I breathe and wrap around myself and each leaf of every tree I glory at, but there are too many notes and beautiful poems and leaves, and even if I live to be a hundred-and-thirty-one, there is so little time and their abundance is what makes me feel like a gypsy wandering under a starbright sky, a penniless millionnaire.

DECELERATION DREAM Again, to bend like a reed when a tiny bird finds it and so to stay for a sparkle-moment that loses itself on the sun’s dial and the moon’s arc-journey across the night to relish a rainbow hue of savoured word-births untinged by tickled ears to breathe sweet, sweet hay born of harvest-sun’s heart and soothed by mother-moon’s grace to wrap my smiles in the glee of infinite blue forever-skies with little laughing fluff-bubbles of suspended cottonwool to sew my seeds of joy-labour in microcosmic detail-delight and sleep my silvered restoration until vibrant morning-light all this wonder storm-free in the comforting cocoon of cool-shaded solitude on a simmering summer day all this untamed treasure unrushed unblemished is Heaven’s bliss.

WRITING POETRY IN THE DARK silhouette of feline elegance and canine paws on windowsill hypnotising chorus of epauletted fruit bats not a breath of wind stirs the trees shapes of furniture loom out of the gloom in shades of oldworld browns and shadowed greys and background black kitty food bowl shines silver-bright on dressing table invisible dove-grey seascape emerges from my memory time crawls the walls in patterns painted by the moon and I reach for respite out of scrambled stress and slowly slip into ponderings of thises and thats and why’s and hows and the night embraces me and invites my mind into dark-night forest-dance I acquiesce and peace pervades my being I float on nothingness and work guilt rides away on gentle thermals and . . . ah the light returns and wipes out the dark and reveries and dance are gone as if they never were. . . kettle on for tea

DAUGHTER OF THE WILDS The sky was a splash of orange and the shadows long-legged and bordered with quivering gold, and a silence surged over her as she felt the centuries unravel down her spine. Eggshell memories of nameless ancestors crept into her unhurried mind and she met herself in them, brushed into flickering silhouettes, fire-dancing in the dying gasps of the waning day. The sun’s final glance released her into loss, and she turned and faded into the grieving night, a world away, at fingertip-touch.

SAD SONG I brought you home a traffic light. You didn’t notice it until it hissed and barked and meowed and grew into a toffee tree. You climbed aboard a shiny leaf and sang Oh Strawberry Jam, how did you know that I am me and that I really am? You flapped your rings and flew aday and landed on November who paints houses, garden walls and sings. Do you honestly september? The world grew big and round the corner came a little hat. The moon up in the cry no more fell leftwards in to bat. And now you’ve heard the store your money in the sank. And why the silver arm, leg, foot got stuck in thick, thick blue. I really think I’ve lost the mitts of my shrunken tinnny rind, p’raps left it in the rain to dry with grated orange mind. ________________________ Sad Song - Neither sad nor a song – the whole poem coming up with facts and words, especially rhyming words and enjambment words, that are not the ones expected I brought you home a traffic light - something I thought my daughter-in-law said to my son, but it wasn’t anything like that at all rings - wings aday - away November - September, the house-painter september - remember hat - cat cry - sky leftwards - not forwards store - story sank - bank arm - army blue - glue mitts - bits shrunken rind = shrunken mind orange mind - orange rind

NIGHT’S PILLOW The corners of the night curl around my drowsy thoughts and the pregnant silence gives easy birth to froggy song backed by hypnotising cricket hum and peace cocoons me in its tender embrace. I smile a languorous last goodnight at my forest sentinels on guard around the house and slip softly into the secret glade of sleep.

SOMETIMES Sometimes it is hard to smile . . . sometimes . . . A heaviness gets in the way and stagnates the dance and breath forgets and eyes are glazed sometimes . . . Shadows hide the light and dreams are blurred and trapped in black and tomorrows die upon a pyre stacked high with sticks as dry as fire as dead as paper words erased sometimes . . . and song remembers not and what was there in colours bright in skywide light is forever spent and shrivelled grey that is not there sometimes . . . and bark and branch and velvet, silk and tweed and glass don’t thrill at finger touch sometimes . . . and flowers sweet in flimsy dress mourn slow with drooping heads and clouds close in with sombre stress and thunder strikes up the last post grave in solemn demise sometimes . . . Sometimes it is hard to smile . . . sometimes . . .