Daar word op die oomblik in die kerk meer gepraat oor self-ontplooiing as oor self-opoffering.-Anon.......As ‘n kerk haar woorde begin devalueer, dan word die kerk ‘n ramp vir die volk. - K Schilder



What is it anyway?
Poetry is philosophy's sister
the one that wears make-up
-Jennifer Grotz


Liza-Nel said...

The Journey of the Magi - T.S. Eliot

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times when we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities dirty and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wineskins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

(Hierdie gedig beskryf Eliot se persoonlike reis van agnostisisme tot sy bekering in 1927.)

Liza-Nel said...

The Old Gumbie Cat
T.S. Eliot

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
And when all the family's in bed and asleep,
She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice
Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;
So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
She teachs them music, crocheting and tatting.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
She is sure it is due to irregular diet;
And believing that nothing is done without trying,
She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
She makes them a mouse--cake of bread and dried peas,
And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do
And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.

Gideon said...

Liza, ek kan darem nie sien dat enigiemand vir jou sal kwalik neem nie. Jy doen só baie vir hierdie blog, en niemand is foutloos nie.

Ek glo ons almal waaldeel jou vleeslik baie - ek is so lustig ool jou dat ek sommel begin sleeptong plaat.

Henrietta said...

Ferlinghetti skilder so 'n kalm, rustige prentjie, maar soms ruk 'n gedig diep aan 'n mens se emosies, soos hierdie een:

Not much wild life, roared mine leonine Host
from the fringe of a forest of crackles
round an old dome-headed steam radio,
between hotel and river – a mile of bush –
except for the wildcats and jackals.

And he, of these parts for years, was right.
That evening I ventured with no trepidations
and a torch, towed by the faculty
I cannot understand, that has got me
into too many situations.

Under a tree, in filtered moonlight,
a ragged heap of dusty leaves stopped moving.
A cat lay there, open from chin to loins;
lower viscera missing; truncated tubes
and bitten-off things protruding.

Little blood there was, but a mess of
damaged lungs; straining to hold its breath
for quiet; claws fixed curved and jutting,
jammed open in a stench of jackal meat;
it tried to raise its head hating the mystery, death.

The big spade-skull with its lynx-fat cheeks
aggressive still, raging eyes hooked in me, game;
nostrils pulling at a tight mask of anger
and fear; then I remembered hearing
they are quite impossible to tame.

Closely, in bowl of unmoving roots,
an untouched carcass, unlicked, swaddled and wrapped
in trappings of birth, the first of a litter stretched.
Rooted out in mid-confinement: a time
when jackals have courage enough for a wildcat.

In some things too, I am a coward,
and could not here punch down with braced thumb,
lift the nullifying stone of stiff-edged hand
to axe with mercy the nape of her spine.
Besides, I convinced myself, she was numb.

And oppressively, something felt wrong:
not her approaching melting with earth,
but in lifetimes of claws, kaleidoscopes:
moon-claws, sun-claws, teeth after death,
certainly both at mating and birth.

So I sat and gentled her with my hand,
not moving much but saying things, using my voice;
and she became gentle, affording herself
the influent luxury of breathing –
untrammelled, bubbly, safe in its noise.

Later, calmed, despite her tides of pain,
she let me ease her claws, the ends of the battle,
pulling off the trapped and rancid flesh.
Her miniature limbs of iron relaxed.
She died with hardly a rattle.

I placed her peaceful ungrinning corpse
and that of her firstborn in the topgallants
of a young tree, out of ground reach, to grow: restart
a cycle of maybe something more pastoral,
commencing with beetles, then maggots, then ants.

Douglas Livingstone

Liza-Nel said...

Ek sit met 'n knop in my keel - dit is werklik treffend.

Jy kan wel die caracal/lynx mak maak mits jy hulle vanaf ongeveer 4weke begin hanteer.

Henrietta said...

Ja Liza, ek het dit hoévéél keer knop-in-keel, traan-in-oog, as gedig met skoolkinders en studente behandel...

Hoe ouer ek word, hoe meer sien ek ooreenkomste in die diereryk by mense - - daar is mense (stukkende, gewonde "wildcats") wat mens net so sagkens moet hanteer ....

Mart said...


Herman, jou skepe
lê weer in die baai.
Hulle kom van ou oorde
waar ver winde waai;
van Java en Malta,
Beiroet en Bombaai…
Maar waar jy vanaand is,
kan ons maar net raai.

Ons wou nog praat oor Leningrad,
Khartoem en Zanzibar;
toe laat jy vir my alleen agterbly
met ‘n droom en ‘n gebreekte kitaar.

Maar, Herman, jou skepe
lê weer in die baai.
Hulle kom van ou oorde
waar ver winde waai;
van Java en Malta,
Beiroet en Bombaai…
Maar waar jy vanaand is,
kan ons maar net raai.

Waar jy vanaand is,
kan ons maar net raai…

- Koos du Plessis

Mart said...

Die Taal Van My hart

Kyk, die son skyn in die hemel
Dit is die einde van die nag
Ek was verdwaal in die donker
Ek het die pad weer teruggevoel
Vroeër was ek ryk aan woorde
Nou’s ek stiller, ek het verander
Maar my stem,my stem bly brand
Dit is my vuur, kom maak jou warm

Hoor die taal van my hart
Hoor die taal van my hart
En al klink ek soms gebroke
Gebroke en verward
Dit is die taal van my hart

Ek het my spieëlbeeld sien val
Ek lê aan skerwe op die grond
Ek het myself leer ken
As heldin en as ‘n hond
Daar is so weinig meer oor
Van al my woede en geweld
Maar ek ken nou ook my donker kant
Ek het vrede met myself

Ek sing die taal van my hart
Hoor die taal van my hart
En al klink ek soms gebroke
Gebroke en verward
Dit is die taal van my hart

Jy kan my vat net soos ek is
Jy mag van my hou
Jy mag my ook haat
Ek is wie ek is
Dit is my wêreld
En dit is my stem

En al klink ek soms gebroke
Gebroke en verward
Dit is die taal van my hart
Die is die taal van my hart
Dit is die taal van my hart

Stef Bos

Mart said...

Hillside lullaby

ek bly hier in die dorp waar die treine fluit
& die sjanters nag na nag die treine op
spore skuif
& ek is heel allright
onthou die dag toe jy by my sou bly…
hoe het ons storie toe verder verloop?
treine wat sjant, treine wat bly
treine wat altyd hier in kringe ry.

droom van my & laat my vry vannag

vanoggend vroeg was daar ‘n harde slag
onder by die kant van die railwaybrug
maar als was heel allright
dit is net dat ek so na jou verlang
& in die meantime maak alles my bang
al my woorde lê leeg in my hand
want my hart slaap by jou waar die treine

droom van my & laat my vry vannag

- Gert Vlok Nel

Mart said...

Jy wil ons neem na waar wat was vergaan, wil ons onthaal waar
die dood opstaan, waar die antwoord verskyn en die vlees verdwyn wil jy jou liefde verklaar

As die eer my gegee was om jou grafsteen te skryf sou ek 'n
ode uitkrap vir die rowe op jou lyf…

Jy wil ons neem na waar die vreemde wag
Waar iemand anders gaan besluit of jy moet huil of moet lag
Ons bagasie is swaar
En ons kennis is maer
Ek wil nie gaan nie want die meeste is al daar

As daar drome te bestel was, wat sou jy koop
'n Lewe sonder einde sodat jou hart vir ewig klop?
As daar geld te verdien was, waar sou jy werk
'n Dief of sluipmoordenaar of 'n Priester in die kerk?


Mart said...


After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn love doesn't mean leaning and company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts and presents aren't always promises
and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and and your eyes ahead with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong and you really do have worth and you learn and you learn
with every good-bye you learn.

- Veronica A. Shoffstall

Mart said...

In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

And every time I've held a rose
It seems I only felt the thorns
And so it goes, and so it goes
And so will you soon I suppose

But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows

So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows


Henrietta said...

Ek hou van Herman, Mart! (hehehe - nie SO bedoel nie,,, ) wie wat hier lees het dalk Skipskop se woorde?

Liza-Nel said...

(Ek het dit toevallig byderhand gehad op my rekenaar).

Pak op, pak op
sit jou goedjies op jou kop
more gaan ons weg,
ver van hier weg
skipskop, skipskop,
wanneer hou die dinge op
swaarkry le net voor
die blou berge oor
overberg se mens
isse ek gebore,
op die plek skipskop
nes my pa en sy pa ook.
hier deurie duine, loop onse spore
hier op die beach hier langs die see is ek gedoop
maar wat ken ek anders
as die bloudam se branders
die wolke en die winde wat hier waai
maar verkoop jou bootjie, pak op jou goedjies
en se maar so long skipskop, skipskop se goodbye
linkerhand, o die regterhand
wat se kant le die plek, misverstand
'seblief meneer, ag se tog weer
is dit die pad wat ons moet more vat
'n stukkie le hier en 'n stukkie le daar
stukkies van my lewe hulle le deurmekaar
tel op tel op vir shorty en vir pop
gaan haal vir apie en hou daai kindjie dop
maar wat ken ek anders
as die blou dam se branders
die wolke en die winde wat hier waai
pak op jou goedjies, pak op jou goedjies,
se maar so long skipskop skipskop se goodbye
se maar so long skipskop skipskop se goodbye

Liza said...

G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

Liza said...

Skielik is jy vry."

As niemand van jou hoor nie, as niemand van jou weet nie,
kan jy tog niks verloor nie, kan niemand jou vergeet nie.
As niemand jou bemin nie, as niemand jou ooit raak nie,
kan niemand trou versin nie, kan niemand jou versaak nie ...
As jy op niemand leun nie en niks van iemand vra nie.
hoef niemand jou te steun nie, hoef niemand jou te dra nie.

Dis tog so eenvoudig: dis jy, alleenlik jy,
en die groter sorge gaan vanself verby.
Niks om te verhaal nie, net die vrede bly
Niks om te betaal nie - en skielik is jy vry
-Koos du Plessis

Liza said...

Leap of Faith

The cow jumped over the shining moon
and the Man in the Moon said ‘hi’
and he winked to see her sailing past
with a gleam in his silver eye.
The sky was eerily lit that night;
a cow-shaped cloud went by.
A frowning farmer shook his head,
to think that cows could fly.
But up in the sky with his twinkling eye,
the Man in the Moon looked down,
and he laughed a silver, silent laugh to see that farmer frown.

Liza said...


Die teks het my gegryp‚
my aan die brand gesteek.
Ek het die hele week
geworstel om die diepe sin
glashelder en konkreet
te vergestalt.
Dit vloei‚
dit stroom‚
dit breek uit my:
verlore seun wat tuis kom by die vaderhuis –
o wonder van die kruis!
Wanneer ek amen sê‚
wys hul gesigte stom
daar is ’n halfuur om.

~Uit PW Buys se digbundel Wit Korbeel. Die gedig verwoord die predikant se ervaring van die erediens. Oor wat elke Sondag met so baie mense in die kerk gebeur, nl... niks nie.

Liza said...


Klein tabernakeltjie van God!
Ek lê jou in Sy Naam die hande op
en voel jou hartjie
deur die sagte plekkie
in jou skedel klop.

Jy kou nog aan jou vuisies,
skop met die voete.
Die formulier sê plegtig
Jy’s geroepe
“om in ’n nuwe lewe op te staan” -
klein Lasarus in doeke.
~IL de Villiers. Uit: LEITOURGOS

Henrietta said...

probeer op blog kom

Liza said...

Jack Prelutsky oor Amerikaners se Thanksgiving:

The turkey shot out of the oven
and rocketed into the air;
it knocked every plate off the table
and partly demolished a chair.
It ricocheted into a corner and
burst with a deafening boom,
then splattered all over the kitchen,
completely obscuring the room.
It stuck to the walls and the windows,
it totally coated the floor,
there was turkey attached to the ceiling,
where there’d never been turkey before.
It blanketed every appliance,
it smeared every saucer and bowl,
there wasn’t a way I could stop it,
that turkey was out of control.
I scraped and I scrubbed with displeasure,
and thought as I mopped,
that I’d never again stuff a turkey
with popcorn that hadn’t been popped.

Henrietta said...

Hehehe!!! Toe ek nog 'n jong/dom getroude vroutjie was, het die drukkoker met sop een keer so "ontplof" - het DIT nou 'n skoonmaak-operasie (tot teen die plafon) afgegee!

Liza said...

Ghieghieghie...het ook so 'n oerknal oorleef. Wou kondensmelk in 'n kastrol caramelize, maar het nagelaat om die blikkie met water bedek te hou...

Liza said...

In die begin

In die begin was ek gedagte
in die gestringde stergeheue van God.
In die begin was ek gedagte.

Die gedagte het woord begin vorm
mikroskopies in my moeder se skoot.
Die gedagte het woord begin vorm.

Die woord het inderdaad mens geword,
vlees, bloed en sening soos die seun van God.
Die woord het inderdaad mens geword.

Nou word ek weer verse en woord.
En die woord word weer stof van gedagte.
Nou word ek weer verse en woord.
Die gedagte keer t’rug na sy oord.
Wat begin was, word einde en einde begin.
Die gedagte keer t’rug na sy oord.

Izak de Villiers (Uit sy digbundel, Vervreemdeling


O, Heer, ek dank U vir groot geduld
met my. Ek is so in die skuld
by U. My bankstaat bly in rooi getik.
Nulle kom voor die komma by – ek sluk
soms swaar daaraan. Ek bied
so min en vra al meer krediet
en kry dit (God weet hoe!).
Ek is soms bang U roep
my in om alles te betaal
en haal my uit U waagskaal
uit as ’n té groot risiko:
’n Twyfelaar wat glo.

Uit sy digbundel, Leitourgous

Hierdie man sal altyd een van my geliefkoosde digters bly omdat hy so kon raakvat met woorde.

Henrietta said...

Ja, regtig treffend. Ek is net so erg oor als wat hy skryf/geskryf het. Van sy werk was destyds soggens oor die radio uitgesaai, en ek het berge versit om niks te mis nie!

Henrietta said...

Terwyl ons nou op ander plasings oor die "huwelik" (en dus seker oor die liefde ook? ) - 'n paar liefdesgedigte (wat liedjies geword het) :

(Musiek en liriek van Herman van Veen)

Je bent mooi
niet mooier
je bent anders

Je bent lief
niet liever
je bent anders

Je bent zach
niet zachter
je bent anders

Je bent wijs
niet wijzer
je bent anders

‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou

‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou
Je bent gul
niet guller
je bent anders
Je bent goed
niet beter
je bent anders

je bent trouw
niet trouwer
je bent anders
je bent dik
niet dicker
je bent anders

‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou

‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou
‘k hou van jou

(Musiek en liriek ook van Herman van Veen)

In de kus
Nee, ik bedoel
Ik zag je in de bus

‘k zat op de fiets
ik reed tegen een paal
en jij zag niets

Ben niet boos
dat ik hier
op de stope sta
met een roos

Begrijp me goed
ik weet niet
hoe ik het zeggen moet

Ben zo vrij
te vragen bliijf bij
van slapen moe

‘k kon alleen
maar in mijn dromen
naar je toe

Het moet
er uit
geen hond
die het begrijpt
als ik het fluit

Het rijm
op trouw
lieve schat
ik hou van jou

Henrietta said...

The Spider and the Fly (n.a.v. Liza se lugubere prentjie... )

"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly,
"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain;
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin;
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do
To prove that warm affection I've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise;
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf;
If you step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say;
And bidding good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again;
So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly.
then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as lead."

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, -
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head - poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den
Within his little parlor - but she ne'er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed;
Unto an evil counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Liza said...


Welkom, o stille nag van vrede,
onder die suiderkruis,
Wyl stemme uit die ou verlede oor sterrevelde ruis.
Kersfees kom, Kersfees kom –
Gee aan God die eer.
Skenk ons ‘n helder Somer-kersfees
In hierdie land, o Heer.

Hoor jy hoe sag die klokke beier in eeue-oue taal.
Kyk, selfs die nagtelike swye vertel die ou verhaal.
Kersfees kom, Kersfees kom –
Gee aan God die eer.
Skenk ons ‘n helder Somer-kersfees
In hierdie land, o Heer.

Voel jy ook nou sy warm liefde as ons die dag gedenk,
Toe Hy sy Seun aan ons gegee het –
ons grootste Kersgeskenk.
Christus kom, Christus kom –
Gee aan God die eer.
Skenk ons ‘n helder Somer-kersfeesIn hierdie land, o Heer.

-Koos du Plessis se Somer-kersfees

Liza said...

Each in his own Tongue

A fire-mist and a planet,
A crystal and a cell,
A jelly-fish and a saurian,
And caves where the cave-men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty
And a face turned from the clod, --
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.

A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,
And the wild geese sailing high;
And all over upland and lowland
The charm of the golden-rod, --
Some of us call it Autumn,
And others call it God.

Like tides on a crescent sea-beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in:
Come from the mystic ocean,
Whose rim no foot has trod, --
Some of us call it Longing,
And others call it God.

A picket frozen on duty,
A mother starved for her brood,
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway plod, --
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.

-- William Herbert Carruth


Liza said...

Net Een Pad

As my een gram argument
Teen Sy tonne waarheid praat
En my sentimeter sentiment
Sy ligjaarpassie wil verlaat
En my drie-desibel gil
Teen Sy donderfluister skree
Dan word ek skielik stil
En my ongeloof gee mee

As my een emmer sonde
In Sy oseaan genade val
En my vyf krummels honger
Sy lewensbrood ontvang
En my sewe grade slimheid
Voor Sy grootheid dom gaan staan
Dan staan ek stom in stilheid

En ek hoor ‘n Skepper praat
As my tien-traan doodsdepressie
Hoor van “Lasarus kom uit!”
En by my stormsterkte kwessie
Slaap ‘n Redder in my skuit
En my verdwaalde wegkruip
Word Sy raaksien en kom haal

Dan moet ek nederig opkyk
Na die Outeur van my verhaal
Dan moet ek glo, al roep die twyfel
Dan moet ek glo, Al sê die sonde kom
Al sou ‘n duisend paaie uitroep

Net een pad lei na HOM!!

(Digter onbekend_

Henrietta said...

Ek bly maar erg oor Shakespeare....

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
These rebel powers that thee array;
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Henrietta said...

Die Godsbesluit

Voor die onheilswoning en
tussen die skaars-beblaarde
soetdorings staan, in droë aarde
maar lowergroen en blink van blad,
die wag-'n-bietjie langs die pad.

Wanneer ek naderkom dan sien
ek dorings krom en reg;
'k sien takke inmekaar gevleg.
En wil ek in die blare gryp
of aan die takke breek,
dan tas ek in 'n doringnes
wat vreeslik haak en steek.

Bo al u donker bome, o Heer,
groei my 'n enkele reusboom uit:
dit is die wag-'n-bietjie-bos
van u besluit.
Van ver so skoon, so groen, so blink...
maar hoe verward
wanneer ek dieper kyk en dink
as wat 'n sondaar pas.
En steek ek dan my hande uit
na u besluit,
dan gryp ek in die dorings vas.


Henrietta said...

Liza, die "Net een pad" wat jy vroeër geplaas het, is 'n liedjie van Koos van der Merwe van Prophet , as ek reg onthou.

Liza said...

Dankie vir die inligting. Ek ken nie juis Prophet se musiek nie, maar die lirieke van 'Net Een Pad' is vir my treffend.

Henrietta said...

Oscar Wilde (1854–1900). Poems. 1881.


TREAD lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

Henrietta said...

"Requiescat" by Oscar Wilde is a tragic elegy based upon the death of Wilde's younger sister Isola, who died at the age of 10.

Liza said...

“Die hemel stort dit uit, die aarde roep dit luid:
Gods hand het ons gemaak!
Dag meld dit teenoor dag, nag fluister teenoor nag:
Tot eer van God gemaak!
So sonder stem of woord, so sonder mens akkoord,
weerklink die skepping: Eer Hom!
Oor alle grense heen, niks is bestand daarteen –
deurstraal roep alles: Prys Hom!”

-Nuwe beryming van Psalm 19 se eerste vers (Liedboek 2001) deur Antjie Krog.

Henrietta said...

Glory be to God, indeed! ...

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

From the poem “Pied Beauty” by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89).

Henrietta said...

Sien nou eers hoe mooi pas hierdie gedig by jou vorige een, Liza - werklik onbedoeld!

Henrietta said...





Henrietta said...

Oor my vorige plasing: Dit is 'n baie ou Duitse gesang : "Wenn Christus siene Kirche schützt", deur Christian Gellert geskryf in 1757 - dit het deur die jare verskeie aanpassings beleef.

In die nuwe liedboek wat deur die NG Kerk gebruik word, is dit natuurlik Gesang 477, met hier en daar klein veranderinge, EN die tweede vers is uitgelaat.

Het my net weer laat besef: die stryd om "die kerk" is nie soseer "my" stryd nie...

Henrietta said...

1 Korintiërs 13
Al sal ek die tale van mense en van ingele praat,
Maar ek het die liefde geloop geruil vir die haat,
Dan het ek net ‘n raaslike paraffienblik gekom raak.
Al was ek so slim lat ek nuwe goeterse kan maak,
Maar ek het die Jirre se liefde buite in die son gelat lê,
Dan is ek niks, hoor wat ek hierdie vandag vir jou sê.
Al gee ek my hele bokke weg, net om te die eer te hê
Dan sal al hierdie dinge my nou nog niks gepetaal het nie
As ek nie die liefde uit die jimmel kan geloop haal het nie.
Die regte liefde dié se bek is nooit nie dik nie,
Jy sien hom nie skinder en jy hoor hom nie klik nie,
Hy skrywe die kwaad ok nie in boekietjies op nie.
Die liefde mak alles mooi toe met hom se sawwe karos.
Tale dié hou op, voospellingse verdro en woorde raak los,
Maar liefde dié sal nou tot by ewigheid toe net so bly staan.
Toet ek nou ‘n kind gewas het, toe’t ek sos ‘n kind gedink,
En vandag sien ek niet troewelte in die gorrawaterse blink,
Maar eendag sal ek die Jirre se hele waarlikheid kom weet.
En nou is dit die geloof en die hoop en die liefde wat nou bly staan,
Maar net die liefde sal saam met my na die Jirre se jimmel toe gaan.

Uit: Innie Skylte Vannie Jirre:
Griekwapsalms en ander gedigte deur Hans du Plessis

Henrietta said...

Wordless song

Wordless song within the waters,
whales draw breath and dive and sing.
Hymns no human tongue can offer
set the ocean echoing.
Wordless singers wake our wonder;
what can human voices bring?
We will offer words for praising
God the Maker of all things.

Wordless song in early morning,
songbirds sing as day draws near.
Carols publishing their presence
please the waking human ear.
Wordless singers claim their places,
with a flag of song unfurled.
We will sing the name of Jesus,
word of joy that claims the world.

Wordless song within the forest,
wolves are howling in the night:
haunting psalms outside the circle
cast for us by campfire light.
Wordless singers, like the Spirit,
on whose pleading we rely.
Let us dare to name the yearning
in the Spirit's wordless cry.

--Richard Leach, 1994

Liza said...

Jy glo geleerd.
Ek glo "verkeerd".
En God verkneuter hom
In die warm kroon van 'n botterblom.
Jy stel jou argumente fyn,
ek luister, en tes hulle op my aftelrym:
kammalag, kammalos, kammalie
Hiersynie - hiersywel - hiersynie.
En die heelal lê heerlik borriegeel onttroon
in duisend goue flenters botterblomkroon!
-Annette Snyman

Henrietta said...


And a woman spoke, saying, "Tell us of Pain." And he said:
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.
Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.
Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:
For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

Kahlil Gibran, who was a Maronite Christian, is considered to be the third most widely read poet in history, behind Shakespeare and Lao-Tzu. Much of Gibran's writings deal with Christianity, especially on the topic of spiritual love.

Henrietta said...

Count Your Blessings

Verse 1
When upon life's billows You are tempest tossed,
When you are discouraged Thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings Name them one by one,
And it will surprise you What the Lord hath done.
Count your blessings Name them one by one.
Count your blessings See what God hath done.
Count your blessings Name them one by one.
Count your many blessings See what God hath done.
Ephesians 1:3
Words by Johnson Oatman, Jr., 1856-1922
Music by Edwin O. Excell, 1851-1921

Verse 2
Are you ever burdened With a load of care,
Does the cross seem heavy You are called to bear.
Count your many blessings Every doubt will fly,
And you will be singing As the days go by.

Verse 3
When you look at others With their lands and gold,
Think that Christ has promised You His wealth untold.
Count your many blessings Money cannot buy,
Your reward in heaven Nor your home on high.

Verse 4
So amid the conflict Whether great or small,
Do not be discouraged God is over all.
Count your many blessings Angels will attend,
Help and comfort give you To your journey's end.

"Count Your Blessings" is generally considered to be Oatman's finest hymn. It first appeared in Songs for Young People, compiled and published by Edwin O. Excell in 1897. It has been sung all over the world. One writer has stated, "Like a beam of sunlight it has brightened up the dark places of the earth." Perhaps no American was ever received with such enthusiasm in Great Britian as this hymn. The London Daily, in giving an account of a meeting presided over by Gypsy Smith, reported, "Mr. Smith announced the hymn 'Count Your Blessings.' Said he, 'In South London the men sing it, the boys whistle it, and the women rock their babies to sleep on this hymn.'

Henrietta said...


Ah, Holy Jesus
(Oorspr. Deur Johann Heermann).
Ah, holy Jesus, how hast Thou offended,
That man to judge Thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by Thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.

Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon Thee?
Alas my treason, Jesus, hath undone Thee.
’Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied Thee.
I crucified Thee.

For me, kind Jesus, was Thy incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and Thy life’s oblation;
Thy death of anguish and Thy bitter passion,
For my salvation.

Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
The slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered;
For our atonement, while he nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.

Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay Thee,
I do adore Thee, and will ever pray Thee.
Think on Thy pity and Thy love unswerving,

OU GESANG 122 (Liedboek, Gesang 387)






(Bogenoemde is ‘n verwerking van onder andere “O hoofd, bedekt met wonden”, en weergawes soos “O Haupt, voll Blut und wunden” van Paul Gerhardt):

O Hoofd bedekt met wonden,
beslaan met smart en hoon,
o hoofd, ten spot ombonden
met ene doornenkroon,
eertijds gekroond met stralen
van meer dan aardse gloed,
waarlangs nu drupp'len dalen:
'k breng zeeg'nend U mijn groet!

Henrietta said...

Vir die Opstanding:

Triomf, triomf Immanuel! Triomf, die Heer het opgestaan! Die laaste vyand is verslaan, Geen mag hou Hom gebonde. Wie in Hom sterf, sal met Hom leef . (Enkele reëls uit ou Gesang 149, Liedboek 407)

Henrietta said...

Light’s glittering morn bedecks the sky(John Neale)

Part I
Light's glittering morn bedecks the sky;
heaven thunders forth its victor cry;
the glad earth shouts her triumph high,
and groaning hell makes wild reply.

While he, the King, the mighty King,
despoiling death of all its sting,
and, trampling down the powers of night,
brings forth his ransomed saints to light.

His tomb of late the threefold guard
of watch and stone and seal had barred;
but now, in pomp and triumph high,
he comes from death to victory.

The pains of hell are loosed at last;
the days of mourning now are past;
an angel robed in light hath said,
"The Lord is risen from the dead."

Part II
The apostles' hearts were full of pain
for their dear Lord so lately slain,
by rebel servants doomed to die
a death of cruel agony.

With gentle voice the angel gave
the women tidings at the grave;
"Fear not, your Master shall ye see;
he goes before to Galilee."

Then, hastening on their eager way
the joyful tidings to convey,
their Lord they met, their living Lord,
and falling at his feet adored.

The eleven, when they hear, with speed
to Galilee forthwith proceed,
that there once more they may behold
the Lord's dear face, as he foretold.

Part III
That Eastertide with joy was bright,
the sun shone out with fairer light,
when, to their longing eyes restored,
the glad apostles saw their Lord.

He bade them see his hands, his side,
where yet the glorious wounds abide;
the tokens true which made it plain
their Lord indeed was risen again.

Jesus, the King of gentleness,
do thou thyself our hearts possess
that we may give thee all our days
the tribute of our grateful praise.

The following may be sung at the end of each part:
O Lord of all, with us abide
in this our joyful Eastertide;
from every weapon death can wield
thine own redeemed forever shield.

Henrietta said...


Hemelse Vader jy't jouSeun ge-offer
soos Abraham Isak moes gaan offer
Maar by Moria was 'n vasgestrengelde Ram
By Golgota was U Seun self die Paaslam
vasgespyker aan die kruis
en in sy sterwensoomblik
red Hy nog 'n genade smekende
rower wat onverdiend Jesus in die voorportaal van die hemel weersiend
terwyl dit duister word
en die ander spottende rower ewige nag
vir sy spottende lag
ervaar; soos Judas wat in die tempel hom ophang
terwyl die gordyn middeldeur geskeur het ook sonder onderskeid in sy belang
Mag ons eerder op Petrus let wat onder hanekraai sy spyt uithuil en met trots in sy sak
herstel word tot die rots waarop Jesus sy kerk uitpak
Die geleende graf hou Hom solank
soos Jona in die vis se ingewand;
dan's Hy ongesiens opgewek
en ons deur dieselfde krag opgetrek
tot visioenêre profetiese getuies
en van adres tot elk ander land belydendes!
Mag ek Hemelse Pa
Jesus in my Middelpunt in vra
die kruis is leeg maar
my kruisdra is vol van Hom wat opgestaan, opgevaar
en in my kom woon deur Woord en Gees
in my weergebore vlees!
Bertus van der Westhuijzen (in Aanlyn Kerkbode, 2010/03/29)

Liza said...

Evolutionary Hymn (satire)

Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, prod us, weed us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.

Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.

To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.

Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.

Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,
'Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.

Oh then! Value means survival-
Value. If our progeny
Spreads and spawns and licks each rival,
That will prove its deity
(Far from pleasant, by our present,
Standards, though it may well be).


Henrietta said...

CS Lewis se "Evolution" is skitterende satire: Dankie Liza!

Liza said...

Die Beiteltjie

Ek kry ’n klein klein beiteltjie,
ek tik hom en hy klink;
toe slyp ek en ek slyp hom
totdat hy klink en blink.
Ek sit ’n klippie op ’n rots:
- mens moet jou vergewis:
’n beitel moet kan klip breek
as hy ’n beitel is -
ek slaat hom met my beiteltjie
en dié was sterk genoeg:
daar spring die klippie stukkend
so skoon soos langs ’n voeg:
toe, onder my tien vingers bars
die grys rots middeldeur
en langs my voete voel ek
die sagte aarde skeur,
die donker naat loop deur my land
en kloof hom wortel toe -
só moet ’n beitel slaan
wat beitel is, of hoé?
Dan, met twee goue afgronde
val die planeet aan twee
en oor die kranse, kokend,
verdwyn die vlak groen see
en op die dag sien ek die nag
daar anderkant gaan oop
met ’n bars wat van my beitel af
dwarsdeur die sterre loop.
-NP van Wyl Louw

Henrietta said...

(Song, lyrics by Judson van de Venter)

1. All to Jesus I surrender;
All to Him I freely give;
I will ever love and trust Him,
In His presence daily live.
o Refrain:
I surrender all,
I surrender all;
All to Thee, my blessed Savior,
I surrender all.
2. All to Jesus I surrender;
Humbly at His feet I bow,
Worldly pleasures all forsaken;
Take me, Jesus, take me now.
3. All to Jesus I surrender;
Make me, Savior, wholly Thine;
Let me feel the Holy Spirit,
Truly know that Thou art mine.
4. All to Jesus I surrender;
Lord, I give myself to Thee;
Fill me with Thy love and power;
Let Thy blessing fall on me.
5. All to Jesus I surrender;
Now I feel the sacred flame.
Oh, the joy of full salvation!
Glory, glory, to His Name!

Judson W. Van De Venter, 1896:
“The song was written while I was conducting a meeting at East Palestine, Ohio, in the home of George Sebring (founder of the Sebring Campmeeting Bible Conference in Sebring, Ohio, and later developer of the town of Sebring, Florida). For some time, I had struggled between developing my talents in the field of art and going into fulltime evangelistic work. At last the pivotal hour of my life came, and I surrendered all. A new day was ushered into my life. I became an evangelist and discovered down deep in my soul a talent hitherto unknown to me. God had hidden a song in my heart, and touching a tender chord, He caused me to sing”.

Music: Winfield S. Weeden, 1896

Henrietta said...


Uit die Belydenisse van die heilige Augustinus:

Aangespoor om tot myself terug te keer, het ek onder u leiding my binneste binnegegaan. Ek was daartoe in staat, want U het my helper geword (vgl. Ps. 30 (29), 11). In my eie siel het ek binnegegaan en met die oë van my gees, hoe swak dié ook al was, self verder gesien as wat my blik kon reik: Hoog bo my gees het ek ‘n onveranderlike lig gesien. Dit was nie gewone lig wat almal kan raaksien nie, dit was ‘n ander lig, groter en soveel keer sterker as gewone lig, en dié Lig het alles met sy glans vervul.

Dié Lig was so totaal anders van alles. Dit was ook nie bo my gees soos olie wat op water dryf, of die hemel wat bo die aarde hang nie. Dit was hoër en meer verhewe, want ek is daardeur gemaak. Wie die waarheid ken, ken dié Lig. En wie die Lig ken, ken die ewigheid. Die liefde ken dit.

O ewige waarheid en ware liefde en geliefde ewigheid! Dit is U, my God, en dit is na U wat ek smag, dag en nag smag ek na U. Sodra ek U leer ken het, het U my tot U geneem om my te laat sien dat daar iets was om te sien, maar dat ek nog nie staat was om dit raak te sien nie. U het my swak oë verblind deur die helderheid van u strale op my neer te laat kom. Ek het van liefde gebewe en ook van angs. Omdat ek ontdek het hoe ver ek eintlik van U verwyder was; dit was asof ek in verafgeleë streek gewoon het, asof ek u stem ver uit die hoogte kon hoor: ‘Ek is die voedsel van hulle wat volwasse is, groei en jy sal My eet. Jy sal My nie in jouself verander, soos liggaamlike voedsel nie, nee, dit is Ek wat jou in My sal verander.’

Ek het probeer om genoeg krag bymekaar te kry, wat my in staat sou stel om U waarlik te geniet; maar krag kon ek nie vind nie. Slegs toe ek Hom omhels, was ek tot iets in staat, Hy wat ‘die Middelaar is tussen God en die mense, die mens Jesus Christus’ (1 Tim. 2: 5), Hy wat God is, bo alles verhewe, tot in ewigheid die Salige. Hy roep na ons en sê: ‘Ek is die weg, die waarheid en die lewe’ (Joh. 14: 6). Dit is Hy wat die voedsel wat ek nog nie in staat was om te eet nie, vermeng met die vlees, want die Woord het vlees geword, ten einde u wysheid waardeur God alles geskape het, melk te laat word omdat ons nog soos kinders is.

Te laat het ek U liefgekry, skoonheid, so oud en tog so nuut; te laat het ek U liefgekry! U was in my binneste en ek was buite besig om U te soek, maar op die verkeerde plekke, ek het my liefde uitgestort op die skoonheid en pragtige dinge wat U gemaak het. U was by my, maar ek was nie by U nie. Dinge wat nie sou bestaan het as dit nie vir U was nie, het my vasgehou. U het geroep en geskreeu en deur my doofheid gebreek; U het geskitter en my blindheid verdryf; U het ‘n aangename geur versprei en ek kon dit inasem en nou snak ek na U: Ek het U geproe en nou honger en dors ek na U. U het my aangeraak en nou is ek aan die brand met ‘n vurige verlange na u vrede.

Henrietta said...

(Uit Danie Botha se lied: My Pa is die Koning)

Jy glimlag so breed as jy my vriendelik groet
Jy lyk tog so selfversekerd
Met die wêreld aan jou voete
Voel jy soos 'n reus,
bly die lewe 'n fees

As teëspoed jou tref, dan skeel dit jou min
Dit lyk of jy dans as jy loop
Ek kon dit nooit verstaan nie
Ek moes die antwoord hê, en toe hoor ek jou sê:

My Pa is die Koning van die heelal jy weet
En kom wat wil ek sal dit nooit vergeet
Die wind kan waai, die berge kan val
Hy't gesê Hy voorsien en Hy sal
Ek's die Koning se kind, ja dit maak my 'n prins
My lewe is Christus, selfs die dood is 'n wins
Vir niks is ek bang nie, dit sê ek jou nou
My Pa is die Koning onthou

Hoe moes ek nou voel, ek wens ek was jy
Maar ek's net 'n gewone ou
Dit klink onregverdig
Om 'n koning te hê vir wie jy Pa kan sê

Toe't jy my genooi, jy sê kom luister nou mooi
Hoe kan jy tog so gou vergeet?
Ons is mede erfgename
En toe ek my kon kry, to sê jy vir my:

Jou Pa is die Koning van die heelal jy weet
En kom wat wil jy moet dit nooit vergeet nie
Die wind kan waai, die berge kan val
Hy't gesê Hy voorsien en Hy sal
Jy's die Koning se kind, ja dit maak jou 'n prins
Jou lewe is Christus, selfs die dood is 'n wins
Vir niks is jy bang nie, of wat sê ek nou
Jou Pa is die Koning onthou

Henrietta said...

Watter een van die 800,000 is joune, Anon? ;)))))

Henrietta said...

If You Think You are Beaten
(Gedig van: Walter D. Wintle)

If you think you are beaten, you are.
If you think you dare not, you don't.
If you'd like to win but think you can't,
It's almost certain you won't.
Life's battles don't always go
To the stronger or faster man,
But sooner or later, the man who wins
Is the man who thinks he can.

Henrietta said...

(Sjoe, maand gelede iets hier gepos!)

(Gold City song)

Lord as I seek to serve You
May you find in me what’s pleasing to Your heart I leave my will at
Calvary Taking on a nature, humbled by Your scars For I know it’s only
through Your love That who I am is hidden by your grace Let my desires be
overshadowed As I recall the purpose of that grace.

Hide me behind the cross
Where my gains become as loss
And only Your glory is in view
Your power will be revealed
The more that I am concealed
Hide me behind the cross
So the world sees only You

If I rely on my own strength
To be a source of hope to those in need
The only profit I would gain
Would be the empty honour of my deeds
But with all of self behind the cross
The splendour of Your love stands free to shine
Illuminated with Your power
Reaching souls so You alone are glorified.

Liza said...

CRASH!(Robotic Poem)

< > ! * ' ' #

^ " ` $ $ -

! * = @ $ _

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Overgesetzynde -...
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Henrietta said...

Goeie een , dankie Liza!

Bebedores do Gondufo said...

Very good.

Liza said...

Included in the collection of Dietrich Bonhoeffer's prison writings are two poems that it appears he must have written at Tegel Prison in Berlin in mid-July 1944, around the mid-point of his doomed imprisonment (April 1943 to April 1945). The first is justifiably famous, expressing as it does Bonhoeffer's own strange and strained relationship to his pending martyrdom :


Who am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cellís confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I? They also tell me
I would talk to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.
Who am I? They also tell me
I would bear the days of misfortune
equably, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself,
restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today, and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?

Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine



Men go to God when they are sore bestead,
Pray to him for succour, for his peace, for bread,
For mercy for them sick, sinning or dead:
All men do so, Christian and unbelieving.

Men go to God when he is sore bestead,
Find him poor and scorned, without shelter or bread,
Whelmed under weight of the wicked, the weak, the dead:
Christians stand by God in his hour of grieving.

God goeth to every man when sore bestead,
Feedeth body and spirit with his bread,
For Christians, heathens alike he hangeth dead:
And both alike forgiving.

Liza said...

Waar gaan die skuitjie heen?

Die skuitjie wat so stilweg oor
Die spieëlblink water vaar -
waar gaan dié skuitjie heen?
Alleen die stuurman weet,
Dis sy geheim,
Hy vaar en vaar en vaar.
En teen die aand
wanneer die hemel rooi en blink
en helder oor die water buig,
dan keer hy in
om hy die aanlêplek
sy skuit te anker vir die nag.
Dis daarom dat ons wag en wag
totdat dit aand is, voor ons weet
waar gaan die skuitjie heen.
-Digter onbekend

[Dit kan net een van twee stuurmanne wees en die eindbestemming kan net een van twee bestemmings wees...]

Henrietta said...

(Lucas Maré)
My kiekies is verwysings, my lewensinventaris
Die ensiklopedie van my bestaan
My kiekies is bewyse vir die feit dat ek ook daar was
’n prentjiekommentaar wat mý beaam

Daar is komedie in my kiekies, ’n skaterlag betraan
deur die afstand tussen destyds en vanaand
Daar is ritme in my kiekies, ’n patroon wat hom herhaal
in die kom en gaan en wegbly van gesigte

Ek verdwaal deesdae so dikwels in die blaaie van my boek
soek die sleutel van my hart onder die stof
In my pelgrimstog na gister blaai my wisselstroom gemoed
deur die ou bekende name in my boek

My kiekies bring vertroosting as die toekoms my kom soek
in my halfgeboude droomkasteel vanaand
maar daar’s net een probleem met kiekies,
en die gom van plakdriehoekies
want die gaping tussen kiekies
maak my bang...

Liza said...

2 Tim 4:3, 4, …want daar sal ‘n tyd wees wanneer hulle die gesonde leer nie sal verdra nie, maar, omdat hulle in hul gehoor gestreel wil wees, vir hulle’n menigte leraars sal versamel volgens hulle eie begeerlikhede, en die oor sal afkeer van die waarheid en hulle wend tot fabels.

Prophet se vertaling: In die laaste dae sal die tempelmafia die ore streel & harte in plastiek verander…

Plastiekkansel, plastiekkansel
Die kansel van plastiek
Die half miljoen se akoestiek
Die kleredrag boetiek
Interieur uniek
En tog die hart is siek
Sukses met statistiek
Stygend is die geldgrafiek
Die preek is byna kanoniek
Met afgeronde retoriek
En tog die hart is siek
En hoor die gees musiek
Met metronoom gekliek
Niks is hier mankoliek
Niks is hier eksentriek
En tog die hart is siek
Hoor die Heer se repliek
Hoogmoed in die heilsfabriek
Verborge foute so klassiek
Die sonde is antiek
En o die hart is siek
Want harte is nie reg nie
As harte nie gebreek is nie
En harte is nie reg nie
As dit nie broos en week is nie

Liza said...

Evolution (Deel 1)
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the Paleozoic time,
And side by side on the ebbing tide
We sprawled through the ooze and slime,
Or skittered with many a caudal flip
Through the depths of the Cambrian fen,
My heart was rife with the joy of life,
For I loved you even then.

Mindless we lived and mindless we loved
And mindless at last we died;
And deep in the rift of the Caradoc drift
We slumbered side by side.
The world turned on in the lathe of time,
The hot lands heaved amain,
Till we caught our breath from the womb of death
And crept into light again.

We were amphibians, scaled and tailed,
And drab as a dead man's hand;
We coiled at ease 'neath the dripping trees
Or trailed through the mud and sand.
Croaking and blind, with our three-clawed feet
Writing a language dumb,
With never a spark in the empty dark
To hint at a life to come.

Liza said...

(Deel 2)

...Yet happy we lived and happy we loved,
And happy we died once more;
Our forms were rolled in the clinging mold
Of a Neocomian shore.
The eons came and the eons fled
And the sleep that wrapped us fast
Was riven away in a newer day
And the night of death was past.

Then light and swift through the jungle trees
We swung in our airy flights,
Or breathed in the balms of the fronded palms
In the hush of the moonless nights;
And, oh! what beautiful years were there
When our hearts clung each to each;
When life was filled and our senses thrilled
In the first faint dawn of speech.

Thus life by life and love by love
We passed through the cycles strange,
And breath by breath and death by death
We followed the chain of change.
Till there came a time in the law of life
When over the nursing side
The shadows broke and soul awoke
In a strange, dim dream of God.

I was thewed like an Auruch bull
And tusked like the great cave bear;
And you, my sweet, from head to feet
Were gowned in your glorious hair.
Deep in the gloom of a fireless cave,
When the night fell o'er the plain
And the moon hung red o'er the river bed
We mumbled the bones of the slain.

I flaked a flint to a cutting edge
And shaped it with brutish craft;
I broke a shank from the woodland lank
And fitted it, head and haft;
Then I hid me close to the reedy tarn,
Where the mammoth came to drink;
Through the brawn and bone I drove the stone
And slew him upon the brink.

Loud I howled through the moonlit wastes,
Loud answered our kith and kin;
From west and east to the crimson feast
The clan came tramping in.
O'er joint and gristle and padded hoof
We fought and clawed and tore,
And check by jowl with many a growl
We talked the marvel o'er.

I carved that fight on a reindeer bone
With rude and hairy hand;
I pictured his fall on the cavern wall
That men might understand.
For we lived by blood and the right of might
Ere human laws were drawn,
And the age of sin did not begin
Till our brutal tush were gone.

And that was a million years ago
In a time that no man knows;
Yet here tonight in the mellow light
We sit at Delmonico's.
Your eyes are deep as the Devon springs,
Your hair is dark as jet,
Your years are few, your life is new,
Your soul untried, and yet -

Our trail is on the Kimmeridge clay
And the scarp of the Purbeck flags;
We have left our bones in the Bagshot stones
And deep in the Coralline crags;
Our love is old, our lives are old,
And death shall come amain;
Should it come today, what man may say
We shall not live again?

God wrought our souls from the Tremadoc beds
And furnished them wings to fly;
We sowed our spawn in the world's dim dawn,
And I know that it shall not die,
Though cities have sprung above the graves
Where the crook-bone men make war
And the oxwain creaks o'er the buried caves
Where the mummied mammoths are.

Then as we linger at luncheon here
O'er many a dainty dish,
Let us drink anew to the time when you
Were a tadpole and I was a fish.
-- Langdon Smith

Henrietta said...


Little drops of water,
little grains of sand,
make the mighty ocean
and the beauteous land.

And the little moments,
humble though they may be,
make the mighty ages
of eternity.

Little deeds of kindness,
little words of love,
make our earth an Eden,
like the heaven above.

So our little errors
lead the soul away,
from the paths of virtue
into sin to stray.

Little seeds of mercy
sown by youthful hands,
grow to bless the nations
far in heathen lands.

Glory then for ever
be to God on high,
beautiful and loving,
to eternity.
Words: Julia Carney, 1845
Music: Gott ein Vater

Here: http://www.oremus.org/hymnal/l/l174.html

Henrietta said...


Little drops of water,
little grains of sand,
make the mighty ocean
and the beauteous land.

And the little moments,
humble though they may be,
make the mighty ages
of eternity.

Little deeds of kindness,
little words of love,
make our earth an Eden,
like the heaven above.

So our little errors
lead the soul away,
from the paths of virtue
into sin to stray.

Little seeds of mercy
sown by youthful hands,
grow to bless the nations
far in heathen lands.

Glory then for ever
be to God on high,
beautiful and loving,
to eternity.
Words: Julia Carney, 1845
Music: Gott ein Vater

Here: http://www.oremus.org/hymnal/l/l174.html

Henrietta said...

Some more about small things ....

Zec 4:10 For who hath despised the day of small things ..... ?

In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures, life may perfect be.
Ben Jonson

Henrietta said...

Koos du plessis se “GEBED”

Laat my nooit die grond verlaat nie.
Laat my in U skadu bly.
Gee dat elke aardse vreugde en vrees,
eindelik nietig word vir my.
Elke afdraai paadjie ken ek.
Elke keer het ek verdwaal.
Elke keer het u my iewers kom haal.
Maak dit Heer, die laaste maal.
Elke dag is ‘n gedagte.
Elke kamer net gehuur.
Elke aardse droom van rykdom en roem,
net ‘n skadu teen die muur.
Wat ek is, is net genade.
Wat ek het, is net geleen.
Eintlik smag ek na U waters van rus.
Lei my Heer vanaand daarheen.

Liza-Nel said...

Here, maak my 'n instrument van U vrede. Waar daar haat is, laat my liefde saai; waar daar onreg is, vergifnis; waar daar twyfel is, geloof; waar daar wanhoop is, hoop; waar daar duisternis is, lig; waar daar droefheid is, blydskap. O Goddelike Meester, gee dat ek nie soseer sal soek om getroos te word nie as om te troos; om verstaan te word nie as om te verstaan; om bemin te word nie as om lief te hê. Want dit is deur te gee dat ons ontvang; dit is deur te vergewe dat ons vergewe word; en dit is deur te sterwe dat ons tot die Ewige Lewe gebore word.

~ Franciskus van Assisi
( Gebed;)

Henrietta said...

Dankie Liza. Hier is Moeder Theresa se daaglikse gebed:

DEAR JESUS, help me to spread Thy fragrance everywhere I go. Flood my soul with Thy spirit and love. Penetrate and possess my whole being so utterly that all my life may only be a radiance of Thine. Shine through me and be so in me that every soul I come in contact with may feel Thy presence in my soul. Let them look up and see no longer me but only Jesus. Stay with me and then I shall begin to shine as you shine, so to shine as to be a light to others.

Hier gekry: http://www.americancatholic.org/features/teresa/prayer.asp

Dex Banner said...

Good writing and even a decent writer you are...great blog!

Henrietta said...

Thanks Dex. Do visit us again!