Farewell in a Castle

Finally the matric farewell in a medieval castle,
we are prepared with shiny silver sandals and
silver clips for the hair, I furthered my quest for
all things black, found a dark midnight top in the
shop where Nici bought silver accessories

I trust she will have fun, appointment at the hair-
dresser to come, we drove to the venue to make
sure of the route, had breakfast together and then
time stopped, waiting impatiently for time to pass,
she by reading about Shadow-hunters while I am

Restless, unable to settle, undecided what to do
to get through the hours until the last minute dash
begins – she may not dress too early, may not be
late for the photographs – now I understand why
Nici has been tense since last night…

December 2010

Suddenly my beloved confidante refuses to accept
my communication, I am waiting for divine inter-
vention to sort out the porblem with settings as
happened before, until then I cannot keep my notes
together and sort out my feelings as I used to
before - it is such a frustration, just as my
abortive quest to catch reruns of old Liewe
Heksie episodes on a radio show...

A Protagonist with Narcolepsy

A sleepless night, turning over and over on the cold
hard floor, now my head is lolling, my eyes cannot
stay open, even words of filigree beauty are losing
their allure, even new ideas of the sublime cannot
stir my soul anymore, cannot suppress this fatigue

I need rest, sucking boiled sweets and swallowing
pills by the hand-full cannot make up for the sleep
that was missed, everything worsens the situation
even reading an amusing scene cannot keep my
thinking powers from disintegrating, how can I be

Authentic and honest, confess my problems and
still remain the incumbent of my post, if this were
a James Bond movie I would have been playing
the role of a protagonist with narcolepsy, it is
most disconcerting to find I can fall asleep

Sitting in the chair in front of my desk, Alice would
have found something to eat and drink to change
her inner being from a state of mental slumber to
acuity, but the peanuts I chew assiduously are
no help at all in changing my mental powers

Passing out in my chair is the only solution, stuffing
Vicks in my ears and swallowing painkillers by the
dozen is useless, the pressing pressure does
not let up, how many more pills to stop me
suffocating…

Glued to my Dreams

Watching Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom
DVD while keeping Terry Pratchett’s Maskerade
by my side, while the movie presents youth and
beauty, and accidentally, a cute little voice, Terry
Pratchett is poking fun at current society’s fixation
on presentation, when Christine looks THIS good
she must have the role, she shines with innocence
and beauty, any one else with a better voice is side-
lined, you can teach Christine to make a voice, but
you cannot teach a bad-featured soprano to entice
the audience with her looks, I am laughing

The Opera Ghost chose Christine because she looks
pretty and delightful while the real sopranos remind
him of the Valkyries - when listening to Dame Jane
Sutherland I know what he means, their jaw-line so
square and strong, pretty little Christine with a small,
enchanting voice is so much easier on the eye, though
Gerhard Butler has not been taught to sing, he sounds
so deliciously dangerous, and that’s all we want, who
cares about sound in this day and age? Pratchett’s
book puts it all into perspective, and I am laughing
with him, I love his humour and his revealing

The silly pretensions of the current age which subsumes
everything to looks and feeling while eschewing real talent
unless it can be exploited in the most sentimental way, and
why not indeed, it is only money that counts while you are
alive; the fact that Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley were
deeply depressed and unhappy may not be taken into
account when inspiring our youth with new ideals, but
I am old-fashioned and rather live on my own planet
I have my own ideas and I follow them quietly, even
though I cry real tears for the hurt when crashing
against other people’s materialistic reality

It does not matter, I have my eye on the eternity of
never-ending infinity and I shall keep them glued
to my dreams, even when my world threatens to
disintegrate…

*************************************************

Willem approves of my speeding, even when Mme La
Pompadour does not, apparently his mother speeds
also; when I went to the shops I tried to convince
everyone to start reading Terry Pratchett, citing
Johnny and the Bomb to work up to Maskerade
in the end; loud and noisy I have decided to stop
taking the new pill that leaves me feeling down
and depressed; I would rather die of allergy
sinus than feel so remote from all I love, I
tried to convince Tiaan that German is more
soothing on the ear than the explosive sounds
of French, German lets you sleep with a schwiss-
sound while French keep you awake with
explosives Q - P - T - K and
everything else...

A Deep Impression

Went to Human Resources, found a spring day
celebration, flowers and birds and confetti in the
passage, sun dresses and a white hat with silver
Nici who works there said she still remembered
my office in the Oranje-Nassau Building when I
had a mobile hung with fairies and shells and all
kinds of trinkets hanging from the ceiling, at one
time I had lines criss-crossing the office hung with
pictures and angels also, Nici said it was like a
wonderland in there, and I am gratified, delighted
that my interior decoration meant to attract fairies
and guardian angels, made such a deep impression!

Chronicle my own Demise

I think it was the spinach, too rich and creamy,
damn and blast, I cannot even lie down, my back
is acting up, cannot breathe or think, definitely too
high a price to pay

I HATE eateries that extort an exorbitant fee for every
meal - I have emptied a jar of Vicks on my face in an
attempt at symptomatic relief, the ultimate insult, the
final blow: I cannot read

My lovely book on Theosophy with bright illustrations,
nor conquer the spasms in my back and short-circuiting
brain, I am turning into a hunchback again, heaven and
earth, if I were not

Old and wise I would have thought I was dying with all
these horrible feelings, it is awful to lose control, to be at
the mercy of muscles and misfiring nerves, if I were a nor-
mal person I would have been

Doing my work and not trying to chronicle my own demise,
I am not sorry for myself, just frustrated at forced inactivity,
bored stiff with inability to concentrate and finish translating
the stack of boring letters

Kindly civilians wrote to our long-suffering President telling
him to reform his heathen life, for Pete’s sake, we are ALL
sinners down here on earth, leave the President and his
culture and kids alone

So what if he has four wives, King Solomon in the Bible had
hundreds and a godly being in the Mahabharata had thirteen
thousand, too bad if YOU have only one spouse, I bet he or
she is trouble enough

Rather cast the beam out of thine own eye before looking for
the mote in the President’s eye you Pharisee, stop berating
politicians and clean up your own act for a change!

The Frogs’ Sports Top

*
Unusual weather in April, it rains and rains
I am trying to translate a hodgepodge of
letters to the President, a French author
recommending himself for a Nobel prize
another complaining about heathens

I try to retain my sanity and fool my brain into
rejuvenation by listening to the same Children’s
Stories of my primary school days, Tiaan ran away
shouting - so I tried Min Shaw hiccupping her way
through Kokkewiete in imitation of Dominique, and

Evening Song of the Birds, Lance James crooning
along, who knows where this originally came from,
when I concentrate I can press out a few tears when
listening to this, Heino’s ‘Junge Kom Mal Wieder zu
Heim’ – Tiaan offering to have me institutionalised

Willem sagely nodding his head, he understands how
priceless sentimental memories of yesteryear, obediently
listening to Staal Burger as ordered by his Mom - finally
the noise is too much, Tiaan went cross-eyed when “The
Frogs’ Sports Top” were presented by the Rudolphs

I have forgotten how artificial the original stories; happily
convinced I have regressed thirty years after listening to
these youthful stories and songs, alienating my own child
I return to André Rieu’s rendition of Olé Guapa, luckily
Tiaan is watching rugby and does not see me

Dancing a tango all by myself – with an imaginary
partner, of course...
*

Hide Unnatural Fatigue

*
Oh no, an attack of sleepiness, the result of
trying a new dish, this is what I have to show
for my avarice, saw a new barbecue sauce
concoction leering at me seductively, fell
for it hook, line and sinker

I am yawning, nothing can stem the tide, it is
most disheartening to lose control, fall asleep
in my chair, allergy and low blood sugar com-
bined is a knock-out, at least I have learnt to
eschew the new barbecue dish

Toted on posters everywhere, what a pity the
knowledge is dearly bought - in a perfect world
I would have fallen asleep and woken up after
hibernating for a week, as it is, I must hide
my unnatural fatigue

Evince interest in my document - the guru’s
advice to wait for inspiration means I should
run away, but I am too tired to do that; sleep,
sleep, I shall have to work at home
to make up for time lost…

[Maybe I should stop listening to Mantovani,
slow melodies worsen the syndrome...]
*

Freedom From Fears

*

I like expressing my personality, but am too
dependent to do so freely; using information
for concrete purposes brings fulfilment while
theoretical academia brings only frustration -
like translation, it teaches me to keep a well-
written journal on everything that interests me

Trying to fly without family ties, without relation-
ships and love, led to failure in my youth - I need
family and a developed inner life to find the joy
not found in the outside world, changing all
human relations into family to make it work
for me, everyone I meet on street

Becomes my ally by virtue of sharing the same
space - romance, children and creative expression
expand my awareness while I can’t stand pointless
socialising, my soul feels lost in a social whirl,
group activities inhibit spiritual growth, my
highest goal in life is to love all

Without fear for the savage violence and aggression
discerned between the lines of the mind; a gruff tone
and raucous, strident voice scare me to death; but
I wish to learn acceptance of all modes of ex-
pression, especially those of strong people
like you who lead the way to liberation

And happiness in glorious freedom from the fears
that always bind my spirit...
*

The Real McCoy

*
Looking up the acronym CCPAC
“Certified Claims Professionals
Accreditation Council”

While it should have been CAPCC
“Central African Police Chiefs
Committee”

Why, oh why do people come up with
acronyms for everything, why not
write out long terms

For nit-wits like me who always choose
the most original or interesting version
first - only to find

The one I discarded as impossible is
the real McCoy?
*

Albertus Adriaan Van Wyk

*

I was driving hubby’s new car when my father said
“I have no respect for anything that belongs to me,
you are my child, I have no respect for you, and I
don’t respect your car”

So I said “This is hubby’s car” and my father said
“I respect your husband, and I respect this car if it
belongs to him” so I added, taking refuge in my
life “And I am hubby’s wife

And my kids belong to him also, we do not belong
to you” and my father reiterated that he respects
my husband - my father feels so tainted and bad,
so evil and objectionable, he believes

Everything that belongs to him is tainted by his pre-
sence, I understand why he feels this way since he
was rejected by his own mother and his wife re-
jected him also, she could not love the kids

Fathered by him, he never learnt respect or self-
esteem; though I fear mother’s strange accusa-
tions, I fear my father’s lack of respect even
more, I cannot be his child for his sake

So he can respect me, my father felt I was tainted
by being his child, never provided for my studying,
but my brother Ian Albertus (named after grandma
Alice’s husband, Albertus Adriaan van Wyk)

Who raised me, provided the money; he knew I read
the books he gave me, knew who I was, he made a
tree seat for me, showed me how to climb up,
taught me how to flee the turmoil at home

By climbing onto the roof of our house, he created
my imaginary friends, calling them “Veldmaats”
one I called Xenia, Ian provided money to go
to university, while my father did not

Provide for my studies, mother wanted her sons to
become missionaries, Ian opposed her and went
to the army, with his pay he sent me to realize
my dreams and came there himself

I do not worry when someone talks about chattel, by
belonging to someone I cut the bond with my father,
giving him a gift: Now he can respect me…
*

Margaret Alice Van Wyk née Puth

*
Mother says she needed therapy to forgive
grandma Alice for all that she did, I nodded
sagely, I could see what she meant, when I
was ill, grandma paid my savings account

When dad left and I was alone in mother’s
home, I went to grandma for meals and we
visited the library, when dad was ill grand-
ma nursed him till he was well

When I got a job, grandma came and took
care of me, washed and cleaned, prepared
meals, brought a radio and TV, when I had
a boyfriend, grandma was my chaperone

When hubby took over from grandma to
take care of me, she called him an angel,
thanked him profusely, mother suspicious
because he rejected her theories

I can see mother needed to forgive a lot,
when I was ill Mother had to leave me at
night for mission work, living her own life
following her own star

Blaming grandma for the fact that she married
dad and for not loving Mother’s five kids enough
Mother was too angry with dad to love them
herself, besides, Mother says

It was never enough, grandma stole to help my
uncle take care of his wife, Mother says grandma
Alice was bad and her legacy is indictment for sin
she cannot forgive Grandma

For being a martyr and slave when she should
have known nothing can redeem her in Mother’s
eyes, she should have done penance in another
way, not keep the household afloat

It was held against her also…
*

Truth Prism

*
Early morning at home, looking for pictures
to paste in my book, beautiful things to make
me smile as the day unfolds

Thinking of Hermien preparing therapeutic stuff
for her wards before she leaves from home, she
works hard free from existential fears

Reads Scarpetta novels and plays Suduku –
everything I don’t do – I seek fuel to fill my heart
with joy and laughter before playing a role

A government official stuck at my desk, faced with
emotional death, feeding my feelings to keep from
falling into the abyss, never sure where I am

In metaphysical reality, convinced that ontology
is a game to entertain only, the truth of every
statement determined by the prism

Of the individual human mind…
*

Stories Unfolding

*
My latest meditation on the inapplicable
recommendation of a spiritual teacher who
believes love can fix anything – oh how wrong
he has been - suspicious and doubtful in the extreme,
undercover poet, licensed to drink, but, alas, not to think

Chained to a boring text, my positive
book does not offer a recipe for success,
reading that ‘Giving love with no expectations,
without conditions, you will feel full, not empty,
blissful, not miserable’ does not help

The text is not lovable, the font is small, the
message boring, no interesting ideas, I am not
like Vetinari who reads music notes for a treat
instead of listening to the music - I prefer
sounds to printed symbols

Have to conjure a vision, but nothing prepared today
as soon as my mind is floating on an inner dream, I
can deal with the time thieves using boring official
messages to stifle innovation in the spirit of
assembly line standardization

I can only work mechanically when listening to
stories unfolding in my head, characters giving
love, feeling blissful, if I can conjure Wall.E
meeting Eva to lift my mind away from the
confining dimensions of visible reality

I shall be on my way…

*
References:

Terry Prachett, the Patrician Lord Vetinari
Time Thieves – Michael Ende ‘Momo'
The movie Wall.E
*

Too Upsetting For Words

*
Translating the script of a James
Bond movie, a delusionary character’s
plot to upset the global economy, the
President must provide him with funds

A mansion with swimming pool and the
ear of the media, he forgot to mention the
beautiful girls, he wants to organise world-
wide demonstrations in aid of his plans

Where is Broccoli when we need him, this
script is atrocious but might work for aught
I know, but please, put the mad author out
of his misery or release me first

Such effrontery is too upsetting
for words!
*

Never Sing In Public

*
Listening to my voice recordings,
kept to remind me never to sing
in public, sounds awful, to think
I inflict this on my family

It is a wonder they still tolerate me
now it makes sense why Tiaan al-
ways offer me pills to silence the
noise, my voice sounds terrible

I shall sing softly to myself, never
expose others to this; this dark day
of punishment has been saved by
Pratchett - Unseen Academicals

I love his irreverent definition of
poetry: get a girl kindly disposed
to make her take off her vest
comical humour at its best

I love his critique of society, beautiful
Juliet paid for causing dreams, no brain
required; soccer hooliganism, men with
whips creating fighting machines

When humanity does away with whips,
rules and regulations, replacing it with
respect for freedom -

A new civilization would come about for
the first time - life would become
worthwhile for people like me...
*

A Strange Conductor

*

Words to me is a form of music
every language sings in a different
key, harmonies of chords, fifths and
fourths, sadness singing in a minor
key, rhythm all important, tone
and metre

But I live in an environment where
words are not allowed to sing, sound-
less symbols carrying silent messages
forever dumb

Yet my brain is a strange conductor that
lines up words in singing rhymes and
funny limericks and will not back down
when told to seek meaning
with military

precision…

Successful Nonentity

*Why preach reality to me when
It indicts me for my failure to
succeed as a nonentity?

Childhood condemned me to
a life of misery, a low-paid job,
dealing with allergy

Fantasies of fairytale allegories
enabled me to change my fate
and create

New visions in spaces between
the requirements of mind-
destroying devices

Fantasies help me overcome
the failure of being a brick
in the wall

Make me strong when punished
for being different, create the
belief

I have a right to shortcomings and
strong points - Life is based
on the irrational fantasy

The pain and insanity inflicted by
rational reality cannot keep us
down - this produced

The world as it is - as well as
you and me!
*

Ascend In Fairytale (Rev.)

** The crocodile spirit drowns soul in
fantasy to release its mind from gloom
but magic claims a price, allergy grows
worse as the spirit breaks free
through enchanting words

Crocodile returns catatonic, immobilised,
thanks fablers for creating fantasies
relieving pain passing crises in high
jumps to heavenly realms

Poetry’s magic too dangerous flying
high plummeting to earth returning
an ungainly reptile after soaring
in the sky like a bird

Rather to ascend in fantasies that
never end in disappointment when
reptilian reality asserts itself

***************************************

Why did the crocodile lose itself completely
in Terry Pratchett’s narrative?

Food intolerance is manifesting in muscle
weakness and nervous system imbalance, I
ingested processed meat with lots of chemicals
for two days consecutively and it cost me my life

The crocodile immersed spirit and soul in fantasy
to lift its mind out of physical misery; the magic
exerts a price, allergy symptoms grow worse as
the spirit breaks free through enchanting words

The crocodile returns in a catatonic state, muscles
too tired to move - I can never thank storytellers
like Terry Pratchett enough for creating fantasies
which override discomfort and disability

Bringing symptomatic pain relief; reading prescribed
books in my youth made life unbearable, now crisis
times pass in high jumps into heavenly realms; poetry
is even more powerful, but it is too dangerous

I fly too high then fall too hard down to earth, the crocodile
cannot adapt to being an ungainly reptile after flying like
a bird in the sky, it is better to ascend in fairytale fan-
tasies that do not end in SUCH disappointment

When reality asserts itself!

Am On Autopilot

Oh wondrous pain, ice-cream caramel
for breakfast, wiped the files in my brain
cannot prioritise, mind resonating with
nothing, gone all emotion, I am a
crocodile, feeling extinguished,
flying on autopilot

Following a preset course developed by
my crocodile brain when I was a child
facing a meaningless world in which
I saw no place for myself, pride
became my guiding light

Isolation and independence, providing
in my own needs - dreaming dreams
the only way to transcend the pain of
existence, pitied and feared the
animal kingdom

I thought they existed in pain like me
while they were not free to overcome
such misery through fantasy visions

Distraught I regarded awareness with
awe as the most horrible aspect of life
knowing pain and suffering, my only
delight was to become someone else

There are many in my repertoire, yet
the allergy wipes them all out, leaving
the crocodile to deal with the world,
escaping into abstract thought and
into music

Today I believe life is supposed to be
fun, the crocodile is an aberration -
thank heaven for that!