Versamelde gedigte

[p. 499]

Grandmother's workbox

Inlaid with ivory from Indian elephants,
And mother o' pearl from Malayan seas,
A sandalwood sanctuary, finely carved
With beetles and Buddhas arranged in threes -
It stands by the window, beside her mittens,
And Grandmother opens it now and then,
While we crowd around her to gaze and wonder
At its quaint adornments of beasts and men.
It holds a motley, a rare collection
Of odds and ends of a time long fled,
The still loved remnants of what had meanings
Years, years ago but that now are dead.
A fat jade idol with eyes of garnet;
A piebald toadstone, a seashell rare;
A shower of gemstones green and crimson;
A trifle of dainty porcelain ware;
Needles and knitting pins, foreign pennies;
A piece of eight and a gold doubloon;
Silk from Benares, a quiz from Paris;
And - bought at Burgos - her christening spoon;
Buttons and buckles her father wore -
He died at Florence, a Jacobite -
A Mulready card and a shrapnel bullet
Picked up on the field of some foreign fight;
Scents of sandal and opodeldoc
With orris and cinnamon bark combine;
Balsam of Tolu and attar of rose
With violets plucked on the German Rhine.
These and more in Grandmother's workbox
Screen and comfort what lies below,
Hidden from prying eyes and fingers,
The ivory portrait of Grandpa Joe.
Grandpa Joe who came out, a settler -
Not that he settled; he roamed and ranged,
Seeking fortune and finding sorrow,
Bearing all with a faith unchanged.
Grandpa Joe who was tracked by Bushmen,
And shot a lion on Loubser's Hill,
Raced a rhino on Troe-troe's townlands,
And planted the oak near the water-mill.
A fat faced youth in his father's suit,
Tight above and too wide below -
A clerk in the India Company's House -
Whatever made Grandmother love him so?

Jagger-biblioteek, Universiteit van Kaapstad

[p. 500]

 

O Skepper van wat moed gee leen my krag

 

In hierdie tyd van ramp en ongeluk

 

Waar onder angs my bleek verstand moet buk

 

As twyfel botvier met sy nuwe mag

 

Van dagbreek af tot ver na middernag

 

 

 

Miljoene jammer uitkomsloos. Die juk

 

Van dwingeland, wat op die volke druk

 

Is swaarder as wat troospaai kan versag

 

 

 

Waar leef die kiem wat deur die euwe heen

 

Die mensdom selfs in bitter burgerstryd

 

Laat bloei het tot ontluiking van sy siel?

 

Hiers niks as puin en roes om oor te ween

 

Die dooi geraamtes van verdraagsaamheid

 

Die lyk van liefde deur die tyd verniel.

M.P.O. Burgers-versameling.

Blykbaar 'n sonnet wat deel van die reeks ‘Holland, 10 Mei 1940’ gevorm het.

Klein skreeubalk met verbeelding op die hol
Ondiertjie jy wat soes 'n goggatjie
In mis le krabbel en in druk staan lie
Tevrede as jou pen maar af kan rol
Jou hart met haat met kaf jou hersens vol
'n Reeks bywoorde somaar een twee drie
Wat oor die draad naar England toe kan vlie
En wys hoe slim jou kop is - of hoe hol
Ons is nie bang ver jou nie mettertyd
Sal elk een se skreeubalkie was 'n bog.
Kort in gestalte korter in verstand.

Ja klein moet hy wees wat jou kleinigheid
Bewierook as 'n wenner kleiner nog
Die natie wat sy trots op jou verpand

M.P.O. Burgers-versameling.

Daar is geen aanduiding in die manuskrip op wie hierdie gedig slaan nie, maar na alle waarskynlikheid het dit betrekking op Hitler.