Through the looking glass and what I’ve found there.

I’ve recently decided I’m going to put all of my poems that I’ve written thus far in a volume called “dada 4 nonsense”. Even if it’s  just for me and no one else will ever see it. Except maybe close friends and family. Who knows? I have all the material – I just have to put it together now. 

Life at work hasn’t been that great lately – I keep getting in trouble for the smallest, silliest things. I’m also surprised every time that my boss doesn’t fire me or at least give me a warning. I’m pretty sure she wants to strangle me about now. I’d probably be the reason why she’ll get her first grey hair at the age of 30. 

Anyway, I’ve recently discovered something amazing! I started playing this game last night “Alice: Behind the glass” about Alice in Wonderland and everywhere in the game there are interesting facts. One thing I’ve learnt that’s really interesting:

200px-Alice_Liddell

A real girl was the inspiration for the book! Lewis Carroll wrote “Alice in Wonderland” for the dean’s daughter at the school he taught. Her name was Alice Pleasance Liddle. On Jthe 4th of July in 1862 while in a rowing boat he started entertaining her and her two sisters with what would have become the story of Alice in Wonderland. She asked him to write it down for her. After a few months he presented her with the manuscript of “Alice’s Adventures Under Ground” in November 1864. The second book followed “Through the looking glass and what Alice found there”. 

She does feature though in an acrostic poem at the end of “Through the Looking Glass”. Reading downward, taking the first letter of each line spells out Liddell’s full name. 

A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July–

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear–

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die.
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream–
Lingering in the golden gleam–
Life, what is it but a dream?

through looking glass

Dada Poem

Plan of Attack

Bully for Ukraine

Keeping score.

Monster. Master.

You have the right to be forgotten.

An apology would be a start.

Inside job

killing it softly

childhood denied.

 

Titles taken from Time magazine Issue: May 26, 2014

Amusing Ourselves to Death

I’ve recently finished reading this book I got at a flea market (I’m a sucker for bargains!) and even though it was published in 1985, I think it is still relevant to this day. I’d like to share a few quotes from the book:

 

Book:

” Amusing ourselves to death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business

by Neil Postman

amusing ourselves to death

Introduction: Postman regularly refers to the Orwellian and Huxley nightmares. (Luckily, I’ve already read Orwell’s book “1984”) Huxley wrote “Brave New World”

“Contrary to common belief even among the educated, Huxley and Orwell did not prophesy the same thing. Orwell warns that we will be overcome by an externally imposed impression. But in Huxley’s vision, no Big Brother is required to deprive people of their autonomy, maturity and history. As he saw it, people will come to love their oppression, to adore the technologies that undo their capacities to think.” 

 

This is especially true in this day in age. Postman stopped at television, because there was no Internet back then. Today we have an even bigger culprit: Social Media. We are surrounded by an overload of mostly irrelevant information and “selfies”.

Sometimes there are a few amongst ourselves that realize that this is getting just too ridiculous right now. But do we do anything about it? NO. We use the same thing we try to rebel against to tell others that we are actually against it. Almost like the example Postman gives of a woman who tried to persuade others to stop watching television, by putting a bulletin up on television.. “Mrs Babcock hopes that by watching television, people will learn that they ought to stop watching television”… Ironic, isn’t it?

 

“What Orwell feared were those who would ban books. What Huxley feared was that there would be no reason to ban a book, for there would be no one who wanted to read one. Orwell feared those who would deprive us of information. Huxley feared those who would give us so much that we would be reduced to passivity and egoism. Orwell feared that the truth would be concealed from us. Huxley feared the truth would be drowned in a sea of irrevelance. Orwell feared we would become a captive culture. Huxley feared we would become a trivial culture, preoccupied with some equivalent of the feelies, the orgy porgy, and the centrifugal bumblepuppy.

Brave New World: ” [they] failed to take into account man’s almost infinite appetite for distractions“.

In 1984, Huxley [Orwell?] added, people are controlled by inflicting pain. In Brave New World, they are controlled by inflicting pleasure. In short, Orwell feared that what we hate will ruin us. Huxley feared that what we love will ruin us.

 

Postman concludes that Huxley has been more right in his fears. Postman concludes: “In the Huxleyan prophecy, Big Brother does not watch us, by his choice. We watch him, by ours. “

And within Social Media, it is not some capitalist government that forced this on us, but ourselves. We are the only ones to blame.

 

How to resolve this? Postman: ” In the first place, not everyone believes a cure is needed, and in the second, there probably isn’t any.

No matter how hard you try to fight it, you will lose. So I say – embrace it. Use it to empower!

24 April 2014 Napowrimo

Titles (2 or 3?) I can’t remember

 

Christians and Tyrants

Luckless down under

Take that, Taliban!

To the dogs.

Why Obama hit Pause.

unholy choices

 

Make like a Panda

Bearly human

Gone to the beach

“Yeah, you betcha!”

21 April 2014 Back to Napowrimo

I know today is the 22nd, but I wrote this yesterday.

 

I cry…

crying banshee

I cry because I’m alone

I cry because my life is stuck in a rut

and there’s no way to get out.

 

Choices is what made us.

“The good things that I want to do, I don’t do,

but the awful things that I don’t want to do, that I do.” *

 

I cry because I cannot go back

and I cannot move forward

because I keep looking back.

 

I cry because I don’t belong here

I cry because I have nothing,

no one to share it with.

 

I cry because time waits for no man.

I cry because I only know what I’ve lost,

when it’s truly gone.

 

I cry for the missed opportunities,

missed lessons.

I cry because of my stubbornness.

 

I cry because I can’t look myself in the mirror.

I cry because I can’t stop hurting myself.

I cry because I can’t tell anyone without

being labelled crazy.

 

I cry because I’m a beautiful mess.

I cry because no one will ever get to see that.

 

I cry because you laugh at me.

I cry because no one understands me.

I cry because I’m trying too hard to impress you.

 

I cry for the pain

and sweet bliss

of this world.

 

But most of all: I cry because

this is the only world I know.

 

*the quote is a rough translation from the Afrikaans Romans 8:19

12 April – 13 April 2014 Napowrimo

 

Ouma Alice (Alet) Linde

Ouma Alice (Alet) Linde

My grandmother died last night

 

My grandmother died last night.

I did not know.

My aunt sent me a message:

“I’m sorry your grandmother died”.

I was like: “What?

No way!”

 

I did not want to believe it

I did not want to go home

I tried to dance the night away,

but instead I cried my eyes out.

 

I came home.

I did not want the night to end.

I did not want to face the truth

I did not want to see my dad’s face.

 

I want to dedicate this post to my grandmother, Alice Linde. She was the real poet in the family. She gave me this poem to keep in my Bible.

 

REMINISCENCE

As I look back on my childhood days

it fills me with awe, and I stand amazed

How the Lord in His goodness provided for me

And taught me the best is yet to be.

In 1931, I was but four,

My parents, divorced, could care for me no more

So my mother accompanied me by train

To an orphanage, St Faiths, in Bloemfontein.

I can still remember that very night

when my mother disappeared from sight

How can I describe the tears I shed

Before someone came and put me to bed.

If only parents could realise

How their actions appear before God’s eyes

For it’s their children who beak the pain

when the vows they make are disobeyed.

As I grew older, I felt something amiss,

no one to hug me, or give me a kiss

So in thought I would climb up on Jesus’ knee

with my head on His breast He whispered to me:

“I love you my child,  – you belong to ME”

From there on I could go to Him in prayer

all my fears and joys with Him I could share

For my Guardian Angel stands watch over me,

It’s so reassuring, it fills me with glee,

And I know through His Word

The best is yet to be.

A. E. Linde – Nov 1995

Dear Grandma Alet

You no longer have to feel any pain and have to hope that the best is yet to be, because now you are where you always belonged  – “on Jesus’ knee”. You disappeared so quickly from our sight so sudden I’m still filled with shock, but I’m glad I got to know you – even though you could make me so mad at times! I somehow wish I could join you in heaven, but for now I can hold onto this hope: “The best is yet to be!”

RIP

Sulet Linde

11 April 2014 Napowrimo

Just read through my previous poems – Not bad. Not bad at all. Anyway, here’s today’s:

 

Return of the Taliban

“We own this country”

Money talks.

The Competitor

No 1 with a bullet

Great Society.

I got the titles from Time magazine, Issue: April 14, 2014

10 April 2014 Napowrimo

Just when I thought I cannot write another DADA poem any more, I got a great idea! Why not take all the titles in the magazine and make a poem out of that? Brilliant idea!

Titles

The Party faithful

Repent

Tit-for-tat

mail-safe

Pluto’s little siblings:

Rise of the Mumps.

No safe smoke

Paragon of hate

A Time to Cry

What India wants

The King and O

No more broken promises.

Head trip.

The Last days of Mad Men

O Captain!

Let there be Night

Lorde Almighty

Man of Steal

Seeds of change

Thanks, but mostly no Thanks.

I got these titles from a Time magazine (where else?) Issue April 7, 2014.

9 April 2014 Napowrimo Dada poem

How I write a DADA poem:

I take an article

Read it.

Underline words that pop out

Scramble them,

mix them up

And put them together

again in a new puzzle.

8 April 2014

I didn’t have internet access last night, so I’m posting yesterday’s poem today.

 

(untitled)

wizardry retrofitting

tombstone mentality

dearth dawdle

patchwork earth

falling through the cracks

line of sight

paper plane

avionics

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