Nicolette Writes

Professional Freelance Writer and Stay-at-Home Mom

Archive for the category “Poetry”

Kersie-rooi Liefdesballade


Kersie-rooi Liefdesballade
– Nicolette Ferreira

Hoe verf ek my hart in kersie-rooi
op ’n mooi stukkie wit papier?
Ek wil nie hê
dat die mense moet sê:
‘Ag, liewe genade –
‘n liefdesballade…’

My papier is grys
soos ek uitvee, uitvee…
Dis als al gebruik:
‘ek hou van,
ek mis jou,
ek’s blou,
jy’s die een.’

Hoe verf ek: ek lief jou
op ’n nuwe manier?
Sonder
‘hou van,
net jou,
vir altyd,
ons twee…’

Ek sal vir jou een sonder woorde moet skryf,
kersie-rooi op
die muur van jou hart!

‘Ag, liewe genade –
‘n liefdesballade…’

Droomverlore


Droomverlore

Die mense dink ek is hier –
maar eintlik is ek in Kaapstad,
staan ek met ‘n koppie tee
op iemand se balkon
en hoef ek nie ‘n woord te se nie –
want die see vra nooit ‘n antwoord nie.

My bruin oe
raak verlore in my gedagtes
waar niemand my kom uitruk nie…
Is dit beter –
droomverlore?

Nimmereindig
altyd
voel dit soos mondeling –
steek my hart,
breek dit deur my vel,
val dit in my hande
en weet ek nie wat om daarmee te doen nie…

Weet ek nie
weet ek nie
weet ek nie
bly ek maar eerder –
droomverlore

Do you know this poem?


by E.E. Cummings…

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

________________________________________

Okay, first of all, blush blush!! blush…

But what an intriguing poem… I love the ‘i like my body when it is with your body’ and ‘which i will again and again and again kiss’.

His use of small caps is interesting and strange… why suddenly a capital ‘A’ in line 12 – the only capital letter in the poem? And why the spaces in lines 2,4,5 and 9 before ‘i’? And ‘-firm-smooth ness’?

I just thought I would be brave today and post this poem 🙂
Have a lovely weekend

Nicolette

A BUTTERMILK AFTERNOON


I am busy baking rusks (they are in the oven right now!) and it is my first batch – ever! As I was opening the carton of buttermilk (see pic), I remembered my grandmother. She used to drink the buttermilk just like that – it was probably her absolute favourite treat. I guess it is quite normal to drink buttermilk, but I have always thought of it as sour milk or ‘milk gone bad’! I would look at the white chunks in my grandmother’s glass and not understand how she could love this so much.

So all of this put a whole train of thoughts going in my mind. I was reminded of the ‘praise poem’ something I learned in my creative writing honours year. The ‘praise poem’ is “an African tradition used by a tribe, so that young adults begin and continue life knowing who they are and that they belong, that they are loved and that they each have special gifts.” (quoted from my class notes!)

Roughly, the format of a ‘praise poem’ is:

1) Your lineage: I am… daughter of… who was the son of … (or similar)
2) Physical description: I am tall, with dark hair, full wide hips, my belly is round (you can go all out!)
3) Who are you? You can say whatever it is that makes you you – that which is special about you or important to you

Well. I think a rusk-baking, buttermilk afternoon is the perfect time for writing a praise poem, the perfect time for thinking about where I come from and who I am!

I am Nicolette Ferreira.
I am the daughter of Mary,
granddaughter of Mary Victor,
who was the daughter of Mary Marais,
daughter of Katherine Fowler.
I am pale-skinned and hazel-eyed
with wild red hair.
I am from the south of Africa
from everywhere –
the ocean, the fields, the dust, the mountains.
I have tiny feet and tinier toes,
my hands are made of ice.
My belly ring,
my wild hair
are stamps of defiance –
I am not to be captured in a cage.
Nicolette – I’m like a cat
I come out when I want to
I leave when I have to
I sleep curled up,
but I do this to protect myself.
I struggle to exercise –
lifting my head slowly at the suggestion to run.
I send my cries to ‘God’ with a capital ‘G’ –
not to any ‘higher power’:
the God of Jesus and the Holy Spirit,
of Adam, Moses and John,
Esther, Maria and Martha.
Of Kathleen Fowler,
of Mary Victor,
of Mary Louw,
of Nicolette Ferreira.

You are so welcome to place your own praise poems here!!

Die sewe-uur storie


Wat het geword van programme soos

Goeiemore Alaska

en Die Hoedbrigade (met Billy)

en Pensacola Wings of Gold (met Bobby)?

Ons kyk nou maar

na X-Men en X-Cows

en X watokal.

Gelukkig is ek

dat ek herinneringe het

aan kaas en tamatie broodjies

(toe nog met botter)

en sjokolade nesquick

voor die televisie

vasgenael voor

vasgevang deur

die finale episode van

Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman.

romerige plesier


This poem takes on the form of a ‘Villanelle’. The ‘Villanelle’ (italian I think?) has its origin from ‘farm songs’ – eg: songs that would be sung while working in the lands, or someone calling and another answering from far away. It has 19 lines, consisting of five tercets, ending with a quartet. Rhyme scheme aba aba aba aba aba acaa. The challenge of this type of poem involves its repetitive rhyme scheme: it can easily sound like a nursery rhyme: so you have to work at being original in the ‘rhyming words’ you choose.

(DON’T QUOTE ME ON ANY OF THIS!! All this info is just more more less!)

Check my version below (sorry for those who don’t understand Afrikaans!):

ROMERIGE PLESIER

Vanoggend se koffie was net ek en jy
Al was daar ander by ons
Al was daar ‘n moeilike oom in die ry.

Die oomblik van room op koffie, verby –
Die oomblik van luister en skons
Vanoggend se koffie was net ek en jy.

Jy het vir ons nog twee koffies gekry
Al sou my dieetplan frons
Al was daar ‘n moeilike oom in die ry

jou oe was net op my
en soms op die botterskons –
vanoggend se koffie was net ek en jy.

Ek wou so graag hier bly
‘n soete oomblik van ons
al was daar ‘n moeilike oom in die ry.

Daar is min wat my hart so verbly
Soos ‘n ro-merige plesier:
Vanoggend se koffie was net ek en jy
Al was daar ‘n moeilike oom in die ry.

VRETENDE SKULD


Mag ’n mens verveeld wees,
terwyl die res van die wêreld maar net moet aan…
’n Tannie jaag oor die oranje lig.
’n Outjie ry amper bo-oor jou rug.

Mag ’n mens dan verveeld wees?
Terwyl iemand jaag na ’n volgende plek:
’n Oom het nie tyd vir eet, hy moet gaan.
’n Meisie het klas tot vyf vanaand.

Mag ’n mens dan verveeld wees?
Mag ek wonder wat om te doen, terwyl

’n tannie oor die robot jaag,
’n outjie vir my ligte flits,
’n oom leeg is in sy maag,
’n meisie net tyd het vir koffie in kits…

Mag ek dan ’n stadige room koffie drink
en wonder wat om te maak –
terwyl die res van die wêreld maar net moet aan…

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