The Poet On Holiday In December Poem by Gert Strydom

(in answer to Daniel Hugo)

(1)

It's now half past eleven and the stars are bright in the dark night.
Janneman, Letitia and the children are not ready to leave
where you and I and Hannes do wait in your car on them
as we want to travel to the sea, to a special holiday place.
Half night-blind I do not want to drive the car
and we travel to a fuel-station to fill it up
where in the restaurant I find a half-drunk white man
that invites the police from a squad-car to a meal
from fear that they will arrest him on his way back to Brakpan.
the fuel tank of the car is filled and behind Janneman's VW SUV we follow,
you drive slowly as our safety is important to you,
we drive to the N3 freeway past the new petroleum facility,
hear guinea fowls call and doves coo everywhere in the veldt,
I see the red tail-lights of his trailer peeping at us.

(2)

I see the red tail-lights of his trailer peeping at us
where I can only contribute a thousand one hundred rand,
where you and Hannes are paying and do not want a further cent from me.
We pass trucks hauling heavy loads of steal to the sea,
in conversations you touch only on the wonder of love,
while nothing do worry us on this wonderful trip
but at the first fuel-station Janneman does complain about the vibration of his car
where the sunrise at Harrismith is breathtaking in beauty.
Janneman stops and little FiFie (Gwenevieve)talks about the canvas of Jesus,
I do take photographs and later at Howick we stop at the windmills,
where we wait on Hanri, Herbert and their children,
buy the most wonderful pepper-steak pies and it becomes late
while we look at the lovely Natal midlands
while the grand-children frolic around and play laughing with each other.

(3)

While the grand-children frolic around and play laughing with each other
I remember how later they sit together drinking coffee,
it becomes a bright hot tranquil sunny day
and while we drive we look at where the sea lies shimmering.
It's Freedom Day and Scottburgh is full of a hodgepodge of people,
beneath the holiday apartments a Caspir is parked, the access is controlled,
and with cries of "a bullet for a boor" the black people are past angry,
where the police do send us away from the beach for our own safety.
When we walk to buy groceries a black youth growls to you:
"white-woman, you are so white that you make my eyes burn, "
where he and twenty others sit on the pavement and I do restrain myself
and barred is the blue ocean and milk-white beach.
We watch television and the black people gambol till late
while I wonder why even children do hate unknown white people?

(4)

While I wonder why even children do hate unknown white people
outside an angry mob gathers and the police do drive up and down in the street,
there are police-dogs barking and growling at the rioting people
and over a public address system orders are given to the crowd,
they are forced to leave the beach in the early hours of the morning,
some are arrested while a multitude jogs past,
outside women are screaming, some are arguing and they are in rage
and I wonder how this strange behaviour does benefit them?
Very early in the morning we are dressed and ready,
do walk in tranquillity to the beach to swim for the first time
and you laugh cheerfully while the sun hangs as a red ball over the sea,
while everything on the new morning looks peaceful at this holiday-spot,
as if a person cannot guess anything about the previous night's uproar,
still a person does remain afraid of a great kind of lingering danger.

(5)

Still a person does remain afraid of a great kind of lingering danger
but cheerfully together we do splash around in the waves
where we do enjoy the holiday that we were longing for,
do body-surf from much deeper to steady ground.
After breakfast together with the children we are hunting for shells,
where Hannes finds a valuable intact beautiful specimen,
and we do carry the shells that we find around in a towel.
I have to stop to take photographs of anemones and coral-reefs.
Exuberant like a mere child you do find the loveliest shells
while we do climb up and down to pools in the rough rocks,
the sun, the sea and beauty does blind a person
while in loveliness the sea glitters to the horizon
and many miles are walked on the beach
where we do experience times that a person cannot tell in words.

(6)

Where we do experience times that a person cannot tell in words
we do visit the crocodile-park where a rain-storm catches us,
where I carry Fifie (Gwenevieve)around and gravel do gnash beneath my shoes
where enchanting times are experience, are lied down in memories.
It's the kind of holiday that we would want to experience again,
while we do hunt for days for shells walking to and thro,
almost every morning is full of sunshine and fresh,
where we do make new oaths to each other,
where from early we do splash around in the sea,
until the busses and trains full of black people do arrive in the afternoons
and beaches become unsafe for us,
where in the afternoons we wash off the salt at the showers,
and dumbfounded we are from the people in front of the apartments
while they do sometimes scream and half-naked cause an uproar.

(7)

While they do sometimes scream and half-naked cause an uproar
we do frisk around in the swimming-pool of the apartments
while the police does protect the beach and road
and speechless we were at the behaviour of a multitude
but at a time the holiday was past,
with beautiful things and events our experiences were full
and on a hot sunny summer day I was driving home,
did stop at the place where the blades of the windmills do whirl around.
On the way through the mountain passes we found a man driving a SLK Mercedes
who in a fright jumped to his feet in an open car and waved at me,
waving with his arms while his hair was blowing in the wind
where he was stuck behind an old pick-up truck that was turning off
and like this I remember where I am writing down each beautiful day,
it's now half past eleven and the stars are bright in the dark night

[Reference: "Die digter met vakansie" (The poet on holiday)by Daniel Hugo.]