I’m Terribly Superstitious Poem by Margaret Alice

I’m terribly superstitious, for every nasty word
that I say I expect lighting to strike me down;
failing that, when ‘flu symptoms clog up my
head and fill it with lead, I assume celestial
judgment is served in this way

Quite clearly today my fatigue must be due to
all the bad things I have thought while I was
feeling overwrought yesterday; it’s been ages
since facing an empty shell of a person like a
primitive hiding away – why can’t he just be

A human being, why this charade of kind father
confessor – and then to threaten to bring in Mr
McClachlan; the most disgruntled, dissatisfied
specimen of them all - to analyse the bad
situation to death, and make us confess

How totally wrong our translation practice
in South African society is; The Translator’s
Institute is called upon as the crowning threat;
their idea of fun is a romp through history
with the éclat of an enraged Fury

Because of all the lost opportunities to put
Afrikaans on the map and teach us to speak
isiZulu, isiXhosa and SeSotho every day -
this must all be part of my heritage karma
earned through lifetimes of neglect

Although I know Koos DuPlessis improved Afrikaans
lyrics beyond recognition and I need no more torture
my soul with the old-fashioned stuff – I still sing
“En hoor jy die magtige dreuning”*
and “Jy is my liefling en ek is so bly! ”*

* Do you hear thunderous …
* Beloved you are mine and I am so glad…