The Empty Evenings Are The Most Difficult (In Answer To Mandi Engelbrecht) Poem by Gert Strydom

The empty evenings are the most difficult
when alone I write poems,
when I sometimes listen to Classic Fm
while I have got nothing to do,

the two old people
go to bed when darkness comes
and we say our prayers,

at times they insist
that I watch a religious DVD with them
and they talk about the news
and newspaper reports

but much too soon the evening is past
and the cocker spaniel
looks at me with her dark eyes

while the Persian cat goes outside to hunt,
and I read poems of some English friends
one after the other.

I am still searching for a job
which circles out wider,
almost away from me
while I spent my spare time

on what I can find in the library
on poetry of some great poets,
to teach myself techniques, methods, style,
and to find ideas

and it's as if the wide world
waits upon my new poems
and sometimes I mow the lawn,
and help here and there in the garden,

see the flock of sparrows,
weavers and doves coming near,
and I dare poems to repair my country,
my world, to tell people
who can make a difference

about the things happening here
and my days and nights are empty without you
but our relationship went to hell
by your own choice
and I have got a new mistress
whose name is poetry

and she is a whimsical lover
who serves others much better
before she visits me at night,
to share my pain, my sorrow and memories

and most of the time I try to know her better,
to know the rhythm, the methods of her existence,
to find that which makes her great

and one after the other my days pass,
while I wonder when things are going to change,
while I try day after day to survive

and I know that I cannot hold on to the past
and I know
that I can write almost any kind of poem
and still at times I wonder
what is happening far away in your world?

[Reference: "‘n dood gewone vrou" (an ordinary woman) by Mandi Engelbrecht.]