Connie Ngcaba's life story highlights grassroots contribution to anti-apartheid struggle

In May I Have This Dance, Connie Ngcaba tells the story of how she navigated apartheid in the Eastern Cape during those bitter years. Displaying remarkable grit, she overcame obstacles to find her place in the nursing profession and helped stoke — through her day to day responses to oppression — the broader waves of resistance.

See my review of May I Have This Dance here.

Lion

the old lion lifts his mane

scars tattoo forelimbs & face
a sequel to scraps & skirmishes
an easy gaze
on river pool
where buffalo family gambol
& robins & kingfishers 
swirl &

slice the air

calf wanders unseen
toward
the pulsing camouflage
a few green-brown yards away from
open nostrils & cloud of flies
slowly, an urge to strike, 
to brush aside inertia, rising
in the belly
of the seasoned one ,,,,
then: quickly
buffalo mum, eye now turned eagle, canters
from the shallows; & with
guiding horns
sweeps the toddler away

our languid giant
loses appetite
for bruising blood-letting bash 
with
hardened spikes - horns remembered
all too well
from some other sunday
in the highveld sun 

F.M.

Sketches - Frank Meintjies

Poem in Afrikaans

Although not Afrikaans-speaking, I have sometimes used Afrikaans in my creative work. I had forgotten about this poem, which was probably written in 1988 and published in Spark in 1989. 

Read it here: http://www.sahistory.org.za/archive/poem-frank-meintjies. 

Legacy

(for elaine rosa salo)

from the palms of those hands
so much blooms: feisty voices, uprooters, minds that will spark & glow & arc 

over day & night skies

they new ones will go on
themselves sprouting small truths, larger narratives & thorns
to pierce
the hollow certainties

justice is a house built by many
but some, like you
add beautiful touches, ones that sparkle
that sing in the mind

you walked the cobbled footways 

(that were) trod before  by
bell hooks, lorde, edward said, chomsky,
mamdani, cornel, sontag, alice walker

and from africa 

your walked with your a to z of thinkers
from ama ata via fatima mernissi through
wangari maathai
and ending on zubeida masabo

how can we keep walking
the a to z
this freedom trail, this underground railway?

today: thought, reflection, resilient humanity
bubble & brew
warmth (created from ingredients in busy neighbourhoods &
close communities)
rises
like twirling vapour
from cups of tea

in this place of memory, in your presence

love & thought are
interwoven & enmeshed    like
tree & creeper
swells & sea
wind & flight

Blood and stone (a poem on Fanon and Ghandi)

what

if fanon versed ghandi

on some wind-blown street

as ghandi

lay in a pool of blood

with fanon’s concerned hand

on that bony shoulder

does fanon whisper

‘any means’ are sometimes

needed

as marchers

in determined mood

bear down on fanon

does ghandi, like tutu,

fall on his knees, dramatically, & plead

to his diverse people

not to trample, &

show love?

flesh turns to blood

blood turns to stone

if they met at a roadside diner

would ghandi have broccoli and beans

and fanon bite into steak?

skillfully toting their persuasiveness

(in

sparring conversation)

would fanon emerge

bare chested, staff in hand

would ghandi rush forth

with gunbelt over dhoti?

Frank Meintjies

(this poem is taken from my first book, My Rainbow [2009])