The following four selections of poetry were contributed by Frieda Groffy, a Belgian poet/journalist and editor of the new
book, Climbing the Rainbow of Our Dreams, a collection of poetry by young South African women and men artists
from the Artist Proof Studio in Johannesburg, South Africa. Ms. Groffy spent months helping the students create an
illustrated book of their life stories (see QME Vo.4, No. 5). The poems presented here are as written, without editing or
alteration. QME is privileged to be a part of bringing these new voices to you. May they remind us all that every
woman's life is precious and that every day is International Women's Day!
For more information about this book and how to purchase it, please visit the QME Authors page. The link is listed on the
cover of this issue.
From Ms. Groffy:
The following poems are from young female artists (visual as well as with strong poetic words) living
in the townships around Johannesburg, where life is not easy and every day a new struggle to fight
and to conquer.
But they have that little inside flame burning and with passion and perseverance they mark their road
of positive living.
This poetry is strong and sometimes raw and unpolished but proves that from hardships and ugliness
can rise beauty.
I’m proud I was able to work with them and discover these uncut diamonds!
by
Julia Britou
Born on the world
Growing on this wild world
Singing and dancing on this world
Standing and falling on this world
Crying, mourning, smiling, rejoicing
Who am I ?
Walking in the streets of Soweto
Shouting in Orlando Stadium
Dating and jollying between Jeppe-and Plein Street
Eating and drinking umqombothi African beer
Ka Wandile eMofolo
Who am I ?
Am I the woman ? Am I innocent?
Who am I ?
Ke mo Afrika- I am an African
I am a woman…African
by
Vuyo Seripe
I once lived in a cage
I called it my home
I was comfortable in it
I fell in love with it
I spent days and hours in it
Calling it quality time
This cage was beautiful
Decorated with excuses and clichés
Oh! My cage! My home! My cage!
Then one day I was handed a key
And I opened the cage
I stepped out and discovered
A brand new world
And I realized the cage had never
Ever be my home!
by
Phumzile Buthelezi
Is it the tone
That tames the tones
Of my skin
More than the natural
Tawny shade as the
Sun’s orange rays
Reflected on my hide
Yet I’m told that beauty
Is but skin deep
Is it the cleanser
That cleans and clear
Away my stressful pores
Fight away my fleshy foes
Freshens it more fresh
Than the sweaty
Flush of my flesh
Or the blusher that
Brightens when I brush
One colour after another
My cheeks upper or lower
One colour on top of the other
Longer or shorter than
The natural blush when
My blood rushes and flush
My skin whenever I feel
Panic or shyness
Or the ache when I make
The fake arch of my eyebrows
Plucked by my tweezers
Highlighted by eyebrow
Pen slash pencil
Lifting eyebrows slash
Opening eyes
My windows to my soul
Or is it my smile that brings back my shine
Or smothers my looks
When my red painted lips
Spread apart showing off my gasping teeth
Or the make-up that
Makes me up better
Than the good deeds
I do everyday I wake up
Oh no! I don’t think so
You wanna know what maketh me be?
It is that what lies beneath
Deep down in my soul!
by
Vatiswa Mtyalela
I’m overwhelmed with the screams
Of mothers and babies in my world
The skies and the air is filled
With foul smell
Sewerage pipes, toilets, rubbish bins
Blocked with foetuses
Suddenly, I get startled by the
Loud growling in the street
A group of dogs fighting, ripping
Apart the remains of a breathless
Body of a baby who lived less
Than an hour
Still in a state of shock
A woman is screaming hysterically
Mumbling something about a child
‘help…please help’ she says
why then…why cry ‘infertility’
do I want to bring a child
into this cruel cold world
when a woman cannot trust
her husband, her father, her brother
her son, her uncle, her neighbour nor a stranger
why then…why cry ‘infertility’
I shudder! To think what I would do
If I brought a child into this dirty world
A chill runs down my spine
By the thought of the ugly sight of tiny bodies
Of boys and girls torn apart by merciless perverts
Their privacy has been invaded
Their innocence stolen
Their future shuttered
The fragile private parts
Will never be the same again
They will never forget, the man
One who was supposed to protect
But damaged
One who was to nurture
But destroyed
One who was suppose to love
But hated so much, he killed
Why then…why cry ‘infertility’
My soul cries in mourning
For those who were born
Of fertile women
My mother was one of them!
