{"id":832,"date":"2012-08-21T08:48:36","date_gmt":"2012-08-21T15:48:36","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/?p=832"},"modified":"2018-03-27T07:30:40","modified_gmt":"2018-03-27T14:30:40","slug":"snippets-in-memory-a-work-in-progress","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/?p=832","title":{"rendered":"Snippets of Memory–A Work in Progress"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"334\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Leon with his father, Chemush, outside their home, Bloemfontein, South Africa.<\/strong><\/p>\n

On this blog I like to present different types of thought-provoking material, and this time I have chosen another poem that deserves your attention. More often than not, we are so consumed with our modern-day lives that anything from the past either, movies, radio, even books seem unnecessary because for some people they are not as relevant anymore. However, take a moment to enrich yourselves,\u00a0and read this beautiful poem written by a man who had\u00a0experienced Apartheid in South Africa, and his memory is that of a young boy surrounded by prejudice and apathy. He possesses a sense of humor and straightforward honesty throughout his recollections that make his experience all the more biting and relevant. Politics and policy\u00a0intertwined\u00a0with everyday life. “Snippets\u00a0of Memory–A Work in Progress,” is a poem written\u00a0by Leon Levinsky, my father.<\/p>\n

“Snippets\u00a0of Memory–A Work in Progress”<\/strong><\/p>\n

I looked at\u00a0\u00a0a photograph<\/p>\n

Am I dead?<\/p>\n

Lying in repose<\/p>\n

Embarrassing close-up<\/p>\n

Eyes closed<\/p>\n

Bushy white beard<\/p>\n

Black eyebrows<\/p>\n

Worried expression<\/p>\n

Large nostrils.<\/p>\n

Not a face<\/p>\n

I would like<\/p>\n

To be remembered by.<\/p>\n

So what will I look like<\/p>\n

When I am dead?<\/p>\n

\u201cI tell my cane<\/p>\n

That I want to live\u201d<\/p>\n

Exclaimed my father<\/p>\n

As he struck the floor<\/p>\n

Beside his bed.<\/p>\n

The following day<\/p>\n

He was incoherent<\/p>\n

As he was carried to the ambulance<\/p>\n

On a stretcher.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaster, \u201c We will meet in heaven \u201c<\/p>\n

This from Sarah,<\/p>\n

The African\u00a0\u00a0maid<\/p>\n

Who thought she<\/p>\n

Protected the family.<\/p>\n

\"412\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Sarah, the devoted maid.
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

I cycled ten miles<\/p>\n

To the German deli<\/p>\n

For half a pound<\/p>\n

Of potato salad.<\/p>\n

When we were in standard six<\/p>\n

Johan Vorster gave a shout<\/p>\n

\u201c Sir look what I found in my bible\u201d<\/p>\n

Inscribed on the first page<\/p>\n

\u201c The Devil\u2019s Bumbook\u201d<\/p>\n

Stern Mr. Douglas gave<\/p>\n

A handwriting test<\/p>\n

And I trembled in case<\/p>\n

He found I was responsible.<\/p>\n

But no, it was one of the orphans from the group home<\/p>\n

He bent over<\/p>\n

And stoically received<\/p>\n

Six of the best.<\/p>\n

\u201c Thank you sir\u201d<\/p>\n

\"latinmaster\"<\/a><\/p>\n

One of my teachers, our Latin Master.<\/strong><\/p>\n

So we waited in the National Hospital<\/p>\n

For Nehemiah to die<\/p>\n

The nurse called my mother<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is asking for you\u201d.<\/p>\n

She returned and said<\/p>\n

\u201c No, he is calling for his mother.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"my%20scans0008\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Chemush, at age 3.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Stertorous raspy breathing, thin chest<\/p>\n

Eyes closed, calling out \u201cMama, Mama !\u201d<\/p>\n

That was the last time<\/p>\n

I saw my father.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\"118\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Older than his years, right before Chemush died.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Listlessly, I lay on the floor<\/p>\n

That wintry July<\/p>\n

And read War and Peace.<\/p>\n

With Patat Cronje in geography class,<\/p>\n

Willy van der Merwe raised his hand<\/p>\n

\u201c Sir, I have the solution<\/p>\n

To South Africa\u2019s Black problem,<\/p>\n

\u201cYes van der Merwe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c We dig a giant hole<\/p>\n

And push them in\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c Heh heh heh\u201d, laughed Patat<\/p>\n

\u201cWe can\u2019t do that,<\/p>\n

We are Christians\u201d<\/p>\n

Nineteen fifty four,<\/p>\n

Only twelve years after<\/p>\n

Babi Yar<\/p>\n

\u201c It is a Jewish Holiday,<\/p>\n

Why did you come to school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\"P1000711\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Grey College.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201c I am an atheist\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you must be a communist!\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence, because I was.<\/p>\n

Mr. Faure our principal,<\/p>\n

Pinstriped black suit waist coat over a pot belly<\/p>\n

Made an announcement<\/p>\n

\u201c Too many black boys<\/p>\n

Are wearing\u00a0\u00a0the<\/p>\n

Grey College blazer.<\/p>\n

If you want to dispose of your old blazer<\/p>\n

First drop it in a vat<\/p>\n

Of purple dye\u201d<\/p>\n

In 2008 I visited Grey<\/p>\n

Plenty of black youth<\/p>\n

In Grey blazers.<\/p>\n

\"337\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Leon in his school uniform.<\/strong><\/p>\n

I remember my first day at school<\/p>\n

White shirt, navy shorts,<\/p>\n

Hair neatly combed.<\/p>\n

Eunice girl\u2019s school<\/p>\n

With a smattering of boys.<\/p>\n

\u201c Hole in the wall<\/p>\n

A mouse crept in<\/p>\n

Kitty came by<\/p>\n

And she peeped in\u201d<\/p>\n

Miss Dunn home from the war<\/p>\n

Overwhelmed by her<\/p>\n

First teaching position<\/p>\n

The headmistress took me home<\/p>\n

I had pee-ed in my pants<\/p>\n

Too shy to raise a hand,<\/p>\n

Bullied during breaks<\/p>\n

Until my mother<\/p>\n

Taught me to box.<\/p>\n

Then I was left in peace<\/p>\n

To eat my marmite sandwiches.<\/p>\n

At the age of nine<\/p>\n

I went to Grey College<\/p>\n

For the first time,<\/p>\n

With Ivor Simmons.<\/p>\n

We walked up the dirt track<\/p>\n

Between tall pine trees<\/p>\n

To the imposing building<\/p>\n

Cape Dutch architecture,<\/p>\n

Addressed at assembly<\/p>\n

By the new head master Mr. Faure<\/p>\n

Half in English<\/p>\n

Half in Afrikaans.<\/p>\n

\"356\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Grey College.<\/strong><\/p>\n

He exhorted us to uphold<\/p>\n

The tradition of<\/p>\n

The Grey gentleman.<\/p>\n

Nine years later Ivor<\/p>\n

Came to my room<\/p>\n

At Driekoppen Residence<\/p>\n

At the University of Capetown<\/p>\n

And looked with disapproval<\/p>\n

At the crate<\/p>\n

With empty bottles<\/p>\n

Of Lion Lager.<\/p>\n

They were not mine.<\/p>\n

I kept quiet.<\/p>\n

\"383\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Afrikaner neighbor.<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u201c Why did you kill Jesus?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c Just think!<\/p>\n

If I hadn’t killed him<\/p>\n

You would be a Jew!\u201d<\/p>\n

Roland and I<\/p>\n

Cycling home from school<\/p>\n

To be ambushed by<\/p>\n

A posse of Afrikaner thugs.<\/p>\n

\u201c Oh hell, I have<\/p>\n

To get out of this<\/p>\n

God forsaken country.<\/p>\n

\u201c Fokken Kaffir \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cBladdy Jew \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cbloody redneck\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFucking Greek\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c Kaffir boetie\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c Kaffir lover\u201d<\/p>\n

\"342\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The three Levinsky children.<\/strong><\/p>\n

My father insisted that<\/p>\n

We live among the Afrikaners<\/p>\n

To be part of the country.<\/p>\n

Must have been strange for them<\/p>\n

For it was a very simple house<\/p>\n

And we had an old car<\/p>\n

A garden where no plant thrived.<\/p>\n

We watched each other warily<\/p>\n

Across the road<\/p>\n

Only meeting at the<\/p>\n

Regular punch ups.<\/p>\n

Our father was oblivious<\/p>\n

To the tribulations of his sons.<\/p>\n

I guess in retrospect,<\/p>\n

He had experienced far worse.<\/p>\n

\"scan0007\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The Levinsky family, South Africa.<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Leon with his father, Chemush, outside their home, Bloemfontein, South Africa. On this blog I like to present different types of thought-provoking material, and this time I have chosen another poem that deserves your attention. More often than not, we are so consumed with our modern-day lives that anything from the past either, movies, radio, … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-832","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/832","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=832"}],"version-history":[{"count":28,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/832\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2221,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/832\/revisions\/2221"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=832"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=832"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/diaryofawrinkle.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=832"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}