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AMY de LA HAYE’s poems are honey slices of affection and goblets of inner passion .The mantra in her poetry is love. The veins in every verse of her poems are turgid with love and succulent with red ochre passion. The poet writes with her heart beating inside her pen. The loss of the beloved, the scarcity of love itself holds her life to a grinding halt. Amy believes that love and love only lubricates hard nuts of life for a better world. She have mastered the art of confessional poetry, poetry of inner -self and about self .It means the poet has never wanted to loose herself, identity and soul. In some of her poems. Haye yearns to see the hand and to feel touch of God. The world has turned devilish and wild .She believes can found peace can be found through the touch of God. She is a hunter, hunting for God in forests of everywhere until she finds him .Ironically he is omnipresence. Haye’s subject choices are very rare to today’s African reader and writer .That exhibits her creative abilities and literary uniqueness. She carries her own literary identity, style and voice. Thank you Amy de La Haye for knowing you and for being a contributor to the Demer Press international literary projects .Brave Voices enjoy Amy de La Hayes English Poetry translated from Dutch by the Director and Publisher , Poet Hannie Rouweler of Demer Press. Haye is from The Hague, Netherlands. ALUTA CONTINUA! TIME OF THE POET PROFILES are by invitation only by the CURATOR, MBIZO CHIRASHA. For more information contact at miombopublishing@gmail.com .For other submission deadlines check regularly on his Facebook Timelines (Personal profile, groups and pages.)

THE PAIN OF COLOUR

The pain of love, the pain of separation and that of death are not uncommon.
But what do we know about the hidden pain of colour and the all-confusing disillusionment
of infernal injustices?
Because a fool feels lofty …

Nothing is so repulsive
as a man with
insignificant intellect,
who wants to let die
dignity
of a colour that is ‘un-beloved’ to him,

who knows to stir up
pain
denying
the sacredness of skin,
in everything
between the pleasant night
and the snowflakes
he adores so much.

Nothing is so low
as a man who spits
on shameless moments
uncut hatred
on everyone not lily-white
while he seeks his pleasure
in distant places
darkens his skin
with brushes of the dayqueen.
© Amy de La Haye
Translation: Hannie Rouweler
God

Where are you God?
a horrible disease has broken out here
and already for a long time I see
how criminal demons
without fear or mercy
urge innocent youngsters
in dark forces
to cause serious damage
GOD
are your angels sleeping,
are your messengers yet awake,
your people down here
are torn apart by bombs
in large numbers

Where are you God?
I was looking for you in holy books,
between the lines
in stories of oral traditions
in countless opinions
from your own creatures
In the goodness of my fellow man
I found You – in vain

I sought You in hope that was left
when fate covered mercilessly
what life had brought
from the early life light,
I was looking for You in the promise
of a loved one, a Judas
who later cut my heart in two

God, they told me to search for You,
on Fridays in the Mosque
others shouted an irrevocable No!
pretended to find you on Saturday
in the synagogues,
also others tried to bind me
and swore cheerfully
that you were everywhere in the church on Sundays

Jehovah’s at my doors
presented you in many scents and colours
God, the dogmas flew abundantly around
no mortal human wanted to hear
my intelligent sharpness. Drifting
and rabid- the revolt
focused on the secret
the knowledge came to me slowly

The illusion of distraction -inspiring
me for years in a row-
now knowing. You are all directions
in every end, every beginning, every moment
in every fraction, in between and halfway
You are where I allow You to be

Then I saw You in the faithful eyes
of an animal. In the reflection
of sunlight on water. In the trees
seeing my stumbling
when I wanted to get out of the autumn,
dazzled by all the splendour of colours
that this season has tried
to show me, while I just wanted to die
in a stylish fashion. It turned out not much later
that I found you also in the pain
tearing all my intentions apart

I saw you in the stuffed veins
of elderly hands
transparent softness
that even now, at the shortening of the days,
still hold history
I found you in minuscule rewards
in friendships- gold rim
For long my thinking -redundant-
is now liberated of illusions and
distractions. I go peacefully and struggle
for love in all small things.

© Amy de La Haye
Translation: Hannie Rouweler

 

THE VIRTUE OF LOVE
simplists in coats with strokes of dirt
signify our poor standards
reluctant about love in all its forms
the rejection visible in the eyes
the words roughly in their mouth

in my presence love for the same sex
is not honed
no soul passing by remains non greeted
the youngster, who‘s kicking searching his ways, not fined
and the heavily reformed girl who pulls herself in pants
on her way to school rewarded with proper understanding
I saw how she blushed
from ear to ear through her black velvet skin
and how sturdy her white prince declares his love
satisfied and silent lost his shame

I break the lance for love and its loves in many appearances
realizing that each human being, purely is searching for – apprehension – forever

that boy with whom I grew up as a girlfriend
I helped her out of his timid robes
she turned into a beloved one
never again secrecy or desolation

I fight for love, I want to serve her in all forms
for the apostates and the displaced
that flee in multiples
because they dared to jump sideways
meanwhile treated improperly
by people amongst us that are narrow-minded

never before did I hear a talkative speak smartly
about how he let in a southerner
in establishments where he often stood
for a closed door
because his skin or religion belonged to a label
evoking dislike in lots of people

But true love does not let itself be woven with pleasure
with origin, religion or palette
nor in outspoken duty or law,
not even written on spotless white

I break the lance, for love and its loves in many appearances
realizing that each person, purely is searching for -acceptance- forever

© Amy de La Haye
Translation: Hannie Rouweler

 
PORCELAIN

The porcelain has been nailed
on the glass plates of our cabinet,
no longer
touched by others.

The energy appears
settled, an attempt that yields
I think, but remain silent
because I do not want to sow fear in your mind.
Who will then still tie your vests
-or mine.

Our limbs like tools
too long overgrown, in heavy weather.
The fingers fragile,
the hair grey as the sight
when we stare through windows.

Come my love, sit beside me.
Let us look hand in hand,
enviously outside,
at only a few people
but younger than us today.

When I am awakened by coldness
that slips in between the slits
of my teeth,
-if you’re still asleep-
I sleep in my seat
my prayers,
I whisper from the body
that is disobedient to its spirit.

I whisper about half forgotten
memories
and the inevitable decline
I whisper of surrender
because that is -all- what remains.

Abrupt silence
when your silhouette
meets my eyes.
Through small gaps of your white eyelashes
protests slumber, bittersweet,
that you always carry with you
under your kippah.

I remained faithful
to your unspoken prayer,
to not to release you from your word
in times of passed by budding.
As who will then still tie your vests
-or mine

© Amy de La Haye
Translation Hannie Rouweler

 
PREGNANT OF RED
My love,
do you feel that the air is pregnant of red
My sweetheart,
they say that old age
comes very silently
but with a caliber
that makes you forget
what you want to say.
And that light
no longer sparkles
in the water
and that your own offspring
loses itself
in time and technologies.
My only one,
they say that
seated next to each other
hours on end
your tongue
not suddenly
but slowly dies
and with that also happiness.
So tell me,
because my mind can’t grasp it
that this sad fate
will not happen to us,
free me
of this dejection
those shadows
covering my heart.
My darling,
I wished that
I, like now,
could rub
my soft cheeks
affectionately
on yours
– then – white beard stubble
gently and feel again and again
the sensation of it.

My only one,
tell me that
lying side by side – then –
the sky is still
pregnant of red,
and that your fingers
will be intertwined
with mine like in those days,
knowing what we feel
and I will not forget it.
Tell me,
that if I go earlier
your air
will be filled of red yet for a long time.

© Amy de La Haye
Translation Hannie Rouweler

 

amy de la haye
AMY de LA HAYE (1967). Since 1990 individual, social involvement, cultural diversity, emancipation and ICT have been her field of work. She worked at various government agencies as an ICT teacher, educational advisor, cultural worker and web editor. She became a kind of lost in the chastity of her years. Work hard on that career and ignore the desire of your inner self. A few years ago she picked up her pen again and started listening to the calls of her interior. As a cultural entrepreneur she is busy with poetry, reciting, (script) writing, filming. ‘On the cutting table of life’ is her debut collection (2016). Together with the poet Gerhard te Winkel she published ‘Zomerzotjes’ (Summer Follies) in 2018.

 

 

mbizo9
THE JOURNAL CURATOR
MBIZO CHIRASHA is certified as a Global Literary Influencer by Directorio Mundial de Escritores through Academia Mundial de Literatura, Historia, Arte y Cultura. Recipient of PEN Deutschland Exiled Writer Grant (2017) Literary Arts Projects Curator, Writer in Residence, Blogs Publisher, Arts for Human Rights/Peace Activism Catalyst, Social Media Publicist and Internationally Anthologized Writer, 2017 African Partner of the International Human Rights Arts Festival Exiled in Africa Program in New York.2017 Grantee of the EU- Horn of Africa Defend Human Rights Defenders Protection Fund. Resident Curator of 100 Thousand Poets for Peace-Zimbabwe, Originator of Zimbabwe We Want Poetry Movement. African Contributor to the Table of Words Demer Press International Poetry anthology edited by Hannie Rouweler in Netherlands. Solidarity Member of Global Alliance for Politics and Arts. African Participant to the 2014-2020 World Poetry Almanac Anthologies series in Mongolia edited by Hadaa Sendoo. Co-Editor of German Africa Bilingual Collection with German International Translator Andreas Weiland in 2016 (http://www.street-voice.de/SV7/SVissue7.html).2003 Zimbabwean Young literary Delegate to the Goteborg International Book Fair Sweden ( presented at Nordic Africa institute, Swedish Writers union , SIDA Diplomatic luncheon , Radio Dialogue , Swedish International library Association , Sweden National Education Summit).2009 Poet in residence of ICACD ,international Conference of Africa Culture and Development courtesy of African Culture Development Institute .Founder of the GIRLCHILDCREATIVITY PROJECT. Curator of MIOMBOPUBLISHING, miombopublishing.wordpress.com and PERSONALITIES OF INSPIRATION,personalitiesofinspiration.wordpress.com., http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mbizo_Chirasha

Mbizo Chirasha. Miombo Publishing Header Image. a publishing platform for young and EXPERIENCED fiction writers

 

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