Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Jan 29, 2007 at 05:30 o\clock

Me dressed in my evening wear looking for Comet Mc Donald the double arch comet seen in the skys above NZ

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Jan 29, 2007 at 05:25 o\clock

Pinot 1998 2007

I heard from my daughter who heard from her x boyfriend that Pinot our family cat had died three months ago.

 

Why the x C had left it this long to inform of Pinot’s demise I do not know.

Perhaps he felt guilty, as we had left him to look after Pinot and Noir the two black cats who where twin brothers that were always together.

 

My daughter and her two daughters had to make a hasty retreat from the house she shared with C

This sudden departure came about after my daughter did something very silly on the evening of C’s father’s funeral, which made their future relationship null and void.

 

So the wash up was that the cats were left behind together with other loose ends, which can happen, in these tense situations

 

We had lot of fun times with these cats who where identical to look at but very different in behavior

They never got on with Jack the Jack Russell the family dog and he always crept around the cats always on the look out for the hiss and slap of claw on his small hind quarters

 

Farewell Pino 9 years old

        

Jan 23, 2007 at 20:59 o\clock

A bottle full of love and hope

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These are two plays my theatre co-op Black Inc is producing for the Wellington Fringe Festival

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Jan 23, 2007 at 20:44 o\clock

From To....

FROM ... TO ...   

From bravery to cowardice, so quickly 
From a force of arms, a sharp spear 
Long assegai, protective shield of tough bull hide to ‘disarmed native’ 
From thick tough soles embalmed in protective sandal to soft Bata-shoed feet 
From a tough stomach interior accommodating inkobe, roast meat, umqombothi 
To runny cholera-ridden iphalitsha tummies.  
From a proud uMthwakazi past, to a grovelling contemporary farm boy, mine boy, kitchen-boy.  

I stare my fate straight in its eyes 
I toy with my new freedom of short-wave wireless  
I listen to the screech and screams and the beautiful BBC news-reader’s voice  
I hear about a crushed revolution here and a failed guerrilla intrusion there, 
I listen to the sad news of many dead ‘monkey men’ 
I hear about the sad loss in combat of few brave white men. 
I strain my ears to hear that failed black uprising 
I hear the loud announcement of British bravery. 
 
From free men, free warrior, free suitor 
To prisoner, to captive, to colonised, to acculturated.
From lad, regiment, maiden, lady,
To worker, garden boy, garbage man, factory worker.
From the king’s advisor, statesman and royalty,
To bass boy, slave driver, sell-out, jail warder, yes-man.
   © 2006, Jerry Zondo
© Translation: 2006, Jerry Zondo  

Jerry Zondo is a lecturer in the Department of African Languages and Literature at the University of Zimbabwe. He lectures on Ndebele poetry, drama, oral literature, and philosophical thought, as well as the theory and practise of translation. He is also a protest poet but, interestingly, has only one published poem to his credit, ‘Awubuzanga Etsheni’ (You did not ask).
 

 

Jan 22, 2007 at 21:28 o\clock

A memory I had 22 nd of January 07

I saw her 4-wheel drive for sale outside the house when I passed it in P and memories came back of those drives in that vehicle around the Wellington area.

In Eastbourne where we drove on the sand and you took off your trousers and ran into the sea on a crowed Sunday afternoon

Driving along State Highway on the dead snake stretch, the CD player at max volume, the speed, the top down. Life and death in the balance.

Parked by the foreshore in the Hutt the evening summer sun streaming in as we held each other close

Driving you home with you asleep and then parking in your driveway and me walking away to catch a cab

Getting stuck on that metal road when you took one slope to many

 

Memories …..

Jan 21, 2007 at 08:32 o\clock

Battle Hill Summit New Zealand

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Jan 21, 2007 at 07:47 o\clock

My Sunday 21 st Jan 2007

Sunday 21 st Jan 

 Went out for my daily walk and called in the super market and saw a guy sitting next to his car reading a paper with a 6 pack of beer sitting next to him“Good day” he said to me as I passed by as he sucked on a green bottle his eyes crossing and the newspaper up side down spread across his lap.And a “Good Day to you” I replied but I knew he would not remember me, this piece of his life lost like the Saturday night litter spread around the car park. His conscious now a confetti of numbness.The staff had changed since I had been to “New World Super Market “Gone all the oldies replaced by a young crew with names like Lucas and Mandy who where constantly glancing at each other in some sex sign thing crossed with a “what am I doing here “ look.A middle age woman was haranguing the manager over some over charge issue which had taken over her now existence as she ignored the sun soaked day outside with no urge from her to go stroll the beach or paddle in the lapping seaThen off I went to Battle Hill Farm a working farm where you can stroll amongst the animals as you climb the hills and walk along the stream A young rider putting her horse through its paces over some jumps suddenly lost control and the horse as if wanting to break for freedom galloped towards a fence with the rider pulling for dear life on the reinsWell the horse did stop and I reckon that horse smiled at me a smile that said “Just Kidding “So up the hills I walked and the wind got up and so I had to get a move on till in the end I started to jog down the path back to the car park. Felt good with the exercise and so I fed the hens that roam around free in the car park with my rice biscuits and had a good talk with a Chinese man whose English was not so good but who had a great sense of humour @ Neil furby   

Jan 18, 2007 at 22:16 o\clock

Evening brings

so we raced into town to get to the Happy Bar for the slam me and Linzy who said he wanted to drive after I offered but he having bought a new car for his painting business wanted to use his flash new number so in we ride and the Linz then says he is hungry so we stop for his chips at buger king and i tell him to park in the alley way where simon lives and so 10 mins we stroll back to the car heh shouts linzy my car is gone and he does a brief jig on the spot getting all fucked up inside so i say feeling bad cos my idea to park in the now empty alley call  the cops man he does and they say that his car would have been towed away bummer rap my bag with my poems in the car and linzy feeling down so we trot to the slam which was kinda spoilt for us me no poems and linz not really into his readings well Mike in a skirt drops us at the towning place and linz shouts at the dude behind the metal grilled counter who just says 180 dollars mate and linz hanging in with his justified rant the dude and his large dog barking just said "If I care" so money coughed up and we ride back to the big P and linz not really interested when i mentioned the Lembas Cafe reading up the coast the next evening

Jan 18, 2007 at 22:16 o\clock

Evening brings

so we raced into town to get to the Happy Bar for the slam me and Linzy who said he wanted to drive after I offered but he having bought a new car for his painting business wanted to use his flash new number so in we ride and the Linz then says he is hungry so we stop for his chips at buger king and i tell him to park in the alley way where simon lives and so 10 mins we stroll back to the car heh shouts linzy my car is gone and he does a brief jig on the spot getting all fucked up inside so i say feeling bad cos my idea to park in the now empty alley call  the cops man he does and they say that his car would have been towed away bummer rap my bag with my poems in the car and linzy feeling down so we trot to the slam which was kinda spoilt for us me no poems and linz not really into his readings well Mike in a skirt drops us at the towning place and linz shouts at the dude behind the metal grilled counter who just says 180 dollars mate and linz hanging in with his justified rant the dude and his large dog barking just said "If I care" so money coughed up and we ride back to the big P and linz not really interested when i mentioned the Lembas Cafe reading up the coast the next evening

Jan 18, 2007 at 11:50 o\clock

Enclave Interlude

The doorstep of existence
is clean slate the morning’s fresh
 
a slide my soul’s  sign-
 a single necessary step
by love’s wall. Simple soft shard
@N furby

Jan 18, 2007 at 11:08 o\clock

Love in Spanish

LAS ARMASMuchos se arman para la guerra.
Es necesario.
Otros se arman para el mundo.
Es preciso.
Algunos se arman para la muerte.
Es natural.
Tú te armas para el amor
y estás tan indefenso
para la guerra,
para el mundo,
para la muerte.

Jan 17, 2007 at 02:54 o\clock

Sleeper

SLEEPER  A man sleeping in the park
while cars cover him with smoke,
the city walks by him without seeing him,
dogs sniff his bland smell
and go on reluctantly,
the sun and cold go straight past,
his arms embracing the earth that rocks him say nothing,
his feet say nothing, useless extremity of sleep.
A man sleeping on the grass
is an insult to work, to the rush,
to the reputation of banks,
a mockery of obligations,
of statistics, of elevators,
of the shelves in notarys’ offices.
Where can he have gone that is so far
that he has abandoned his body here
and not come back to collect it.
Faithful banner of idleness.
A man sleeping in the park,
so foreign, so stone-like, so beautiful.
 

© 2004, Luz Helena Cordero


© Translation: 2006, Nicolás Suescún

 

Jan 15, 2007 at 10:04 o\clock

The subject that whispers

 

Suicide Note This  suicide note was  gathered at the coroners' offices by a suicidologist/psychiatrist who asked to be anonymous

Divorced female, age 37

To No-one and Everyone:

Because of a growing conviction that a hereditary insanity is manifesting itself beyond my control, I am taking this way out -- before mere nuisance attacks and rages against others assume a more dangerous form.

Because I am an agnostic and believe funeral fanfare to be nonsense -- I ask that it be forgotten. Instead, knowing there to be a marked shortage of cadavers for the medical profession, for which I have endless respect, I hereby bequeath 1) my body to medics for dissection; also 2) To Mark B. all personal effects -- to be divided as whim decrees -- with Dr. Lois J., L.A. and to each -- a deep fondness and love. 3) To Joe A. the greatest devotion -- the kind that "passeth all understanding." 3a) And my life.

Anita R.

4) To my father, Vincent M., the sum of one dollar ($1)

 

Jan 13, 2007 at 10:41 o\clock

On hearing that some vandals wrecked my friends shack in the south Island of NZ

 Revenge  
The joes raise their clubs and slash out smashing wood and glass their anger or was it their joy to destroy leaving the place a broken ruin then they lumber down to the beach casting bottles beery into the tide fucking this and fucking that into the wind the sting of the sand then fighting and biting back into their eyes and ears the broken shard shells cutting into their feet then the air division sand flies as big as birds swoop down and bite off chunks of vandal till there is nothing left of them but their rage which disperses with my blessing into the red   mad   sun
@Neil Furby
Sorry about that feel better now

Jan 9, 2007 at 06:47 o\clock

Me in the glow of the fire at the tramping hut

c

@ Belinda Hunterford

Jan 7, 2007 at 23:03 o\clock

Me thinking about jumping in a stream at Lake Taupo

AA

Jan 7, 2007 at 22:53 o\clock

‘The Caryatid’

Ukrainian poet, Halyna Petrosanyak, comes from that quasi-magical provincial city, Stanislav (formerly Ivano-Frankivsk) which has given birth to a suprising number of brilliant postmodern writers, amongst them Yuri Andrukhovych, Yuri Izdryk, Volodymyr Yeshkiliev, and Taras Prokhasko. Holger Gemba’s article, ‘The Stanislav Phenomenon’, explains the background. As well as beautifully drawing the landscapes of the Ukrainian borderlands, Petrosanyak explores classic themes in a manner akin to WB Yeats. In ‘The Caryatid’, she writes:

Her niche between two blind arcades
seems to be cramped, and the square patch of shadow
on the ground — infinitely miniscule.
A tug — and the wind unplaits her of braids
and the body turns into an axis,
while ancient light beams through her features.
A very happy new year to all of our readers.

Jan 1, 2007 at 05:30 o\clock

The cracked pot story My New Year Mesage

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was shamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After 2 yrs of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said. The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.”Moral: Each of us has our own unique flaws. We’re all cracked pots, but it’s the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding. You’ve just got to take each person for what they are, and look for the good in them. Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape. Remember to appreciate all the different people in your life.