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Maar een ding: ek vergeet die dinge wat agter is en strek my uit na wat voor is,
en jaag na die doel om die prys te verkry van die hoë roeping van God in Christus Jesus.
--Paulus in Filipense 3:14
Die skryf van gedigte kan dien as ‘n uitstekende terapie vir iemand wat saam leef met een of ander neurologiese siektetoestand. Ons praat nie van vreeslike “hoge” of perfekte dig kuns volgens wet en regulasies nie, (as jy ‘n professionele digter is, gaan voort en verryk ons lewens met jou wonderlike talent). Ons praat van gedigte skryf om ons gevoelens uit te druk, om van frustrasies ontslae te raak, pret te hê met ons uitdagings, en uitdrukking te gee aan dit wat in ons binneste aangaan.
Die doelwit van poësie vir iemand met ‘n neurologiese siektetoestand is self-uitdrukking en ‘n geleentheid om te groei terwyl poësie as kuns die gedig self is. Dieselfde leiding en tegnieke, taal, ritme, metafoor, klank en prentjie geld steeds.
Die woord terapie kom van die Griekse woord “therapies” wat verpleeg of genees deur te dans, sing, poësie en drama, dus die uitvoerende kunste, beteken. Volgens die Grieke was Asclepius, die god van genesing, die seun van Apollo, god van poësie, medisyne en die uitvoerende kunste.
Alhoewel poësie as ‘n vorm van terapie deur die uitvoerende kunste relatief nuut is, is dit so oud soos die eerste “chants” rondom die tradisionele vure van primitiewe stamme.Die “chant”-sang-gedig genees hart en siel.
Die woord psychology” verwys na “psyche” wat siel beteken en “logos” wat spraak of woord beteken.
Volgens sekere rekords was daar in die eerste eeu N.C. ‘n Romeinse geneesheer met die naam Soranus wat poësie en drama aan sy pasiënte voorgeskryf het. Ongelukkig is die skakel tussen poësie en medisyne nie behoorlik gedokumenteer nie. Die eerste hospitaal in die Amerikaanse kolonies wat geestelik gestremde persone versorg het, was Pennsylvania Hospital wat in 1751 deur Benjamin Franklin opgerig is. Hulle het verskeie bykomende aktiwiteite aangebied soos onder andere lees,, skryf en die publisering van dit wat hulle geskryf het in ‘n koerant The Illuminator. "Biblioterapie" is ‘n meer algemene term as poësie wat gewild geword het in die 1960’s en 1970’s. Dit beteken letterlik die gebruik van litterateur om te help of te dien.
"Poetry is the response of our innermost being to the ecstasy, the agony and the all-embracing mystery of life. It is a song, or a sigh, or a cry, often all of them together."
--Charles Angoff (Lerner, 1994)
Poësie bied die skakel tussen die indiwidu en sy persoonlike ondervinding, ritme en woorde soos wat geen ander vorm van kommunikasie kan doen nie.
Poësie help om die eensaamheid wat ons almal by tye ervaar, te bekamp. Soms oorval hierdie eensaamheid ons op partytjies of ander geleenthede waar daar baie ander mense is maar waar ons nie deel daarvan voel nie. Dit lei dikwels tot die geboorte van ‘n gedig op ‘n servet, agter op ‘n sigaretdosie, ‘n sneusie of enigiets wat byderhand is om op te skryf.
"I believe that a poem is an emotional-intellectual-physical construct that is meant to touch the heart of the reader that it is meant to be re-experienced by the reader. I believe that a poem is a window that hangs between two or more human beings who otherwise live in darkened rooms? I also believe that a poem is a noise and that noise is shaped."
--Stephen Dobyns (Dobyns, 1997)
"A poem does not have to rhyme, but it must have rhythm. Mostly when people speak from their heart, there is usually a rhythm, subtle though it may be. Rhythm comes in many forms in a poem and often carries with it repressed feelings integrating chaotic inner and outer events into one’s own experience."
--Merlot, 1985.
2008 Is dalk net die jaar waarin jy die digter in jouself ontdek. Ervaar die bevrediging wat jou belegging in terapeutiese waarde daarvan om jou pen op papier, of jou vingers op jou rekenaar se sleutelbord te sit. Ons deel graag in jou reis as digter deur gediggies wat jy aan ons stuur.
Ongelukkig kan ons jou nie vergoed vir jou gedigte nie. Ons skep graag vir jou ‘n platvorm waar jy jou gedigte in ‘n veilige omgewing met ons kan deel.
Geen kwetsende kritiek, niemand wat vir jou gedigte lag nie, tensy dit ‘n humoristiese gedig is om ons te laat lag, of dink wat jy skryf is nie goed genoeg nie.
Ek het self in ‘n veilige omgewing begin om my gedigte met vriende en familie te deel voordat ek dit gewaag het om dit aan ander ook te wys.
Hier is ‘n voorbeeld sommer so uit die vuis.
Breed, benerig met krom tone
Swak enkels en knop knieë
Jy kan maar kyk en staar
Waar ek wil wees,
Hulle bring my daar
Met skoene plat en met veters
Ja, dis lelik
Vir ‘n dame opgetof
Om te gaan uit eet.
Het jy vir my voete iets beter?
Vergeet van my voete,
my geveterde plat skoene,
En kyk na my gesig,
Ek wet jou JY
Gaan voor my glimlag swig!
Hettie Woehler
Kopiereg Voorbehou, 2008
Of miskien iets anders?
Voor ek begin huil, trek ek los en ek lag.
As ek dan plooitjies MOET hê, liewer van lag en pret hê!
Pret met vriende wat kom kuier;
Koffie of te drink, twak praat en giggel soos kinders
Om later te gesels oor ditjies en datjies
Die lewe is te kort om met negatiewe dink en praat
Van die lewenskrans af te stort.
Ja, die lewe is soms moeilik
Nie vir “sissies” bedoel
Maar om dit deur te bring in depressie se valleie
Is ‘n vermorsing van my en jou lewe se geteie.
So, stuur ons jou gediggies
Ons gebruik dit as die lewe se liggies.
Al praat jy ook nonsens soos ek,
Dis veel beter as ‘n negatiewe self gesprek.
Ons sal vir jou luister
Selfs as jy saggies fluister
Omdat jy dink jou frustrasies is net joune
Sal jy vind jy is verkeerd, ons het almal ons eie pyne.
Kom lag en gesels, vergeet van jou alleenheid
Deur te dig en met jou vingers te gesels
Op jou sleutelbord nes ek
Vind jy vreugde in ‘n digtersgesprek.
Simpel? Dit was vandag se “simpel vyf minute.” Kom deel in die digterspret, ek is seker jy sal ook baie beter voel as jy jou gedagtes, frustrasies, humor of hartseer op papier, of dan sleutelbord en rekenaarskerm, uitgespel het, amper so goed soos ‘n vakansie!
So, sit jou digterskeps op, stuur jou gedig vir ons. Onthou net om my toestemming te gee om dit op die webwerf te plaas sodat ons jou kopiereg kan beskerm.
My hare is kort
my hare is grys,
O, hoe wens ek
dat ek dit vir my kan wys!
My voorkop met sy frons plooitjies
altwee kante van my mond
loop daar twee slootjies
die vorm van my oë kan ek voel
die lag plooitjies
is vir ander se oë bedoel!
Die kurwes van my lyf
ken my hande goed
maar die spieël bly daaroor swyg
ook die harmonie
wat ek tussen my en my klere voel
maar hoe dit werklik lyk,
ook daaroor hou die spieël sy smoel!
Hierdie gedig sal geen prys wen,
Dit gaan oor die Ek wat ek ken
Die Ek wat vir my weggesteek is,
Die Ek wat jy ervaar
Die Ek waarna so baie mense staar
En ek wat al die Ekke aanvaar.
--Hettie Woehler (c) Kopiereg Voorbehou 2001 / 2008
Soos >n kleinood dra ek die kers in my arm.
Dis geel, dis lank, dis dik, dis swaar, dis myne!
Ek ervaar weer die verrassing toe jy onverwags vra
"Hou jy daarvan? Neem dit as >n geskenk."
Ek voel die trilling van diep emosie bewend deur jou lyf
Ek hoor jou ingehoue snik terwyl ek jou dankbaar druk,
Jou trane het jy met moeite onderdruk.
Jy was nie daar toe ek die kers betas het nie,
jy was nie daar toe ek dit bewonder het nie
van waar het jy my dopgehou?
Waarom het jy my kom haal en gevra
"Het jy na my kerse gekyk? Kom ons gaan kyk weer."
Jy het dieselfde kers wat ek bewonder het in my arm gesit
en as geskenk aan >n totale vreemdeling aangebied.
Kan hierdie kers my van jou hartseer vertel,
van die swaar klip in jou gemoed?
daar loop 'n onsigbare band van my na die kers
daar loop 'n onsigbare band van die kers na jou
daar loop 'n onsigbare band van jou na die kers
daar loop 'n onsigbare band van die kers na my.
Die kers sal jou geheim bewaar
op die spesiale plekkie waar dit sal staan
sal dit my herhinner aan >n kortstondige kontak met >n stukkende siel,
sal sy vlammetjie lig en warmte bring
en sal ek bid vir lig en warmte ook in jou hart
en God se lig in jou siel.
--Hettie Woehler (c) Kopiereg Voorbehou 2002 / 2008
Hierdie is nie ‘n Mediese Webblad nie. Alle artikels en skakels na ander webblaaie is uitsluitlik vir inligting. Lesers moet asseblief hulle geneeshere kontak vir enige diagnoses, medikasie, verwysings na spesialiste of terapeute.
Allle skakels word hier geplaas bloot ter inligting en vir jou gerief. Ons het geen kontrole oor, of invloed op, die inhoud van hierdie bladsye nie. Ons kan geen verantwoordelikheid aanvaar vir enige inligting wat daar geplaas word nie. Ons glo vas daaraan dat kennis mag is en is seker dat hierdie kwaliteit webblaaie jou sal inspireer om soveel moontlik te wete te kom van enige neurologiese toestand en algemene inligting sodat jy beheer oor jou omstandighede kan neem en ‘n vol en produktiewe lewe sal kan hê.
EnglishPoetry can be therapy for someone living with a neurological disease. We are not talking about perfect poems, written according to all the rules and regulations but a way of expressing our feelings, emotions and whatever we want to put to paper, or to computer keyboard.
The focus of poetry as therapy is self-expression and growth of the individual whereas the focus of poetry as art is the poem itself. The same tools and techniques; language, rhythm, metaphor, sound, and image apply to poetry as art as well as poetry as therapy.
The word therapy comes from the Greek word therapies meaning to nurse or cure through dance, song, poem and drama, that is the expressive arts. According to the Greeks Asclepius, the god of healing was the son of Apollo, god of poetry, medicine and the arts.
Though poetry as therapy is a relatively new development in the expressive arts, it is as old as the first chants sung around the tribal fires of primitive people.
The chant-song-poem is what heals the heart and soul. The word psychology refers to it as psyche means soul and logos means speech or word. According to certain records there was a Roman physician named Soranus in the first century A.D. who prescribed poetry and drama for his patients. Unfortunately the link between poetry and medicine has not been well documented.
The first hospital in the American colonies to care for the mentally ill, Pennsylvania Hospital founded in 1751 by Benjamin Franklin, facilitated several Additional treatments for their patients including reading, writing and the publishing of their writings in a newspaper called The Illuminator. "Bibliotherapy" is a more common term than poetry therapy, which became popular in the 1960’s and 1970’s. This literally means the use of literature to serve or help.
"Poetry is the response of our innermost being to the ecstasy, the agony and the all-embracing mystery of life. It is a song, or a sigh, or a cry, often all of them together."
--Charles Angoff (Lerner, 1994)
Through poetry links are established between the individual via its distilled experience, its rhythms, and its words to another in a way which no other form of communication ever can.
Poetry also helps to ease the experience of loneliness which we all share at times. The most dreaded loneliness can befall us at parties or functions with many people around us but where we feel we do not belong there and cannot communicate satisfactorily. This often leads to the birth of a poem on a serviette, cigarette box, paper tissue or whatever is readily available.
"I believe that a poem is an emotional-intellectual-physical construct that is meant to touch the heart of the reader that it is meant to be re-experienced by the reader. I believe that a poem is a window that hangs between two or more human beings who otherwise live in darkened rooms? I also believe that a poem is a noise and that noise is shaped."
--Stephen Dobyns (Dobyns, 1997)
"A poem does not have to rhyme, but it must have rhythm. Mostly when people speak from their heart, there is usually a rhythm, subtle though it may be. Rhythm comes in many forms in a poem and often carries with it repressed feelings integrating chaotic inner and outer events into one’s own experience."
--Merlot, 1985.
2008 may well be the year in which you will discover the poet within yourself. Experience the therapeutic investment you make in your life by putting pen to paper, or fingers to computer keyboard, and let us share in your poetic life journey.
Unfortunately we cannot pay you for your poems; this is intended to be an outlet where you can feel safe as nobody is going to criticize, laugh or think think what you write is not good enough.
I started writing the occasional poem in such a safe environment until I felt safe to send my poems to friends and family.
Here is an example from the top of my head :
Broken knees
Swollen ankles
Red faced
I hate myself!
Why am I falling in the street?
What is wrong with my feet?
Am I just clumsy?
Who can I ask
That will tell me why?
I feel so exposed
Down on my knees,
And when I get up
Blood is running down my legs.
At last it has a name
Charcot-Marie-Tooth’s what it is. My mother had it before meNow it has a name
It softens the embarrassment
And the shame.
The disease is the cause,
I am not to blame.
--Hettie Woehler - (c) Copyright ) 2008
Put up your poetic caps and send them to me. I need a written note giving me permission to place your poem on our web site so we stay within copy right rules.
Or what about something like :
I am not so blind that I cannot see,
Smells, sounds and touch
Are good enough for me.
Your face I cannot see
But your hand shake
The tone of voice
Tells me more than others can see.
You think I don’t
Hear the sob in your voice,
Hear a nervous foot shift,
I’m not loosing out,
Okay, perhaps just a bit.
I believe they are blind
Who do not want to see?
My physical eyes may be useless
But my big and tender heart
My inner eyes are so smart,
They pick up almost everything
Except glasses,
Plates and cups
People put on the floor,
Well, if I tramp on them,
Their splinters go out the door.
Hettie Woehler – (c) Copyright 2008
Silly? This was my silly five minutes for today. Come and have fun and share, serious or silly moments, with all of us, I am sure you will feel much better once you participate in the fun!
I have two physical sides: One known by myself and the other known by others. This poem was inspired by a compliment I received last Friday when someone remarked on how well red suits me. Once again I realized to what extent my appearance is determined by what other people tell me and not necessarily by own choice. Having no real idea of what colors look like, I choose clothes and other things according to texture, pattern and appeal to my touch.
My fingers say my hair is short,
Others tell me it is grey.
O, how I wish my mirror could show me too
What irritates or impresses you
?
My fingers touch my forehead,
Quickly passing over frown wrinkles
Both sides of my mouth, up and below
I find the familiar creases of time, lips, chin and nose.
The form of my eyes my fingers reveal
The laughter wrinkles to fine for my fingers to feel.
Brow and eye lashes are still there,
Have they changed color?
O, who am I to care.
Other people enjoy the brightness of my smile,
Life’s mirror is turned away from my eyes
As my face reveals my soul
And hides it from my touch
But nothing can ever stop
the always optimistic me.
Make-up I can easily apply,
The well-known landscape of my face
Responds to tender fingers, brush and stick.
Again my mirror remains lip-tied,
Repetition guarantee success,
And I know I look my best.
My hands know the curves of my body
But my mirror on the wall
Keeps my image- to itself,
Does not show it to me at all!
The harmony between me and my clothes
I can easily feel
But to my eyes its compliments
The mirror does not reveal.
One part of me I know,
The other is for other’s eyes,
The way I walk, sit or stand
I can check it with my hand.
The other me which you can see
Remains a stranger to me.
I was once told that there are times that letting others speak for us is sometimes better then speaking for ourselves. A number of you have spoken WONDERFULLY!!! on "our" behalf. I will also let the poem speak for me...... I believe you will see what my thoughts are by simply reading below. Thank God for freedom of speech! For without it, yes we have to listen to what we don't agree with.... but we can also voice our own opinions!!! : )
As always, you are ALL in my thoughts and prayers!!!
Linda
A meeting was held
quite far from earth
It's time again for
another birth.
Said the Angels to the
Lord above:
This special child will need much love!
His/her progress may seem very slow,
Accomplishments he/she may not show.
And he'll/she'll require extra care,
>From folks he/she meets,
Way down there!
He/She may not run, or laugh, or play,
His/her thoughts may seem quite far away.
In many ways he/she won't adapt,
and he'll/she'll be known as handicapped.
So let's be careful where he's/she's sent
We want his/her life to be content.
Please, Lord find the parents who
Will do a special job for you!
They may not realize right away
The leading role they're asked to play.
But with this child sent from above,
Comes stronger faith and richer love!
And soon they'll know the privilege given
In caring for this gift from Heaven.
They're precious charge so meek and mild,
is Heaven's very special child!!
--Linda L. Crabtree - (c) Copyright 2002/2008
"Children are the living messages we send to a time we will not see."
--John W. Whitehead, essayist, the Stealing of America, 1983
A little while ago I came across a poem I wrote in 8th grade, 4 years ago. The poem is called I AM. Because many of you have opened my eyes to the person I am, to the things I believe, I have decided to revise I AM....Thank you for helping me see the dreaming butterfly
I am a seventeen-year-old dreaming butterfly who believes in angels and in miracles.
I wonder why the sky is cotton candy blue.
I hear children's voices, sweetly singing.
I see myself free and flying, full of power.
I want to give something back to those who love me.
I am a seventeen-year-old dreaming butterfly who believes in angels and in miracles.
I pretend I am a Queen, a ruler of the land.
I feel God's presence with me, touching me day to day.
I touch a soft, rose petal, taking in it's rich scent.
I worry for the world's future.
I cry for those who have died serving my nation.
I am a seventeen-year-old dreaming butterfly who believes in angels and in miracles.
I understand this earth is not my home.
I say and know because I've been told, that I am irrepressible.
I dream of falling in love, in love forever.
I try to do the best I can.
I hope for a cure for CMT, a relief to some aching.
I am a seventeen-year-old dreaming butterfly who believes in angels and in miracles.
--Shannon L. Marzinski (c) Copyright) 2002/2008
If you fail to see
The person
But only the disability
Then, who is blind?
If you cannot hear
Your brother's
Cry for justice,
Who is deaf?
If you do not communicate with
Your sister
But separate her from you,
Who is disabled?
If your heart and your mind
Do not reach out to
Your neighbour,
Who has the mental handicap?
If you do not stand up
For the rights
Of all persons
Who is the cripple?
Your attitude towards
People with disabilities
May be our biggest handicap
And yours too.
--Tony Wong - 1951
My family doctor said I should be doing weight baring exercise. My response was, "I do doc, every time I stand up I'm doing weight baring exercise." He didn't comment further!
I figure I am lifting 20 pounds every time I raise my hand above my head to volunteer to do something.
I'm lifting 75 pounds with each leg I lift to walk toward my husband's receiving arms. (braces included)
I'm lifting the "better part" of 300 lbs every time I rise to an occasion from a sitting position, at least a 100 times a day.
I'm lifting 8 pounds every time I raise my head off the pillow to hear the four legged creatures outside at night or the sprinklers go off to water the grass.
I'm lifting one and half pounds when I lift my hands to reach the keys of my keyboard to connect with a friend.
I'm lifting two pounds or more when I lift that friend's heavy heart. I lose ten pounds when I see them flying high again with a smile.
I'm lifting the weight of the world every time I say a prayer. I hand it over to the higher power.
I'm doing weight baring exercise all day long. Osteoporosis isn't the problem to be worrying about. Deterioration of spirit is, so I keep on lifting weights and doing weight baring exercise to keep the world going around and spirits up, friendships happening, and love blooming.
--Carrie Larson - (c) Copyright 2002/2008
My atrophy progresses
while all about me,
life dresses
as a fancy woman.
What next will I lose?
My eyes?
My ears?
Already my legs, feet,
arms, hands,
my breathing,
my voice.
I don't get to choose.
I wake up one morning
and something else is gone.
Is is God's plan
that I go on clearly and
slowly watching myself die
or just a simple quirk
of nature?
Probably a little bit of both
The former to keep me modest
the latter to keep me humble
But I keep going and,
As I become less,
I am more
Only threads hold
what is left
They turn to molten gold
mixed with iron
and harden to keep me strong
in soul
if not in body.
Each morning a gift,
each experience savoured,
each kind word
hangs in the centre
of my mind
until it drops
and spreads
into the crystal pool.
--Linda Crabtree - *c) Copyright 2002/2008
This is not a Medical Site. All Articles and links to other WebPages, are purely for informational purposes. Readers must consult their doctors and specialists for medicine, medical advice and reference to physicians and therapists.
These links are provided as a courtesy and for your convenience only. As we have no control or influence over the contents contained on these sites, we can accept no responsibility for the information contained therein. Nevertheless, we believe that knowledge is power, and feel sure that these quality sites will be helpful in gaining the knowledge and information you need to live with, or assist someone with any neurological disease. We hope this will enable you to take control of your life and enjoy a full and productive life despite a neurological disease.