Nuuswekker

Nuuswekker. Amper tyd vir die Adam Smallfees op Pniël

Monday, February 13th, 2017
Adam Small (Foto: Media24)

Adam Small (Foto: Media24)

‘n Uitsonderlike geleentheid vir die liefhebbers van literêre feeste is eersdaags daar om te geniet: die eerste Adam Smallfees wat op Pniël aangebied word. Afgesien daarvan dat die veelsydige Adam Small as digter bekend was, was hy natuurlik ook bekend as dramaturg (waarvoor hy met die Hertzogprys vir Letterkunde in 2012 bekroon is) en vele kultuur-historiese projekte.

Daar bestaan min twyfel dat Adam Small (1936-2016) een van Suid-Afrika se mees geliefde, dog terselfdertyd, mees miskende digters is. Daarom dat ‘n fees van hierdie aard nie net gepas is nie, maar uiters nodig.

In ‘n onderhoud met LitNet het Darryl David, organiseerder van dié fees, hom soos volg oor die fees uitgelaat: “(Maar) 24–26 Februarie 2017 gaan ‘n geskiedkundige naweek wees. ‘n Fees vir Adam Small. Niemand verdien dit méér nie. Ek droom al jare lank oor so ‘n fees. Maar Adam Small is ‘n seun van Wellington. Net soos Breyten. En ek was bang dat ‘n fees vir Adam Small op Wellington altyd in die skaduwee van Breyten sal wees. Dus het ek die skadu’s van die Simonsberge en Groot Drakenstein van Pniël gekies – ‘n gebied ryk aan slawegeskiedenis. (As so ‘n geskiedenis in die eerste plek as “ryk” bestempel kan word!) […] Wat het apartheid aan hierdie man gedoen? Hoe kon Afrikaanse letterkundiges vir so lank nie verby sy velkleur en sy ras kyk nie? En sy register van Afrikaans.”

Darryl David

Darryl David

Gaan lees gerus die volledige onderhoud wat Naomi Meyer met David gevoer het. Die volledige program kan ook op LitNet gevind word.

En teken die naweek van 24 tot 26 Februarie aan:  dit gaan ‘n feestelikheid sonder weerga wees.

Vir jou leesgenot volg ‘n ongepubliseerde vers wat deur Iris Bester voorgelees is tydens rsg se huldigingsprogram ter ere van Adam Small op 15 September 2011.

Geniet die week wat op hande is.

Groetnis,

Louis

*

Highpriest van die Socialism

 

‘n Profit van die liberation djy?

‘n socialist?

djy met djou hys-palys

met djou lang slap mouterkar

djy met daai kamma sed bek van djou oorie plight van die

oppressed

met djou tears

en djou woera warra oppie stage

met djou skorrelsvol yt daai plush hotels ennie first class

vannie jets

djou spiritual hys oppie level vannie people? nou sal my

djou verbeel!

En hoe lyk dit met ordinary living vi’ daai five star style

Hoe lyk dit met djou blink suits vir overalls en soe

Hoe lyk dit met djou skorrelsvol vir take away fish ‘n chips?

 

(c) Adam Small / Ongepubliseerde vers

 

 

Nuuswekker. Lady Anne binnekort in Engels beskikbaar

Thursday, February 9th, 2017
Omslag

Omslag

Goeie nuus is dat Antjie Krog se grensverskuiwende bundel, Lady Anne (1989: Human & Rousseau) teen die einde van die maand in Engelse vertaling gaan verskyn. Hierdie bundel, wat in 1990 met die Hertzogprys vir poësie bekroon is, is inderdaad 26 jaar later nog net so relevant en daarom is hierdie publikasie, in samewerking met Bucknell University Press, te verwelkom.

Volgens die uitgewer se inligtingstuk, die volgende: “In an attempt to make sense of her own existence, Krog juxtaposes her own life in the midst of a world of racial injustice and discrimination, against that of the life and times of Lady Anne Barnard, of Scottish descent, during her stay in the Cape Colony in the late eighteenth century. Ultimately the collection transforms into a document of multiple voices, highlighting the complexity of a colonial legacy.”

Aanbevelings is die volgende:

Stephen Clingman: “There is a rugged, gripping quality to Krog’s language, digging deep into the nature of South African life and her own self-challenging life to it.”

Ingrid de Kok: “Krog engages . .. with originality and power, in poetic language of great beauty, passion and complexity.”

In September 2011 het Bernard Odendaal en Hennie van Coller se artikel oor “Die liriese intrige in Antjie Krog se Lady Anne (1989)” in Stilet, nr 22(2), September 2010,p.63-88 verskyn. Met goedgunstige verlof is dié artikel ook op Versindaba geplaas.

Onder andere was hul bevinding soos volg: “Krog is ‘n Afrikaanse digter wat bekend is daarvoor dat sy ‘n vermoë het ‘om dit wat soveel mense beleef, onder woorde te bring’, asook om haarself en haar eie wêreld, asook dié van haar ‘volggenote/volksgenote’ met elke volgende bundel van haar telkens te verruim – só redeneer Tom Gouws (1989:43) in sy bespreking van Lady Anne, met die konklusie dat Krog as “‘n eietydse volksdigter” bestempel kan word. Wat Gouws tereg in sy resensie beklemtoon, is die effektiwiteit van haar poësie, die werking daarvan in die Afrikaanse literêre, kulturele én sosio-politieke leefwêreld (soos beredeneer deur Odendaal, 1994:86). Sy skryf steeds meer betrokke poësie, dit wil sê ‘literatuur wat aantoonbaar ontspring uit, en ingestel is op, ‘n herkenbare sosio-politieke werklikheid’ (Brink, 1985:79) […] Die historiese figuur lady Anne Barnard, wat as vrou van die sekretaris van die Kaapkolonie vanaf 1797 tot 1802 aan die Kaap vertoef, in die plek van die goewerneursvrou op luisterryke wyse as eerste dame aan die Kaap optree, kontak met die inwoners maak en enkele reise na die binneland onderneem, dien as metafoor waardeur Antjie Krog haar eie en die eietydse Suid-Afrikaanse aktualiteit (wil) verken om haar ten opsigte daarvan te kan posisioneer. Wesenlik word ‘n besondere vorm van (meervlakkige) storie-inbedding benut om die metaforiese moontlikhede in die hand te werk.”

Die volledige artikel kan hier gelees word.

Hieronder volg een van die gedigte uit dié bekroonde bundel.

Mag jou dag vreugdevol verloop.

Louis

 

*

Lady Anne by die mikrogolfoond

o my susters in kombi’s en stasiewaens
met stylvolle donkerbrille en hare teen die grys getint
liggame wat soggens in fleurige leotards
jog en gym en joga
verbete klou aan soepelheid en Pil

soos ons by mekaar op oorbrûe verbyjaag
in stofwolke stop langs sportvelde
aandagtig sit en tydhou voor musiekkamers
mekaar aan die huil bid op Bybelstudies
wonder ek: van watter breed is ons?

in die meedoënlose metodiek van beplanning
herken ek die waansin van wa-pak
die drif waarmee kinders gedryf word
tot uithaal en byhou ruik na kamp en kroep

soos ons op sandersonlinne sit en aai en paai
en die mans by ingeboude kroeë druk drink en desperaat praat oor naai
weet ons ons is die laaste
die laaste wat kinders teer laat verblond op melk en heuning
ons is die laaste
agter ons onder ons langs ons
stort met die sagte geluid van as
strukture wat ons soort in stand hou
in hulle maai.

 

© Antjie Krog (Uit: Lady Anne, 1998: Human & Rousseau)

Nuuswekker. Paul Auster stel hom beskikbaar vir PEN America se voorsitterskap

Monday, February 6th, 2017
Paul Auster

Paul Auster

‘n Interessante, dog uiters belangrike, verwikkeling rondom Donald Trump se verkiesing as president van die VSA, is die teenstem en – strategie wat dit tot gevolg gehad het. So het The Guardian onlangs bekend gemaak dat Paul Auster, wat nie net een van die VSA se mees gerekende skrywers is nie, maar ook vir etlike jare reeds as ondervoorsitter op die bestuur van PEN America dien, hom beskikbaar gestel het vir dié groep se presidentskap in 2018.

Skynbaar was hy al by verskeie geleenthede dié pos aangebied, wat hy telkens van die hand gewys het.

Omslag

Omslag

Volgens ‘n onderhoud wat Auster met The Guardian gevoer het, het hy sy besluit soos volg gemotiveer: “In the wake of Trump’s victory,” he says, “I feel utterly astonished that we could have come to this. I find his election the most appalling thing I’ve seen in politics in my life.” […] “I’ve been struggling ever since Trump won to work out how to live my life in the years ahead,” he says. And he has decided to act: “I have come to the conclusion to accept something that has been offered to me again and again over the years – to become president of PEN America. I have been vice-president, and secretary, but I’ve never wanted to take on the full burden. I’ll start early in 2018. I’m going to speak out as often as I can, otherwise I don’t think I can live with myself.”

Wat egter minder bekend is, is dat Auster ook as digter bekend is; trouens hy beskou hom – selfs na ‘n lang, roemryke loopbaan as romanskrywer – ten eerste as digter. Sy versamelde gedigte het in 2004  verskyn en is in 2007 herdruk deur The Overlook Press. Op sy webtuiste tipeer Ted Burke Auster se digkuns soos volg: ““Paul Auster’s style is so clear of superfluous adjectives, verbs and dead weight qualifiers that he gets across some of the mystery involved in composing a verse, a quality that eludes other writers.”

Vir jou leesplesier volg een van Auster se gedigte.

Aluta continua!

Mooi bly.

LE

*

WHITE NIGHTS

No one here,
and the body says: whatever is said
is not to be said. But no one
is a body as well, and what the body says
is heard by no one
but you.

Snowfall and night. The repetition
of a murder
among the trees. The pen
moves across the earth: it no longer knows
what will happen, and the hand that holds it
has disappeared.

Nevertheless, it writes.
It writes: in the beginning,
among the trees, a body came walking
from the night. It writes:
the body’s whiteness
is the color of earth. It is earth,
and the earth writes: everything
is the color of silence.

I am no longer here. I have never said
what you say
I have said. And yet, the body is a place
where nothing dies. And each night,
from the silence of the trees, you know
that my voice
comes walking toward you.

 

(c) Paul Auster (Uit: Collected Poems, 2007: The Overlook Press)

Nuuswekker. Onderhoud met Anne Carson in The Paris Review

Thursday, February 2nd, 2017
Anne Carson

Anne Carson

Een van die lekkerste snuffelplekke op die internet is vir my The Paris Review se webtuiste, want hier kan jy rustig deur al die vorige uitgawes lees; so stuit jy telkens teen die ongelooflikste bydraes. Soos die onderhoud wat Will Aitken in 2004 gevoer het met Anne Carson, sekerlik een van die mees kreatiewe en vernaamste digters in die wêreld van die digkuns tans.

Carson is op 21 Junie 1950 in Toronto gebore. Na haar studies in Antieke Grieks aan die Universiteit Toronto het sy in 1981 gepromoveer met ‘n tesis oor Sappho; ‘n studie wat direk aanleiding sou gee tot Eros the Bittersweet in Decreation.

Volgens Aitken se inleiding, die volgende: “Although she (Carson) has always been reluctant to call herself a poet, Carson has been writing some heretic form of poetry almost all her life. Her work is insistent and groundbreaking, a blend of genres and styles that for years failed to attract notice. In the late eighties, a few literary magazines in the United States began to publish her work. Canadian venues were considerably less welcoming, and it was not until Carson was forty-two that a small Canadian pub- lisher, Brick Books, published her first book of poems, Short Talks.”

Teen die middel van die 1990s was dit egter ‘n perd van ‘n totaal ander kleur: “By the mid-nineties, Carson was no longer trying to find publishers; rather, publishers were clamoring to find her. In short order, three collections of poems and essays appeared—Plainwater: Essays and Poetry (1995); Glass, Irony and God (1995); Men in the Off Hours (2000)—as well as a verse novel, Autobiography of Red (1998), which seamlessly blends Greek myth, homosexuality, and small-town Ontario life. Two ostensibly academic books followed: Economy of the Unlost and her translation of Sappho’s poetry, If Not, Winter, both in 2002 […] Awards and accolades came tumbling in: a Guggenheim Fellowship (1995); a Lannan Award (1996); the Pushcart Prize (1997); a MacArthur Fellowship (2000); and the Griffin Prize for Poetry (2001). In 2002 Carson became the first woman to receive England’s T.S. Eliot Prize for Poetry for The Beauty of the Husband: A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangos.

Gaan lees gerus die volledige onderhoud; dit is fassinerend om te sien hoe ‘n digter van Carson se statuur haar ambag as digter benader.

By wyse van lusmaker plaas ek twee vrae, met haar antwoorde daarby.

INTERVIEWER

So there’s this dense otherness that you just want to find out about. Whether it’s relevant is beside the point.

CARSON

One thing I do understand about the Greeks is that they, too, understood otherness and valued it. That is what the god Dionysus is as a principle—the principle of being up against something so other that it bounces you out of yourself to a place where, nonetheless, you are still in yourself; there’s a connection to yourself as another. It’s what they call ecstasy. The Greeks invented this concept, but they also embody it for us, which may just be our utilitarian approach to them. But who can say. We are always going to be looking at the Greeks and figuring out who they are in relation to what we are. We can’t get out and be in a third place and judge both of us.

INTERVIEWER

Can we discuss Sappho’s Fragment 31? In Eros the Bittersweet you use it as an illustration of Eros’s lack. And then when you come back to it in Decreation it’s an almost completely new reading of the poem in spiritual terms.

CARSON

Oh, that’s perplexing. Let’s see. The difference between the two readings derives from ignoring or taking into account the final verse of the poem in the manuscript that we have. It’s a completely puzzling half-verse having to do with daring and poverty, and when I decided to try to make sense of it in Decreation the only way I could do so was in spiritual terms. The poem up until that point is concerned with an erotic triangle, but then in this half-verse it goes to a new place, which I chose to understand as a place facing God. I don’t know where spiritual reality goes for Sappho—the poem doesn’t go on after that half of a verse—but I was trying, in Decreation, to interpret it as a space of poverty in the mystical sense of the annihilation of the self.

Fragment 31

He seems to me equal to gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet speaking

and lovely laughing—oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
is left in me

no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
fills ears

and cold sweat holds me and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass
I am and dead—or almost
I seem to me.

But all is to be dared, because even a person of poverty.

*

Geniet die naweek wat op hande is.

 

Mooi bly.

Louis de Wekker

 

 

Nuuswekker. Gary Snyder word vereer

Monday, January 30th, 2017
Gary Snyder. Foto deur: Festival of Faiths.

Gary Snyder. (Foto deur: Festival of Faiths.)

Gary Snyder is uiteraard bekend as een van die vernaamste Beat-digters en as sulks het die stad San Francisco onlangs die 85-jarige digter en voormalige Pulitzer-pryswenner vereer met ‘n spesiale program wat deel uitgemaak het van die City Arts and Lectures in San Francisco se Nourse Teater. Met dié geleentheid is Snyder se nuutste, en waarskynlik laaste, digbundel, This Present Moment,  bekend gestel.

Na afloop van die verrigtinge het Sean Elder, van Lion’s Roar (“Buddhist Wisdom for Our Time”) met die befaamde digter gesels. Die volledige onderhoud kan hier op hul webtuiste gelees word.

Enkele uittreksels is die volgende:

Can you talk about your relationship to the Beats? Was there any sense at the famous Six Gallery reading in 1955—where Allen Ginsberg first read “Howl” and you read “A Berry Feast”—that this was the beginning of a movement?

There was already a movement. I was very much a student of the poet and essayist Kenneth Rexroth. He had an open seminar twice a month in his apartment out in the Avenues district of San Francisco. I got over there and listened to what Kenneth had to say. It was from Kenneth that I first heard discussion of labor unions, the anarchist movement, the history of West Coast Communism. The circle of people around Kenneth were part of my continuous education in the history of the West Coast left. Kenneth in his earlier days had gone to all the early meetings of the Italian Working Men’s Circle on Potrero Hill. He had a lot of crazy opinions but also had very good insights.

The first time I met Allen Ginsberg was at Rexroth’s house—Allen had just come up from Mexico. The first time I saw Kerouac was when Allen brought him to Rexroth’s place. Because Allen was living in Berkeley, I saw more and more of him. Kenneth thought of both Jack and Allen as “talented jerks.”

Verderaan vertel Snyder van sy eerste kennismakings met Boeddhisme:

I had a definite argument about the ethics of Christianity—or the absence of what I thought was ethics—in their inability to extend concern to non-human beings. That’s when I quit going to Sunday school—when I found out that our heifers that died couldn’t go to heaven. Then I learned somewhere that Buddhists and Hindus included all the different creatures in their moral concern, and I said, “Well, that’s for me!”

The first big hit of East Asia that came to me was at the Seattle Art Museum, which had a wonderful collection of East Asian, Chinese, and Japanese landscape paintings. Looking at the Chinese and Japanese mountain landscapes, my thought was that they sure looked a lot like the Cascades in Washington. I also thought, “Gee, these guys really knew how to paint!”

When you look at a European landscape, it might seem familiar if you live on the East Coast, but it was a very unfamiliar landscape to me. East Asian painting covers a mountain landscape with ice and rocks and clouds that looks very much like the landscape of interior Washington.

I ran into Buddhism again in college, partly through anthropology and world humanities courses, and partly through the presence of one Chinese gentleman who had been in the American army in World War II and was going to Reed College on the GI Bill. He was an expert calligrapher in both Chinese and the Roman alphabet.

*

By wyse van groet, plaas ek ‘n gedig van Gary Snyder onderaan.

Geniet die week wat op hande is.

Mooi bly.

Louis

*

Above Pate Valley

 

We finished clearing the last

Section of trail by noon,

High on the ridge-side

Two thousand feet above the creek

Reached the pass, went on

Beyond the white pine groves,

Granite shoulders, to a small

Green meadow watered by the snow,

Edged with Aspen—sun

Straight high and blazing

But the air was cool.

Ate a cold fried trout in the

Trembling shadows. I spied

A glitter, and found a flake

Black volcanic glass—obsidian—

By a flower. Hands and knees

Pushing the Bear grass, thousands

Of arrowhead leavings over a

Hundred yards. Not one good

Head, just razor flakes

On a hill snowed all but summer,

A land of fat summer deer,

They came to camp. On their

Own trails. I followed my own

Trail here. Picked up the cold-drill,

Pick, singlejack, and sack

Of dynamite.

Ten thousand years.

 

(c) Gary Snyder, (Uit: Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems. 2003: Shoemaker & Hoard Publishers. )

 

Nuuswekker. Waar was die digters met die presidensiële inhuldiging?

Thursday, January 26th, 2017
Maya Angelou tydens die 1993 presidensiële inhuldiging. (Foto: Mark Lennihan / AP)

Maya Angelou tydens die 1993 presidensiële inhuldiging. (Foto: Mark Lennihan / AP)

Nou ja, uiteindelik het die stofwolke in die Amerikaanse draadkamp tot kalmte gekom na die opstootjies rondom pres. Donald Trump se verkiesing tot president en sy inhuldiging ‘n week gelede. Nou vra The Atlantic in ‘n onlangse berig héél tereg waar die digters dan was, want nie minder as vyf vorige presidente het ‘n digter van statuur gehad om ‘n spesiale vers tydens hul inhuldigingseremonie voor te lees, te wete: John F. Kennedy (Robert Frost), Bill Clinton (Maya Angelou), Jimmy Carter (James Dickey) en Barack Obama twee keer: eers Rita Dove, en met sy tweede inhuldiging: Richard Blanco.

Toevallig was al vyf dié voormalige presidente Demokrate. Dit wil dus voorkom asof Trump, en by implikasie die Republikeinse Party, téén die gebruik van ‘n inhuldigingsgedig besluit het.

Volgens The Atlantic se berig, die volgende: “The lack of poetry may seem like a break with precedent, or it may seem especially telling given news that Trump intends to eliminate the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities […] But in that fact alone—the fact of presidential poetry as a partisan tradition—is a reminder of America’s cultural divides. In the weeks after the election, many Americans turned to poetry for guidance and comfort, as my colleague Megan Garber has chronicled. Now, Leslie Lawrence at WBUR’s website suggests that anyone yearning for some verse on Inauguration Day might want to revisit the works of Walt Whitman. (From Song of Myself: ‘Whoever degrades another degrades me.’)”

Vir jou leesplesier volg Maya Angelou se gedig wat sy tydens Bill Clinton se inhuldiging voorgelees het.

Geniet die naweek wat op hande is.

Louis

*

Inaugural Poem

 

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.

The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers–desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot …
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours–your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

 

© Maya Angelou, 20 Januarie 1993

Nuuswekker. Meander resenseer Afrikaanse digbundel

Monday, January 23rd, 2017
Ilse van Staden

Ilse van Staden

 

Die Nederlandse webtuiste, Meander, is vir etlike jare reeds een van die vernaamste kampvegters vir die behoud en ontwikkeling van die Nederlandse en Vlaamse digkunste. Daarom dat ek verras regop gesit het toe ek sien dat hulle pas ‘n resensie deur Hans Franse van Ilse van Staden se jongste bundel “Waar die oog van stil word” gepubliseer het Die opskrif van die resensie is “Tussen land en water, tussen licht en donker”.

Franse begin sy resensie met die volgende skadeloosstelling: Afrikaanse teksten vertederen mij altijd; de taal heeft iets puurs en authentieks. Als mijn vrienden het over een ‘kousbroekie’ hebben en daarmee een ‘panty’ bedoelen, ben ik soms jaloers: er zijn van die mooie woorden. Dat in die taal ook prachtig geschreven wordt moge bekend zijn. Wie kent niet Ingrid Jonkers, Elisabeth Eybers, die in Nederland woonde maar bleef dichten in de taal van haar jeugd en daarmee zelfs de P.C. Hooftprijs won, André P. Brink die prachtig geëngageerd proza schreef en natuurlijk gevangenisschrijver Breyten Breytenbach?”

Daarna volg ‘n treffende uiteensetting en bespreking van hierdie pragbundel deur een van ons meer begaafde jonger digters, met as slotsom: “Aanbevolen: een kennismaking met een dichteres die existentiële problemen verwoordt in een taal die soepel en lenig is, vol associaties, en goed te begrijpen. Misschien verdient het Afrikaans als zustertaal meer aandacht: tenslotte kan deze volwassen taal als ons jongere taalkundige zusje worden beschouwd.”

Die volledige resensie kan hier op Meander se webtuiste gelees word.

Vir jou leesplesier volg een van die gedigte uit die bundel.

*

kom ons gaan stap op die see

 

kan jy dit hoor,

die stilte as mens die see sou stop?

skuim wat in klein borrels bars.

hoe loer die sklera van branders

uit die skitterende see-oog tot stil-sand gebring.

noudat die see gestrand het

kan mens stap op die skyn

waar water was

voordat die spieëling flikker

en alles verdwyn in ‘n oogknip,

een wink van die gedig.

 

© Ilse van Staden (Uit: Waar die oog van stil word, 2016: Protea Boekhuis)

 

Omslag

Omslag

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nuuswekker. Blomtyd vir die konkrete digkuns?

Thursday, January 19th, 2017
joanne-margaret-paul

Joanna Margaret Paul

Kyk, Nieu-Seeland is uiteraard bekend vir sportprestasies, maar hulle het darem ook ‘n besonder aktiewe digkuns om mee te spog. Daarom dat die herwaardering van Joanna Margaret Paul (1945 – 2003) se lewe en werk op Jacket2 my oog gevang het. Cy Mathews, skrywer van die artikel, motiveer die behoefte aan ‘n herwaardering van Paul se digkuns soos volg: “In 1978, Joanna Margaret Paul published Imogen, a limited edition book of poems dealing with the death of her infant daughter. Despite winning the Pen Best First Book of Poetry award, it received little critical attention. Only one brief review appeared in Landfall written by the then rising-star poet Brian Turner. Turner, while impressed with the book’s typographical layout—Paul was already an established visual artist—wrote of how he was “left drained” by its emotional intensity. The book, he concluded, was more of “an experience than a poem”: there just wasn’t “enough poetry” in it […] At a time when the literary revolutions of modernism were already being disrupted by postmodernism, it seems strange to encounter such a narrow definition of poetry.”

Terwyl haar tydgenote, insluitend Brian Turner, voortgegaan het en hul gevestig het as van die vernaamste en mees invloedryke figure in die Nieu-Seelandse lettere, het Paul vergete gebly. Volgens Mathews is die rede hiervoor nie dat sy “te min poësie” gelewer het nie, maar weens die feit dat die meeste van haar publikasies buite die hoofstroom verskyn het as kladboeke en dan boonop in beperkte oplae. Die rede vir die ovoldoende kritiese waardering reflekteer dus eerder, volgens hom, die onverkrygbaarheid van haar publikasies as die gehalte van haar digwerk.

Fotostaatmasjien se omslag

Fotostaatmasjien se omslag

Hoekom hierdie artikel my in die besonder interesseer, is dat ons hier ter lande nou nie juis kan spog met ‘n sterk tradisie van gedigte wat die tipografiese moontlikhede ontsluit nie. Enkele voorbeelde is daar wel, met Willem Boshoff en Wopko Jensma as waarskynlik die vernaamstes. En meer onlangs digters soos Hennie Meyer, Jan A.F. du Plessis en dan nou: Bibi Slippers met haar onlangse debuut Fotostaatmasjien (2016: Tafelberg).

Die vermoede bestaan dat ons in die komende jare sommer heelwat meer digkuns van hierdie aard onder oog gaan kry. Sal ons eie literatore (en lesers) in staat wees om dié opwindende, dog ongewone, tekste na waarde te skat? Graag sal ek so wil dink; veral na aanleiding van die evalueringswerk wat reeds deur persone soos Bernard Odendaal, Leti Kleyn, e.a. gedoen is. Ek voorspel ‘n uiters dinamiese bloeityd vir ons meer konkrete digters danksy Slippers se indrukwekkende publikasie.

Maar gaan lees gerus die volledige artikel op Jacket2. Die bied veel stof tot nadenke. Hieronder volg enkele voorbeelde van Joanna Margaret Paul se digwerk.

Ek groet met Cy Mathews se slotopmerkings: “The movement of Paul’s poems is a long arc inwards, but it is an arc towards a centrepoint forever out of reach. Her shapes map the body, the landscape, the ephemera of the everyday, but they also explore absence, negative space, loss.”

*

I cannot write a sonnet
that opens from rooms to measured
rooms with windows partitioned into
panes
but
only
another
poem
called
CAVE
centre
hollowed from the
ever       earth
no lights or limestone ornaments
but space
hollowed by the shape
of its
inhabitant

*

the water is ‘beautiful,’ ‘beautiful’
& ‘fucking lovely’
a thin woman
leans over a child with great
tenderness
the hills are yellow
a man’s body
white on
grey gold
water

*

eye
look look
it’s in
my pictures
all lines
converge
at the centre
not the middle
but
just outside
the picture
here

 

© Joanna Margaret Paul

Uit: Like Love Poems: Selected Poems, ed. Bernadette Hall. Victoria UP, 2006.