Posts Tagged ‘T.T Cloete’

Hannalie Taute. Tussen die son en die maan vind ek woorde.

Sunday, May 4th, 2014

trugtaal – TT Cloete

 die taal is altyd ʼn seisoen en meer agter

die toestand waaruit die woorde

ontstaan het

die son is sagter

as hy afgekoel sit in die noorde

en verste tot sy keerpunt gegaan het

Ek open met hierdie gedig omdat ek so lanklaas iets vir Versindaba geskryf het.  Terloops baie geluk met die 5de verjaarsdag.  Ek voel nogsteeds ge-eerd om deel te wees van hierdie blad, maar wonder soms wat doen ek nou eintlik hier?  Het ek werklik iets om te bied?  Wat ek wel weet is danksy hierdie geleentheid het ek alreeds so baie geleer en ontdek.  Dit het my innerlike swerftog op soek na woorde verbreed. Dankie Marlise vir die geleentheid.

Die soeke en muse vir iets om met julle te deel het my vir n ruk verlaat, tot ek haar weer gevind het in Jeanette Winterson se boek: “Why be happy when you could be normal?  Daar lees ek van die eerste “recorded poem in the English language”:

“The more I read the more I fought against the assumption that literature is for the minority – of a particular education or class.  Books were my birthright too.  I will not forget my excitement at discovering that the earliest recorded poem in the English language was composed by a herdsman in Whitby around AD 680 (‘Caedmon’s Hymn’) when St Hilda was the abbess of Whitby Abbey.

Imagine it…a woman in charge and an illiterate cowhand making a poem of such great beauty that educated monks wrote it down and told it to visitors and pilgrims.

It is a lovely story – Caedmon would rather be with the cows than with people, and he doesn’t know any poetry or songs, and so at the end of the feasts in abbey, when all are invited to sing or recite, Caedmon always rushes back to the cows where he can be on his own.  But that night, an angel comes and tells him to sing – if he can sing to the cows, he can sing to the angel.  Caedmon says sadly that he doesn’t know any songs, but the angel tells him to sing one anyway – about the creation of the world.  And Caedmon opens his mouth and there is the song.  (Have a look at an early account of this in Bede:  History of the English Church and Peoples.)” Bladsy 143 uit die boek “Why be happy when you could be normal” Deur Jeanette Winterson

Ek het nooit erg gehad aan geskiedenis, maar deesdae verloor ek myself in die geskiedenis oor borduurwerk.  Die boek: The Subversive Stitch deur Roszika Parker, is skerelik die mees insig-gewende boek wat ek tot dusver gelees het oor die onderwerp.   Een kunstenaar wat kuns, borduurwerk en poesië kombineer is Jean Arp.

“Jean Arp’s contribution to the first issue of the magazine Dada in July 1917 was an embroidery, but a poem Arp wrote reveals that he valued embroidery not for its qualities as an artistic medium but for its stereotypical associations with intuition, feeling and above all with nature.  The long poem called The Spider Embroiders ends with these lines:

“Embroidery is more natural than oil painting, the swallows are embroidering the sky for thousands of centuries, there is no such thing as applied art.” (Bladsy 191 uit die boek: “The Subversive Stitch” deur Rozsika Parker.)

“Orde: Arachnae” Borduurwerk op rubber/binneband en doillie 2013

Ek leer ook van Sonia Trek Delaunay se werk.  Sy het ondermeer ‘robe poeme’ gemaak.  Dit klink so mooi! “Poem-dresses”. Gedig-rokke. Rok gedigte.

III KUNSTENAARS – T.T Cloete

Party is toegelaat om dieper

af te luister, dieper te kyk en te sien,

dieper te tas, Sophokles die Griek,

Job die Jood en Dawid in ʼn klein uithoekie

van ʼn afgeleë streek, Dante wat slegs drie

vlakke van ʼn oneindige aantal verdiepings

mog loop, Michelangelo, Rembrandt, ander genieë,

Milton; in ʼn roman, in ʼn gedig, ʼn tragedie

Of klug – Hy lag nie openbarend hardop nie –

fragmentaries in keramiekskerwe tref ons Hom hier

En daar, in ʼn haikoe, in ʼn vers, ʼn sonate of lied,

groter en kleiner beelde, stukkies fresco, stukkie vir

stukkie, in ʼn mosaïek;  meestal glad nie.

Om dieper te kyk? Hoe diep wil mens kyk? Ons kyk deesdae baie na die maan en die sterre.

“The medieval mind loved the idea of mutability and everything happening chaotic and misunderstood under the sphere of the moon.  When we look up at the sky and the stars we imagine we are looking out at the universe.  The medieval mind imagined itself as looking in – that Earth was a seedy outpost, Mrs Winterson’s cosmic dustbin – and that the centre was – well, at the centre – the nucleus of God’s order proceeding from love.

I like that order should proceed from love.”

(Bladsy 145 uit Jeanette Winterson se boek: “Why be happy when you could be normal”)

“A match made in heaven” Borduurwerk op rubber/binneband en gevonde foto.