Ek sien JM Coetzee se nuwe boek Summertime is reeds op die Bookerprys se “lang” kortlys. Mense in Nederland kan dit reeds lees, maar ons moet seker maar wag tot dit die rakke hier rond tref. (Blykbaar gebeur dit Maandag, 3 September). As ʼn mens ʼn boek dan nou so op die baadjie moet takseer, lyk die Nederlandse omslag vir my mooier, alhoewel die Engelse een ook nie te sleg daar uitsien nie.
Iemand van Coetzee se statuur hoef seker nie in boekwinkels te sit en boeke teken nie. Ek lees gisteraand ʼn gedig deur ʼn geïrriteerde Charles Bukowski, wat skryf oor sulke geleenthede in sy gedig “an easy way to die”. Ek haal die einde van die gedig aan:
[…]
this is the ultimate sellout, Jack.
you are letting them cover you with salve
and cream.
did you fight your way off the park bench
just to do this?
finally, you shove the books aside,
“I’ve got to go.”
“that’s all right, that’s all right, thank
you very much.”
you get up, shake hands.
you are the author, hey, hey, you’re
not really crazy after all, are you?
they’ve tamed your ass.
“thanks very much,” they say
again.
“sure, sure,” you answer, then you’re
out the door
into the night
carrying what bits are left of you
in your pocket, in your shoe, in
your graying hair.
and not vey much is left:
they took away the tiger and left a
pussycat
and you meow yourself to your car and
get the fuck out of
there.
Uit: Charles Bukowski. Slouching Toward Nirvana: New Poems. (2005, Ecco.)