Larkin se paddas gevandaliseer …

Philip Larkin

Philip Larkin

Volgens ‘n berig in The Guardian is die polisie besig om die vandalisering van veselglas paddas wat ter viering van die Philip Larkin-fees in Hull gemaak is, te ondersoek. Dit is vanjaar 25 jaar na die afsterwe van Hull se beroemdste digter en dié 3 voet hoë paddas is in die stadsentrum onthul ter herdenking van Larkin se twee beroemde gedigte oor paddas: “Toads” en “Toads revisisted“. Albei dié gedigte kyk met ‘n sardoniese oog na daaglikse sleur van werk.

Nietemin, die polisie is blykbaar besig om kringtelevisie-opnames te bestudeer en het ook ‘n beroep op die publiek gedoen om hulle met hul ondersoek behulpsaam te wees. “It is very disappointing that mindless individuals are vandalising the Larkin Toads in Hull,” het ‘n woordvoerder van die polisie glo gesê. “They (dis nou die paddas) add colour and interest to the city and the public are enjoying viewing them. The offenders are showing a reckless and selfish disregard for the greater community by leaving graffiti on these works of art and spoiling other people’s enjoyment. Graffiti is a criminal offence that has a negative effect on communities and often makes areas look run-down as well as costing taxpayers money to clean up.”

Nou ja, toe. Vir jou leesplesier volg Philip Larkin se gedig “Toads revisisted” onder aan vanoggend se Nuuswekker. Lees gerus ook ‘n vorige Nuuswekker waarin berig is dat Larkin geensins ‘n entoesiastiese inwoner van Hull was nie …

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Sedert Vrydag het daar weer heelwat inhoud op die webblad bygekom. In die Buiteblik is daar bydraes deur Ingrid Brunkhort Hurrell en Marie-Alice Boshoff; by Nuwe Stemme is daar ‘n besonderse gedig deur Lewies Botha met aanvullende stukke deur Niel van Deventer en Andries Bezuidenhout. Ten slotte is daar ook nog Charl-Pierre Naudé se volgende aflewering in sy beoogde reeks oor die ritmikaliteit in die poësie.

Lekker lees; dit is ‘n bedrwyige week wat op hande is …

Mooi bly.

LE

 

Toads revisited

 

Walking around in the park

Should feel better than work:

The lake, the sunshine,

The grass to lie on,

 

Blurred playground noises

Beyond black-stockinged nurses –

Not a bad place to be.

Yet it doesn’t suit me.

 

Being one of the men

You meet of an afternoon:

Palsied old step-takers,

Hare-eyed clerks with the jitters,

 

Waxed-fleshed out-patients

Still vague from accidents,

And characters in long coats

Deep in the litter-baskets –

 

All dodging the toad work

By being stupid or weak.

Think of being them!

Hearing the hours chime,

 

Watching the bread delivered,

The sun by clouds covered,

The children going home;

Think of being them,

 

Turning over their failures

By some bed of lobelias,

Nowhere to go but indoors,

Nor friends but empty chairs –

 

No, give me my in-tray,

My loaf-haired secretary,

My shall-I-keep-the-call-in-Sir:

What else can I answer,

 

When the lights come on at four

At the end of another year?

Give me your arm, old toad;

Help me down Cemetery Road.

 

© Philip Larkin

 

 

 

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Een Kommentaar op “Larkin se paddas gevandaliseer …”

  1. Louis :

    Ter wille van volledigheid plaas ek ook die ander tersaaklike gedig (“Toads”)hieronder as kommentaar.

    TOADS

    Why should I let the toad work
    Squat on my life?
    Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork
    And drive the brute off?

    Six days of the week it soils
    With its sickening poison –
    Just for paying a few bills!
    That’s out of proportion.

    Lots of folk live on their wits:
    Lecturers, lispers,
    Losers, loblolly-men, louts-
    They don’t end as paupers;

    Lots of folk live up lanes
    With fires in a bucket,
    Eat windfalls and tinned sardines-
    They seem to like it.

    Their nippers have got bare feet,
    Their unspeakable wives
    Are skinny as whippets – and yet
    No one actually _starves_.

    Ah, were I courageous enough
    To shout, Stuff your pension!
    But I know, all too well, that’s the stuff
    That dreams are made on:

    For something sufficiently toad-like
    Squats in me, too;
    Its hunkers are heavy as hard luck,
    And cold as snow,

    And will never allow me to blarney
    My way of getting
    The fame and the girl and the money
    All at one sitting.

    I don’t say, one bodies the other
    One’s spiritual truth;
    But I do say it’s hard to lose either,
    When you have both.

    (c) Philip Larkin

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