Desmond Painter. Tony Hoagland: Kan jy my blameer as ek ‘n scene maak?

Tony Hoagland

Tony Hoagland

Ek het onlangs Tony Hoagland se jongste bundel, Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty, gekoop. Dit is ‘n fantastiese bundel. Ongetwyfeld een van die beste boeke wat ek hierdie jaar gekoop het. Hoagland is oorspronklik, intelligent, snaaks, vreesloos, deernisvol, ag, hy is gewoon een van die mees opwindende hedendaagse digters waarvan ek weet.

Unincorporated Persons is ‘n bundel vir lees en herlees. Dit is ‘n boek wat ‘n mens laat skater, kwaad word, hunker en huil; dit is ‘n boek vir die aande en die jare wat kom. Arme Claire moet die heeltyd vir my daaruit voorlees, sodat ek die gedigte ook kan hoor. Dit is eintlik onmoontlik om gunstelinge onder die gedigte uit te sonder, maar daar is een waarna ek telkens terugkeer. Dis ‘n geloofsbelydenis, ‘n agitasie, ‘n beswering, ‘n lewensfilosofie in die kleine, ‘n poem to live by:

 

Personal – by Tony Hoagland

 

Don’t take it personal, they said;

but I did, I took it all quite personal—

 

the breeze and the river and the color of the fields;

the price of grapefruit and stamps,

 

the wet hair of women in the rain—

And I cursed what hurt me

 

and I praised what gave me joy,

the most simple-minded of possible responses.

 

The government reminded me of my father,

with its deafness and its laws,

 

and the weather reminded me of my mom,

with her tropical squalls.

 

Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness

Think first, they said of Talk

 

Get over it, they said

at the School of Broken Hearts

 

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t

believe in the clean break;

 

I believe in the compound fracture

served with a sauce of dirty regret,

 

I believe in saying it all

and taking it all back

 

and saying it again for good measure

while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries

 

like wheeling birds

and the trees look seasick in the wind.

 

Oh life! Can you blame me

for making a scene?

 

You were that yellow caboose, the moon

disappearing over a ridge of cloud.

 

I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard;

barking and barking:

 

trying to convince everything else

to take it personal too.

 

 

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7 Kommentare op “Desmond Painter. Tony Hoagland: Kan jy my blameer as ek ‘n scene maak?”

  1. Ivan Mocke :

    ‘n Lekker inskrywing, Desmond! Maar waar het jy die bundel gekry? Ek het dit ook al geoek, maar Louis vertel my dat hy onsuksesvol was om die bundel uit VSA af in te voer … Het toe ‘n ander bundel “What narcississm means to me” gekoop. ‘n Bundel wat net so genotvol is.

  2. Desmond :

    Hallo Ivan. Ek het my kopie laasmaand in Londen gekoop (die Britse uitgawe, maar ek neem aan dis presies dieselfde as die Anerikaanse uitgawe), maar jy kan dit wel op http://www.loot.co.za bestel. Gewoonlik is ingevoerde digbundels durerig, maar tans verkoop hulle hom vir slegs R103. Jy moet Protea natuurlik ondersteun wanneer jy kan, maar indien hulle iets nie het nie, Loot is veilig en doeltreffend. http://www.amazon.co.uk hanteer ook nog bestellings uit SA, maar dan betaal jy natuurlik belasting by die poskantoor; met Loot betaal jy nie ekstra belanting nie, net die posgeld, en as jy meer as R250 se boeke bestel is aflewering verniet.

  3. Andries Bezuidenhout :

    As Protea Hoaglands bestel, kom koop ek met die volgende trip S’bosch toe. Of nog beter, die Hatfield-tak kan ‘n plan maak!

  4. Marlise :

    As jy van Tony H se verse hou Desmond, sal jy dalk ook die humor & aweregsheid van hierdie digter waardeer. Dis ‘n gedig wat ek raakgeloop het op die internet, van ‘n jong digter wat nog ongepubliseerd is. As iemand ‘n skrywersblok het tans, mag dit dalk ook help …

    The Poem Speaks To Ever

    “The first thing to do is inspect your room.
    Let in a little air, let the window stay ajar
    like someone listening on their elbow.

    As for noises outside, let them come
    because finches are welcome in any poem
    and might land elegantly somewhere.

    Chance is crucial. Don’t underestimate
    the day that is a blue and white marble
    muddled in with many others.

    No thing is more noteworthy than another.
    Greet earthworms and fridge alphabets
    as you would an exciting foreigner.

    Be particularly nice to the earthworm-
    their soft forms will be your final readers.
    As for interests: best to have more than

    the one that has you up nights at this desk.
    Play a field sport that allows you to launch
    something into the wild question of sky.

    Cultivate a little mould or sea monkeys
    to know the scale of what’s outside.
    Listen constantly. Don’t be bitter

    or be bitter entirely, like a white dwarf
    before she supernovas among famous stars.
    Envy is fine if it sharpens your teeth.

    As for making things up, being a fantasist,
    grow an astonishing fish, paint it any colour.
    But stripe it with gills. Swim it in cold water.”

    © Matthew Gregory

  5. Desmond Painter :

    Dankie Marlise, ek hou daarvan! Veral “that allows you to launch / something into the wild question of sky” en “Envy is fine if it sharpens your teeth.” Terloops,is daar, dink jy, iets soos “skryf-emosies”? Ek kan bv. vanuit plekke van woede en aggressie skryf wat vir my ongeveer onmoontlik is om te wys, of selfs te voel, wanneer ek in persoon met mense omgaan. Ander ervaar dalk iets soortgelyk met weerloosheid en brutaliteit. ‘n Mens het soms as “skrywer” ‘n emosionele register, outentiek beleef en nie bloot ‘n retoriese arsenaal nie, wat jy nie noodwendig het as alledaagse, gewone mens tussen ander mense nie. Of nie?

  6. Marlise :

    Desmond, of ek jou nou reg verstaan, weet ek nie, maar ek sou dink natuurlik is daar ‘skryf-emosies’. Gedigte is die landskap van emosie ook, en sal jou eie register van emosies reflekteer. Miskien probeer die digter ook verby die super-ego se polisiëring te reik, as ek nou Freudiaans mag praat, (hoewel ek Jung verkies!), met sy ‘veilige’ woordkonstruk, met fantasie, verbeelding, metafore, ens. Iets wat dan nie noodwendig tussen mense tot gestalte [of uitvoering] kom nie. Ek weet nie of dit is wat jy bedoel nie?

    Hier nog gedig vir jou:

    In the forests of my mind one evening

    Super Ego turned to Id

    Lets run away and leave that conceited self behind

    We can go play in the fields on the other side of time

    Id looked thoughtful

    Sounds good, but there’s a problem there

    You are me, and I am you

    and we are us it’s true

    If we leave our self behind

    what am I to do?

    For we are all of those ourselves

    Plus me and myself as well

    Without all of combined, my friend

    No one is left behind

    We have strayed through old Death’s door

    And we all know he’s a bore

    So lets not stray from who we are

    Because there is not a soul left behind

    To carry on in life

    © Sharon Pribble

  7. Desmond :

    Marlise, ek wonder juis oor ‘n emosionele register wat wel outentiek en natuurlik tot die skrywer is wanneer hy/sy skryf (bv. woede), maar nie wanneer hy/sy andersins met mense omgaan nie. Sodat die emosionele register van hulle skryfwerk juis nie hulle emosionele register andersins reflekteer nie. Jou Freudiaanse verklaring is sekerlik een manier om sin te maak hiervan… Ek verkies juis Freud bo Jung, maar dis ‘n ander gesprek!

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