Die gedig in die tonnel

Eurydice

Eurydice

Na aanleiding van Marius Crous se wonderlike bloginskrywing oor gedigte oor die underground pleeg ek graag vanoggend se Nuuswekker oor ‘n interessante situasie wat in Engeland ontstaan het rondom ‘n gedig teen die mure van Londen se ondergondse tonnels.

Dié gedig, “Eurydice” deur Sue Hubbard, is tien jaar gelede teen die tonnelmuur wat strek van Waterloo-stasie tot by die Imax filmteater aan die Suidbank volledig uitgeverf. As sulks was dit allerweë erken as een van die langste openbare kunswerke in Londen; verdermeer is dié ellelange gedig verlede jaar deur Time Out Magazine aangewys as Londen se “best piece of secret art.” Die probleem is egter dat werkers van Network Rail Co. kort na dié hoë erkenning in ‘n oomblik van gewaande inspirasie besluit het om as deel van hul instandhoudingswerk sommer dié kulturele baken, wat oorspronklik in opdrag van die Arts Council en die Britse Film-instituut aangebring was, ook toe te verf.

In reaksie op dié obliterasie het Sue Hubbard se uitgewer, Christopher Hamilton-Emery, ‘n veldtog op Facebook geloods ten einde die herstel van die muur en sy gedig na hul voormalige glorie te bepleit. Volgens die berig op The Guardian se webblad, die volgende: “Tributes to the poem poured in. Its message of the triumph of hope, as Eurydice descends into the underworld leaving a recognisably London landscape of sodium streetlights, train tracks and the Waterloo station clock, declaring ‘I am not afraid’, so moved people that one man chose to propose in front of it, and a mother visiting her dying daughter in a nearby hospital was comforted every day by its words. Money poured in, a lawyer volunteered to undertake, free of charge, the months of legal negotiations needed to have it restored, and a software firm, Neural Technologies, offered to top up the public donations.”

Uiteindelik is bydraes van meer as ‘n 1,000 mense ontvang en is die vers twee weke gelede weer teen die muur uitgeverf. Dié keer in goue letters. “I was incredibly touched,” het Hubbard aan The Guardian se beriggewer gesê. “I always hoped people liked it, but I never knew they had such strong feelings about it.”

Vir jou leesplesier volg Sue Hubbard se gedig heelonder.

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Sedert gister het Bernard Odendaal sy resensie van Die mooiste Afrikaanse liefdesgedigte geplaas.  Onder die bloggers is daar twee nuwe bydraes: Andries Bezuidenhout skryf oor ‘n gedig van Jean-Joseph Rabéarivelo terwyl Marlies Taljaard die derde aflewering in haar reeks oor Rooshoek se poësiekerk gelewer het.

Ten slotte, twee aankondigings –

Van vandag af is die kaartjies vir vanjaar se Woordfees by Computicket beskikbaar en om dié geleentheid te vier, word ‘n spesiale onderhoud, wat met Melt Myburgh in sy hoedanigheid as Woordfees se Woordkunsprojekbestuurder gevoer is, later vandag geplaas. 

En dan is RSG se program Vers & Klank (vanaand om 22:00) ‘n móét luister. Joan Hambidge gaan haar keuse van persoonlike gunselinge uit verlede jaar se poësie-oes voorlees. Die digters wie se gedigte voorgelees gaan word, (in alfabetiese volgorde) is: Martjie Bosman, Aniel Botha, Fourie Botha, Lewies Botha, T.T. Cloete, Tom Gouws, Johann de Lange, Louis Esterhuizen, Gilbert Gibson, Martina Klopper en Johann Lodewyk Marais. (Mmm, lyk my nadat die Marais’s ons digkuns vir etlike jare gedomineer het, raak dit nou die beurt van die Botha’s. Of wat praat ek nou?!)

Nietemin, hier’s sommer baie leesstof. Bly op datum, want daar is nog heelwat op pad dié week.

Mooi bly.

LE

 

Eurydice

I am not afraid as I descend,
step by step, leaving behind the salt wind
blowing up the corrugated river,

the damp city streets, their sodium glare
of rush-hour headlights pitted with pearls of rain;
for my eyes still reflect the half remembered moon.

Already your face recedes beneath the station clock,
a damp smudge among the shadows
mirrored in the train’s wet glass,

will you forget me? Steel tracks lead you out
past cranes and crematoria,
boat yards and bike sheds, ruby shards

of roman glass and wolf-bone mummified in mud,
the rows of curtained windows like eyelids
heavy with sleep, to the city’s green edge.

Now I stop my ears with wax, hold fast
the memory of the song you once whispered in my ear.
Its echoes tangle like briars in my thick hair.

You turned to look.
Second fly past like birds.
My hands grow cold. I am ice and cloud.

This path unravels.
Deep in hidden rooms filled with dust
and sour night-breath the lost city is sleeping.

Above the hurt sky is weeping,
soaked nightingales have ceased to sing.
Dusk has come early. I am drowning in blue.

I dream of a green garden
where the sun feathers my face
like your once eager kiss.

Soon, soon I will climb
from this blackened earth
into the diffident light.

© Sue Hubbard

 

 

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