I
Die sonnetvorm is breedvoerig bespreek. Die sogenaamde praatvers (parlando), stel weer eiesoortige eise aan die digter.
Sopas verskyn ons eie Boere Bukowski, aka Kleinboer, se jongste bundel: erf en elders (Naledi).
Aweregs, dwars, stroomop en ‘n dekonstruksie van die digkuns. Die erf hiér is sy stukkie grond in Yeoville wat ondersoek word. ‘n Ruimte van vleisbraai, drink en babelaas. Hy skryf sonder enige skroom oor sy besoeke aan hoerhuise in ‘n bundel wat ‘n voortsetting is van my beste vriende is groen pyltjies (2020).
Die alledaagse word ‘n gedig – soos by Bukowski – en in die heerlike send-up “absa is op ‘n manier my aa”(94) spot hy met Alkoholiste Anoniem. Die foon is dikwels aanwesig en hier word gedobbel in ‘n poging om iets te wen.
In hierdie oënskynlik eenvoudige en toeganklike verse is daar toespelings op Leonardo da Vinci, Die Bybel, telefoongidse, Houellebecq, Charl-Pierre Naudé, ensomeer. Speels, loslit, maar onder alles diepe erns.
Lyfstraf en sadistiese ouerskap wat hy as kind ervaar het, word bekyk. Die skrywer is ‘n gerekende taalkenner en dit sien die leser in die verse.
Ontheemding en pyn. ‘n Dronkbestuurklag. Die waarneem van verkeerde spellings teen mure met ‘n pynlike slotvers: ‘n afskeid aan hierdie lewe (“and I wonder”, 105). Ook die verwerking van die afsterwe van twee broers.
II
Die praatverse werk met ander tegnieke as die hermeneutiese of heuristiese vers.
Charles Bukowski (1920-1994), ‘n bekende Amerikaanse digter, is een van die meesters van die praatvers.
Een van sy bekendste verse lui soos volg:
As the poems go
as the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you’ve created very
little.
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight,
the traffic, the nights and the days of the
years, the faces.
leaving this will be easier than living
it, typing one more line now as
a man plays a piano through the radio,
the best writers have said very
little
and the worst,
far too much.
https://allpoetry.com/As-The-Poems-Go Besoek 7 September 2023
Die siening dat die lewe nutteloos en absurd is, tref ons dikwels aan in sy gedigte. Hy dig hieroor asof dit alles een reël beskryf of opgesom kan word.
Trouens, die beste skrywers, besluit hierdie ou sinikus het min te segge; en vrot skrywers het veel te sê.
Are you drinking?
washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
will see the doctor,
Monday.
“yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts.”
“are you drinking?” he will ask.
“are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?”
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
“taking off?” asks the motel
clerk.
“yes, it’s boring,”
I tell him.
“If you think it’s boring
out there,” he tells me, “you oughta be
back here.”
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
again
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
notebook.
something is
walking across the
floor
toward
me.
oh, it’s just
my cat
this
time.
https://allpoetry.com/Are-You-Drinking- Besoek 7 September 2023
Hierdie sinisme vind ons in “Are you drinking?” waar die alledaagse gedig word. Selfs ‘n besoek aan ‘n perderesies is nutteloos. ‘n Geel notaboek. Of by Kleinboer is dit ‘n ou telefoongids wat vir ander doeleindes ingespan word.
Soos by Kleinboer word drank en dobbel belangrike temas.
Die digkuns wat net die verhewe temas aanspreek, word opsetlik gebanaliseer.
Humor is deurgaans opvallend; soms wrang, maar tog snaaks.
So lui “kolon se gedagtes” in erf en elders:
elke hond kry sy dag en elke bier sy glas
dikderms is volopper as dubbelpunte
want elke mens het ‘n kolon
maar elke gedig nie ‘n dubbelpunt nie
en daar is meer mense as gedigte
tensy ek erg onderskat
wat in die skare se koppe
en binnekamers aangaan
daar woed
boonop dalk onuitgesproke gedagtes
in die flora van ons lelike binnegoed
aan die ander kant:
dit kos meer as rymdwang
om ‘n gedagte in ‘n vers
te omskep
(14)
III
Hera Lindsay Bird uit Nieu-Zeeland wys dat vrouedigters ook kan saam-praat:
Keats is Dead so Fuck me From Behind
Hera Lindsay Bird
Keats is dead so fuck me from behind
Slowly and with carnal purpose
Some black midwinter afternoon
While all the children are walking home from school
Peel my stockings down with your teeth
Coleridge is dead and Auden too
Of laughing in an overcoat
Shelley died at sea and his heart wouldn’t burn
& Wordsworth……………………………………………..
They never found his body
His widow mad with grief, hammering nails into an empty meadow
Byron, Whitman, our dog crushed by the garage door
Finger me slowly
In the snowscape of your childhood
Our dead floating just below the surface of the earth
Bend me over like a substitute teacher
& pump me full of shivering arrows
O emotional vulnerability
Bosnian folk-song, birds in the chimney
Tell me what you love when you think I’m not listening
Wallace Stevens’s mother is calling him in for dinner
But he’s not coming, he’s dead too, he died sixty years ago
And nobody cared at his funeral
Life is real
And the days burn off like leopard print
Nobody, not even the dead can tell me what to do
Eat my pussy from behind
Bill Manhire’s not getting any younger
https://thespinoff.co.nz/books/11-07-2016/the-monday-extract-keats-is-dead-so-fuck-me-from-behind-by-hera-lindsay-bird Besoek 7 September 2023
Ook hier is ‘n wrang aanslag en kennis van die digkuns opvallend. Dieselfde geld Jeanne Goosen se Elders aan diens (2007).
Soos Goosen waarsku:
Geluk is pilvormig. Plesier is chemies.
…
Skryf is ‘n persoonlike gevaar
http://joanhambidge.blogspot.com/2013/02/jeanne-goosen-elders-aan-diens-2007.html Besoek 7 September 2023 Besoek 9 September 2023
Dit lyk net asof hierdie verse uit die gatsak geskud is, maar kyk fyn. Daar is ander tegnieke en al hierdie verse vra vir voorlees of voordra.
Joan Hambidge September 2023