In the absence of chaos

Graham Dukas


It’s been a while since cups

have done anything

but remain upright in their saucers

and even longer

since the ceiling sagged ominously

with the weight of water,

signalling a ruptured pipe.

I cannot remember

when last a table unexpectedly

lost a leg or how long ago

a passing delivery truck,

laden with an assortment

of fruit or scrap metal,

crashed through my living room wall.

Indeed, much of yesterday’s sway

is repeated in the gentle sway of today –

the cat is curled up

like an old Russian hat left lying on the bed,

the view from my window

has tilted neither sharply to the left

nor to the right, and the wall clock

that has watched over our family for years

remains firmly fixed

at ten minutes past seven.

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5


The Poet:

Graham Dukas lives and works in Cape Town. He divides his time between business management and strategy consulting, executive coaching and as a part-time teaching assistant at UCT’s School of Architecture. He started writing at a young age but lost his way as the demands of parenting and earning a living took over as priorities. In recent years he has returned to the pen, inspired by the simple experiences of this peculiar thing called life.

Videopoetry: sy werk met verf op doek

sy werk met verf op doek

met ligte somerkleur

en vaste hand

skilder sy

‘n reuse ronde sfeer

so lig

so sag

so kwesbaar fyn

dit slaan my asem weg

elke dag gaan sy terug

sy soek na skaduwees agter die lig

ek hoor haar grawe in haar grot

jy sal dit nie meer herken nie

waarsku sy

ek skrik

wil haar keer

los die lig

wil ek sê

dis so ragfyn

so kwesbaar en jonk

maar ek bly stil

kyk net na die hoekige donker

wat stadig groei

en die ligte sfeer

al hoe helderder laat skyn

Hester van der Walt

Authority

Finuala Dowling


She’s glad she didn’t inherit my curly hair

and that I don’t try to act young

that I’d never join her at happy hour

or make her a friend on Facebook

or be on Facebook at all

or gate-crash her parties.

She sighs when she has to help me with my phone

or when I wear two pairs of sunglasses at the same time;

laughs when I ask “So what’s this festival called

‘Burn it all up in the Karoo’?”

But when she sits by the kettle with her friend

and the two blonde heads talk in depth about life:

– How do we heal things? How do we solve things?

Is this love? And who are we anyway? –

all I hear is:

“My mom says my mom says my mom says my mom says”

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5


The Poet:

Finuala Dowling is a poet, novelist and creative writing teacher. Her poetry has won the Ingrid Jonker Prize, the Sanlam Prize and the Olive Schreiner Prize. She has read at the Aldeburgh Festival, at Snape Maltings and at all major South African literary festivals.

An Olympian effort at the Mugg & Bean

Graham Dukas


The woman at the table opposite mine

tells the waitress that she won’t tolerate paper

around her giant lemon and poppy seed muffin,

although that’s how they’re baked here.

Her companion, her husband I gather

from his weathered and acquiescent bearing,

seems less concerned about the muffin’s appearance,

but she makes the decision for both of them.

And so the muffins arrive, without paper skirts,

but generously adorned with grated cheese

and something that looks like jellied tongue

but is probably just a dollop of cheap raspberry jam.

To the sound of Kris Kristofferson and Dolly Parton

going on about islands in the stream, the two dive in

and although she spews words for the duration

and he remains as quiet as the chair he sits on,

they get the muffins, cheese and cheap jam down

in much the same time. And I get to thinking

that this could become an Olympic event for couples –

muffin speed-eating for the dull and sadly adrift.

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5


The Poet:

Graham Dukas lives and works in Cape Town. He divides his time between business management and strategy consulting, executive coaching and as a part-time teaching assistant at UCT’s School of Architecture. He started writing at a young age but lost his way as the demands of parenting and earning a living took over as priorities. In recent years he has returned to the pen, inspired by the simple experiences of this peculiar thing called life.

Videopoetry: Tai Chi

tai chi

my vingers van lig

sweef boontoe

om die mossie te omvlerk

die lig omvlerk

my mossie vingers

om boontoe te sweef

die mossie sweef

my vingers boontoe

om lig te omvlerk

die mossie omvlerkte lig

van my vingers

sweef boontoe

vingers omvlerk van lig

sweef boontoe

om my voete te grond in mos

Hester van der Walt 

The broken string

Dia!kwaiŋ
Recited under the rising full moon by Janette Deacon

Lament sung by Xaa-ttin, Dia!kwaiŋ’s father, after the death of his friend, the magician and rain-maker !Nuin|kui-ten, who died from the effects of a shot he had received when going about, by night, in the form of a lion.

People were those who

broke for me the string.

Therefore,

The place became like this to me,

On account of it,

Because the string was that which broke for me.*

Therefore,

The place does not feel to me,

As the place used to feel to me,

On account of it.

For,

The place feels as if it stood open for me,

Because the string has broken for me.

Therefore,

The place does not feel pleasant to me,

On account of it

*Now that the ‘string is broken’, the former ‘ringing sound in the sky’ is no longer heard by the singer, as it had been in the magician’s lifetime.

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5

The Poet

Janette Deacon is an archaeologist with a special interest in the history, beliefs and rock art of the |Xam Bushmen who taught their language to Wilhelm Bleek and Lucy Lloyd in Cape Town in the 1870s. See http://lloydbleekcollection.cs.uct.ac.za for the full texts. Janette was co-organiser with Pippa Skotnes of a conference on the Bleek Archive in 2011 and has published several books and articles on the |Xam to celebrate their contribution to South African languages and cultural diversity.

Previously published:

Dia!kwaiŋ: The boken string. Text and footnote from Specimens of Bushman Folklore by W.H.I. Bleek and L.C. Lloyd, pages 236-237, George Allen, London, 1911.

Time management

Graham Dukas


I’d like to take Time and tie it to the hawthorn

that stands in the front garden

and leave it there

so that it can see for itself how frequently

the seasons change their mind.

Or maybe I’ll leave it in the garage for a while

in that tight space

between the garden tools and the broken chair

where it can be lulled into the benefits

of procrastination.

Perhaps I’ll give it a whirl in the washing machine,

some warm sunlight

and a hot iron to straighten out its creases

before packing it away

until I feel ready for another birthday.

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5


The Poet:

Graham Dukas lives and works in Cape Town. He divides his time between business management and strategy consulting, executive coaching and as a part-time teaching assistant at UCT’s School of Architecture. He started writing at a young age but lost his way as the demands of parenting and earning a living took over as priorities. In recent years he has returned to the pen, inspired by the simple experiences of this peculiar thing called life.

DARK NIGHT

Here is a poem by the great Spanish mystic, John of the Cross. In touches on so many important metaphors of sacred poetry – darkness, light, a secret ladder, the heart, the joining of Lover and Beloved, silence, and death of the little self.

DARK NIGHT

On a dark secret night,

starving for love and deep in flame,

O happy lucky flight!

unseen I slipped away,

my house at last was calm and safe.

Blackly free from light,

disguised and down a secret way,

O happy lucky flight!

in darkness I escaped,

my house at last was calm and safe.

On that happy night – in

secret; no one saw me through the dark –

and I saw nothing then,

no other light to mark

the way but fire pounding my heart.

That flaming guided me

more firmly than the noonday sun,

and waiting there was he

I knew so well – who shone

where nobody appeared to come.

O night, my guide!

O night more friendly than the dawn!

O tender night that tied

lover and the loved one,

loved one in the lover fused as one!

On my flowering breasts

which I had saved for him alone,

he slept and I caressed

and fondled him with love,

and cedars fanned the air above.

Wind from the castle wall

while my fingers played in his hair:

its hand serenely fell

wounding my neck, and there

my senses vanished in the air.

I lay. Forgot my being,

and on my love I leaned my face.

All ceased. I left my being,

Leaving my cares to fade

among the lilies far away.

John of the Cross

McGregor Poetry Festival 2015 Poster

We are deeply indebted to our treasured local artist, Edna Fourie, for designing our stunning logo and festival posters! 

Take a look at the inspiration behind her designs and click on the link to read more about this very talented lady! www.ednafouriegallery.co.za

2015 POSTER : McGregor Poetry Festival

The symbolism of the design by Edna Fourie [artist] 

Poets take the words we use in everyday life and turn them into something magical – poems. Through this act of alchemy they sprinkle some ‘stardust’ over our daily lives.

McGregor in winter exchanges the ‘frock-of-a-thousand-roses’ of spring and summer for the star-studded cloak of our magnificent night skies.

The poster design for McGregor Poetry Festival 2015 celebrates both of the above. 

The Poetry tree has lost its leaves but not it’s magic. With the beautiful bare branches etched against the star-studded sky it connects us to the bigger cosmos. Like the poets, the tree reminds us of the broader and deeper picture of life.

The entire blue background symbolises the ‘cloak’. And if you study the poster carefully you might just be lucky enough to see the stardust floating down in the blue background!

Nemesis

Leon de Kock

My nemesis:
this woman
the One
the Wife
at last
redeemer
of my debts
my bad debts
unpayable
except in
promissory notes
tied to the future
a bond of good conduct
honorable dealing
liquidating my overdraft
my double-entries
opportunistic grabs
sports of nature
hidden in the march
the procession of days
days like figures
totalling and checking
squaring off odd bits
casting aside anomalies
impatient with unpaid accounts
balancing my past
against my present
my bottom line:
the now, the then,
how they check,
how they don’t
or won’t, and whether
it all adds up.
Maybe
she’ll toss the accounts
out the window
buy me a pardon
against this promise:
our sport
our play
our redeeming,
a joint release
from the debtor’s jail
the gaoler’s hell.


From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5

The Poet:

Leon de Kock is a poet, translator, essayist, writer of fiction, literary translator and professional literary practitioner. He has published three volumes of poetry: Bloodsong (1997); gone to the edges (2006); and Bodyhood (2010). He was awarded the Pringle Prize for Poetry and the FNB Vita/English Academy Prize for Poetry Translation. His translation of Marlene van Niekerk’s major Afrikaans novel Triomf won the South African Translators Institute’s Award for Outstanding Translation in 2000. He is Professor of English at the University of Stellenbosch, having formerly served as an English professor at both the University of the Witwatersrand, where he was Head of the School of Literature and Language Studies, and the University of South Africa.

Previously published:

Leon de Kock: Athol Fugard in Stellenbosch first published on SLiPnet, 18 June 2013, at www.slipnet.co.za/view/blog/athol-fugard-in-stellenbosch/

Die free range old age home

McGreggoriete verwys speels na ons dorpie as 'n free range old age home. Al voel ek meestal nog jonk besef ek hoe langer hoe meer hoe broos ek is. So van broos gepraat, Saterdagaand vroeg was ek reeds gesellig in die bed en van plan om te kyk na ‘n film toe Pixel skielik verwoed en aanhoudend begin blaf. Ek hoor 'n dowwe slag en Pixel blaf harder. Dalk 'n motordeur wat klap? Ek stap buitetoe maar sien niks. Dit is donkermaan. Pixel se nekhare staan orent. Ek sluit die kombuisdeur oop en sit ligte aan. Deur die skuifraam sien ek hoe iemand weghardloop die tuin in. 

Skrik gee my dom dapperheid. Ek loop vasberade na die venster, sien dis oop en vra “Wat soek jy hier?” Ek skuif die raam af en knip die slot toe; sien dan eers die glasskerwe onder my slippers en besef die venster is gebreek. Maklik. Met een van die mooi klippe wat Lies bewonder en in die voortuin rangskik. 

ons is broos 

ons is weerloos 

ons is verkreukelde papawers wat

wawydoop wind en weer trotseer

ragfyn velblare kleef liggies 

aan 'n saadhuis vol fyn gaatjies 

Die werfbewoners trek 'n laer om ons. Pieter patrolleer met sy hond Pietie. Die inbreker kom sowaar weer terug om deur die venster te probeer klim en sy buit op te eis. In haar nagkabaai verjaag Lies hom weer met die brawade van haar byna tagtig jaar. “Hy is so brutaal!” vertel sy later aan die konstabel. Pieter slaan 'n spyker in die skuifraam om dit voorlopig te sluit. Die konstabel sê dit gaan mal in die dorp. Besig! En hy is al een op patrollie vir die hele gebied se plaas en dorpsmoleste.

Nadat almal weer huistoe is drink ons kamilletee. Pixel, die heldin, kry 'n koekie. Almal is weer binne. Ek dink aan een van David Kramer se ou liedjies. Buite huil die honde voor die hekke van paradise. 

Die papawers vou toe vir 'n onrustige nag. Gelowig. Dalk goedgelowig. 'n Fool’s paradise, maar nogtans bly dit hierdie free ranger se paradys.

Hester

Next Week @ the Book Lounge

Hello Loungers,
 

Something for everyone next week, and we still have some tickets left for this Friday's Down in the Basement.

Don't forget to take advantage of our two specials - 20% off the new collection of essays by Tony Judt, and the new novel from Harper Lee! See below for details.

Friday 17th April, 5.30 for 6pm - Down in the Basement: Poetica

For our next Down in the Basement we thought we would dabble on the poetry side. To help celebrate our Open Book Poetica Stage we have asked five local poets, some written, some spoken word, to share their work with us.Winslow Schalkwyk will host the evening for us and the poets will be Khadija Heeger, Genna Gardini, Shirmoney Rhode and Siyabonga Njica.
Please join us for a night of beautiful words.
Tickets are R45 cash only (paper money) at the counter. Tickets are as always limited, so please come and buy it straight away and support a local poet.


 

Saturday 18th Apil, 11am - Storytime: Launch of Rhinocephants on the Roof by Dale Blankenaar and Marita van der Vyver

Daniel is sleeping over at his grandparents' house for the very first time. But when it is bedtime and the lights go oot, Damiel hears some very strange and terrifying noises. They are coming closer and closer. What can they be?

A fun morning that includes meeting the illustrator, listening to the story and a drawing activity.

Also available in Afrikaans.

Published by Tafelberg, an imprint of NB.
 

Please remember to rsvp to all adult events for catering purposes. RSVP to booklounge@gmail.com.

 

Wednesday 22nd April, 5.30 for 6pm - Launch of Homegrown by Christine Coates

Christine Coates is a poet and writer from Cape Town who spends many hours walking on the mountain or besides the sea. She has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Cape Town. She has an interest in life-writing or memoir, and the recovery of personal history through public and private imagery. She translated her great-grandfather's Boer War journals and presented them in parallel text as a handmade, leather-bound book. She has undertaken the 800km pilgrimage across Spain, on the Camino de Compostela. Her stories and poems have been published in various literary journals: New Contrast, New Coin, Deep Water Literary Journal, scrutiny2, and the Cambridge Conference of Contemporary Poetry Review. Her poems were selected for the EU Sol Plaatje Poetry anthologies 2011 - 2014.
 

Christine will be in conversation with Finuala Dowling.

Published by Modjaji Books.

  Thursday 23rd April, 5.30 for 6pm - Launch of The Raft by Fred Strydom

One man's odyssey across a world without memory.

"The day every person on earth lost his and her memory was not a day at all. In people's minds there was no actual event ... and thus it could be followed by no period of shock or mourning. There could be no catharsis. Everyone was simply reset to zero."

On Day Zero, humankind collectively lost its memory. The collapse of civilisation was as instantaneous as it was inevitable. For a man named Kayle Jenner, confined by a regime to a commune on a remote beach, all that remains is the vague and haunting vision of a son ...

That, and a wooden raft. It is a raft that will set Kayle on a journey across a broken world to find his son.

Braving a landscape of elusive encounters, a maze of other people's dreams, and muddled memories, Kayle will discover more than just his lost past. He will discover the truth behind Day Zero – a truth that makes both fools and gods of men.

Fred will be in conversation with novelist Máire Fischer.

Published by Umuzi, an imprint of Penguin Random.
 

Pre-order special - 20% off the new Harper Lee!

As you will know, after a 50 year hiaitus, Harper Lee, author of 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is publishing a new title. Thought lost for many years, it was recently discovered within the manuscript of Mockingbird, and will be released this July.

We are offering a 20% discount to any customer who orders and pays for the title before publication. The published price will be R330, but if you pre-order you will pay only R264. To order please mail us on booklounge@gmail.com.


Go Set a Watchman is set during the mid-1950s and features many of the characters from To Kill a Mockingbird some twenty years later. Scout (Jean Louise Finch) has returned to Maycomb from New York to visit her father Atticus. She is forced to grapple with issues both personal and political as she tries to understand both her father’s attitude toward society, and her own feelings about the place where she was born and spent her childhood. An instant classic.

Pre-order Special - 20% off When the Facts Change: Essays 1995-2010 by Tony Judt

The book retails at R525, but if you order and pay before the publication date of 25th April, you will pay only R420. To take advantage of this deal, just mail us on booklounge@gmail.com.

A great thinker’s final testament: a characteristically wise and forthright collection of essays from the author of Postwar and Thinking the Twentieth Century, spanning a career of extraordinary intellectual engagement. Edited and introduced by Jennifer Homans.
Tony Judt’s first collection of essays, Reappraisals, was centred on twentieth-century Europe in history and memory. Some of Judt’s most prominent and indeed controversial essays felt outside of the scope of Reappraisals, most notably his writings on the state of Israel and its relationship to Palestine. There would be time, it was thought, to fit these essays into a larger frame. Sadly, this would not be the case, at least during the author’s own life.
Now, in When the Facts Change, Tony Judt’s widow and fellow historian, Jennifer Homans, has found the frame, gathering together important essays from the span of Judt’s career that chronicle both the evolution of his thought and the remarkable consistency of his passionate engagement and intellectual élan.  An emphatic demonstration of the power of a great historian to connect us more deeply to the world as it was, as it is, and as it should be, it is a fitting capstone to an extraordinary body of work.

Happy Reading!

Beach tableau

For Luke Buchanan, 2010
Leon de KockWe are the people who lie on the beach,

the people who put towels down, and umbrellas up,
and lie on the beach, for the sake of just that,
lying on the beach and doing anything we want,
as long as it’s not important, for this is the only act
that is frowned upon, here on the beach.
And mainly, apart from reading soggy paperbacks,
and staring aimlessly at the ocean,
mainly we stare unthinkingly at other people, and,
of course, conduct desultory family arguments,
rehashing old feuds, and fights, in a forgiving way,
as if, on a beach, all is suddenly forgiven,
and as we do this, on and off, with no rhyme or reason,
we watch the pumpkin bodies passing by,
the grown-ups who have given up, given up
on the Body Perfect, and are somehow happier for it,
even though they trundle along awkwardly,
pushing their overfull barrows of flesh
and not giving a damn about who sees their strapped
bulging listing cargoes, their holds of holiday fare,
now sagging and swaying as they push ahead,
push these serviceable bodies ahead,
despite their one-crooked-wheel look, their shambling gait.
And there goes my 19-year-old son, unable to sit still,
so new is he in his body, his new-model, out-of-the-box
torso, flat where it should be flat, with muscles,
muscles that ripple where they should ripple,
and he holds, he holds this new-found perfection
in his palm like a glass ball in which he sees his own vanity,
and he loves it, as he should, for it is a glorious,
irresistible vanity, a globed, immaculate beauty,
and I thank God he can see it, recognise it
for what it is, even as I remember how it felt,
once, in myself, even though, in my own case,
I didn’t quite see it whole, saw only the horizon,
looked always away, at the line of doubt,
somewhere out there, a lurch in the guts.
And now this boy has somehow found it,
grabbed hold of it, the way he plucks the beach Frisbee
out of the air. This poise, this easy confidence,
which he manages like the bat and ball
with which he’s playing, smacking the ball high,
higher and higher, and running to meet its fall, diving for it,
and then hitting it up again, with such a perfect whack
you marvel, marvel at the beauty, the symmetry,
the sprung arc of his grace, and you know,
you know that your own strength has gone into him,
has left your own body by degrees,
has carried across to his beauteous form,
and it is hard, it is hard to be graceful about this,
this theft of youth, this midnight plunder,
so many midnights, hundreds and hundreds
of them, during which this occult transfusion
was secretly happening, as you worried and paced,
as he recovered from asthma scares, and ruptured flesh,
broken parts, once, even stitches on his foreskin,
as you rode your own strength hard,
discovering in yourself, finding in your own body
the only heroism you would truly have,
the only kind you could have all to yourself.
And now your hair is the colour of grey sky,
your skin like driftwood, your eyes watery
as you watch this tidal surge pushing at you,
lifting you up and taking you with it, there, up there,
beyond the tide-line, into the undergrowth
where the flies buzz, and the sea’s surges can still be heard
in relays of sweet love, castaway love,
and the crash of abandonment, water on rock, surf and sound
come down upon you, nothing and everything all at once,
all the same, all the same.

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5

The Poet:

Leon de Kock is a poet, translator, essayist, writer of fiction, literary translator and professional literary practitioner. He has published three volumes of poetry: Bloodsong (1997); gone to the edges (2006); and Bodyhood (2010). He was awarded the Pringle Prize for Poetry and the FNB Vita/English Academy Prize for Poetry Translation. His translation of Marlene van Niekerk’s major Afrikaans novel Triomf won the South African Translators Institute’s Award for Outstanding Translation in 2000. He is Professor of English at the University of Stellenbosch, having formerly served as an English professor at both the University of the Witwatersrand, where he was Head of the School of Literature and Language Studies, and the University of South Africa.

Previously published:

Leon de Kock: Athol Fugard in Stellenbosch first published on SLiPnet, 18 June 2013, at www.slipnet.co.za/view/blog/athol-fugard-in-stellenbosch/

Mary Oliver

While I deeply appreciate the metaphors and symbols of the Christian Church, I sometimes miss the ample references of the non-human world. Mary Oliver invites me back to this in a masterful way. Each and every day we can get out of the human centred world, and witness the interdependence that tree is bird is me is you.

Something has happened

To the bread

And the wine.

They have been blessed.

What now?

The body leans forward

To receive the gift

from the priest’s hand,

then the chalice.

I want

to see Jesus

maybe in the clouds

or on the shore,

just walking,

beautiful man

And clearly

someone else

besides.

On the hard days

I ask myself

if I ever will.

Also there are times

when  my body whispers to me

that I have.

-mary Oliver

Reservoir Blog April 2015 Edition

Here in McGregor Summer is finally coming to an end. We have had a few cold nights and we know that the cold is just around the corner. Not that Summer gives up its control lightly. We are still experiencing days of great warmth, and it is still too early to bring out the electric blanket. Wood is being gathered for our Winter fires, and the warm duvets are being brought out of the cupboards. I love Winter. The days are crisp, and the nights very cold. Dressing up in hats, coats and scarves we venture out to enjoy the cold air. There is always something magical about sitting in front of a log fire, and bed is a welcome haven. 

I had an early taste of Winter last week when I journeyed up to KZN to attend a friend’s birthday party. It was held in the Dargle Valley, in the KZN Midlands, and the Saturday of our arrival saw the entire valley swathed in mist and light rain. The night air was bitterly cold, and we certainly appreciated the fire and red wine to keep us warm.

I spent a week in KZN, sharing precious time with family and friends in Durban and the KZN Midlands. Although it was very special to see everyone, particularly my two children, it was wonderful to come home to McGregor. I really feel at home here, and have learned to appreciate just what a special place we live in here. 

I have chosen an unusual poem for today. I remember reading this piece for the first time when I was 13 years old- in The Living Tradition or Turning World I think. I loved it at the time, and have re-read it many times over the years. Last week we lost our cat, Boo Radley. He contracted a virulent form of tick-bite fever, and after a valiant effort by our wonderful local vet , he died on the morning of our return to McGregor. We were devastated. He was a very special friend to us and is deeply missed. This is for him.

Cats

Cats no less liquid than their shadows

Offer no angles to the wind.

They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes

Less than themselves; will not be pinned



To rules or routes for journeys; counter

Attack with non-resistance; twist

Enticing through the curving fingers

And leave an angered empty fist.



They wait obsequious as darkness

Quick to retire, quick to return;

Admit no aim or ethics; flatter

With reservations; will not learn



To answer to their names; are seldom

Truly owned till shot or skinned.

Cats no less liquid than their shadows

Offer no angles to the wind.


By Arthur Tessimond

David

The spirituality of hockey coach

Based on St John of the Cross

Bob Commin


The way forward is the way back
       and the way back
       is the way left
      and the way right
which is the same as saying
the way up
      is the way down
the way along the edges
      is the way to the centre
you must go by a way
where there are no set paths
you must go alone
though others are always with you
and the obstacles that you encounter
are not obstacles,
but the way through your centre.
the way of possession
is the way of dispossession
to receive, you must give
to possess your goal
you must deny your goal
and surrender your will
to the will of a greater spirit
then, and only then
will the goal that you desire
become the goal not of the one
but the many
and what you set out to possess
will ultimately have you in possession.

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival
ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5

The Poet:

Bob Commin is a poet and storyteller. He grew up in Woodstock, Cape Town and has taught in schools in Scotland and England. Latterly he runs workshops on creativity, storytelling and poetry. His most recent publication is Under the Ilex Tree. Leon de Kock is a poet, translator, essayist, writer of fiction, literary translator and professional literary practitioner. He has published three volumes of poetry: Bloodsong (1997); gone to the edges (2006); and Bodyhood (2010). He was awarded the Pringle Prize for Poetry and the FNB Vita/English Academy Prize for Poetry Translation. His translation of Marlene van Niekerk’s major Afrikaans novel Triomf won the South African Translators Institute’s Award for Outstanding Translation in 2000. He is Professor of English at the University of Stellenbosch, having formerly served as an English professor at both the University of the Witwatersrand, where he was Head of the School of Literature and Language Studies, and the University of South Africa.

Previously published:

Bob Commin: Wandering minstrel from the June 2013 edition of Good Hope

McGregor Arts Community Project

The McGregor Poetry Festival Committee is thrilled to announce that our application to be registered as a "Non Profit Organisation" has been approved! The NPO name is "McGregor Arts Community Project" abbreviated to "Mac P". #151-551NPO

Athol Fugard in Stellenbosch

Written after witnessing Athol Fugard in public conversation
with Mannie Manim
Woordfees, Stellenbosch, March 2013
Leon de Kock

Athol Fugard: like a rock
He sits there
Like a boulder on the veld
As the cars spear past
But he won’t be moved
He is like Agamemnon
Unbreakable
Until the sudden, dramatic end
Claiming now he will disappear
Into the mists of time
And yet he looks, he looks
The very opposite of vapour:
Hewn from kiaat
Sculpted with rough, precise hands
Cut into shape
A chiselled profile –
That’s what he is
A silhouette of form
He has sharp opinions
Unqualified feelings
There is no mincing of words
He has softened
But he comes from a thirsty land
His memory runs deep
Cuts to the bone

He knows how it feels

To live outside city lights

On the freezing outskirts

In the mud

He knows Boesman, and Lena, and Outa

He ran away from learning

To taste the hard salt of living

To squeeze riches

From a fountain pen

Bleeding, he says, bleeding

Onto a blank page

Bearing witness

He knows how brutal it is

To walk through space and time

Taking the blows

And look, there he is, still

Look how sturdy

Still, at Agamemnon 80 and more

Look how strong

How admirable

His wholly impossible desire

To disappear into the mists

Of place and time

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival

ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5

The Poet:

Leon de Kock is a poet, translator, essayist, writer of fiction, literary translator and professional literary practitioner. He has published three volumes of poetry: Bloodsong (1997); gone to the edges (2006); and Bodyhood (2010). He was awarded the Pringle Prize for Poetry and the FNB Vita/English Academy Prize for Poetry Translation. His translation of Marlene van Niekerk’s major Afrikaans novel Triomf won the South African Translators Institute’s Award for Outstanding Translation in 2000. He is Professor of English at the University of Stellenbosch, having formerly served as an English professor at both the University of the Witwatersrand, where he was Head of the School of Literature and Language Studies, and the University of South Africa.

Previously published:

Leon de Kock: Athol Fugard in Stellenbosch first published on SLiPnet, 18 June 2013, at www.slipnet.co.za/view/blog/athol-fugard-in-stellenbosch/

Wandering minstrel

A tribute to John Oliver priest of St Mark’s District Six,
written for his retirement at the end of March.
John visited the McGregor Poetry Festival in June and
died in his sleep, two weeks later on 4 July 2013
Bob Commin

Wandering minstrel in the streets of District Six
guitar-guiding your Anglican followers
through Palm Sunday and the Passion of the Seven Steps
to place our cross above the University and the Bay
the cross of all our displacements and longings.
Our history of forgotten homes and vacant streets.
You have fathered us through the winters and summers
of our future,
your gentle voice of reason
like the Christ on the Emmaus road
interpreting our doubts
from Mandela’s freedom walk
through the Marikana strike
the front pages of corruption
opening the scriptures to us
to ignite the heart within.
Faithful in our grieving
through all our rain-drenched, mud-filled days

the roof howling above our heads.

Priest to all faiths and nations

you call us beyond a fledgling allegiance

to a deep honouring of all people

to the image of God seeding in them.

We find you in places of pain and celebration

the Christ at Jericho, the Christ at Cana

often behind a camera, to catch a story.

These sandstones rise up to tell of a vibrant people

who sing and dance the liturgy of life.

From the carved-out undercroft of our gatherings

to the wind-wracked bell tower

that rings our presence

your prayer-dreams have sustained us like music

and have become the rock on which we build

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival
ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5

The Poet:

Bob Commin is a poet and storyteller. He grew up in Woodstock, Cape Town and has taught in schools in Scotland and England. Latterly he runs workshops on creativity, storytelling and poetry. His most recent publication is Under the Ilex Tree. Leon de Kock is a poet, translator, essayist, writer of fiction, literary translator and professional literary practitioner. He has published three volumes of poetry: Bloodsong (1997); gone to the edges (2006); and Bodyhood (2010). He was awarded the Pringle Prize for Poetry and the FNB Vita/English Academy Prize for Poetry Translation. His translation of Marlene van Niekerk’s major Afrikaans novel Triomf won the South African Translators Institute’s Award for Outstanding Translation in 2000. He is Professor of English at the University of Stellenbosch, having formerly served as an English professor at both the University of the Witwatersrand, where he was Head of the School of Literature and Language Studies, and the University of South Africa.

Previously published:

Bob Commin: Wandering minstrel from the June 2013 edition of Good Hope

Hockey Masters in March

Bob Commin

It’s a hot March afternoon
our Masters hockey players are at work
on an expansive green unwet astroturf field
the field licks its tongue in the dryness
and the white ball refuses to befriend our players
we are the over 65s, as fit as our longevity
breaking all the records that our parents set
we are living the life of eternal youthfulness
the invitation team we play against is really as old as we
but they have won a match!
the sun explodes in red spots
and reaches the fulcrum of our earth field
reducing energy levels and drying up our water
in the turmoil of heat and lethargy
the game lingers a little beyond stationary

Now I’m furious with the left wing
whenever I look up, he’s busy unscrewing his prosthesis
we advised him not to play but after Oscar Pistorius
he has a vision of becoming famous

Our backs are a little precarious
the hubs of their wheelchairs haven’t been oiled for months
the squeal of their wheels creates panic in the back line
to pass the ball back is like laying tiles on a weekend

The two inside forwards both suffer with arthritis

so that when one expects a strong pass

one gets this feather-weight lean-to that never really almost reaches you

Now our centre-half has irritable bowel syndrome

he’s a nice chap really but he plays hockey with such heaves and sighs

that it always appears as if he is rushing for the loo.

Our left wing is totally deaf

he plays and smiles

all attempts to exchange him for another player fails

in fact we have to slap him with a hockey stick

to injure him in order to bring on a fresh player

even then he only smiles, while someone clears the blood

Our link players are on Zimmer frames

they are all on the board of an old age home

they move in a wonderful rhythm to the tune of “We are the Champions”

which is quite misplaced as none of them

can keep a tune or move in sync

I look back and see that our backs are swivelling around in wheel chairs

our coach who controls the movement of their chairs

has lost control of the joystick and sneezes with hay fever

Our right wing who has an aura of shiftiness

has an alarm attached to his hockey stick

he’s paranoid about his stick being stolen mid-game

every time the ball touches it the alarm goes off

once the police arrived and took his stick off for examinations

they reported that they couldn’t find his fingerprints on it

But the most frightening feature of our play

is the nature and aspect of our shadows

they do not follow us as one would expect

it is as though they are more aware of what we are capable of

than we ourselves, for often

when we rush into a dribble

which is more than what happens along the line of our mouths

they seem to just stand and wait, almost with hopelessness

until we return to them

The centre-forward had to run fifty yards

against the run of play, to catch up with his shadow

his shadow didn’t half give him a drubbing down for being so ambitious

I look forward to having a few pints tonight at our local pub

The Old Goose, an event about which

our warden knows nothing.

From: McGregor Poetry Anthology 2013

Published by African Sun Press in association with the McGregor Poetry Festival
ISBN number 978-0-620-62302-5

The Poet:

Bob Commin is a poet and storyteller. He grew up in Woodstock, Cape Town and has taught in schools in Scotland and England. Latterly he runs workshops on creativity, storytelling and poetry. His most recent publication is Under the Ilex Tree. Leon de Kock is a poet, translator, essayist, writer of fiction, literary translator and professional literary practitioner. He has published three volumes of poetry: Bloodsong (1997); gone to the edges (2006); and Bodyhood (2010). He was awarded the Pringle Prize for Poetry and the FNB Vita/English Academy Prize for Poetry Translation. His translation of Marlene van Niekerk’s major Afrikaans novel Triomf won the South African Translators Institute’s Award for Outstanding Translation in 2000. He is Professor of English at the University of Stellenbosch, having formerly served as an English professor at both the University of the Witwatersrand, where he was Head of the School of Literature and Language Studies, and the University of South Africa.

Previously published:

Bob Commin: Wandering minstrel from the June 2013 edition of Good Hope