Escape...

 

Nothing moves

As I run, breathless,

Trying to escape

The detail of this reality.

Slowly the emptiness grows

Becoming larger than life;

That sits here removed –

Apart from this collective soul.

Charming distractions

Clothed by in-substance,

Unmoving they pass on

Into a troublesome void.

It’s good to know that the mind

Did not come to flirt with temptation.

In the Land of the Blind...

As some of you might know, I recently moved to a beautiful little town in the Groot Karoo to work on my debut novel without the demands and pressures of life in the city. I arrived a few months ago and have since fallen in love with the breathtaking splendour and small town serenity which is synonymous with large swaths of our beautiful country; but the sad underlying reality is that this old world charm is under threat and at risk of becoming just another idyllic memory of what once was.

On the one hand, there is the government and the large, multi-national oil companies who want to destroy hundreds of thousands of hectares of our natural heritage for a profit. For anyone who hasn’t heard about Fracking yet, do some research! There are lobby groups which have been formed who have committed to stopping this travesty, but a few years ago there was another lobby group committed to protecting the Bushmen on parts of this very same land who were being denied water in a move to force them to leave in order to make way for this self-same Fracking companies. That lobby group died eventually from a lack of public interest.

In many ways this tranquil little dorpie is like so many others in South Africa. There is a small white minority that owns the ‘town’ with a much larger, largely poor and unemployed ‘coloured’ or ‘black’ township close at hand where there is a easily accessible pool of cheap labour to call upon when and if necessary. The local primary school has in excess of 250 learners with just five teachers and the nearest high school is 50 kilometres away. Many of the parents have no hope and their attitude towards their children’s education is negligible either because they know that they will not be able to afford to send their kids to high school or because they are either illiterate or under-educated and have resigned themselves to the fact that their children – like themselves – will have to survive from a social grant or menial labour.

Needless to say that part of the problem lies in the legacy of the past that still lingers despite many people’s claims that we have had almost two decades to redress the situation. The fact is that it will take a lot longer to redress the effects four hundred years of imperial colonization and nationalist repression!

However, there are many examples of how the more affluent parts of a community can become involved in the upliftment of those less fortunate than themselves and especially the children and youth, but that takes a commitment from the haves that is for the most part lacking.

We still live in a world of ‘us’ and ‘them’ where poverty is still criminalized and the individuals are blamed for not taking charge of their lives. This attitude stems from a lack of understanding and empathy and in this world of self aggrandizement and instant gratification. This is not a race issue, although it would seem that it is simply because that is how we are accustomed to view our problems. It is also not especially a class issue because there are many haves who do want to get involved and make a difference, but the problem is that they are not sure what they can do so they donate money to initiatives and efforts that are more often than not someone’s attempt to create an income for themselves anyway.

So we sit with a situation where corporates and individuals see outreach as a way of giving back to communities which in essence is not a bad thing but it does however create a host of problems in the long term because neither the community nor the individual is empowered through short term interventions and without permanent long term strategies being devised and put in place, it can be argued that many well intentioned initiatives do more bad than good.

To compound the problem, most small town communities do not have motivated leaders who are beyond social-political and religious ambitions and in the end they compound the problem, escalating existing divides rather than building bridges and bringing entire communities together. And while the intellectually arrogant, so-called analysts and observers continue to ignore the larger issues, we will continue to think about and see everything in a racially convenient monochrome. The issue is much bigger than the overused and battered box of race: in my opinion the prejudices that afflict society are a much more insidious problem because we can deny our humanity for so many reasons and in so many ways. Black, white, coloured, male, female, rich, poor, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Atheist, learned, educated, stupid, ignorant…

The list goes on and so will the problems until more people begin to realize that they can make a difference; in our own lives and the lives of others. We are after all each and every one of us a part of this human race with all of its flaws and callous disregard and rampant greed and failing systems that benefit a few at the expense of the masses! Our prerogative of course is not to subscribe to the worst human traits; to at least try to be conscious and honest and altruistic and to live meaningful lives because there is after all a ‘you’ in human and if you truly believe that its not your problem, just consider the fact that the little kid at the crappy school in the township will one day grow into a teenager with an attitude and no prospects and before you know it, granny and grandpa and your daughter and your son and your wife and husband - everyone you hold dear - are raped in front of you, before you are all shot or stabbed and left for dead. So now, lock the security gate, stick your head in the sand and have no fear. And remember to enjoy your day!

Waiting in a Coma - from 'Waiting'

Mikey DW & Itumeleng Motsikoe

It’s amazing what goes through your head when you can no longer engage with the

act of living. Initially I was obsessed and consumed by all the time I had wasted

waiting in fear and cowardice and queues and lines: waiting for things to improve and

happiness to find me – waiting for the pain to go away and the old wounds to heal:

waiting for someone who would come and make it all worthwhile: waiting for my son

to be born. I realised that the value of life did not reside in what I had possessed; or

what I thought or what I believed; or even what I aspired to – life’s worth is defined

by the things we do. Throughout our lives, we are made to believe that this endless,

gluttonous consumption and callous destruction are the fuels that fire progress. In a

better life, progress is the victory of peace over war; the sound of carefree laughter

instead of angry dissent – consciousness as opposed to dogma. (PAUSE) Call me

that you will, but always remember that I am so much more than your most all

encompassing perception – more even than my own most fertile imagination could

conjure. I am not just the homeless child that you scorn, or the alcoholic mother or the

criminal father. I am all of this and more. I am you in the mirror; I am the outcast in

your prison – inside your cell of flesh and bone. I am your son and your daughter and

your conscience. I am the object of your scorn and your pity. I am all of this and I am

nothing because that’s what you choose to think! Everyday we teach our children that

they can become anything that they want to be. We tell them that they should dream

big and strive purposefully to achieve their dreams, but then we turn around and with

a smile on our faces, we place them squarely in a tiny little box with a big label: boy,

girl, black, white, Christian, Muslim, Batswana, ama-Xhosa, good, bad, clever, stupid,

Masarwa…

Felicity - from 'Waiting'

She was not a manicured rose in a landscaped garden of vain aspirations, with cruel thorns concealed by seductive, scented charms. Felicity was a fair daisy – colourful and bright, growing wild and in profusion with tarnished roots planted firmly in the arid soil of her impoverished life. Her beauty was manifest in her tender smile and her compassionate heart and her ageless soul. Her devoted calm became my refuge and my happiness. I had found my Felicity...

Die Kaap Maak Vrek!

Die bra’se is a’mal dik gegom

O’s loep ron’ kamst’ag son’e rigting

Maa’ daai’s ma net n skelm

Waa’van o’s is a’mal op n pos.

Die win’ hy waai, die rie’n is nat

Die boere pla n man op ‘ie hoek

Daa’ waa’ ‘it daa’m n bietjie warm is

Langs aan ‘ie grill van ‘ie bakery.

My voet m’akee’ n nog’ge plaster

Wan’ ‘aai an’e een is moeg

En elke kee’ as ek trap ‘an maak ek kak

Waa’van die tee’ is mos ha’d sien djy?

Plus’ens nou moet n man ma’ kyk

Waa’ ‘rie kop kan sak

Ma’ al ‘ie spotse is mos lankal gevat

Wan’ hoeko’, die Kaap is nat.

In My Mind - A Tribute to Mister Devious

 

I had heard about the phenomenon known as Devious

Whose rhymes explored a greater consciousness

A social revolutionary

His words his artillery.

The short time we spent together

Is a joy that will last forever

They would have seen if they looked in your eyes

That it was not time for your demise.

There was too much work for you to do

Too much you knew that was true.

But even so I can’t be sad

And even though it makes me mad

I think back to the time we shared

And how you reminded me that I cared.

Your words conjured brilliant visions

About conscious decisions without divisions

Verses like blades making incisions.

For a while the future looked brighter

And my spirit felt lighter

Because you touched my soul

And reaffirmed the whole

That resides inside with beauty denied.

I remember you as you were

The sound of your voice still rings clear

In my heart and mind you will always be here

Much love and endless respect

Your life is a testimony that makes me reflect.

Your legacy will survive

As long as your words are alive

…In my mind.

A Thought on Commerce and Art Expanded

It is long past the hour
When even the criminals have retired.
Cacooned by layers of thermal clothing
I am naked in the presence of this passion
This all consuming fire coursing in my blood.
My entire existence reduced,
Or just maybe elevated
To be encompassed in a sentence
Another word.
Oblivious of the mainstream
In which I am carried along
My life becomes a singular act so simple.
Even little children are taught how to write
And so the passion is revealed
As little more than an indulgence.
Yet I silently persevere
Screaming my conviction
Upon impotent reams of paper.
So many things to say
And still my voice remains silent.
All of these noble endeavors
Judged first for their material gain.

No longer are we concerned with creativity in art,
For all we seek is a marketable formula.
And in our submission to the market
We whore the truth in our souls
For the price an enlightened comfort
Which is ultimately neither.
We switch ourselves off gradually
From the evidence of what is going down all around us.
We fatten our pathetic little realities
Which amount to no more than a distraction
An ineffectual sanctuary from the storm.
In return we receive meager tokens of our worth
From those who seek only
To perpetuate their own flimsy lies.
The truth it seems has become a non-usable theme
As art stoops to don the mantle of entertainment.
A sensory whore monger I am
Amid this unpublished verse
Scattered liberally upon the threshold.
My sole remaining virtue is the fact
That I am no longer a member of any oppressed lineage;
At last I am gingerly able
To consider my virtually insignificant part
In a far grander community.
A far more deceptive politic
That orchestrates the very movement of the earth it seems
As we sit soberly speculating upon the future.
A civilized, once more enlightened speculation
That cautions against bitterness and rage.
Yes it would seem altogether wise
To transcend the sickeningly familiar destruction:
Imperative to our survival in fact.
No one person can turn very much around
And yet we each posses the power to contribute
Towards what can only be described as the purging of humanity.
For too long have we allowed pseudo belief
In divine intervention
To hold us in passivity
Mere onlookers at the deathbed of this ailing mankind.
Tomorrow is already too late
All we have is this last day
This single moment in which to make a decision.
Life or death; politics or truth; money or creation
And if then there remains any doubt,
Then surely we are all damned
For who of us are truly individual
And separate from the whole?
What is mankind if not only a man?

And beyond the confines of today
Beckoning like the return of passion
Within our souls we will find
The essence of beauty.
Once again reunited with our art.
The novel embraced by a smile;
A gesture profoundest poetry;
The dawn and all of its light the canvas.
How I long for a time when our lives
Become infused with true knowledge and wisdom
When our every movement and expression
Becomes a humble, unassuming work of art.
(19/07/97)