Skryf met lyf | Skryf - Page 18 of 18 - Skryf met lyf
15:52 16 June in Rhyme
13:31 13 June in Rym
16:57 09 June in Rhyme
a man, and his mother
told each other:
of them listened
and they wound up dead
Sommer net vir die lekker
14:23 05 June in Weeskinders
Party dae hou ek myself simpel, sommer vir die lekkerte daarvan. Nie ‘n dwarstrekkerige, aspriste, “kyk-hoe-moeilik-kan-ek-die-lewe-vir-jou-maak” simpel nie, maar eerder ‘n “ek-doen-dit-want-ek-kan-en-dis-lieflik-lekker-vir-my” soort simpelheid.
Ek sit skewe valstande in net voor ek by die robot stilhou en kyk dan rustig links of regs na die ander motoriste se geskokte uitdrukkings. Ek steek vreemde voorwerpe in my huismaat se bed weg terwyl sy bad, of praat in ‘n swaar Britse aksent by die Mall met die mense. Eenmaal het ek by die kantoor uit ‘n boks gespring en die baas goed skrikgemaak. Sommer net.
Ander mag dit vreemd vind, en ek sal die eerste een wees wat saamstem. Dit is so ietwat aweregs ja. Maar soort soek soort, en ek is ‘n bietjie vreemd, so is dit dan nie vanselfsprekend dat ek ook van tyd tot tyd snaakse dinge sal aanvang nie?
Dis eintlik my ouma Uys se skuld. ‘n Eiewys en eksentrieke vrou met ‘n kop so hard soos ‘n kanonskoot. Op ‘n dag het sy haar so vererg vir my arme oupa wat sy tyd gevat het om vuurmaakhout in te bring, dat sy ‘n byl gegryp en die kombuistafel stukkend begin kap het. Die d in ons DNA, staan dalk vir dramaties.
Dis regtig nie asof ek vooraf sit en dink wat ek gaan doen om aandag te trek of reaksie uit te lok nie. Dit gaan geensins oor ander se opinies of opmerkings oor my mannewales nie. Nie eers amper nie.
Dis oor die sommer-net wat my in ‘n oomblik invaar. Omdat simpel wees vir my diep sin maak, en my soos Mia laat voel, dankie. Party mense het ‘n behoefte aan gereelde oefening. Ander raak semi-kens as hulle lanklaas in die natuur was. Ek verloor myself so stuk-stuk as ek nie gereeld genoeg goed simpel is nie.
Die punt wat ek probeer maak is dit. Daar is dinge wat ons doen wat vir niemand anders belangrik is of lyk nie, maar wat broodnodig is om getrou te bly aan wie God ons gemaak het om te wees. Ek dink een van die grootste dankies wat ons vir Hom kan sê is om te leef as die mens wat Hy gemaak het, en om dit goed en gereeld te doen.
Op daai noot, verskoon my eers, ek het skielik lus om saam met die seuntjie oorkant die pad te gaan sokker speel. Dit lyk verskriklik lekker.
18:20 02 June in Rym
Koppe geplant soos aartappels
knolle in ‘n ry
opinies, agendas, opmerkings
die dag tik tik verby
in diep en donker grond
frank en bitter blare
uit elk en ieder mond.
18:10 28 May in Rym
18:11 24 May in Weeskinders
11:59 15 May in Weeskinders
It’s a funny thing. This process of translating events, thoughts and emotions to various combinations of the same 26 letters. Reducing moments of elation, longing or frustration to nothing more than a literate version of a mathematical equation. Hoping that something as lifeless as a drop of ink on a sheet of paper, or a succession of characters on a computer screen will transcend its existence, and somehow, miraculously, start breathing in the heart and mind of the reader. Desiring the sum of the parts to amount to more than its one dimensional ability.
Imagine a child playing in a magical forest, discovering the most fascinating creature. Overcome with excitement and wonder he feels compelled to take it home. to look at it again and again. Danny races back, returns with a box, and the animal is caught and carried home. Danny arrives, breathless with excitement. “Mom, mom come now. I have to show you something amazing!” Mom registers the urgency in Danny’s voice, opens the box and her face drops. In the corner of the shoebox, shrivelled into a sad little bundle lies the creature. Danny’s darling pet died on the way home. The harsh demands of the journey took its toll on the creatures’ fragile constitution.
Danny is distraught. A little while ago the creature was the most wonderful thing he’d ever encountered, and now it was ugly, dull, and worst of all – dead. The journey killed it.
Writing is the same. Life in all its fullness compels the writer to take the experience home, but the vehicle meant to carry it is also capable of killing it. It is the science of containing and conveying life experiences.Forcing it into an unnatural environment in the hope that it will survive the journey and arrive alive to continue its former beauty in a new environment.
Any writer claiming not to care is a liar or no writer at all. The intensity of life compelling us to write, regularly leads to the literate gallows. Here our intensions and encounters will be blinded, gagged, and possibly killed as the nooses of punctuation and interpretation are forced around the experiences’ fragile neck.
I’ve written for years, but I’ve never published. I was too scared. The one dimensional nature of words and letters so forcefully opposes the multi dimensional nature of living. It frustrates and scares me that I have no way to guarantee that the topics and moments compelling me to write will arrive alive in the heart of the reader.
It’s time to start trying.
Forgive my dramatic introduction, and try and look past my insecurity. The boxy-nature of words might kill the creatures I’m trying to carry home, and every now and then I might present you with the corpse of a funny looking chameleon. Nonetheless, it is my heartfelt hope that the creatures who manage to arrive alive will engage you as they did me. That you’ll be able to stare into their beady little eyes, notice the delicate chests pumping oxygen, and form your own opinions about my show and tell creatures.
Here’s to hoping, writing, and most of all, publishing.