Ntate Keorapetse Kgositisile would have been proud of the poets who bravely shared their truth at this year’s Keorapetse Kgositsile Poetry Café held almost two weeks ago in Jozi.
The mind-blowing poetry session had poets and writers from as far as Sweden touching down on African soil, was the highlight of this year’s South African Book Fair.
Ishmael Sibiya, who I describe as the young father of poetry, produced this year’s poetry café session and together with his team curated a thought-provoking and heart-wrenching event. Sibiya is also the founder of poetry movement, Hear My Voice. I know him as a poetry advocate whose passion has afforded him the skill to organise poetry sessions that have the power to impact and change the experiences of those who might have the privilege of attending.
Vangile Gantsho doesn’t read from her hard-hitting poems which are reflective at most times, she shares her experiences. And that is what I mean by choosing the right poets to deliver what I call poetry. Sibiya has good taste in selecting the right poets. Through the poetry competitions and workshops he runs throughout the year, Wits is where (I am convinced) Sibiya gets these amazing poets
Gabi Selloane said: “Their poems leave you searching your soul.”
I guess that is why I ended up at the poetry café session, beause I was searching for some soul and truth – only poetry can give that and yes, Jazz too.
One of Gantso’s poem’s left me paralysed. She asked why women and children were not safe in present South Africa and why men were inflicting so much pain in their bodies. That made me a bit uncomfortable as a young man who has never beaten a woman before or intentionally hurt a child. But I needed to hear those questions and ask myself what have I done to prevent the continued violence on these harmless innocent bodies?
The truth was still lingering in the air.
Looking at how things are, the number of women who were read about and whose stories grabs newspaper headlines each week, I had to really ponder on why we as men are so angry. And why we take out that anger on those we should be making happy than scared.
Swedish poet and writer Jenny Hogstrom shared a story that talked to race within romantic relationships. Hogstrom interrogated the idea of an interracial couple, who seem to be happy on the outside but are fighting a quite inner war with each other.
The poem she read contrasts our different backgrounds – our clashing worlds. But because we love each other we stick together, creating an unhealthy type of a relationship which is caused by our skin colour, our privileges or lack of (depends on which side of the world you are viewing this from).
I love what poetry does – it has this ability to give a million meanings to different people, even when Gothenburg-based poet Nino Mick read some of his poems in Swedish, those in the room could understand what he was saying. The infusion of slam poetry, which was a surprise at the fair was enjoyed by fair-goers.
Just like Gantsho and Hogstrom, Upile Chisala made me think deeply about the role we as artists, storytellers have, which is to bring the truth forward. Africa is a place filled with darkness and sorrow as much as it is with joy and successful stories. US based rapper Noname described Africa as forever dying. And that for me is the truth – uncomfortable as is.
Chisala delivered some truth when reading some poems from her debut collection, Soft Magic.
Jamaican-Canadian born poet D’bi Young Anitafrika launched her new collection of poetry and interacted with some of the people who attended the fair.
The fair has been known to attract thousands of people annually with the aim of inspiring a reading South Africa. Since its inception almost 14 years ago, it takes place during the national book week-first week of September. According to Elitha van der Sandt, chief executive of the South African Book Development Council (SABDC), the Fair has been able to get more than a million new South Africans readers.
It is said that it’s not about how thick the book is, but about the knowledge you get in those thick books. With less than 70 pages to it, Surviving Loss is as thin as they come. It is a collection of poems written by Busisiwe Mahlangu about her abuse-ridden childhood.
The physical copy of Surviving Loss is a reflection of Mahlangu. Petite and pretty on the outside, but weighing so much because of the accumulated experiences in the inside. “It was written solely around surviving depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. Most of the issues there are around poverty, abuse, rape and violence, and it’s written in a style of searching for healing,” she says.
Chilling on brown leather couches at Black, a restaurant at Pretoria’s State Theatre, I have a two-on-one with Mahlangu and Palesa Olifant. The latter is the director of the play, Surviving Loss-an adaptation of Mahlangu’s book, which opens at the Pretoria theatre today.
The book and the play are more than just close to Mahlangu’s heart, they are her. The abuse she writes about in the book is something she experienced growing up at the hands of her father. When I ask about her dad’s thoughts on the book, with a straight face the poet from Mamelodi says “My father is dead. He passed away end of Grade 10, in 2012. No, it was not good. In all the mental issues, my father always shows up during therapy, during relationships. It was a very violent relationship. Most of the abuse I talk about, is the abuse from my father.”
“I don’t like talking about the specifics of the abuse, but it was physical and emotional,” she tells me. She grew up with both parents, two older siblings and a younger one. “With abuse and violence that happens in the house, everyone gets abused and gets violated in a way. Even my mom went through the abuse, and she was aware that we’re feeling the pain and are being abused. But to an extent, it’s kinda difficult when you’re going through the same thing, it’s not like someone from the outside walking in and saying ‘oh, this is so hard’ and then saves us. It’s different when someone is living in the abuse.”
It was only when she got to Wits that she sought therapy from school, after a friend advised her to seek help from professionals. She only spent years at Wits, then got excluded because of outstanding fees. That’s when her poetry became more of a catharsis, even though she had been writing since high school, the 23-year-old had no inclinations of becoming a poet.
The poems on Surviving Loss date back to 2015. “When I left high school my poetry became more personal, writing more about things that I experience, see and feel. In 2016 is when I started performing, I took poetry more serious.”
“I was studying electrical engineering at Wits. I entered slams because they said you can win R500 and I was a broke student. So I thought, since I do write I might take advantage of the platform”
After her exclusion, she entered the Tshwane Speak Out Loud competition where she made it the finals, and walked away with a big cheque. “R30 000 could’ve paid for my debts at Wits and allowed me to continue with my studying. But poetry was setting my soul on fire, it made me feel lively,” she says without a drop of oomph missing. She decided to put the money into studying Creative Writing at UNISA.
“Then last year, Vangile Gantsho asked for my manuscript of poetry, and when I sent it to her she said ‘we’re publishing you’ and at the time I didn’t know they were opening a publishing company.” The book is published by Impepho Press.
Reception of the book has been amazing, Mahlangu has done readings across the country. “I didn’t think I’d get to experience so many things. I grew up in Gauteng and whenever I left the province, was whether for a wedding or funeral or some big event in Mpumalanga. But within a year into poetry, I was travelling to Cape Town and other provinces and seeing more of South Africa. I was wowed, and I keep getting surprised with the journey poetry has taken me.”
She had been praying to be part of State Theatre’s Incubator program, and then last year she received a call to come to the theatre’s offices. “When I got there, they told me about the incubator but first, they wanted to have an idea of what I will do. I knew I wanted to adapt the book for stage.”
“I knew I want it to be called after the book because every title I came up with, it didn’t feel like it was strong enough. The title of the book was very strong and every other title that came to us at the time, felt like it was underplaying it.”
The play’s director, Olifant says images shot at her as soon as she began reading Surviving Loss. “Her writing is very raw, and I think that’s the thing I enjoyed most about reading the book, because of how raw and relatable it is, it’s sharp. You can’t ignore it. Those images stick out. Coming into the space, I wasn’t trying to make work that’s polished and pure, I wanted to stay true to her voice. It’s so fragmented and that’s how memories are,” says the director.
Olifant continues “She’s talking about so much, that we actually had to make it smaller; we had to find specific points to focus on, so relationships with her father and men, her admiration and the tensions between her, her mother and female members of her family-how all those inform her healing. Then we found music and dance that could speak to what that journey looks like. Basically, adaptation of the book into a production has been about finding her voice through the music, through the movement and through the poetry as well.”
Mahlangu performs her poetry for the play, with Susan Nkatha doing the choreography and a musician, Darlianoh who wrote original music for the piece. “I was very direct. I wanted a black woman director. A young black woman director to direct the piece. I didn’t want someone who’s older and established, besides the fact that I couldn’t afford them [bursting into laughter], but I wanted a young black woman director, and on stage I wanted young black women as well.”
“…the piece is very intimate and I don’t think a man would be able to access some level of intimacy that was needed for the piece because of the different experiences, also some of the poems speak directly to men.”
“I’d be okay with a man coming and giving an opinion, but not the man adapting the whole production. I needed someone who could relate to what I was talking about. As women we share most of our suffering with each other, even if you haven’t experienced it, you kinda understand.”
The play is on for two nights at State Theatre, at 20:00