Lessons Learned

This one is for the weekend.
Enjoy.

.

In die buitenste ruimte

Here is a poem by Danie Marais from his work In die buitenste ruimte.
This one is entitled In Duitsland waar die wolke in gelid marsjeer


Duitsland is waar die wolke in gelid marsjeer,
waar die son 'n permit het om te skyn,
waar die maan nie mag opbly so laat soos sy wil nie.

Duitsland lyk soos Duitsland op televisie.
Al verskil tussen Duitsland en televisie
is dat daar iets gebeur op televisie.

Die misdadigers in Duitsland droom
van groot gewere,
van Amerika.
Die boosewigte het almal
warm water, elektrisiteit en 'n mediese fonds.
Die kriminele lei lewens van stille vertwyfeling
nes die onderwysers, slagters en bankiers.

Duitsland is seker maar soos orals -
die soort van plek waar jy bang is
dat Die Mense gaan uitvind van jou,
gaan weet van jou;
dat Die Mense hulle televisies gaan afsit,
uit hulle talk shows ontsnap
om jou te kom haal,
te kom kreun en hamer aan jou ruit
op die vierde verdieping
soos zombies in Night of the Living Dead.


Duitsland is spekvet ongesond.
In Duitsland is dit moeiliker
om 'n omgewingsonvriendelike deodorant te koop
as dit is vir 'n vet meisie
om in die MTV-hemel te kom.

In Duitsland saai jy mielies
in die blombakke op die balkon.

In Duitsland
lê 'n see van hoekige huise nog so blou,
as jy ver stemme oor die telefoon hoor.

In Duitsland praat jy lekker Duits,
tot jy een oggend skielik weer
soos iemand wat by die tandarts was
sukkel om "selbstverständlich" te sê.

In Duitsland is Afrikaans die moordwalvis
wat jy grootmaak in die bad;
is dit Afrikaans wat opkrul soos die luislang
onder sy vyeboom in die woonkamer.
Afrikaans word jou huisgod, jou altaar;
die potplant langs jou hi-fi
wat soos Little Shop of Horrors se Audrey II
in die maanskyn groei om lang gevaarlike skadu's
oor die buurt se dakke te gooi.

In Duitsland loop jy
perfectly digitally animated, vat jy
sonder om te raak, beweeg jy
sonder om te roer
deur mure en mense, glip jy
moeiteloos
soos 'n stem deur 'n telefoonlyn
deur die onverskillige dag.
In Duitsland is Suid-Afrika niks meer
niks minder as herinneringe en foto's nie -
'n ou rugby-besering wat lol in jou gewrigte
as dit koud en nat word.

Tot jy eendag onverwags stik
aan jou trane langs die Cape Grapes
in die supermark,
in Duitsland,
laat selfs druiwe uit Italie
jou skielik dink aan die huis.

In Duitsland droom jy dikwels
van familie, ou vriende lank gelede,
dat iemand doodgegaan het
terwyl jy hier ver is.

In Duitsland moet jy doen
wat jy wil
of jy nou wil
of nie.


you can get the english translation here

I remember going into a store and seeing Cape Grapes. I remember searching for a good mango for a year and finally finding one, after 12 months, in an Asian food store. It was tiny, but so yellow and juicy in the middle of a snowy Berlin. We would go to Galeria Kaufhof on the Alex and go stand in the "exotic" section to search for Mrs Balls Chutney at 4 € for a bottle. So we bought curry-ketchup and saved the chutney. I would check out the fruit section and be sad when seeing the little flag-sticker. The fruit came from home.

Strange how desperately one often wants to escape one's everyday, how one gets bored with it. But then, overseas, far away, one remembers most fondly anything tied to home. I read a story about people queueing outside the ticketing booth for Wimbledon on the evening before the match, ready to sleep right there in order to score a seat. People started braaing a vleisie ( grilling some meat), and the writer of the article said every single person there who started barbecuing was South African. Strange how we will cling to any act of memory, but on the phone we will say how wonderful the other country is. How now, it is "at home". And when we come back, everything there was better.

I don't know. I miss the freedom of being able to go when and where I pleased. I miss not being afraid in the metro at 5 in the morning. I miss Milka. I miss being able to go to concerts by smaller bands or seeing exhibitions on Thursdays because under 26s get in for free.

But here, I have space. Here it is a different kind of freedom. Here the police does not stop you for cycling on the wrong side of the road. You don't need to fill in forms every time you move a street further. You don't hear your neighbours all the time. You can get into the car and just drive ( if you have one). In December, the cities are deserted and everyone is at the beach with their families. Here, Sundays are for church and braaing. And stores are open.

There are different facets to each place you stay. Perhaps we should not play them off against each other, but rather appreciate every environment for its individual attributes.

At the moment, here is good. Tomorrow, somewhere else will be.


.

over achiever

Sometimes I cannot handle the weight of my own expectations. Sometimes I think I cannot do something, cannot achieve what I have wanted, cannot get past a failure. Sometimes the self-doubt is greater than the totality of a wondrous ( wander-ous?!) life.

Sometimes I make the mistake of seeing me the way you do, and then I think this is all I am. Sometimes you make me feel like this could be me:

Use the truth as a weapon to beat up all your friends
Any chink in the armour an excuse to cause offence
 ( from the Swell Season's In These Arms).

But after wallowing in self-pity, I think most people move on. There is nothing else to be done. Change what you can, but do not become obsessed with the things you wanted to do but never could. With losses and disappointments. Either try again, or try something new. There is plenty more you could excel at.

Today might be slightly to personal to share with the Internet. Today I am emo without the excessive fringe. Today I feel betrayed by circumstance. Today I feel like the uncontrollability of existence is too overwhelming. Today I am Carrion Comfort ( Gerard Manley Hopkins):

NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me	5
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,	10
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

.

desertion

Edited 21.06.2011 : I made a space error in the English translation

I assume we are all afraid of being left alone, of being deserted. We love in order not to be alone. After all, our species is not one for solitary confinement. We could not have evolved without the help of others like us. You always need someone to watch your back. We need family and friends and the one to affirm the worthiness of our existence.


So perhaps that is why we have belief in something, in what people see as God. It seems to me that we turn to belief when our belief in humanity has failed us. When we have been deserted by our equals. This idea of something more is what we turn to when immanence is not good enough. (KM jy sien ek doen my leeswerk:)


So here is a poem by Paul Celan. He was in a concentration camp during the holocaust, but survived. You can google his biography. I think that must be hard: to believe so much in a culture that deserts and worse, tortures you. That kills your family. And then the oppressor's language is still your language, too. It is still your mother-tongue somehow. It is still only language you know that can fully express your pain. And say what you want about the German language, say that it sounds harsh, mock the schhhs, say that it is ugly to the ear, but you must admit it has the most precise vocabulary. It has the most beautiful words.

Paul Celan - Todesfuge

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken sie abends
wir trinken sie mittags und morgens wir trinken sie nachts
wir trinken und trinken
wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er schreibt es und tritt vor das Haus und es blitzen die Sterne er pfeift seine Rüden herbei
er pfeift seine Juden hervor läßt schaufeln ein Grab in der Erde
er befiehlt uns spielt auf nun zum Tanz

Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich morgens und mittags wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
Ein Mann wohnt im Haus der spielt mit den Schlangen der schreibt
der schreibt wenn es dunkelt nach Deutschland dein goldenes Haar Margarete
Dein aschenes Haar Sulamith wir schaufeln ein Grab in den Lüften da liegt man nicht eng
Er ruft stecht tiefer ins Erdreich ihr einen ihr andern singet und spielt
er greift nach dem Eisen im Gurt er schwingts seine Augen sind blau
stecht tiefer die Spaten ihr einen ihr andern spielt weiter zum Tanz auf


Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags und morgens wir trinken dich abends
wir trinken und trinken
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith er spielt mit den Schlangen
Er ruft spielt süßer den Tod der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
er ruft streicht dunkler die Geigen dann steigt ihr als Rauch in die Luft
dann habt ihr ein Grab in den Wolken da liegt man nicht eng


Schwarze Milch der Frühe wir trinken dich nachts
wir trinken dich mittags der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland
wir trinken dich abends und morgens wir trinken und trinken
der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland sein Auge ist blau
er trifft dich mit bleierner Kugel er trifft dich genau
ein Mann wohnt im Haus dein goldenes Haar Margarete
er hetzt seine Rüden auf uns er schenkt uns ein Grab in der Luft
er spielt mit den Schlangen und träumet der Tod ist ein Meister aus Deutschland

dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Sulamith


the english translation is here


Here is another one that I love. Use it for the one you love.


Ernst Penzoldt - An deiner Seite


Ich will
an deiner Seite
still
über beschneite
Wege gehen,
tief in das unbekannte Weiße,
und alle Spuren sollen hinter uns verwehn.
Dir werden Flocken leicht im Haare hangen,
in Deinem Lächeln sich verfangen,
in blauem Atem glitzern und zergehn.
Du bist so leise,
als könntest du verstehn,
daß wir schon lange nur auf Flocken schreiten
und endlos fallend aus den Ewigkeiten
ins Grenzenlose sanft herniedergleiten.


I couldn't find an english translation, so here goes:

At your side

I want
to walk
at your side
quietly
over snowed-in paths,
deep into the unknown Whiteness,
and all traces must blow away behind us.
Snowflakes will hang lightly in your hair,
will be caught in your smile,
will glint and disappear in blue breath.
You are so quiet
as if you could understand
that we have been walking only on snowflakes for a long time

and endlessly falling from the eternities
gliding softly into Infinity.

Have an inspired week


.

Hang me out to dry

You said you wouldn't mind if I never spoke to you again. That if we never saw each other again, it would be all right with you. I answered that it could be arranged.

You make the fault of wanting me to be an ideal you have experienced in film and other friendships. But I am not your friend. I am your blood. There is nothing you can change about it. So stop trying to blame me for the non-existence of a friendship. Stop complaining about who I am not: I am not the one to come to when deciding between 20 pairs of shoes. I don’t want to go shopping with you. I don’t want to hear about your martial art. I don’t care about any of them. I care about you as a person in my life, not as a series of everyday choices to consult on.

But where are you now? Where is the person who was seen as a leader? Where is the person who could give great advice? Where is the person that went out dancing in white heels? I ask you now: what have you become but a shell of previous attachments? I know that as much as you cannot change me, I cannot change you. But there must be more to your life than this. You must have more ambition than this.

So please stop blaming me for your current situation. Stop taking it out on me when you have twosome issues. Stop comparing me to another, who is part of your DNA too: our halves were just mixed contrarily. We are as alike as we are different. We used to like similar things. Now everything has changed. Now I care as little as you do.

We were never the picture of filial perfection. But far away I could talk to you because you had a life that continued. Here you are stuck and you are of no interest any longer. Just as I won’t eat what does not taste well to me, I will not associate myself with boredom, with the acceptance of mediocrity. Perhaps this striving for more is a hindrance, there is not always a better or bigger or faster, but on occasion one must try harder.

I know my faults. All of you have this tendency to not be shy about pointing about my faults. Heaven forbid though that your flawlessness might be questioned. You are no diamond either.

My suggestion: look to your own faults before focussing on mine. Maybe I am the reason for your continued unhappiness. Perhaps you contribute to mine. I choose now not to care about these qualms anymore. Let’s keep our issues separate, let’s not continuously denounce the other, and hopefully then I will love you not out of the obligation associated with the vermillion in my veins, but rather because I actually like who you are.      

.

i ♥ books

I like the way they smell. My Paradise Lost smells like no one has looked at it in centuries. And then that new book smell. The excitement that comes with discovering the knowledge books contain. The other day I was sitting in the library, looking through some design books, and it hit me: here I was, surrounded by knowledge.   We might be discovering new things daily, advances are made, but none would happen without the previous knowledge, and util recently, that knowledge was stored in books.

So now the digital advent has changed the need for books. Why carry around a brick when you can carry around the lightness of a kindle. I understand the argument that it is more practical to have information stored digitally, that it is more environmentally safe perhaps, that the screen still looks like a real book. But one cannot replace that smell. One cannot walk into an on-line library and be astounded by the immensity of what people have written. A digital file does not compare to the actual words on the actual page. I don't even consider blogging to be proper writing. It has to be done, pen on paper.

So I like my books. I like being able to take one down, open any page, read a bit. I like being lost in a world of my imagination.

But here is another guy I like : Brian Dettmer ( I found him here )

He is known as the "book surgeon" because he forms fantastical pieces of art out of old encyclopaedias and other books.
Here are some examples. Marvellous, aren't they.

.

Let's go on a break

.

I'll think about you for $1.

I stumbled onto this:

Thinking About You for One Minute $1 


You will be thought of for one minute. An e-mail will be sent to you when the thinking starts and when it ends. If you wish, you may send details about yourself, but it is not necessary. 


I wonder if anyone ever takes him up on his offer. And how does one know if he really thought about you? 
What does an email really confirm? 


How much money do you think people could make if they were paid for thinking about others. Perhaps that is an idea for charity: merely by thinking about the suffering in the world, some signal would be sent to some database where for every thought sponsors would donate a specific amount of money. That would be cool: saving the world one thought at a time.

It would make one more aware of the different disasters as well. Perhaps the charity itself would be quite a failure: what if everyone thinks only about Japan and puppies, and forgets that rhinos are being slaughtered and Pakistanis are drowning in continuous floods. And what if no one wants to think of the bad? Not everyone can be an emokid. Moreover, they only think of their own suffering. And in order to count the thoughts, a thought-police would have to be established. Hello 1984. So perhaps not.

Strange how with so much to be depressed about, our brain is still wired for optimism.
Check out the Time article here.



.

Lessons Learned

This time courtesy of Gunda. Because she gives great advice.

via iamsohip

.

Positioning myself

I have thought about this post since I started blogging, because I think about it every night when I can't find a comfortable position to fall asleep. When in the fetus position, I don't know what to do with my arms. Do you just stretch them out to the side, forming a little "r" ? Sometimes I'll put one under the pillow and one over the blanket, but in summer the mosquitoes ( just an aside, I would have spelt it mosquitos, but spell-check says it ends in -toes. Who knew) relentlessly attack that one arm. So recently I have started sleeping in a position I like to call "The Ball". You hug yourself and pull your legs up into your stomach area whilst on your side. Mainly I do it because my room is really cold and before the duvet is warmed up I freeze a little. 


I tried "The Vampire", when you're on your back with your hands folded across your chest, but it just seems like fake-sleeping to me, you know, the way they show people sleeping in films. 


Apparently your sleeping position says a lot about your personality. 

 from the BBC

Apparently Prof Idzikowski examined people's sleeping positions in order to determine if they related to their personalities and to check if any position is more prone to health problems. 

Here are his personality-results: 

The Foetus: Those who curl up in the foetus position are described as tough on the outside but sensitive at heart. They may be shy when they first meet somebody, but soon relax.This is the most common sleeping position, adopted by 41% of the 1,000 people who took part in the survey. More than twice as many women as men tend to adopt this position.

Log (15%): Lying on your side with both arms down by your side. These sleepers are easy going, social people who like being part of the in-crowd, and who are trusting of strangers. However, they may be gullible.

The yearner (13%): People who sleep on their side with both arms out in front are said to have an open nature, but can be suspicious, cynical. They are slow to make up their minds, but once they have taken a decision, they are unlikely ever to change it.

Soldier (8%): Lying on your back with both arms pinned to your sides. People who sleep in this position are generally quiet and reserved. They don't like a fuss, but set themselves and others high standards.

Freefall (7%): Lying on your front with your hands around the pillow, and your head turned to one side. Often gregarious and brash people, but can be nervy and thin-skinned underneath, and don't like criticism, or extreme situations.

Starfish (5%): Lying on your back with both arms up around the pillow. These sleepers make good friends because they are always ready to listen to others, and offer help when needed. They generally don't like to be the centre of attention.
It also found that only one in ten people like to be covered entirely by their blanket. I must admit, in winter I like to be all rolled up in blankets. Hundreds of blankets. I want to be like those sausage rolls covered in pastry. I want to be a blanket-roll.

Naturally, one also has to think of snakes when going to bed. Every night I check that there are no snakes coiled up under my bedding. The blanket-roll also prevents them from slithering in when I am asleep. So it is quite protective as well.

If you are interested, here is a link to someone who takes the whole sleeping-position-analysis a step further and connects it to your zodiac sign...

So how to you sleep at night?



.