Die windvanger

by Breyten Breytenbach

Die windvanger was Breytenbach se eerste bundel nuwe verse sedert die publikasie van sy Papierblom in 1998 (dit was onder die naam Jan Afrika), wat in 1999 met die Hertzogprys bekroon is. Hier vind die leser weer gedigte oor temas soos reis, tyd, liefde, dood. Maar veral weer, en méér, die kwelling oor die doeltreffendheid van die woord, soos in die gedig “New York, 12 September 2001”: ‘sal enige gedig eendag iewers ooit genoeg gewig mag hê /om ’n handskrif te laat wat praat van val en vergeet ...’ En teen die einde van die ‘En wat sal ek sê het ek geleer, behalwe om met woorde /te speel tot aan die uur van my dood?’Die windvanger is in 2008 bekroon met die Hertzogprys, W.A. Hofmeyr-prys, die UJ-prys en die Protea-prys vir poësie.

Genres: Poetry, South Africa, African Literature

200 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 2007

About the author

Breyten Breytenbach was a South African writer, poet, and painter. He became internationally well-known as a dissident poet and vocal critic of South Africa under apartheid, and as a political prisoner of the National Party-led South African Government. He is also known as a founding member of the Sestigers, a dissident literary movement, and was one of the most important living poets in Afrikaans literature.

Reviews

[Edita · Rating 4 out of 5]

and sometimes lightning flashed from your lips
and sometimes your syllables were a caressing rain,
enjambments of rain over pale hillsides of the woman,
the times of her time when you were voice only,
[…]
voice is of the wind in the trees at night
do they not know you cannot spear the heart?
*
[…] but also that I’ve come to recognize rooms of loneliness,
the soiling of dreams, the remains of memories,
thin wailing of the violin
where eyes turn away to look ever further,
ears mouse-quietly listen inward—
*
how often were we here
where only silver shadows stir
only through you I had to deny myself
through you alone I knew I had no harbor
in a burning sea
*
sweet and somber breath streamed all night through my window,
and the silver bracken of the moon — and other matter
throbbed in space — tatters, snapshots, flitting memories,
filaments of what we never could gather furnished the dream —

[Steven Godin · Rating 4 out of 5]

to the sea we cannot go back
the sea has grown old
with white wrinkles and foam around the lips

we cannot return to the desert
there's violence behind the dunes
ant fortresses on their way to war
in pale valleys the jackals trot through light nights
each within the cool zareba of his shadow steps

all borders are now fronts and fire lines
we are well up shit creek

here we shall dawdle
where the suburbs have been leveled
and soiled grave diggers live in cellars
transparent as if of the present
self-contained like faucets
deaf to their own dripping
the blind things devouring corpses
with nothing new to show
except second-mouth false teeth

here the hands of sextons
are shivering with wrinkles and the foam
from dark corpses they had to wash
perfuming bridegrooms for the bridal bed

here we tumble
implosively
to new interior boundaries

[Danielle DeTiberus · Rating 3 out of 5]

A collection of poems spanning over forty years and many continents. Breytenbach has certainly proven himself as a fine example of the poet of duende, the deep song, and the deep image. The poems are political not like those of so many poets writing today (without life experience to back up the work), but in a vein similar to many South American poets who’s use of fantastic images, folklore, and memory create the kind of disjointed narrative born of modern imperialism and brutality. Some poems notable poems include: “there is life,” “for the singers,” and “not with the pen but the machine gun.”

[Michelle]

heart-breaking. sublime.