kagablog

It starts with the cover. Nicola Deane has described it as “rough, edgy and seductive”. And that’s a perfect description of the kind of verse assembled by gary cummiskey in the 26 pages of “today is their creator”.

Then there’s a gun. Cummiskey doesn’t have a licence but he does seem pissed off enough to use it anyway. He’s pissed off with the state of the world, (”a half-burned steak gone rotten with global atrocities”), he’s pissed off with the passivity of the tv audience (”and we watch”), he’s pissed off with some bastard (”some bastard took my house keys”) and he’s even pissed off with today (”today/ you left and /will never/ return”).

But it’s not all bad. Cummiskey isn’t gnashing his teeth and wailing in the dark with this collection. There’s just enough spiky mordant humour to carry the reader past the outrage into genuinely poetic depths, a kind of surreal swamp word-world where everything is darkly poetic (”Harry Potter is voodoo/…My sleep is voodoo”).

And most impressive of all, beyond the fierce indignation that Cummiskey is clearly feeling about the turn of events in South Africa (”And we watch the township lesbian being gang-raped, this will cure her and teach her to appreciate cock”), beyond the hapless sense of being no more than a bystander in his own life (”I don’t get a mention”), beyond all the nightmarish dreaming (”of a rat/ a large rat”) Cummiskey still has the time and the sensitivity for “Soft words”:

Lying next to you
in silence as

the wind whips
the curtain aside

It’s this new found seductive quality that makes “today is their creator” Gary Cummiskey’s most mature and impressive collection of poetry to date. The only complaint is that at 26 pages it really is way too short.

aryan kaganof

isbn: 978-0-620-402820-8
Available directly from the publisher at R40 per copy, including postage.
E-mail dyehardpress@iafrica.com for purchase details.

Dye Hard Press

is proud to announce

the publication

of

Today is their Creator

by

Gary Cummiskey

ISBN: 978-0-620-402820-8

“Urgent, edgy, undaunted, the poetry in Gary Cummiskey’s latest collection resonates with a fluent energy, a post-classical reverb that holds both the mock-ordinary of our daily routines and the gross complications of our global condition in equal and critical contrast.” - Fox

Twenty-eight pages, staple bound. Will soon be available at bookstores countrywide, estimated retail price R50. Also available directly from the publisher at R40 per copy, including postage. Cheques to be made payable to Dye Hard Press and mailed to Dye Hard Press, Po Box 783211 Sandton 2146.

Please visit http://dyehard-press.blogspot.com

by gary cummiskey

28.05.08

One of my favourite websites is ABEBooks.com, which operates as a sales intermediary for international stores specialising in used and rare books. Through ABE I have been able to obtain a number of titles from some of the small counterculture presses of the 1960s and 1970s, such as Writers Forum in the UK and Cherry Valley Editions in the US. I find the books to be reasonably priced and in good condition, although of course some titles are so rare that they might even cost a thousand dollars, which with an exchange rate of about R8 to the dollar, is a little bit over my budget.

A few weeks ago, I decided to check whether any of my own titles were available on ABE. I found that my collection When Apollinaire Died, published in 1996 by Firfield Press, was selling for USD6 (excluding postage) from a South African bookstore, and that my collection Bog Docks, published by my own Dye Hard Press in 2005, was being sold by a South African bookstore for USD8. At the current exchange, this would price them at R48 and R64 respectively, when at their time of publication they retailed for R29 and R35. Not too big an issue.

But what stunned me was seeing a copy of my most recent title April in the Moon-Sun, which was 20-pages long and published by Dye Hard Press, on sale from a US bookstore for USD40, when it sold for only R35 in South Africa two years ago.

On the one hand I was flattered to think somebody thought my work would sell for USD40, but at the same time I was also taken aback: after all, in South Africa, to pay R320 for a 20-page booklet by a relatively marginal writer such as myself, is so absurd to the point that it would probably never happen. Not that I am complaining: if someone is willing to pay USD40 for a book of mine –great, I just wish that I could command such selling prices in South Africa.

I then decided to look up some titles by other local writers. I discovered that Aryan Kaganof’s poetry collection Drive-Thru Funeral, published by Pine Slopes Publications in 2003, was on sale from a US bookstore for USD42 – about three times its retail price in South Africa.

Then Sinclair Beiles’ privately published 20 Poems, which was published in 1980 and a copy of which a friend of mine bought for 20 South African cents about 14 years ago, was selling at South Africa’s Collectors’ Treasury bookstore for USD60.

Some entries for books by the 1970s poet Wopko Jensma were also interesting. A few copies of his books on sale from South African bookstores ranged from USD10 to USD40, but when on sale from overseas bookstores the price moved up.

There was a copy of Jensma’s collection, Where White Is the Colour, Where Black Is the Number, published by Raven Press in 1974, selling from a US store for USD75 – when about 12 years ago I picked up a signed copy for R20. A signed copy of Sing for Our Execution, published by Raven in 1973, was selling from an Irish bookstore for USD98; I picked up my (unsigned) copy of this book in the early 1990s for R20.

A copy of a booklet of about 12 pages, published by Ophir in 1971 called Sing for Our Execution (thus predating the Raven Press collection by that same title) was on sale from Collectors’ Treasury for USD120.

I realise one is dealing in exchange rates here and, particularly with a weak rand, I might not be comparing apples with apples. Also, even in rand terms the value of the books would have increased since I, for example, bought my copy of Where White Is the Colour, Where Black Is the Number 12 years ago, or when my friend bought the Beiles volume for 50 cents. But still, to pay USD40 for a 20-page booklet published only two years ago seems a bit much even in greenback terms.

So is it a case of that with the exception of some bookstores such as Collectors’ Treasury, our work is considered more valuable overseas than locally? Or is it simply a matter than certain bookstores are able to command such high prices in the used- and rare-book market, while the publishers and writers are unable to do so? As many independent publishers in South Africa are battling to make a profit, this is a bit disconcerting.

But whatever the reasons, I am definitely holding onto my copies of Jensma.

this article originally appeared on the bookseller.com

Gary Cummiskey: When did you start up the kagablog and why?

Aryan Kaganof: November 2005. I was interested in creating a forum for writers, poets, artists, academics, digital explorers of all persuasions to present work. this forum would, unlike the mass media as we know it, NOT be market driven, not be dictated to by the market. either in the sense of its content always relating to new product, or in the sense of having to pander to the consideration of what the “readership” wants.

i invited contributors whose work i admired, respected, believed in and or loved. once in as a contributor there is no editorial censorship. in this way too, the blog works very differently from market driven mass media.

GC: The kagablog covers a wide range of disciplines – music, art, photography, poetry, fiction, film etc. We don’t see any print publications like this around in SA, hence the nonprint distribution of the net obviously helps in this and gives you a wider readership. Any comment on this?

AK: like i said in the answer to your first question, i started the blog because ALL mass media is market driven. which is a huge problem. it means that “freedom of speech” has come to mean “freedom to promote what is available in the shops”. the blog steps out of that paradigm and presents are broad set of interests and obsessions of the various contributors (there are over 90 of them).

While the blog has a number of local contributors, they are a number of contributors from overseas, particularly Europe. Some posts are even in French, Dutch or German. I also feel at times that there is a distinct “European” flavour to the blog, references to debord etc. Do you feel that this “Eurocentric” aspect places the blog outside of the South African cultural context?

the point is that the kagablog does not exist in geographical south africa. it exists in the world of the web, and is thus global and local at once. because many of the contributors do live in geographical south africa i would say that the kagablog has a lot of relevance to those only interested in arts and opinions from the region. but in 2008 i don’t think it is really all that interesting to get hung up on regional locality. the work that i try to promote on the kagablog is work that i consider excellent, that i consider challenging - these are qualities that i consider far more important than where the contributor lives physically.

and its good that you mention Debord, because the Maponya Mall in Soweto is more “spectacular” in the Debordian sense, than any building in Paris. which says it all really. i believe that the kagablog reflects an entirely new, and medium specific, attitude to media and how it has changed our lives. thinking of art, of poetry, of critical discourse, in terms of national and regional boundaries only takes us back to what we already know, it does not take us forward. in other words, not only am i not interested in colonial regionalities of the mind, i am also not interested in post-colonial regions: the kagablog is a space in the collective mind that is outside of the colonial mind market’s agenda altogether.

GC: Does the blog receive any sponsorship at all?

AK: none whatsoever. it is a labour of love, on my part and the part of all the wonderful contributors.

GC: In view of the low level of internet penetration in SA – about 7% - how feasible do think online publications are for reaching local audiences?

AK: 7% is better than 6%. and it is growing all the time, geometrically. in a decade’s time those figures will be radically different.

GC: Do you think that online publishing vehicles such as blogs are taken seriously in SA? Do you think that they are regarded by SA audiences as legitimate publishing mediums? There are, after all, now awards given for blogs, so there must be some degree of acceptance.

Gary the only things taken seriously in SA are drinking and soccer and rugby and cricket. I cannot allow myself to be contained by the mediocre opinions of the market. What matters is that I take blogs seriously, that you take them seriously, that the contributors and the readership takes them seriously.

GC: Starting up a blog is relatively easy and cheap, compared to print publishing. Some print publishers worldwide feel threatened by online publishing, since it does sort of inroad on their business territory and could impact on their survival from a financial aspect. But do you think this threat is only financial, or is there a threat to a perceived cultural territory as well?

AK: Look, the crisis in the publishing industry isn’t because of blogs, it is because too many books are published, too many books are thrown out into the marketplace in the hope that something sticks. It’s just a huge jumble sale out there, and it is exhausting for people, for readers, to keep up with it all. And that’s why people retreat, they turn inwards, they find refuge in the classics, in what they already know, in genre fiction, because it is just impossible to read through all the books that are thrown at one.

In fact blogs don’t impinge on the territory of physical publishing at all . The blogging phenomenon is something entirely different, it’s a distinct medium of its own. If anything, I think that blogs stimulate people to buy books because of giving readers access to so many fresh critical voices, who are writing from a position of passion rather than the established critical voices who write from jaded positions of power and assumed authority.

GC: When the internet first came out, some people foresaw the end of print books – this clearly hasn’t happened. In what do you see the relationship, if any, between online publications and print books?

AK: Online publications encourage people to buy print books. The same phenomenon happens in the music industry. The “end” of print books has already happened in a sense, with the demise of the specialist bookstores and the usurpation of bookselling as a craft and a trade by the ubiquitous supermarket chains that “wholesale” books to the public, two for the price of one, just like baked beans.

876

Fox

Third Word Publishing

THIS first collection by Johannesburg poet Fox shows his work is as powerful on the page as it is in performance. Fox’s concerns and themes become apparent from the first poem, as he addresses issues of status-driven consumerism, our demands for instant gratification, oppression, the abuse of power, damage to the environment and threats not only to the survival of humanity, but to the planet itself.

Fox’s work is also characterised by an intense energy of language, and experimentation with language, often joining words or engaging in free association, word play and irregular, disruptive punctuation.

The first poem, fast, begins: “fastfood-god, i. have nomore language with me/dead people live/fast-asleep in the fastlane beside me”.

Fox’s poetry is inhabited by images of fast food, TV, cellphones, taxis, megabytes, rain forests and obsessions with money and power.

It is not poetry created in a study, but rather in the bustling streets, as in the poem 154 Market Str, Johannesburg: “Everybody knows — a train in or out of Joburg/is Guerilla warfare, though the glass is harder/than any you would see through, the only/rabbits are those in your headlights”.

Fox mocks, and perhaps laments, our obsession with technology. The poem, If I had a hammer, opens with the lines: “If I had a hammer/&cellphone/I would ring the changes, I would walk in on the president/demanding a precedent”.

In The Gimp Wars, Fox makes it clear how his world view differs from those wishing to climb the corporate ladder: “Ive got my own directive, but management dont care for that/management want a scatter-brained scaredy/cat, someone to fuck and smile & walk the extra mile for assholes”.

He criticises a civilisation brainwashed by TV, as in his poem Remote generation, commenting on people passively “still sitting still/thumbing through/channels,/breast fed on Americanism all morning and oprah winfreedom/fighting phantoms/in Afghanistan”.

He believes people are willing themselves into slavery, as in USER interface: “Our little machines cook in our brains/Little alarm bells give little warning/ OUR demise/their control/what can be done has been done”.

In 6 Billion Copies Sold, we are confronted by a world driven by consumerism, where the corporate powers focus on making goods “cheaper, breakable, instantly replaceable/useless, nonredeemable, cash sale no refundable”.

There is concern for the environment, as in his poem BraZillion Rain Forest, and the awareness that greed and power are often the culprits.

There is also, despite the poems’ strong focus on contemporary issues, a frequent look at prehistory, as in the poem, in the footsteps of the satellites, which begins: “funny how we found all those dinosaurs by following muddy/footprints through glacial marshes to their bed in the lime,/ sleeping sweetly as if they never once had teeth as long as my arm/ and a gut full of my ancestors”.

One section of poems in the collection is dated September 10, 2001, the day before the World Trade Centre attacks.

They carry a sense of impending disaster for a corrupt and power-crazed civilisation intent on “mass producing these weapons of self destruction”.

This seems to be what the title 876 implies — the final stages of a countdown.

The collection also contains a long poem, PRESS DRUK, about a train journey from Johannesburg to Grahamstown, much of it reading like notes, or a montage of fleeting impressions, again undertaking an irreverent critique of technology.

On a local note, Fox criticises the newly emerging black elite in the poem No work: “New money for No work —/black exec in a white merc” while “a distant housing development/looms largely in the future/people walk to work in dirt/ride home in the rain”.

Another poem is a furious tirade against Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe: “monarch of faceless dogs and/ patron of filth, you wretched waste of black skin”.

The collection also contains quieter and more gentle poems, such as Lettered Curves or love you like, though it is in such poems that Fox occasionally produces weak, almost trite, lines, as in the poem, empty the sea, which opens: “empty the sea of the blue sky/wash the waters sterile white,/ at night the moon will swim/alone while we cast our eyes/along her naked form”.

But Fox is a strong, vibrant and original voice in contemporary South African poetry and 876 is an invaluable collection.

GARY CUMMISKEY

this review first appeared in the weekender of saturday april 12

A few weeks back, the South African newspaper The Weekender carried a story by William Skidelsky called ‘Bloggers throw down the gauntlet’. According to the story, there has been a bit of a war between newspaper book reviewers and bloggers in the UK, with figures such as academic and book reviewer John Sutherland criticising literary blogs as leading to a “degradation of literary taste”. When novelist Susan Hill hit back at such remarks on her blog, a newspaper books editor told her that “no book either published or written by you will in future be reviewed on our literary pages”.

It boils down to a conflict between an elitism trying to defend what it considers to be its territory and what Skidelsky calls a newly emerging “democratisation of opinion” manifest in the blogosphere.

All this sounds familiar, as many independent literary publishers in South Africa – whether in print or online – have also had to deal with such elitist attitudes.

For example, about 12 years ago, just as a number of independent literary journals and publishers were beginning to emerge, the editors of the poetry journal Something Quarterly sent off a complimentary copy to the well-known poet, critic and publisher Lionel Abrahams. In his response, instead of welcoming a new, sorely-needed literary journal into the market, Abrahams instead strongly criticised and called it amateurish.

About the same time, a University of Cape Town professor had been asked by World Literature Today to write a piece on contemporary South African poetry publishing. Although the professor’s researcher did get in contact with a number of independent publishers, when the article appeared, none of the independents was mentioned. I do not know who was responsible for this decision, but it was like a slap in the face.

Fair enough, this was more than a decade ago, and perhaps some poor judgement back then could be forgiven, but this elitism is still very much alive and kicking. Here are a few instances.

About two years ago, a negative review of a poetry collection of mine, which I had published under my imprint Dye Hard Press, appeared in the newsletter of the National English Literary Museum. The review was written by the director of the institution. That he disliked the collection – he said it wasn’t poetry - didn’t bother me so much as the review’s conclusion that no one would want to read the collection, which “showed the dangers of self-publishing”. This seemed quite a bewildering attitude from the head of an organisation that says in its mission statement that it aims “to promote the reading and appreciation of all forms of imaginative South African literature in English”.

Also about this time, the Sunday Times newspaper carried a negative review of three new titles by independent publisher Botsotso. One book in particular, Isis X, an anthology of South African women’s poetry, was savaged – there is no other word for it – by the (woman) reviewer, who dismissed as a sort of unfortunate by-product of the new democracy, whereby “anyone could be a poet”. Actually, a number of the poets in the book had already had collections published.

There has also been some reluctance in South Africa to accept the internet as a legitimate publishing medium. Some writers still regard it as “not real publishing”. I have also heard some writers say they feel that work published online is not subjected to the same (real or perceived) evaluation process that print publications go through. I suspect this is because the physical process of uploading text to a website from a PC is different, quicker and easier than that of a publishing house sending a book to a printing business to be printed and bound in a number of copies. It was thus no great surprise to read a dismissive remark in the newspaper Business Day recently that blogging was a mechanism that “allows anyone to become a publisher or published writer”.

While there may be a bit of technophobia involved with regard to suspicions about online publishing, what I sense is a situation whereby the literary elite - whether it be writers, academia or publishers - regards itself as “owning the right” to decide what deserves to be published and what doesn’t.

What is being challenged in South Africa is not only the democratisation of opinion, but also the democratisation of culture, and the democratisation of the right and ability to contribute to that culture. No doubt there are a tremendous amount of bad blogs being produced in South Africa, as elsewhere, but there are also quality ones, such as Aryan Kaganof’s Kagablog, Goodenough Mashego’s Kasi Kulture, and Ben William’s Books Southern Africa. The same also applies to print publications by independents – there have been some weak productions, but also excellent, groundbreaking work.

Considering it was not that long ago that South Africa was subjected to suppression of information under the apartheid regime, one would think the activities of independent publishers - whether in print or online - would be welcomed rather than attacked or dismissed. After all, journalists in oppressive states use blogs to avoid being subjected to same restrictions as print media. We know about China’s restrictions on internet access, and recently Iran blocked YouTube.

Of course, when one considers the bigger picture, such as South Africa’s lack of a book-reading culture, the high cost of new books and only about 7% of the population having ready internet access, one could question the bottom-line effect of literary endeavours, irrespective of whether they are elitist or democratic, online or in print. Plus it could be argued that what constitutes “good writing” is always subjective.

Skidelsky concludes his piece by saying that literary journalists and bloggers in the UK are missing the point as “they are really allies in a more important battle – for literature itself, and its right to be taken seriously”.

That battle is even more imperative in South Africa.

gary cummiskey’s bookseller column first appeared here

A complaint frequently heard in South African literary circles is about the scarcity of book reviews in the newspapers. It’s a complaint I often make too, but when you actually count the number of newspapers and magazines that carry book reviews, you discover that the majority of them do in fact carry such pages. The real problem relates more to the space allocated, the length of reviews, and the quality.

About a decade or so back, the Mail & Guardian stood out as the newspaper in South Africa to give substantial space to book reviews – two pages each week and once a month there was an eight-page books supplement. Now the newspaper produces about two pages; at one point it was only a single page. The Sunday Independent has one page; the Weekender has two pages; and the Star one page per week.

A big factor that has affected newspapers in South Africa, as elsewhere, in the past decade has been the arrival of the internet, with newsrooms no longer being a main source of information. With the internet also came the battle for advertising. Newspaper production costs have risen steadily and competition has increased. Most newspapers run on a tight budget and in a country such as South Africa where newspaper readers are more interested in motoring and sport, anything to do with arts and culture is going to suffer. South Africa is not a book reading culture and no newspaper editor is likely to scrap a page of sports news for book reviews.

The length of book reviews can also vary considerably. In highbrow newspapers such as the Sunday Independent, Mail & Guardian and the Weekender, book reviews tend to be lengthy and in-depth, while in the lower market newspapers, such as the Citizen or the Sowetan, book reviews are shorter. In the middle market the Star, reviews are also generally short, but every two weeks it publishes a full-length 1,200-word review.

Another frequent complaint about book reviews is, as already stated, the quality. If one defines a review as a critical evaluation from an informed standpoint, then the quality of the locally published book reviews is definitely in decline. Once again the issue of budgets comes into play. Historically, the majority of book reviewers in South Africa were academics and writers who were paid, if not always handsomely, for their professional insight. In South Africa, however, the practice of not paying book reviewers is becoming more common – the reviewer simply keeps the review copy as payment. There are exceptions, such as the Sunday Independent, which does pay its writers and occasionally publishes literary journalism by writers such as Andre Brink or Nobel prize winner Nadine Gordimer.

Sometimes reviews, especially of overseas works, are obtained from the wires, but more often book reviews are now produced by in-house journalists. But this is not to say some in-house journalists are not qualified to comment on books. Arja Salafranca, writer, poet and lifestyle and arts editor of the Sunday Independent, regularly reviews for its sister newspaper the Star, as well as the online literary site,www.litnet.co.za, and as a writer and reader feels qualified to do so. She says: “Although I’m generally not paid as a reviewer, I do take this type of journalism seriously. I often choose to review South African books, mainly fiction, so giving local writers exposure and criticism. It’s important that local readers know who is out there. We do have a burgeoning number of authors in this country who are being published in numbers unheard of up to about five or so years ago.”

But Salafranca touches another issue here, of whether the writing of book reviews – or of any literary commentary – is considered as “serious” journalism in the newsroom. It is, after all, something churned out on the side, usually for non-payment. Selfless reviewers such as Salafranca are diminishing and the professional book reviewer is certainly becoming an endangered species.

Needless to say, this situation can prove extremely frustrating for publishers. But what some publishers fail to realise is that the books editor is not their unpaid marketing manager. No books editor is obliged to a review a book, and even if they do, it is not their role to ensure that it gets a good review. There is a bit of a tendency in South Africa for publishers, especially the smaller ones, to rely a little too heavily on the media for exposure and promotion. Furthermore, unlike their US and UK counterparts, South Africa publishers generally do not take out adverts on newspaper books pages.

Newspapers in South Africa, as elsewhere, are operating in an extremely competitive environment and cost containment is crucial. They are businesses run for a profit and they have to answer to shareholders. At the same time, however, combating illiteracy in South Africa is a priority, and developing a book-reading culture should be encouraged by the media. But publishers could also come to the table and make an effort to advertise on books pages – one option might be to try to negotiate reduced advertising rates.

this article was first published on gary cummiskey’s excellent blog on thebookseller.com

Hi Aryan,
have just read the review on The Chiz of 12shooters and The Ballard of Coffin Deadly and Sugar Moon and enjoyed it - but I have one problem:
At the beginning, Dave Chislett writes:

“He (Kaganof) published a great novel last year called Uselessly, through a real publisher that was well received.”

A “real” publisher?What the fuck is a “real” publisher? This sort of thing about about “real” publishers - meaning commercial publishers as opposed to independent publishers - is precisely the perception that folk such as Botsotso, Timbila, Dye Hard Press (me) and yourself have been fighting against. There are no “real” publishers. There are commercial publishers and independent publishers. Size is a mere characteristic.

I take you are therefore not a “real” filmmaker, because you do not own a commercial film company?

Regards
Gary

Vonani Bila is not one to shy away from confronting some of SA’s more uncomfortable truths, writes GARY CUMMISKEY

PRODUCING poetry that is infused with a sense of social and political commitment may seem like a throw-back to the apartheid era for some, but for poet, editor, publisher and community activist Vonani Bila, the urgent need for poets — and all writers — to address social injustice remains as strong as ever.

Bila, whose fourth poetry collection, Handsome Jita, was recently published by University of KwaZulu-Natal Press, was born in 1972 at Shirley Village in the Elim area of Limpopo, into a family of eight children.

He says his parents instilled in him an appreciation of music and narrative.

“My father was a gifted singer and composer,” says Bila. “He even used to play the timbila (a finger harp that is associated with the Vatsonga, Vacopi and Machangani of Mozambique, where the Bilas originally come from).

“My mother didn’t attend any formal schooling, but she’s indisputably a living historian with an astute and impeccable memory of family and social history. My mother tells intelligent and humorous tales to her grandchildren with great passion. It is from her that I inherited the narrative command evident in my poetry.”

But he is deeply aware of the conditions of poverty and injustice into which he was born. His great-grandfather fought in the Second World War but, “like most blacks who served in the army, he got virtually nothing, except that his name got engraved on the walls of Elim Hospital”.

“My father died after working at Elim Hospital for almost 30 years, earning a paltry R300 a month at the time of his death.”

Bila went to Lemana High School, one of the reputable public schools in Elim, he says, but he had to walk 14km to get there.

He was 21 when his first poem was published. At the time, Bila was a student at Tivumbeni College of Education, where he earned the reputation of being a public poet. His involvement at the time with nongovernmental organisations such as the Akanani Rural Development Association sharpened his political views.

“It motivated me to want to join Umkhonto weSizwe in 1989. I took my passport, but when my father died, I couldn’t proceed with my plans. I guess a certain anger that is in my poetry is that of a guerrilla who fires with poetry rather than with an AK47.”

His first collection of poems, No Free Sleeping, with Donald Parenzee and Alan Finlay, was published in 1998 by Botsotso. He was impressed with the way in which Botsotso got him involved in the production, and this inspired him to start up his own poetry publishing venture, the Timbila Poetry Project, which has published collections by poets such as Goodenough Mashego, Makhosazana Xaba and Mbongeni Khumalo.

Bila has also published two of his own titles — In the Name of Amandla and Magicstan Fires — as well as an annual poetry journal, Timbila. He has also released a CD of his poetry, Dahl Street, Pietersburg.

Bila emphasises the value of the spoken word, and of the benefits of being able to listen to poetry. “If a poet can project their poetry well through their voice on CD and on stage, then they can easily communicate the feeling of the poem to a large number of people who wouldn’t necessarily have access to the book, given that poetry books are not widely distributed in shops.

“But SA needs books as much as we need CDs, printed T-shirts and posters bearing poems. When we explore new technology such as the internet, we must always remember there are millions of South Africans who don’t have access to that medium.

“SA’s illiteracy levels are shocking and for that reason, we will always need books.”

But despite this emphasis on the need to reach a wide audience, Bila does not see himself as a public poet. “I am a poet who comments on life around and about me,” he says. “Yes, I confront the reader with stories of shame, degradation, retrenched workers, prostitutes in substandard conditions, the unemployed and beggars — these are stories few dare to tell with honesty, love and compassion. Instead they sensationalise them and further dehumanise these people.

“This sordid reality I feel nobody, especially poets, should be ignoring. Of course, there is a price one can pay heavily for raising such embarrassing questions of the government’s failure to take care of the poor.

“Where I come from, poverty hits you straight in the face and you wonder what changes (Jacob) Zuma or (Thabo) Mbeki or the African National Congress (ANC) will effect to improve the lives of the poor. All I see is politicians accumulating wealth, buying farms, sitting on several companies as directors, fixing tenders for their relatives.

“I comment on all these matters, not because it’s sexy to do so, nor because every angry young poet feels the ANC has sold out. I do so because I am a patriot. I care about finding the roots of social and political problems we are facing.

“Poetry is not a hobby for me. It’s a lifelong commitment, and I can only be true to myself when I express that which I believe in, without being a propagandist.”

Apart from disappointment over the government’s lack of service delivery, Bila is also troubled by the fact that the spectre of apartheid has not yet disappeared and that incidents of racist attacks are rife in SA’s rural areas.

“I am antiracist,” he says. “I come from a province rife with racism. White farmers chop off a farm worker’s head, throw him into a river, and say he was bitten by a crocodile.

“They mistake black people for dogs and baboons.”

His poetry has won him recognition overseas and he has been invited to countries such as Belgium, Sweden, Holland and Brazil. But one particular overseas trip was harrowing: last year, when arriving at Jomo Kenyatta Airport in Kenya to attend the World Economic Summit, he was detained for three hours for allegedly travelling on an out-of-date passport.

“It was a nasty experience,” he says, but also points to a lack of solidarity among writers in SA. “If poets were organised, they would have spoken out against the Kenyan government’s trampling on my rights. But a writer could die in prison without other writers saying a word.”

Bila is encouraged that Keorapetse “Willie” Kgositsile is now SA’s poet laureate and hopes there will now be some dynamism in the country’s literary development.

He also says poetry would be better known if schools were studying local poets.

“Most schools exclude poetry. What is commonplace in the school and varsity arena are proponents of British and American modernism such as TS Eliot.

“With the exception of black consciousness-inspired poetry of the ’70s, those who teach poetry pretend there’s a desert between 1980 and now.”

Bila, however, takes a critical view of work being produced by younger South African poets. “They slam, and in their slam jam there’s little poetry.

“They mimic some of the worst US thugs and choose to ignore rich and unusual voices.

“To generalise is not fair, but those who appear to have become celebrities, whether (that status is) self-constructed or acquired, are worshipped by the youth because their faces are visible on TV and from time to time they are invited to perform at government and corporate functions.

“Some poets are happy to be commissioned to write about brands and labels; I’m not such a clown. They demand to perform at government functions, and they are paid good money. You’ll hear so and so was in Cuba, attending a writers’ conference. How they get there is through connections.”

But thankfully for South African poetry, Bila is no performing puppet and nobody’s clown.

Bila’s Handsome Jita: Selected Poems is published by University of KwaZulu-Natal Press.

this article first appeared in the weekender of saturday, 12 january 2008

Dear Aryan and Cecilia

Read your exchange on poetry on the kagablog and found both your comments interesting. i am battling to recall offhand what i said about poetry being either good or bad, or in what context, but yes, i agree that what is “good” or “bad” is subjective.

if i may add to this: a while back, i publicly stated that certain poems from my collection Bog Docks, and April in the Moon-Sun, were “experiments” in cutup writing. then one of our literary wonder boys said something to the effect that if they were “experiments” they were not the “finished product” and therefore should not have been published.

can someone please tell me what is meant by a “finished product”? Is there such a thing as a finished poem, movie, painting, novel, or song? Even Paul Valery, in many respects a somewhat conservative thinker, said: “No work is ever completed, merely abandoned.”

In my opinion, any creative work that is not produced according to a formula is by its essense “an experiment”, any creative work worth its salt is an experiment - if it isnt, then it is just repeating something that has already been done before.

Gary Cummiskey
Dye Hard Press
http://dyehard-press.blogspot.com

dear aryan
I had some communication with Gary Cummiskey from dyehardpress and he taught me two very important things. First he told me never to try and write a poem, if I try to write it I’m fucked. Secondly, that it really is an art to maintain the essence of the poem throughout the editing process, but if you can manage that you will be able to create a really good poem. He also said that a poem is good or it isn’t. But surely poetry is read by individuals, and individuals have subjective opinions, just like with visual art. You can’t say a painting is either good or it is not. One might think it fantastic and another might think its crap.

i really delve deep with my poems. they just don´t make much sense. somebody told me poetry has to make some kind of sense, otherwise it´s not good poetry.
cecilia

hi cecilia
your mail brings up some really interesting matter about poetry
i generally find it best to bury a poem as soon as it comes out
meaning that i write down the “inspired” section and then file it away
sometimes i allow these filed bits to gestate for as long as 8 years, the longest have been 19 years
i also sometimes get back to gestated inspirations in as little as a few weeks
but generally i like to bake the poems for as long as i can
this serves to give me the detachment that is truly necessary in order to edit ruthlessly
and one must be ruthless with one’s own poems
any lack of steely discipline in the editing makes poetry immediately mawkish
there is enough of that out there already

the best crash course in poetry is to be fucked over very hard by someone you love
that generally gets the scanning sense going
because even if they don’t rhyme
poems must always scan

gary is absolutely right about never trying to write a poem
the poem writes itself through you
there is no other way

regarding editing i take a very simple approach
cut out everything that is crap
what is left over
might not make any sense
but might very well be a poem

whether poems are good or not is a huge problem
for those who care about being good
for the rest of us it doesn’t matter
“goodness” being a terrible limit
a constriction
whereas poems are poetic
constructions

whether your poems make sense or not on a logical, narrativic level, is also of little concern
i believe that poems are connections
connecting the disconnected elements of our consciousness
back to us
poems return to us what logic and consensus reality have drained away
poems return us
to our state of bliss
before grammatical terrors
took hold

yrs
aryan

now on sale
featuring contributions from kagablog contributors samantha reinders, koos kombuis, gary cummiskey and aryan kaganof. order your copy from toast coetzer: toast@bastardmedia.co.za

Surge in new titles, writes Gary Cummiskey

The past few years have seen a surge in South African publishing and the industry has never been so active and vibrant. New titles by local authors are published regularly and new imprints are, in the words of author Finuala Dowling, “breeding like lilies”.

For newly established or emerging writers, this explosion in local publishing is an exciting time, especially with the opportunities it provides for wider exposure to readers, both locally and internationally.

Dowling, the author of two collections of poetry and two novels – the latest being Flyleaf, published by Penguin - says: “I’d sum up publishing in SA today with the word ‘fecund’. Starting off as a poet and short story writer, I was naturally off the radar. Novels bully their way into the literary limelight. I’ve overcome that by writing a couple of my own bullies.”

This enthusiasm is shared by Dawn Garisch, author of the novel Once, Two Islands, published by Kwela: “I am excited to part of what feels like a whole new era in South African publishing. Since 1994 it feels that the lid has come off…More authors and publishers are taking risks with what can be said and how it is said, and I am continually astonished by the profusion of new releases…There was a time, not long ago, when a certain snobbery meant that few South African authors were thought good enough, and I must confess I was one of them. Nowadays, I read for a South African book ahead of one by a foreigner.”

Margie Orford, author of two novels, Like Clockwork and Blood Rose, both published by Oshun, is likewise excited by the current publishing activity, although in her case overseas publishing looks set to prove more lucrative: “I was thrilled when Oshun took Like Clockwork. My agent Isobel Dixon of Blake Friedman Literary and Film Agency in London subsequently sold the rights for Like Clockwork and Blood Rose to Blanvalet, an imprint of Random House in Germany for a substantial amount of money. I also have a very generous book deal with a Dutch publisher. Like Clockwork has also been sold to small publishers in Russia and the Czech Republic. So I am making a living from writing fiction but not in SA. Here my royalties have been relatively small… I must say though it is wonderful to be published in one’s home market.”

But there is a difference in being an author of a novel and an author of a collection of poems, says Mark Espin, whose debut collection of poems, Falling from Sleep, has been published by Botsotso. “This is of course not a uniquely South African situation. The readership for poetry generally, and certain kinds of poetry in particularly, is just so marginal that being a newly published poet in SA really does not make an earth-shattering difference to one’s existence.”

Haidee Kruger, who debut poetry collection Lush: Poems for Four Voices was recently published by Protea Books, says the experienced of being published is “a little bit like winning the lottery, though perhaps not totally as random as that. I feel very lucky, very privileged to be published. And there is an element of chance in it – so many other factors play a role apart from the merit of the book itself.”

The publishing market in SA is also becoming quite diverse, and there has been a rise in the number of dedicated and innovative independent publishers popping up alongside the bigger, more financially equipped commercial publishers.

“Mainstream, commercial publishing, by its nature, has to cater for very specific markets with very particular tastes,” says Kruger. “This is one of the factors influencing what and who gets published. Moreover, a book is not only a book – as with everything else, the buyer buys into a package, an image, a lifestyle even. This is the case everywhere, but perhaps in the relatively small South African publishing industry this is exacerbated.

“Independent publishers play a crucial role. Although they too obviously have particular markets and financial motivations and constraints, their markets are often (though not always) different to the markets catered for by mainstream publishers. Independent publishers provide a space in which difference, oddity, otherness, idiosyncrasy may find expression and dissemination. That is important.”

Megan Hall, whose debut poetry collection Fourth Child has been published by Modjaji Books, says: “I am delighted that independent publishers seem to be making a comeback after a period in the doldrums. They broaden and deepen the reach of publishing in SA and keep bigger publishers on their toes.”

Garisch agrees: “Independent publishers must be commended for holding a particular door open. Even though they may reach a small audience, I believe they nourish and deepen the culture for us all.”

“There are several really interesting developments,” says Espin. “The Community Publishing Project at the Centre for the Book in Cape Town has certainly given many people the opportunity and encouragement to do their writing. Mainstream publishers are doing some wonderful books in an environment that is challenging at best. Independent publishers will, however, always give the publishing arena the energy and the edge which is so fundamental to keeping things lively and interesting.”

The success of a book – and thus sales revenue to the publisher – is also very much dependent on a receptive reading public who are influenced by finances, accessibility to books, cultural preference (and sometimes prejudice) as well as competitive attractions.

“It’s a complex issue,” says Espin. “I am convinced that reading is something that we all want to do. There are though many questions about the access of many in our society have to reading material. The state of our public libraries, the prohibitive pricing of books and the location of bookshops are all contributing factors to the sad state of reading in SA. The seduction of hi-tech alternatives for leisure time is a major challenge to reading. There is therefore the vast chasm between two extremes: the absence of books in the deprived rural space and the neglect of books in the privileged urban space.”

“Relatively few people buy books, especially poetry books, on a regular basis,” says Kruger. “Of course, if you have to chosen between food and books, you’ll chose food.
But even people who can afford books would rather buy a DVD, a Playstation game or a pair of jeans.”

Other writers, however, are optimistic, such as Dowling: “SA readers seem really keen to try out new, local writing. You only have to look at the crowds passing through the Cape Town Book Fair to get a sense of their passion. It’s mostly for novels and nonfiction, but there’s a definite audience for poetry and literary essays.”

But Dowling agrees that the state of reading of book buying in SA could be improved and this could be assisted by SA having “more properly remunerated professional book reviewers. The Afrikaans press is way ahead when it comes to flagging good new writing.”

Orford feels it is important to expand the book buying and reading public beyond the suburban ambit of Exclusive Books and Wordsworth (in Western Cape). One way is through libraries, she suggests.

Espin agrees that in SA we should start with developing public library and school library facilities. “The grant by the arts and culture minister is a wonderful start, but it remains merely a start. If libraries are in a position to purchase locally purchased books more extensively, it will provide a useful impetus to the publishing industry,” he says.

“I look forward to the effect that the government’s increased library spending will have in different ways,” says Hall. “The influence of government policy, that is education policy, on South African publishing, cannot be underrated. I look forward to a resurgence in publishing in African languages, and hope that publishing in Afrikaans continues to be well-supported and reasonably well-supplied.”

But Kruger feels that publishers themselves could contribute to encouraging book buying by making books look more appealing. Books “need to awake the buyer’s desire to posses it, as an object,” she says. “This is a bit sad, but true. I think that possibly, for a person who is interested in buying nooks, a great cover may sometimes be a clincher. But I don’t think this will push somebody who isn’t interested in books to buy them.”

Overall, though, there is general optimism about the future of publishing in SA, although the issue of reaching audiences and widening readership remain challenges.

“Growing the reading public would be a great thing,” says Hall, “but generally I am not gloomy about publishing in SA. There are many dedicated and creative people involved in the industry.”

Orford sees the future of publishing in SA as being “dominated by schools publishing, where most of the money is. But the energy is good. I do sometimes think it might be an overtraded market but I think publishers are focusing more on quality and not so much on filing lists. I was interested to see that the Afrikaans translation of Like Clockwork sold well and quickly, much more quickly than the English version. Maybe that is where the future lies?”

“The publishing industry in SA seems to be alive and well,” says Kruger. “It is growing and maturing, testing itself. There are many established and newer publishers, both commercial and independent, focusing on interesting South African, African or global stories. They are exploring many different voices, expanding genres, moving away from singular focuses on politics or personals – exploring the interfaces between these, exploring other dimensions too. There are so many possibilities, still. That’s pretty exciting.”

Dowling, however, is slightly cynical: “I think publishers will continue to bring out large volumes of books, not necessarily all books that they completely believe in. They’ll let market forces decide on the fate of the book (and the author). For big publishers, it probably makes sense to work this way, reasoning that somewhere along the line you’ll happen upon a Spud or a Harry Potter of a Da Vinci Code.”

First published in Business Day

They are passionate about being able to make sure that strange, odd, misunderstood, peculiar, yet important, voices don’t get overlooked, writes Gary Cummiskey

Since 1994, a number of independent publishing initiatives have started up in SA, often operating on small budgets but with immense dedication and energy from their founders. Technological advancements in digital publishing have also often helped them to produce quality books at lower cost, plus – as poet Karen Press pointed out in the literary journal New Coin - the feeling of freedom experienced after the first democratic elections also no doubt contributed to this burst of creativity.

Independent publishers are, however often referred to and regarded as small publishers, though this is a label several of them, for good reasons, dislike.

Vonani Bila, of Elim Hospital, Limpopo-based Timbila Poetry Project, says: “Independent, like the term ‘alternative’, should not suggest shoddy work. I go through all the necessary stages of publishing a quality book with the involvement of the author. I give voice to writers whose work wouldn’t necessarily be published by big, corporate and so-called mainstream and commercial publishers. These are the poets who are not afraid to challenge the rot they live or witness in society.”

This view is echoed by Goodenough Mashego, from Shatale, Mpumalanga. Mashego recently started up Ten Workers Media and sees an independent publisher as one “who is independent of the market forces that determine who should be published instead of who deserves to be published…They are independent because they can afford to think without pressure from greedy shareholders but are instead driven by their commitment to literary development.”

Robert Berold of Deep South in Grahamstown shares the same preference for literary quality over profit: “It’s like independent record labels – small, not corporate, doing the publishing mainly for art’s sake. It’s more flexible, more risk-taking, more anarchistic. The term ‘small publisher’ is okay, though it has a dimension of insignificance.”

Johannesburg-based Botsotso Publishing’s Allan Kolski Horwitz says “the term ‘independent’ connotes freedom from restraints, both ideological and commercial. We should reject the term small because it reflects on scale and, perhaps, ambition.”

An exception to the preference for “independent” is Cape Town’s Modjaji Books, recently launched by Colleen Higgs, who says: “I prefer the term ‘small’. It is a matter of small staff – myself – and few books.”

For Johannesburg’s Pineslopes Publications’ Aryan Kaganof, however, the labels are unimportant: “I’m concerned with publishing books that I believe in.”

Over and above the commitment that these publishers have about the work that they produce, there are also clear views about their role, which sometimes has a wider socioeconomic and politically context as opposed to a more limited literary context.

Bila says: “We must publish books that matter…We must not promote mediocrity, the stuff that is ceaselessly churned out by commercial publishers chasing cash, topical stories and often exploiting vulnerability.

“We also need to promote writing and publishing in all South African languages, and give voice to excluded black, rural and women writers, as well as those writers and poets who says things that annoy those that wield power – be it government or business.”

Mashego also takes a strong stance of giving a voice to the voiceless: “SA has got lots of stories that need to be told. They are hidden between the uncombed beards of street vagrants and the dreadlocks of Rastafarians…Our role as independent publishers is to go out into the villages, streets and prisons and unearth those stories that the mainstream finds too unattractive because the storytellers are unattractive members of our society.”

Berold and Higgs take a somewhat cooler view of an independent publisher’s role, which is “to print work that has real literary value but little market potential because the writer is unknown or the work to challenging, either politically or intellectually,” says Berold. “In a cultural desert like SA, independent publishers have a huge role.”

For Higgs it is a matter of “taking risks - publishing good work by writers who may not as yet have the recognition they deserve. It is also about publishing genres – such as poetry or drama – that the mainstream publishers may not want to tackle. To be at the cutting edge, seeking out new talent, creating more space for new voices”.

Kaganof, however, is cynical about the role of independent publishers: “It is to allow us to pretend there is an audience for anything outside of the mainstream.”

Considering that independent publishers are playing a marginal role in an overwhelmingly commercialised book market, it is not surprising that they sometimes view commercial publishers with ambivalence.

“Independent publishers don’t have a huge voice in shaping SA’s publishing direction,” says Bila. “It is the big publishers who are represented in book-related councils set up by the state. Their participation through the Publishing Association of SA, or as individual big publishers, gives them more access to government opportunities, especially to supply schools.”

To Mashego, “the situation is simple: book fairs, like the Cape Town one, are meant for commercial publishers have no space for independent publishers. Book retailers are not kind to independent publishers because we can’t provide them with the same benefits and perks that commercial publishers can. The attitude should be that the literary world created by commercial publishers is not the ultimate one…we have the right to create our own. We are entitled to our own book fair without the commercial publishers, we are entitled to our own awards where we don’t compete with writers whose publishers have the ability to befriend the judges. We need to establish our own distribution and marketing networks.”

Kaganof views the work of commercial and independent publishers are different: “I don’t think they are concerned with us and I certainly don’t think we should be concerned with them.”

Berold says he “doesn’t mind” commercial publishers “though it would be nice if they could acknowledge the importance of independent publishers”.

For Higgs there is no conflict: “I don’t see us as incompatible. They are working in different parts of the same field. They are also doing important work and they do it professionally. We can learn much from engaging with them and taking advice.”

Thus for independent publishers it is not simply a matter of publishing books – that is, being focused on making a profit – but rather of playing an active role in contributing to the ongoing development of South African writing and introducing that writing to local readers.

As Bila says: “We make quality books. We are germinating ground for some of SA’s successful poets. Few big publishers run literary journals. It is often the independents who are prepared to create outlets for new and established authors. Independents also run writing workshops.”

Mashego highlights that independent publishers “are addressing pertinent issues that need to be voiced. I think the contribution of independent publishers must be weighed against our own democracy that requires plurality of opinions. We have own mainstream writers who are praise singing and telling us about the intelligence of people in authority. We need a balanced picture… those that tell the other picture, the less rosy picture, are the independents.”

“The work of the most lasting significance is published by the small publishers,” says Kaganof, and Berold points out that almost every new poet’s first book is published by an independent. “Fiction is a bit different, though, there seems to be a commercial market,” he adds.

Independents can also play a role in niche publishing. “It can make sure that strange, odd, misunderstood, peculiar, yet important, voices don’t get overlooked,” says Higgs.

But from a financial point of view, as well as in wider aspects of recognition, independent publishers face substantial challenges. Many independents, such as Botsotso, Deep South and Timbila, are reliant on public funding from bodies such as the National Arts Council or the Arts and Culture Trust.

“Financial constraints are always the bane of producing art,” says Horwitz, “and dependence on public funding is not always a guarantee of quality or of intellectual vitality. Public funding can also cushion mediocrity and crudeness.”

Berold stresses the need for more diversity of public funding, while Bila says the government needs to take independent publishers seriously: “We constitute the core of authentic South African publishing. Unlike the multinational publishers, we are committed to what we produce, even though we do it in small quantities and with limited resources. The government must buy books from us, as they do with big publishers, and get those books into public spaces such as schools and libraries.”

Apart from finances, however, another problem is reader apathy, says Mashego, and Horwitz points out that “the laziness of writers to support the literary journals that support them is peculiar but actually quite reflective of the egoism that much art making generates”.

Media recognition, of lack thereof, is an issue for many independent publishers. While Berold feels Deep South does receive some attention in the media, it is “a little, not enough”. Bila says that most newspapers do not value book reviews and as a result “little is known about new South African writing”.

Mashego is more direct: “The media are gunning for free review copies and champagne at book launches while very few or any of them can write a review. Especially black journalists - very few of them can write a review. The black media is obsessed with gossip journalism to that extent that book reviewing is not their forte.”

Despite all the obstacles, though, independent publishers in SA remain committed to their work and, most importantly, believe in what they are doing.

“You can publish what you like,” Higgs says, “what you are passionate about, what moves you, what interests you. You don’t have to publish things that are politically correct or you feel compelled to by external market forces.”

For Kaganof a key benefit to authors involves “not having to deal with useless people who ‘staff’ the larger publishers”, while for Horwitz a benefit resides in the freedom to select, design and market in a manner which is “consistent with one’s world view and values”.

Bila likewise values the freedom from being guided by the dictates of a commercial market, and Berold says a key benefit is being accountable to nobody but his authors and his instincts.

“I can do as I please,” says Mashego, “and mingle with readers without the stigma of being a CEO or publisher. It also helps me to think out of the box…the opportunity to innovate is what I see as the ultimate benefit. I wouldn’t trade it for the mainstream.”

First published in Business Day’s books and publishing supplement nov/6/2007

It was late 1991 when a friend drew my attention to an article in Penthouse about white tramps in South Africa. Among the list of outies was “a promising young poet”, whom I was astonished to discover was Wopko Jensma. According to the article, Jensma had walked out on society, become a tramp, and was living in the Salvation Army Men’s Home in Johannesburg.

That evening, I telephoned the Salvation Army and made an appointment to see Wopko the next Saturday morning. Visiting the Men’s Home was an experience in itself. Outside the gates, a red-faced outie stood clutching a radio: the expression on his face was one of dissolution and loss. Inside, another outie sat on the steps, his head in his hands.

I went in by the side-entrance, and found myself in the kitchen. I introduced myself to the kitchen supervisor who, after shaking hands, said: “Oh yes, we told Wopko to expect you.” He suggested I wait in the TV room. After about five minutes the supervisor returned with a tall, grey-haired man, in an orange shirt, with a blue jacket and trousers. Despite his height, the man seemed unassuming, an anonymous face in the crowd. The supervisor introduced us: “Here’s your visitor, Wopko!”

As we shook hands I noticed his hands were large but soft. His eyes also had a soft, moist expression. When I started telling Wopko that I admired his poetry, he looked frightened for a moment, and rubbed his hands nervously. He started talking about how he had just returned from Swaziland, where he had been working as a mechanic. At first I thought there had been a mix-up, and that this wasn’t Wopko. Before I could say anything, however, he had taken items out of a plastic bag: a Bosal Africa catalogue, an empty coffee tin, some old magazines. He pointed to the bar code on the coffee tin and said: “That’s a good poem.”

I decided to press for some biographical information. He was born in Middelburg, in the Cape, wasn’t he?

Yes, he had spent his childhood there.

And he studied at the University of Potchefstroom?

Only for a year, and then he decided to study Fine Arts at the Pretoria Technikon. The only thing he remembered about Potch was taking a trip to Durban and buying a large tin of pineapples, which he sent back to his parents. When his father opened the tin, the fruit was rotten.

Hadn’t he lived in Mozambique for a spell?

Yes, but only for a very short while, but that was long ago, back in the sixties.

And his work in Botswana?

Yes, he worked as an artist for the department of information.

And what sort of writing did he do in Botswana?

It was here that Wopko made another illogical statement. In answer, he spoke about a little boy who used to siphon petrol from cars and then sell it in order to get money to go to bioscope.

He had published only three collections of poetry, was that correct?

Yes, there were only three. His job kept him so busy that he was unable to produce much work.

I asked him which jazz musicians he liked.

“Don’t speak to me about poetry,” he replied. “Speak to Lionel Abrahams.”

Next Wopko took up the Bosal catalogue and started leafing through it. He pointed to a key diagram of some implement: this, he told me, was a wonderful poem.

Then he pointed to a photograph of a pulley: this was an instrument used to drop crates on people walking the street. Looking at another photograph, of a high-powered drill, Wopko said it was a torture machine designed by Hitler.

By this time I was beginning to feel uneasy, when Wopko himself broke the spell by saying that he had to go now, or else he would miss tea. As he started walking off, I said it had been a privilege to meet him, and asked if I could visit him again.

No, he said, he didn’t like visitors. Then he laughed, and walked back to his room.

i don’t want that suburban house
i don’t want a second car
a swimming pool a lawn a boring Sunday
no, none of that

i am tired, so very tired
tired of the hate stare
tired of broken telephones
tired of non-white entrances
tired of being a burden
i am tired, tired of hating

i don’t want the soothing colours
Of tv. the news and drink some more
to wash me clean
no, please none of that

(Wopko Jensma, from I Must Show You My Clippings, 1977, Raven Press)

Note: Wopko Jensma disappeared from the Men’s Home in 1994. Nobody has heard of him since.

Originally published in Imprint, Summer 1995
first published on the web on the dye hard press blog

At the Cape Town Book Fair in June, a Small Publishers’ stand was organised by the Centre for the Book. Compared with last year’s stand, it was huge – about 35 publishers were represented. The publications were widely diversified in subject matter (such as poetry, children’s books, memoirs and even cookery books) as well as quality in terms of content and production. Such an array is demonstrative of the amount of independent publishing taking place in South Africa, as well as the dedication of the publishers involved, and as such, is commendable.

However, such activity begs the question: what is meant by a “small publisher”? Does this mean a noncommercial publisher, an amateur publisher, a publisher that does not employ people, a publisher that works from home, a publisher that has limited access to capital, a publisher that has limited distribution, a publisher with a limited marketing budget, a publisher that does not undertake huge print runs, a publisher that does not publish huge numbers of titles, a publisher that is marginal, or – still worse – a publisher that is of lesser importance?

Noncommercial: A commercial publisher is one that undertakes the publishing of books for the purpose of making a profit in order to provide a return to shareholders. A prime issue here is the marketability of a book and its likelihood to appeal to a wide audience in order to generate revenue. In this respect, small or independent publishers may be regarded as noncommercial. This does not mean they do not intend to make a profit or try to reach as wide an audience as possible, but there is often an acknowledgement that the nature of the books published may not be likely to have a wide, popular appeal. Many works produced by small or independent publishers have a distinctly small, limited audience, notably poetry.

Amateur: A small or independent publishing operation may be regarded as amateur because it is not usually a fulltime business, as it is the case with commercial publishers. Sometimes access to technical equipment may be an issue, and even knowledge about the publishing process may be limited compared to commercial publishers. But having said that, the work of small publishers is sometimes, from both a quality of presentation and content point of view, either equal to, or even better than, books produced by commercial publishers.

Does not employ people: Small or independent publishers are often one-man or one-woman operations, with the layout, design and proofreading undertaken by one person, and printing being outsourced. However some independent publishers, particularly those who have received funding, are able to outsource the entire production process. This often differs little from many medium-sized commercial publishers, some of whom may have a minimum staff compliment of about five people. Even among commercial publishers, tasks such as the evaluation of manuscripts, layout, design, and proofing are outsourced to freelancers. In this regard, there is not a tremendous difference between independent and commercial publishers.

Works from home: As already mentioned, many small or independent operations are the work of one person, are not a fulltime job, and are often undertaken in the evenings or weekends – at home. Hence the terms “home publishing” or even “kitchen table publishing”. But many commercial publishers have operated from homes at some point, usually during the start-up period – and thus may well have been regarded as “amateurs” during this phase. And renting or owning offices do not guarantee that the works produced are of a quality standard.

Access to capital: Commercial publishers have a greater access to capital than do independent publishers, whose books are either self-funded by the publisher/editor/owner. Sometimes the publisher will be able to obtain public funding, such as from the National Arts Council or the Arts and Culture Trust. However, having said that, these days, and particularly in South Africa, is it become a fairly common practice for even commercial publishers to produce books on condition that some form of funding has been provided. This should not in any way be confused with vanity publishing.

Distribution: Book distributors in South Africa, as elsewhere, are often reluctant to work on behalf of independent publishers, and this is can be a definite stumbling block, especially for new publishers, even start-up commercial publishers. Commission costs for distribution can be high, and this can easily bite into a small publisher’s profit margins. One can try to undertake one’s own distribution, but large bookstore chains are often unwilling to deal directly with a publisher, and to be deal only with a bond fide distributor. Distribution is thus often a problem for independent publishers.

Marketing: Small or independent publishers generally have a limited, or even nonexistent marketing budget to undertake nationwide launches. They also often lack the “credentials” that a commercial publisher may have to be able to organise interviews on radio or television. But having said that, having a substantial marketing budget or department at one’s fingertips does not guarantee the success of a book. Many books have in fact sold very well solely by word of mouth.

Print runs: Commercial publishers tend to publish vast print runs of books undertaken by litho printers. Such a print run works on the basis of larger volumes, lower cost. Independent publishers often go the cheaper digital printing route whereby small print runs – up to 500 copies - can be made, and then additional copies printed if required. In terms of quality, there is very little difference between a book produced by a litho printer and that of a good digital printer. Again, many independent publishers who have been able to obtain funding have produced large print runs by litho printing route.

Number of titles: Independent publishers generally publish far fewer titles per year than larger publishers – after all, it is not their livelihood and they do not have the time, or the access to capital. But again, there are exceptions. Gus Ferguson, for example, over about 12 years published more than 100 titles through his Snailpress and Firfield Press imprints, in addition to about 30 issues of his Slug Newsletter, and his poetry journal Carapace as now reached issue 64. Other independent publishers, such as Deep South, intentionally limit their output .

Marginal/lesser importance: Throughout history, many small or independent publishers have produced groundbreaking works. The Hogarth Press’s publication of TS Eliot’s The Waste Land is an example, as well as presses such as City Lights in the US, which published Allen Ginsberg’s Howl. Much groundbreaking work in SA has been published by independent presses, and a few years ago Botsotso published Post-traumatic, one of the most important short fiction anthologies published in SA in recent years – an anthology which several commercial publishers passed over. Groundbreaking work usually initially has a limited appeal – and thus is not the terrain for commercial publishers.

From the above, it is clear that the perceived differences between “small publishers” and “commercial publishers” are in fact not so wide, and by referring to independent publishers as “small” we risk diminishing their importance and contribution to enriching our literary culture. For this reason, I feel that the term “small publisher” should be replaced by “independent publisher”, though I am aware that some “small publishers” may feel uncomfortable with the term “independent”.

But what the hell - long live independent publishing!

© Gary Cummiskey, 2007