kagablog

deep in the heart
of every winter
there is a summer
waiting to be born.

deep in the heart
of every work of fiction
there is a truth
hoping to be grasped.

in the midst of the fury
of this blindly raging storm
is an eye
watching calmly
for the promise of peace…
believing, hoping, knowing
willing
day to follow night
and the desert stream to empty itself
in the vastness of the sea -

there is decay at work
in the summit of spring
and blossoms sprouting
even as the dead leaves fall
on these houses,
this street -

so many yesterdays
buried and half-remembered.
so many tomorrows
hidden inside
today -

so much happiness
rising up to meet us
from this stained black highway

as my dood so kon kom:
terwyl ek rustig
op my stoep sit
op die ouderdom 69-96 iewers
met my hond wat by my voete lê
sal ek die wêreld stadig voel kantel
en in die afstand
die groen gholfbane v/d hemel wat wink

so teen 11 vm, asb
tydens teetyd
met die laaste stukkies lemon meringue-tert nog in die bordjie voor my
soos ruïnes van ‘n aardbewing in asië
my lewe sal voor my verbyflits, ‘n baie kort opsomming
vol koerantopskrifte en flitse uit beroemde musiekvideo’s
terwyl die “boom” stadig opgaan
en ‘n vriendelike swartman in ‘n pynlik netjiese uniform
my details afskryf op sy clipboard
(registrasienommer, maatskappy, bestemming ens)
soos by ingang na enige ander estate

daar mag liefs geen oorlog wees die dag van my dood nie,
geen bloed en pyn en harsings en kapings en slegte nuus of celebrity-troues nie
niks mag die aandag aftrek van my dramatiese verhuising nie
die burger moet dit uitbasuin, letterkunde-liefhebbers ween,
kultuskerse nog tot laat brand
in die straat voor my huis
soos dit ‘n nobel-pryswenner betaam
(of wie was ek nou weer?)
terwyl liewe jesus my elders hartlik welkom heet
met die woorde “mooi so, goeie en getroue herder”
en “alles is okei”
en “moenie worry nie, anton goosen is in ‘n ander afdeling”

dan sal ek my huis intrek
daar sal ‘n grasperk vol kappertjies wees
cutt glass sal reg langs my bly maar hulle sal nie te hard rehearse nie
elke sonsopkoms sal ‘n week lank duur
en saans sal ons gin+tonics drink
en probeer onthou waar ons vandaan kom
en hoekom ons so lank geworried was oor die dood
want dis eintlik fokkol
en as daar email in die hemel was sou ralph my lankal laat weet het
alles is een groot oneindige zen
amen

Who, me? A Renaissance man?

Aryan Kaganof, so I have discovered, is something of a Renaissance man. He does art, movies, fashion and literature all at once. Before discovering his work, I fancied myself something of a Renaissance man, too… but self-doubt is creeping in. As you can see…

When I was sixteen, I feared the end of the world. I feared hell. I was strung-out on the large, simple issues of life. Now, I am embarrassed and threatened by all sorts of complicated trivialities. There was a time in my life when big machines scared me; now I step onto a plastic toy in the dark and I just feel despondent.

There was a time – and it seems so long ago now! - when I was afraid, really afraid, to sing in front of people. Now I am merely bored with it.

There was a time when I was terrified of flying in an airplane, riding in a car, or starting a social revolution. Now, the one thing I truly fear, more than anything else, is cutting a raw onion into little square bits.

I have tried this trick thousands of times (cutting a raw onion into square little bits). No, actually, I lie. I have only tried it twice. But those two times I failed at the task so dismally, so miserably (in both cases the onion had to be thrown away, it could not be used for anything else) that I am utterly convinced I am useless at it.

I am a failed cutter of raw onions into square little bits!

Yes, I know, on a very deep gut level, that I will never achieve mastery of this particular skill.

Neither am I a particularly good singer. That, however, is a different matter entirely. My mediocre singing ability has not prevented me from recording nine and a half CD’s
(in between my writing of books, of course). My lack of talent doesn’t bother me so much. In fact, it probably bothers other people much more than it bothers me.

I would have liked to be better at cutting raw onions into square little bits, though. I would also have liked to perform other domestic feats, hitherto impossible for me, such as changing a flat tire on a car, mending a dripping tap, pruning a rosebush, installing a new washing machine, peeling an apple, finding any practical use for the “Help” function in Microsoft programs, recognizing different flowers by name, remembering to purchase avocados weeks ahead of the time so that they can be ripe for that Mexican evening, enjoying chess, understanding why Einstein said that grandfather clocks tick slowly in fast-moving trains, riding a horse without being afraid of falling off (horses are much larger in real life than on TV, did you know?), building a model airplane without getting my own fingers permanently stuck together by Superglue, and knowing, just by looking at a car, which side its engine is (back or front). At least some of these feats are quite difficult for any given number of people, of course, yet I suspect that, with superhuman effort and expert guidance, they are skills which might be achieved (with the possible exception of finding practical use for the “Help” function in Microsoft programs), by most people, over time. After all, I did eventually master other equally daunting activities which had also seemed impossible at first. I can now drive a car with gears. I can change a baby’s nappy. And, after much trial and tribulation, I have learned to comprehend parts of the wine list in an average restaurant (even though Kinky Friedman claimed that this is one thing rock musicians are thoroughly incapable of).

As I said before, these are skills which can be acquired. But cutting a raw onion into little square bits will remain a mystery for all time and eternity. It requires a mind-boggling sequence of deft and instinctive wrist movements which will elude me forever.

The following article was written by journalist Sam Woulidge and appeared in the magazine Cape Review (2000). It provides a good summary of who Koos Kombuis is. Translations for all Afrikaans terms used in the article, appear at the end.

“Koos A. Kombuis has always instilled fear in the hearts of conservative Afrikanerdom. Thank God.

I was a student at Stellenbosch University in the late 80’s, when I first heard of Koos Kombuis, then known as André Letoit. He was part of a group of maverick Afrikaans musicians, who, under the collective name of Voëlvry, toured campuses across South Africa, liberating Afrikaans from the shackles of its past. No longer was Afrikaans the exclusive property of the Nationalist Party or the Dutch Reformed Church, these artists passionately believed in their right to sing in their mother tongue, in the way they wanted to, about issues that mattered to them. And so with lyrics such as, ‘As Afrikaans net kon dans en die NP beweeg. As al die ladies’ bars vol was en die tronke net leeg… As wit en swart een was en die polisie net nice, dan was hierdie land ook ‘n sweet paradise’, they liberated the rest of us.

We had found our icons. They were different: progressive, outspoken and brave. The ruling Nationalist Party hated them, the Broederbond inadvertently made them famous by banning them from campuses and radio stations, the Church denounced them and the security police hounded them.

But Koos Kombuis is an unlikely villain. Thirteen years later I meet him in Somerset West at the home he shares with his wife Kannetjie and his son, Simon. Cuddling his baby in his arms, he inserts a ‘Tellytubbies’ cassette into the video machine, explaining that Simon watches it at least three times a day. With the voices of Lala, Po, Tinky Winky and Dipsy ringing in our ears, the man with the soft voice, gentle eyes and bad reputation, offers to make us Rooibos tea. Strange stuff.

Embarrassingly, I gush when telling him how much I admire his writing and his music and what an impact he’s had on my life, I suspect that I make him uncomfortable. He’s shy and modest and laid back, and me, well I’m star- struck - a real pain in the ass fan. But Koos Kombuis is a nice man; he laughs at my jokes and patiently answers questions he’s replied to a hundred times before. I look at this 40-something, balding, slightly overweight man before me and am completely and utterly captivated by him, by his serenity, his kindness and his humility.

Koos takes a deep breath, when asked what the Voëlvry Movement was really like. ‘I’m incredibly glad we did it; the impact of the movement was moerse big. Under normal circumstances, what we did might not have been that important, but it was the right thing, in the right place, at the right time. But we were thrown in at the deep end and it was terrifying. One shouldn’t be confronted with these things when you’re young.’

Yet they all pushed ahead, why? His answer is simple. ‘Because we had to. We knew there was kak in die land and we felt that our music just might make a difference.’

But the pressure took its toll. ‘There was very little time to stand still and think about what we were doing. But when I eventually faced what was happening, I went into denial and started using drugs heavily. I started taking drugs to lessen the psychological pain and in the end the drugs became the problem.’

Eventually he managed to give up drugs. ‘If I could have my life over, I’d rather not ever have had the whole drug experience. It’s easy to say it now, because I’m no longer curious about it, but it wasted a lot of time and I missed out on a whole lot of other nice things.’ He shakes his head, ‘I never want to do it again. I miss dagga every now and then, but even that dies a slow death. It’s not worth it. There are so many other great things you can do when you’re young. You can travel, you can make friends, you can have affairs… I wasted a large part of my life on politics and drugs; politics, because I couldn’t stand by and do nothing and drugs, which I turned to, in order to help me deal with the pain of politics.’

Speaking to Koos while sitting on the lawn of his suburban home, it’s hard to recall the furiously anti-establishment anti-hero that he was. But his anger about the injustices of the past simmers below the surface. He may have mellowed, but he hasn’t sold out. Even as a child the politics of our country made Koos uncomfortable. ‘I always thought the flag was ugly and hated the patriotic songs we had to sing. When I was in Std 2 (10 years old), I remember not understanding why I wasn’t allowed to swim kaalgat with the klonkies. When I asked questions I was told ‘ they’re not like us’. But it was only when I was in Standard 9 and started reading Breyten Breytenbach’s poetry that I really became aware of how wrong the policy of Apartheid was.’ As a poet and musician, Koos too, was able to express his anger as well as be the voice of a generation who rebelled against the ruling regime.

‘The Afrikaner is not as genetically depressed as what the NP tried to make out. Ons is ‘n nice klomp mense, but we have so many hang-ups because of this one generation. PW Botha and his mates had this idea that Afrikaans were supposed to be the light in darkest Africa and they fought so hard to protect this dream that in the end they formed this Third World Banana Republic. They feared the likes of Idi Amin and eventually they became what they feared. I still get angry at them; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive them. We Afrikaners are not really so special, we’re just one more tribe. There are 11 official languages and we’re only one of them. If I have a mission then it’s to learn one more of these languages, rather than forcing my ideas on the rest of my countrymen.’

As a writer Koos Kombuis has changed the face of Afrikaans literature. He is no language purist, preferring to write in the way ordinary Afrikaners speak. For him the language is an evolving one, it originated as a form of Kitchen Dutch and as a living language it seems only natural that it will adapt to it’s surroundings. The conservatives may object, but the public has firmly cast their votes in his direction. His phenomenally successful and painfully honest autobiography Seks & Drugs & Boeremusiek – die memoires van ‘n volksverraaier (nb - Human & Rousseau), has gone into it’s fifth printing and another book My Mamma is ‘n Taal (nb - Human & Rousseau)- a collection of articles written for the print media and internet, is proving as successful. Despite his success as a musician, writing is his first love. ‘I started making music when I was gatvol of Broederbond publishers. So I announced that I was now a musician and that writing would only be a hobby. I managed to do this for a few years, but now I’m back where I started.’ While most of Koos’s writings are in Afrikaans, it is his English novel Paradise Redecorated which is his favourite. ‘I don’t even have a copy of it, there are so many printing errors and it is so flawed, but still, that’s the sort of book I want to write. Humoristic Science Fiction.’ He likes Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett and really smaaks the Harry Potter books.

Koos Kombuis is so very different to any of the preconceived ideas you may have about him. He’s mellowed, so if you were expecting the irate fighter of old, you’d be disappointed and if his love poetry and ballads lead you to expect a smooth operator, you’d be surprised. He’s no longer restless and angry and rather than being cynical you will find elements of vulnerability and enormous amounts of kindness. It’s hard to believe that there were those who perceived him as a traitor to the volk or a dangerous corruptive influence to the youth. Koos radiates contentment, he obviously adores his wife and son and appears to have found peace at last. I ask him if in all the years he ever thought he’d find this inner peace; this level of happiness. ‘I always wanted to be at peace, I just never knew how to get there. I always wondered at the ability of others to find contentment; it always looked so complicated to buy a house.’ He smiles. ‘I dated some beautiful girls, some more beautiful than my wife, but there were so many betrayals, from my side as well as theirs, I was a lot younger. But what I have now is different, we suit one another and while nothing is ever 100%, but I wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t go back to the way I was… that would make me a dirty old man. He roars with laughter. There’s an Afrikaans tradition of getting married at an early age, we go from being children to being middle aged, but it’s the in between stage where you’ve got to learn as much as possible. I was a teenager until I was 35. But you can’t be a teenager forever, it’s exhausting.’

Marriage and fatherhood suit Koos, but his views on the white picket fence scenario are realistic.

‘You pray every day when you have a child. We are vulnerable, and I feel even more so now that I have a child.’

As a writer of some of the most beautiful love poetry and ballads I incorrectly assume that he would have written numerous songs for Kannetjie. ‘In the past, the more poems I wrote about a girl, the shorter the duration of the relationship. I’ve only written one song for Kannetjie. It’s as if when you’ve written about someone you’ve exhausted her, then you’ve got to go in search of another muse. I’d rather live out my feelings for her. I don’t want her to be my muse; to put her on a pedestal. I’ve done that too often in the past. Women were either sex objects or goddesses. I don’t want to make her either of these two things.’ He laughs again, ‘ but if I have to choose, I’d rather make her the former! I could have made a lot of other choices that would have been all wrong. I’m really happy. But happiness isn’t something that makes you feel ecstatic all day, every day. It’s simply something that makes sense. Of course there are times that things are difficult, but I’m happier now than I’ve ever been before. It’s lekker driving a Nissan Sentra, I like going to the post office to fetch our mail, and kak like that. And sometime or another I’ll get around to mowing the lawn.’

Holding his son in his arms, Koos greets us as we leave, ‘toe, sê koebaai vir die tannie’ (say goodbye to the auntie) he encourages Simon. The Kombuis family are in a hurry to go and buy a wedding gift for a friend at Tygervalley Mall. Yeah right. Try as they might, they’re no ordinary family; Koos Kombuis is far too special for that.”

Since the publication of this article Koos has written two novels, released a few more CDs and became the proud father of baby Marleen (sister to Simon). He continues to entertain South Africans in theatres all over the country. A friendship with Belgian singer Stef Bos led to the recording of two songs, co-written and performed by Stef and Koos, and released in Holland and Belgium. Koos’ latest novel, the satirical The Secret Diary of God (Zebra Press) puts a new spin on the Bible story and is distributed in the UK and New Zeeland by New Holland Publishing.

TRANSLATIONS

Voëlvry: Outlawed

As Afrikaans net kon dans en die NP beweeg. As al die ladies’ bars vol was en die tronke net leeg… As wit en swart een was en die polisie net nice, dan was hierdie land ook ‘n sweet paradise:
If only Afrikaans could dance and the NP could move. If only all lady’s bars were full and jail cells empty… If white and black could be one and the police nice, then this land would be a sweet paradise

Broederbond: A secret society of white, Afrikaans, Christian males who controlled virtually every position of power in South Africa.

moerse: Helluva, very big

kak in die land: Shit in the country

kaalgat: Naked

klonkies: Non-white children

Ons is ‘n nice klomp mense: We’re nice people

Seks & Drugs & Boeremusiek – die memoires van ‘n volksverraaier: Sex Drugs and Boeremusiek (tradisional Afrikaner music) – the memoir of a traitor

My Mamma is ‘n Taal: My Mother is a Language

gatvol: Fed up with

smaaks: Likes

volk: Nation

lekker: Nice

kak: Shit

this article can be found on koos kombuis’ own website www.kooskombuis.co.za

Hi Aryan, a reggae version of Whiskeyglas should sound great, would love to hear it ! You do not need my permission to perform the song in your live set, as long as you notify SAMRO of your performances ! I letter below grants permission for you to record the song, you must give this letter to SARRAL.
Thanks, Koos
For Attention: SARRAL

Date: 19 August 2005

Herewith permission is granted for the recording of the song titled Onder in My Whiskeyglas (Author/Composer: A. du Toit alias Koos Kombuis; Publisher: Trapsuutjies Uitgewers - SARRAL)
by Aryan Kaganof and the band Freedom Fighter.
All mechanical royalties must be paid to SARRAL.

Thank you.

André du Toit
For Trapsuutjies Uitgewers
PO Box 2055
Somerset West
7129
Tel 0837441270
kombuis@new.co.za