JOHANNESBURG
Foto: Theo du Preez
Johannesburg deur Mardene Marais
1987
Blou-grys mondrianagtige silhoeëtte
profiel selfsugtig
en vergeet materialities om lief te hê
Duisende naamloses
en bewegende gesigloses
môres wat van gisters herstel
uithangborde in versmoor kleure
oormôres wat halfpad ophou onthou
en nommers een-een ingeryg in garedraadjies.
1987
Blou-grys mondrianagtige silhoeëtte
profiel selfsugtig
en vergeet materialities om lief te hê
Duisende naamloses
en bewegende gesigloses
môres wat van gisters herstel
uithangborde in versmoor kleure
oormôres wat halfpad ophou onthou
en nommers een-een ingeryg in garedraadjies.
Stock Market Heart: Extravaganza of the Molten Hidden by Myra Lochner
There is a buzz of silence:
invisible stars shout.
Down here in this big city a cry,
yet no sound will leave it.
In this universe of malice
love is a frozen memory:
a warm bed somewhere in a faraway
homestead; freshly baked bread
and a mug of coffee
for sobbing solitude to hold.
Voices mumble in filthy corners.
Dying aspirations float
on black smoke above chimneys,
paint strangled seagulls
in the polluted ocean of clouds.
Weary feet thump to the drum
of the stock market heart.
There are stories with unhappy
endings in opaque eyes;
voices try, but carry weeping
in their smiles; unfamiliar faces
strained by forgetfulness.
Within summer there is winter;
it brings you little creatures
searching warmth around open fires,
where Midas pours souls
into the fire of cold gold,
nozzled into nothingness:
extravaganza of the molten hidden.
A relentless line was drawn to close
down words; inside its monitors
and borders of fake light,
of screens and screams, awaits a lion
eating away at hope and health; within towers
of boxes thoughts are paralyzed,
in corners, brush aside.
Churches in alleys provide no shelter
for the fearful mind, tracer
of evil experiment.
Escape from penthouse,
from night-club and casino,
from dancing with death
between boom and slump,
from the floorshow of crows,
to the mountain, where air is still He:
to relief suffocation of the collective soul
above its vista of scars,
waking the bokmakierie asleep
within the dark niche of despair.
There is a buzz of silence:
invisible stars shout.
Down here in this big city a cry,
yet no sound will leave it.
In this universe of malice
love is a frozen memory:
a warm bed somewhere in a faraway
homestead; freshly baked bread
and a mug of coffee
for sobbing solitude to hold.
Voices mumble in filthy corners.
Dying aspirations float
on black smoke above chimneys,
paint strangled seagulls
in the polluted ocean of clouds.
Weary feet thump to the drum
of the stock market heart.
There are stories with unhappy
endings in opaque eyes;
voices try, but carry weeping
in their smiles; unfamiliar faces
strained by forgetfulness.
Within summer there is winter;
it brings you little creatures
searching warmth around open fires,
where Midas pours souls
into the fire of cold gold,
nozzled into nothingness:
extravaganza of the molten hidden.
A relentless line was drawn to close
down words; inside its monitors
and borders of fake light,
of screens and screams, awaits a lion
eating away at hope and health; within towers
of boxes thoughts are paralyzed,
in corners, brush aside.
Churches in alleys provide no shelter
for the fearful mind, tracer
of evil experiment.
Escape from penthouse,
from night-club and casino,
from dancing with death
between boom and slump,
from the floorshow of crows,
to the mountain, where air is still He:
to relief suffocation of the collective soul
above its vista of scars,
waking the bokmakierie asleep
within the dark niche of despair.
Johannesburg deur Theo du Preez
My lippe is gebars
My vingers bloei
My bek is droog
Ek smag na vars lug
Die karre zoem teen duisend myl verby
Kakofonie van kleure en geure ontplof in my brein
Almal het ‘n bestemming
Almal het ‘n missie
Die toeters blêr
Die boerbokke min gepla
Die guardjies roep vir passasiers
Waar gaan almal heen
Nog erger:
Waar kom almal vandaan?
Die groot stad se masjien kom stadig in beweging
‘n Stad wat nie van slaap ken nie
Dis nie te se daar is nie drome nie
O nee
Die mamma soen haar kleuter koebaai
Die taxibaas help ‘n rolstoel inlaai
Die Pakistani winkelbaas groet sy nuwe klant met opregte warmte
Die verkeersman help met ‘n pap wiel
Die ryk Jood gee ‘n honger kind ‘n koppie sop en ‘n geldjie
Die dag stoom onverbiddelik en onkeerbaar voort
Ek staan oopmond myself en verwonder
Geen twyfel nie
Hierdie plek lewe!
Dag na dag
Minuut na minuut
Lewe na lewe
Dis lekker om hier te wees
‘n Nuwe perspektief
Goddank net vir een dag
My lippe is gebars
My vingers bloei
My bek is droog
Ek smag na vars lug
Die karre zoem teen duisend myl verby
Kakofonie van kleure en geure ontplof in my brein
Almal het ‘n bestemming
Almal het ‘n missie
Die toeters blêr
Die boerbokke min gepla
Die guardjies roep vir passasiers
Waar gaan almal heen
Nog erger:
Waar kom almal vandaan?
Die groot stad se masjien kom stadig in beweging
‘n Stad wat nie van slaap ken nie
Dis nie te se daar is nie drome nie
O nee
Die mamma soen haar kleuter koebaai
Die taxibaas help ‘n rolstoel inlaai
Die Pakistani winkelbaas groet sy nuwe klant met opregte warmte
Die verkeersman help met ‘n pap wiel
Die ryk Jood gee ‘n honger kind ‘n koppie sop en ‘n geldjie
Die dag stoom onverbiddelik en onkeerbaar voort
Ek staan oopmond myself en verwonder
Geen twyfel nie
Hierdie plek lewe!
Dag na dag
Minuut na minuut
Lewe na lewe
Dis lekker om hier te wees
‘n Nuwe perspektief
Goddank net vir een dag
Hier sien mens Johannesburg se middestad vanuit die noorde. Op die voorgrond is Linden. Op die horison is die Hillbrow-toring net-net sigbaar. Dit is winter en daar is lappe yl wolke oor die helder blou lug getrek.
Links, net buite sig, is daar 'n Argentynse restaurantjie. Dit het 'n aangename, ontspanne atmosfeer. Hier en daar sit iemand by 'n tafel met 'n koppie koffie en werk op sy of haar skootrekenaar. By ander tafels sit daar paartjies diep in gesprek. Mens hoor meestal Afrikaans hier.
Agter die toonbank is 'n groot spieël en bokant dit in Spaans: "Besame, besame, besame como si fuera esta noche la ultima vez." In Afrikaans: "Soen my, soen my, soen my asof dit vanaand die laaste keer is."
Dit is 'n reël uit die bekende treffer van jare gelede, "Besame mucho" - "Soen my baie".
Links staan een van Johannesburg se miljoene bome, kaal, en wag vir die lente.