lara kirsten

Afrika-Dig

2012-02-15T16:29:00.006+02:00

(photo by photographer Liesel Kershoff < http://www.lieselkershoff.com/)

this is one of my favourite performance poems that my audience and i have enjoyed since i conceived it in 2009. i have never performed it in English. it is one of those poems that comes to its full right in my mothertongue. Yet for the sake of my English readers, a translation follows.

afrika-dig

ek wil 'n gedig skryf wat soos afrika ruik

wat soos die heuwels van afrika

onder my voete pols

'n gedig wat soos afrika jou laat voel

dat jy tuis gekom het

'n gedig wat afrika-vas is op die tong

wat gloei soos die afrika-son op my rug

my tong is warm afrika-klip waarop die son vurig pyl

en die besies teen die boombas van my keel sing

sing sing sing

die afrika lug en doringbome en krieke

en woestyn stilte

sing sing sing

afrika uit die woude van my afrika-tong

my gedig wil soos aalwyne die lug steek

met bloedklanke die ondergaan van my sonswoord

tot stilte en vrede roep

my woorde wil jou roep soos skaars watergate

in die dorre landskap en die klanke wil dorstig

opgelek word deur die tonge van skugter koedoes

met hierdie afrika-gedig wil ek nie sin maak met woord

ek wil my tong soos 'n rotsblok laat tuimel

met die steil kranse af

en met die val wil

ek leer om weer aarde-taal te praat

afrika-aarde taal

africa poem

i want to write a poem that smells like africa

that pulses under my feet

like the hills of africa

a poem that like africa makes you feel

that you have reached home

a poem that is africa-steady on the tongue

that glows like the africa sun on my back

my tongue is africa-stone on which the sun fiery arrows

and the cicadas sing against the bark of my throat

sing sing sing

the african sky and thorntrees and crickets

and desert silence

sing sing sing

africa from the forests of my africa tongue

my poem wants to pierce the sky like aloes

with bloodsounds the setting of my sunword

calls to silence and peace

my words want to call you like the scarce waterholes

in the bare and dry landscape and the sounds want to be

thirstily lapped up by the tongues of shy kudus

with this africa poem i don't want to make sense with word

i want my tongue to tumble like rock

from the steep kranse

and with the fall

i want to learn again

to speak with the tongue of the earth

africa-earth tongue

uit die resonante holtes

2012-02-08T16:40:00.000+02:00

uit die resonante holtes

vir Linda, 'n koloratuur-sopraan

uit die resonante holtes

van haar lyf

breek die Stem oop

en sing oor die ganse aarde

die lied wat in drome klink

deur skeure breek

en in murg gaan sit

en nie laat los

totdat dit liggaam vervorm

tot transendentale beswyming

sy is kunstenaar van die keel -

beeldhouer van die asem

sy is die toornares wat verse inkanteer

totdat bloed en rugstring ontkiem

uit sillabes en groei tot hierdie

lyflike wonderwerk

haar stem brand met die feesviering van asem

haar stem brand met die glinsterende kruine van golwe

haar stem brand met die herinnering van premordiale frekwensies

wat in ons oer-ore geklink het

haar stem brand met die wete dat beide bitter en soet

ewe gemaklik op die tong kan lê

haar stem brand met die

gechoreografeerde vlammesepel

wat in

kolkende kontoere en kleure

ons verrukking

oopbreek

... hulle sê: waarvan die hart vol is

loop die mond van oor

Linda van Coppenhagen is 'n goeie vriendin wie ek in Johannesburg in 2010 ontmoet het. Sedertdien het ons paar keer saam in konsert opgetree. Sy is tans in Duitsland besig om diep spore te trap in haar sang-loopbaan.

dit is soos dit is

2012-01-27T11:21:00.003+02:00

A week ago, I cycled through the main road of Hogsback and down the Hogsback pass, in the nude.
4 people wanted to lay charges against me for indecent exposure/public indecency. Thanks to the village's Police Forum the charges were withdrawn. I got phonecalls from various journalists over the past week to hear my side of the story. As far as I know the story featured on the front page of Die Burger, News 24, Die Volksblad and The Weekend Post. I never thought this brief and rather innocent and impulsive moment of fun would cause such a stir. More than criticism I have had support and a real show of interest.
I can write so much on why I do what I do, but I think this poem that I wrote 2 years ago and performed in the nude must speak for me (an English translation follows at the end).

dit is soos dit is

- hierdie gedig kom tot sy reg as dit in die naakte liggaam voorgedra word -

dit is soos dit is

in die vlees van my siel

is dit waar die woorde broei

en wat lug soek in die eter van die

naakte siele soos wat hulle saam uit die velle

van mense gebore word

ek kan

nòg meer vel

nòg meer vlees wees

veel meer

as wat ek hier voorgee

dit is soos dit is

die vlees in die naakte warmte van sweet

wat deur skadu van kostuum in 'n hel van klugspel

bedek word

word verwring tot 'n ongenaakbare

banale maskerade

wat is dit wat ek wil bedek met

die weefselkleed van die skaamte

wat die skone vel van sonsoen en

reënval wil weerhou

wil weerhou van die wonderwêreld van sensasie

wat so direk tot die sielshuid spreek?

dit is in die waarheid

- die naakte waarheid –

waarin ek vasgevang word om my self uit te druk

soos net die naakte waarheid kan

in die holte van my selfheid

hou ek my vas aan die wande van my vel

slegs aan my vel

hang ek vir my lewe

this is how it is

- this poem comes truly to life when it is performed in the nude –

this is how it is

in the flesh of my soul

is where the words breed

where it searches for air in the ether of the

naked souls as they are born together

from the skin of people

i can

be more skin

more flesh

much more

than you are seeing

this is how it is

the flesh in the naked warmth of sweat

that's covered

by shadow of costume in a hell of deceit

becomes contorted in a merciless

banal masquerade

what is it that i want to cover with

the cloth of shame

that shields pure skin

from sunkiss and rainfall

that shields pulsing skin from the wonderworld of sensation

that speaks so directly so the soulskin?

it is in the truth

- the naked truth –

in which i am enclosed to express myself

as only the naked truth can

in the hollow of my selfhood

do i hold onto the edges of my skin

only from my skin

do i hang for my life

(The Afrikaans version was published in Ecca 2011 and the South African Literary Journal, New Contrast, 2010)

Ode to Seasand

2012-01-18T13:51:00.001+02:00

i do not need a second invite
to roll around you, seasand
fly goes my clothes
just skin on sand -
what pure
seduction
wind and waves
have tasted you
the spaces between every grain
pulse with the memory of the tides
ah, the thrill of it
filling
every
crevice
of my body
let me never wash!
i can step
unfalteringly
over your golden breast
even your bite
when a wind whips it
against my ankles
is delight
i do not know
from
where
you
come
from
yet
i would like
to fly with you
on the wind
teach me
your
swiftness
and
the
wisdom
of
your age
i sing to you,
Sand of the Seas
granules of
finely chiseled Time
men keep their
machinery and gadgets
clean from
you
but oh, come
chafe and sculpt
me
with
your
immeasurable
imagination

Ode to your hands

2012-01-14T10:35:00.003+02:00

for Simon

in your hands
lie
a harvest of visions
blessing the earth
and its stones
with their abundant richness
from your palms
rises
the
sun
from between your fingers
shoot
lightning
what divine sculptor's chisel
has webbed them with
such strength
and
such gentleness?
they have touched upon
the
sacred
arrow
kneaded
the
bread
of
life
cupped
water
for
thirst
with them you fly to far horizons and touch the faces of stars
they have carried
heavy
yet they remain
light
two wings in flight
they hold the expansiveness of the constellations
they grasp the
smallness
of
the
trembling leaf
i wish for them
to lie
on
my breast
and to feel
your
heart's
wild
pulse
beating through them
ah, the joy
when you open your hands over me
it is like stepping into
the twilight of the forests
take away food from me
but do not take away your hands

Ode to my feet

2012-01-13T16:05:00.003+02:00

ode to my feet

you are by far my favourite part of me

on tar on stone on sand in water

you have burnt blistered bled bounced

you have carried me through cities forests and grasslands

over coastlines deserts and mountains

shoes have tried to contain you

but your wild spirit keeps kicking them off

you feel the harshness and the smoothness of the land

you set in motion my muscular exploration of space

through you i feel the lightning of life

you are the first to touch the ground every morning i climb into day

i have fallen in love with you

of all my parts you are the least fearful

you show courage - sometime even more than my heart

there are times you tiptoe and sneak silently around corners

yet you do not flinch blush or hesitate

if i prayed i would not pray with my hands

i would pray with you

my feet

you are the direct route to my soul

Poet, poet speaking bright

2012-01-12T05:14:00.001+02:00

This poem finds inspiration from William Blake's poem Tiger, tiger burning bright.

Poet, poet speaking bright
taking words into flight
what human mind or heart
could fathom the extent of thy art?

In what vision or dream
did she find life's stream?
On what wind does she fly
to reach such a high?

Who will listen to her song?
Who will accept her when she goes wrong?
Her eyes are open to see all -
this will make her rise and fall

What rhythm? What verse?
What blessing? What curse
will be unleashed by her pen
to make her passion be felt again?

When the sun sets on her tongue
know that the quest has only begun.
She will need the dark rest
to become her utmost best.

Poet, poet speaking bright
taking words into flight,
what human mind or heart
dare fathom the extent of thy art?

by the thread of my blood

2011-11-27T16:39:00.001+02:00

photo taken by Simon Max Bannister at the Mary Fitzgerald Square, Newtown, Johannesburg

by the thread of my blood

I hang for my life

some say blood is a saviour

some say it is a river

some say it is a curse

some say it is too real

some say it is passion

some say it is a gift

some say it is the invitation to the dance

some say it is collective remembrance

some say it is the tide of our bodies

it smells like birth

it tastes like broken stone

it incites killing

it invites healing

it brings together like compassion

it commands life

it inspires love

and it demands nothing but flow,

this sacred river of life

mag ek...

2011-11-26T11:25:00.002+02:00

die gedig van e.e. cummings may i feel said he (http://allpoetry.com/poem/8494119-may_i_feel_said_he-by-e_e_cummings) het in my kop gespring toe my ouers 'n woordwisseling gehad het. hier is my vrye verwerking van die toneel (EN die cummings gedig):

kan jy 'n klim-raam vir

my grenadilla-plant maak sê sy

verseker sê hy

is jy seker? sê sy

o ja sê hy

jy is 'n skat sê sy

sê net hoe groot sê hy

so breed en so hoog sê sy

nou maar toe sê hy

dit lyk nie onmoontlik nie

haai dit maak my hart so bly sê sy

niemand anders kan dit doen soos jy

nee! wat maak jy nou? sê sy

ek pas die kalkulasies so bietjie aan sê hy

maar dis nie hoe ek dit wou he sê sy

hou jou bek sê hy

my grenadilla gaan skeef groei sê sy

moenie so stres sê hy

ek gaan iemand anders se hulp kry sê sy

jy waag dit nie sê hy

nou dan doen wat ek sê sê sy

gaan vlieg in jou moer sê hy

ek gaan jou nooit weer vra sê sy

nou maar toe, ek loop nou maar sê hy

ag nee, kom terug sê sy

maar dan los my uit sê hy

onthou so hoog en so breed sê sy

ek gaan die grenadilla se nek omdraai sê hy

try dit net, en ek draai JOU nek om sê sy

FIRE

2011-11-24T17:18:00.001+02:00

(photo editing by Simon Max Bannister)

This is the second part of the Sculpture/Performance poetry piece I conceived and performed earlier this year in Johannesburg with sculptor Coenie Strydom, Life Vitrified / Klei Verewig. I later performed an adapted version of the work at the AfrikaBurn festival in the Tankwa Karoo.

It was performed and originally written in Afrikaans - a much more fiery language than English! Here follows the English translation. The Afrikaans follows thereafter.

II FIRE

my clay body is devoured by a tornado of flame

i am called to this new burning clan

at the point where i want to melt and dissolve

a mighty flame of vitrification shoots through my veins

and i know, i can withstand the searing pain

with this body that have stood by me through

the flaming years

ah, the excitement that i will soon be stepping outside fire

so that i can pour meaning into the world

with this fired skin

the fire will burn and scorch me, torment and purge me

it will even attempt to extinguish me

yes, the flames will hit me, chew me and try to swallow me alive

it will pull the last tears from my eyes

stand strong!

let the flames come, let it bend and buckle me

let it make me scream

soon it will let my soul glow from within

and let my skin glow from without

the heat waves will keep on growing,

but i will resist, i will fight

have faith in my strength, in my hardiness

like a piece of leather the flame will twist and turn me

so that the flaming power can be lead through

and completely free my cellular potential

have you ever seen, have you ever felt -

flame can not hold

flame can not cling

it glides flightily, mercurially over skin

even carries the face of a creature from hell

yes, he can burn, but he can not imprison

he can never estrange me from this wonder-earth

burn i will in its flaming path

but free i will stand, free!

so i have learnt to lap up fire with my own tongue

to chew and swallow it so as to ignite my own fire from within

look, the flutter flickering of flame looks just like

the flutter of tongue

sounds just like the flicker of tongue

at home is tongue in flame

it plays along in this burning game

the flame lashes around my limbs

wants to break my skeleton from its seams

i become like wood that fire greedily gorges

so that you there in the far dark corners will know:

this is one smoking and glistening struggle

that will soon spit my body out into pure sculpture

II VUUR

my klei-lyf word verswelg deur ‘n tornado van vlam
word ek geroep tot hierdie nuwe brandende stam
op die punt waar ek wil smelt en verteer
skiet ‘n magtige vlam van gehardheid deur my are

en weet ek, ek kan die skroeiende pyn ontbeer
met hierdie lyf wat getrou saam met my staan deur

die vlammende jare

ah, die opwinding dat ek binnekort buite vuur gaan trap
en betekenis met hierdie aangevuurde kliplaag in my

wêreld gaan tap

die vuur sal my brand, sal my skroei, folter en naai
dit sal selfs poog om my nek om te draai
ja, die vlamme sal my kap, kou en

lewend insluk
die laaste trane uit my oë pluk

hou uit! staan vas!
kom wat wou, laat hy my loei
laat hy my skroei
binnekort sal hy my gees van binne
en my vel van buite rooiwarm laat gloei
die hittegolwe sal bly groei,

maar ek sal aanhou baklei en stoei
hê geloof in my standvastigheid, in my dikvelligheid
soos ‘n stuk leer sal vlam my brei
om die vlamme-krag deur te lei
en so my sellulêre potensiaal toet en taal te bevry

het jy al gesien, het jy al gevoel –
vlam kan nie vashou
vlam kan nie vasklou
hy glip, gly vlugtig, kwiksilwerig oor vel
dra selfs die aangesig van ‘n kreatuur uit hel
ja, hy kan brand, maar hy kan nie gevangene neem
sal my nooit van van hierdie wonder-aarde kan vervreem
brand sal ek in sy vlammende baan
maar vry sal ek bly staan

so het ek geleer om vuur met my eie tong op te lek
te kou en maag toe te sluk om so my eie Vuur op te wek
kyk, die fladder flonkering van vlam lyk nes

die fladder van tong
klink nes die flonker van tong
tuis is tong in vlam
dit hoort so graag aan hierdie brandende stam

met sweepslae krul die vuur om my ledemate
wil my skelet breek uit haar nate
word ek soos hout wat vuur gulsig vreet
dat julle daar in die doer donker vertes sal weet:
hierdie is een rokende en glinsterende gewroeg
wat my liggaam spoedig tot suiwer beeld gaan uitspoeg

Voices in Song

2011-11-22T10:29:00.000+02:00

Voices in song

let the voices of the world

be fire in our souls

let the voices of the world

be water in our mouths

let it sing into the agelessness of time

and make us believe we are beauty

we are sun we are river

we are stone we are air

we are that which gives us life

let the voices of the world

teach us to feel

to burn

to flow

to be utterly alive

let our voices rise

like the flame rises

like the tide rises

we are life

we are elemental

we are voices that sing

that weep

we are voices that

come alive

as soon as

breath is born

the vast space begs to be filled

with that sweeping line of voice

that colours space with that wondrous harmony

that is so strongly at home in our soul

let the voices vibrate

let the voices cascade through our souls

and let us live livelier than ever before

let the voices break through the forests

break through the ocean

let fish and bird hear we can

resonate with song just as they can do

i want to be there where the soul sings

because of this life’s blessedness

let us give love through our voices

let us share this voice we have had from birth

silence is blessed

yet singing is more so

it is a resonating of the soul

a baptizing within that vibration that gives life

to our hearts and minds

the voice moves like flame

searching for air and when it is released

it gushes forth like a new spring

the voice of fire

the voice of river

let it not be silenced

let it sound

let it burn

let it flow

we can sing

we want to sing

we need to sing

if we raise our voices, let it be in song

In die grond en blom skyn die hoop

2011-09-22T18:42:00.000+02:00

Hier die gedig wat ek spesiaal vir die FLORHA! vertoning in die Baxter Teater, Rondebosch, Kaapstad geskryf en opgevoer het >> die foto's is tydens die opvoering geneem >>

In die grond en blom skyn die hoop

En so het sy opgestaan uit die blomme-velde,

'n besete vrou gevul met drome van die aarde se diepe waters

so doen sy haar daaglikse pligte met grond onder haar naels,

borduur sy die lande aan een met die stingels van blomme

sy is alleen, net sy en haar tien vingers,

soms van haar kop af, maar altyd geheg aan haar hart en haar blomtuin

sy is deels vrou, deels aarde, deels blom

hoor hoe haar stem deur die blom-woude breek!

kyk hoe sy haar menswees bevry

deur met grond en blom liefde te maak

in grond en blom skyn die hoop

wat nog by ons mense spook

sy het vele sonkoper velde ontdek langs die kusste

het hul gevul met voetspore vol ryp wense

die dou lek sy vroeg-oggend van die lelie-blare

vee haar wange met die sagte son wat deur die struike breek

sing sy alomheen die liedere wat resonant oor die vlaktes aanrol

'n vrou soos hierdie mag nie stil bly!

hoor hoe haar stem deur die blom-woude breek!

kyk hoe sy haar menswees bevry

deur met grond en blom liefde te maak

in grond en blom skyn die hoop

wat nog by ons mense spook

dit is daar waar sy wil wees

daar waar blomme vry, wild en helder kan bloei

waar grond diep gegtrap kan word

waar groen, geel, oranje, pers en rooi

rys uit modder en 'n nuwe wêreld aanbreek

ja, dit is daar waar sy wil wees

daar waar haar siel saam resoneer met die seismiese aardskuiwings

wat tril met die geboorte van elke nuwe blom

daar waar grond haar die ritme van wind en water leer

haar leer hoe om haar vel ten volle te voel

soos wat net 'n blom kan voel

blom sing haar lyf uit elke hoek en porie

tril die vrugbaarheid regdeur haar voetsole

trap sy versigtig want blomtyd is 'n vlugtige en delikate seisoen

en tog dans sy diep, hard en vinnig omdat blomtyd uitbundig en grensloos is

hoor hoe haar stem deur die blom-woude breek!

kyk hoe sy haar menswees bevry

deur met grond en blom liefde te maak

in grond en blom skyn die hoop

wat nog by ons mense spook

grond is bly om te voel hoe diep vrou haar spoor trap

blom is bly om te sien hoe passievol sy deur die vreugde van kleur stap

sy druk haar lippe en bors ferm teen die aarde

voel die vibrasie van die magtige minerale groei

wat stoot en rys deur wortel en blaar

hoe lank het sy vir hierdie blomtyd gewag!

nóú is dit hier en blom sy saam met een helse vrugbare krag

kabaret-poe''sie

2011-09-04T09:05:00.000+02:00

kabaret-poe''sie - geskryf en voorgedra deur Lara by Lara Kirsten 1

kabaret-poësie

ek soek poësie

met rooi lippe

verse met bebeende visnetsykouse

wat sexy oormekaar kruis

digkuns met lang, swart

oogwimpers wat ritmies

die metrum oop en toe knip

ek soek poësie

met rooi lippe

en rasper keel wat

die woorde fyn sny

en bloedrooi op die

vloer spat

kabaret-poësie

wat smeulend die heupe uitdu

die kleinste beweging tot

‘n magiese oomblik laat lei

poësie wat been en arm

in ‘n paar-dans laat

knoop en rol

en stoot in en uit mekaar

ek wil nie grys poësie praat

geen kombuis-poësie

geen hang-tiet gediggies

uit my mond laat hang nie

geen boekrak-poësie

geen korset-en-pruik-poësie

geen pinkie-in-die-lug en

tuit-mondjie-poësie

slegs poësie wat met silhoeëttiese borspunte

die lug in fyn sinsuele stukke sny

toon

enkel

kuit

kniekop

heup

vinger

pols

arm

elmboog

skouer

nek

ken

lip

skaduwee en lig speel op

vou en vel

mmm, ek kan ook toor,

chiaruscories toor met

tong-tegniek

ja, ‘n enkele rol van my tong en lip

stoot die verligte stofstraal

in ‘n tsunami van estetika

my sin

hang

sexy

kabaret-matig,

in die lug

val en ontplooi

in ‘n verleidelike lyf-kragtigheid

kan my woord ‘n witwarm

lus in jou lendene ontketen?

kan my woord ‘n senuwee

laat span

en dit in ekstase laat

terugbons na sugtende bevrediging?

Consumer Frame

2011-08-13T13:05:00.002+02:00

Tonight I am performing poetry at a money-themed event in the City of Gold - Jozi! Here one of the poems>

(this poem i will be performing in a dress made of 2000 beerbottle-tops)

Consumer Frame

welcome, welcome to the

consumer frame

it multiplies to the millions

feeding straight from the conveyor belt

of the factory

to the conveyor belt of your tongue

rattle rattle rattle around your feet

in your mouth

in your stomach

in your eyes

in your ears

it has taken over the world

buy buy buy

and do not stop

anything but stop!

billboards scream in your sleep

use buy use buy use buy

consume churn

burn guzzle

over and over

rattle rattle rattle around your head

you get drunk

of too many options

row after row after row after row

you walk and turn

and walk and turn another corner

in this mad

consuming world

drunk drunk

drunk of too much

too much!

rattle rattle rattle in your stomach

what are we buying?

do YOU know what you are buying?

Yes, we know everything

we are enlightened

we are informed

the labels tell the honest truth with its

detailed and well-chosen scientific language

we feel safe and informed

they even throw in a few

soothing words:

discounts

free samples

buy and win

and two for the price of one

bigger and better

exclusive

instant

and express

genuine

original

odourless

and guaranteed

inspired

professional

great value

and be moved

because you’re worth it

and you are number one!

ah, i get happy and more assured

i read twice

just to make sure

yes,

they do indeed say:

our products are good

see for your yourself!

we even turned to whole foods

whole grain

extra grain

reduced fat

2 percent fat

low fat

no fat

bio friendly

bio-degradable

eco-enhanced

extra vitamins and minerals

high GI and lots of anti-oxidants

organic, free range and handpicked

unmodified and no MSG

no cholestrol

no sugar

no dairy

no wheat

no meat

everything

and nothing

rattle rattle rattle in your mind

your conscience tells you,

wait, reconsider, don’t be a consumerist fool

but you don’t listen

you just buy buy buy

queues can be long

prices can go up

credit crunch might crush

inflation rates rocket

stock exchange quiver and tremble

shake and rumble

consume consume consume!

a raging fire into the long hours of the night

rattle rattle rattle with all its might

stop! stop! stop

we consume

guzzle energy we do not need

energy we only imagine

in colours of tasty and luxurious inebriation

drink drink drink

till you can’t anymore

till i can’t anymore

you think it is you frame your needs

ah! it is they, the invisible they, that frame your needs

by seductive slogans cajoling you

flattering your buying power

you think YOU have the power

oh no! it is they that have the buying power

buying your soul

and throwing it to the dogs!

Street Woman

2011-08-11T08:53:00.001+02:00

Street Woman

she sneaks between the joints

she moves between the cracks

she jumps over the lines

she sniffs, she breathes the sliced clarity of this reality

she pushes through the dark alleys

always on the prowl

always on the lookout

looking forward and ahead

through the glimmer of oil-spills

she sees the ancestors of the streets

through the cracks in the pavements

she smells the verdant memory of forsaken forests
she is the street woman
her soul feels the rhythm of the unrest

her loins beat with the pulse of shifting stones

she sneaks between the joints

she moves between the cracks

she jumps over the lines

through dark pools she walks

and still she sees what is over there

in her lies
the wildness
and
the innocence

call her child

call her witch

call her the free roamin' bitch

like a feral cat

she weaves her way through dark and light

sometimes blind, sometimes seeing

she winds her tread over the uncertainties of skin and heart

stitching together the scattered remnants of ecstacy still found

in the pristine crevices of the heart

on the thought of unconditional love

2011-08-03T17:56:00.000+02:00

shakespeare once wrote Love is not love which alters / when it alteration finds / or bends with the remover to remove / Oh no, it is an ever fixed mark / that looks on tempests and is never shaken

it says something quite beautiful but it is rather lost in idealism that smells of suspect romanticism.

so now i start thinking of it - unconditional love.

to love

without conditions

without face

without fluid body

without beauty

without heart

without smell

without appeal or allure

without sound

without frown

without desire

without form

we love within conditions, even if it is at times such perfect imperfect conditions

there is no way that can i love unconditionally - no no NO!

unconditional love has no skin

no touch

no feel

no drunkeness

no fire

no thirst

no animal

no madness

no intoxification

no instinct

what WHAT

WHAT

do i want to do with such love?

uhm!?

the You

the I

are a condition that throbs with

conditional breathing

conditional blood

conditional sensuality

conditional hormonality

can i love the You unconditionally?

can you love the Me unconditionally?

free of space?

devoid of time?

can i love

the You without that look

the You without that depth of questing living

the You without voice

without skin

without head

without existence

then only can i love the You

- unconditionally -

when the You and the I

have stopped

existentualising

consciousnessificationising

and do i want that?

do I REALLY want to love unconditionally?

no, not me.

we are too alive to live unconditionally

to love unconditionally

i might have no religion

i might have no eternity

i might have no definition for what love is

but i have dependence on

my essense as

living being

i have sense

and

i have need

and that makes me out of love

with unconditional love

i will be liar

i will be charlatan

if i announce love to function unconditionally

unconditional love is that love

for the blind romantic idealists

- save their souls –

that love for the dedicated religious fanatics

- save their souls too !

give me rather love full of groping

and precarious conditions

i want to get drunk

on an overflow of

strivingly changing tempestuous temperamentality

i want to get lost and found in such

finely cut imperfect conditions

to be able to love within the bounds of conditions

means much more than loving in the limbo-istic space of unconditionalilty

i'll celebrate conditional love

on condition

that it is a love that acknowledges its limits

its un-eternity

so that we do not cling,

do not mould

love into an unfathomable pit of unconditions.

conditions is ultimately

what makes us love and live.

Suckers en dummies

2011-07-29T17:06:00.002+02:00

en in die dralende tye
wat gevul is met
karre
laptops
mense
borde kos
mondvol woorde
politieke weegskale
ekonomiese fokops
petrol
duur
wat jou
teneerdruk
wil ek sommer self
die kar
die laptop
die woorde
die weegskale
die fokops
die petrol
vat
en
in
een mikrogolfoond kook
- mét 'n koppiesuiker - tot dit lekker
kraakborrelbruin tameletjie word
sodat ons dit teen vanaand
soos
dummies
kan suig
en soos
suckers
kan oplek
en ons onsself
aan die soete slaap
kan oorgee

in die woorde van 'n ander

2011-07-27T01:14:00.001+02:00

Francois le Roux, musikant, skrywer, globale reisiger en Groot Inspirasie,
wie my al 7 jaar lank ken en met wie ek al vele kreatiewe en
emosionele paaie gestap het, skryf die volgende aan my:

jy waag so sterk
om met woord en tong
by die rouwees van mensheid te kom
sonder die souslaag van ‘n god
wat als van bo-af verplot

jy waag om naak jou wese te bewoord:
dat dit jou eie sap is wat in jou are stoot
om die waarheid te sê:
dit is jy wat jouself vergod:
die wees van self is goddelik

dit is jy wat jouself vorm uit die klei van die stof
van die aarde wat modder is
dit is jy wat jouself WIL.

en dit is hier waar beide godsdiens en wetenskap nog terugdeins
nie een wil terugkruip binne die vel
nie een wil erken
dat daar die EK is wat ook tel
die EK wat speel deur al die eeue heen
die EK wat lê in elke ding
selfs die klip
en die bok wat spring
die voël wat sing en die blaar wat verkleur

binne elk lê die EK wat wil
en vorm en skeur
en wat telkens nader aan ‘n Self wil beur

godsdiens spring daarbuite oor
wil alles deur ‘n god se bril laat boor
verplaas die Wil na Bo.

en die wetenskap?
dit wil die Wil ook nie erken
en skuif dit oor na wette en toevalligheid
alles buite ons
buite ons
buite ons

en hier kom jy
en klim uit die aarde uit en sê:
dis Ek, mense, dit is Ek wat myself vorm
wat voel
wat beweeg
wat die toekoms wil.

dis ek wat my evolusie stuur
OOK ek, ja, ek word ook GEvorm
maar in die middel staan ek

en geen godsdienstelike of wetenskaplike
kan daarom die antwoord bied
vir waarom
lewe
is

met jou dans
en met jou forse waag
bring jy dit na ons:
dat lewe is
omdat dit WIL WEES.

TANKWA I LOVE YOU!

2011-07-24T17:05:00.002+02:00

Last year was the first time that I went to the Afrika Burn Festival in the Tankwa Karoo. I was struck by the natural interaction taking place between the festival-goers - no one needs to explain or define themselves, there is no apologist, sorry-i'm-living-feel in the air. You express, sing, dance, shout and jubilate as your heart desire. Yet there is an innate respect for one another, an unconditioned sense of giving, community and a playful decency. A structured hierarchy is not implemented. Everyone relates with each other on a very grounded level. Like children. Layered societal complexities fall away to make place for a simpler and more honest relating.

I used to think that I have a bit of an irreverent streak in me, as the following piece of writing I wrote after last year's Burn will attest to . But after contributing to the free expression at Afrika Burn I realise that I simply have an iconoclastic tendency that needs to be released. And in the Tankwa I can express freely and instinctively without frowns or reprimands thrown my way.

- - -

i once sat outside the Settlers Monument in Grahamstown

in a short skirt, rather unrefined with legs sprawled all over the floor

a woman came walking up to me and said

would you mind sitting more properly with your legs closed please

i was numbed and all i could do

was to scream deep inside

FUCK YOU!

i once lay in the middle of a corridor in a hotel in Windhoek, Namibia

the rooms were stifling hot and small

my partner had all his recording stuff cluttered on the bed

a family of four walked past on the way to their room

the next day we found a neatly written letter saying

please do not lie in the passage way, it embarrases my children

i was numbed and all i could do

was to scream deep inside

FUCK YOU!

i once walked barefoot in a town in France, next to lake Geneva

a bitter old man kept walking behind me muttering

pied nu, imbecile! which i could understand with my elementary French as bare feet, imbecile!

i kept on walking pretending not to understand

and too dumbstruck to respond in my elementary French screamed deep inside

FUCK YOU!

i once played a piano recital with a short red dress, bare feet and unshaven legs

one of my friends that was in the audience phoned me up later and told me

the concert was great but please next time shave your legs

i was numbed and all i could do

was to scream deep inside

FUCK YOU!

once my cousin saw me climb in my hippy red, blue and yellow coloured car

he told me with a smooth self-assurance in his voice

i will be embarrased to be seen driving in a car like that

i was numbed and all i could do

was to scream deep inside

FUCK YOU!

i once told a friend of mine that

i have a dream to have a film crew filming me as i walk completely in the nude down

Commissioner street in centre Jo-burg

he blushed in silence and all he could muster was

just be careful, a man might get ideas and rape you

i was numbed and all i could do

was to scream deep inside

FUCK YOU!

i once went to the Tankwa, performed poetry in the nude

and there were people who respected and applauded me

i got goosepumps all over my arse and breasts and

deep inside i screamed

TANKWA, I LOVE YOU

April 2010

A vision of the Essensual Beginning

2011-07-21T22:44:00.000+02:00

In Hogsback I live on the property of deep-ecology artist Diana Graham, The Ecology Shrine (www.ecoshrine.co.za). I feel at home here, utterly myself and at peace. My mind and body gets a thrill each time I see the view of the Amathola Mountains from the front door. Through all seasons this place never ceases to enchant. Yet when it is firefly season the garden has an added allure. To be able to call this home for some odd months of the year gives my nomadic bones a very needed sense of rootedness. The Shrine has inspired me to many a writing. Here one of them >

The Shrine

A vision of the Essensual Beginning

in the beginning there was

the sound

the vibration

in the beginning there was you

you in all

and all in you

in the beginning there was the dark space

lighted by throbbing fireflies

in the beginning this was the Shrine

that would enclose you

as you walk in

a place of far and close

wet and dry

young and old

growth and death

in the beginning it was it all

all that could be felt and heard and seen

and smelt and tasted

and it was good

in the beginning there was no word

nothing was said

only slow deep breathing

pulsing life through

thoughtlessness

in the beginning there was no ideas

or vision

of future

just pristine vacuity

a clarity of

The Now

A pure presence of the senses

nothing more

nothing less

simply

Essensuality

Die Oer-Pols

2011-07-18T16:46:00.000+02:00

Hier is my digterlike interpretasie van die seksuele smagting...

Die Oer-Pols - geskryf en voorgelees deur Lara by Lara Kirsten 1

Die oer-pols

Dit is dit wat stoot

wat gryp

wil uitbars in raserny van instink

dit pols dit sluk

selle wat die oer-oorsprong van één wees wil nastreef

ons kan veronderstel aan die begin

was een bang

een broei-poel

een godsvinger

wat lewe meervoudig getoor het

so gaan dit met die skeppingsdrang

dit is 'n oorlewingsdrang

en om te oorleef moet

die peristalse van sluk

en hyg en stoot

die lewe meegaan

Dit is die bymekaarkom

die aantrekking van water-gebaseerde organismes

in kwiksilwer-sparteling

Dit is 'n oomblik van saamhoort wat meestal eintlik wil afstoot

efemere rekonsiliering van teenpolige vlees

Dit is spoeg en suig

verwonding en heling

Dit is paradoks vasgevang in die verstrengeling van ledemate

Dit is daardie soektog na die oer-pols wat

gewalg het aan die eerste suurstofsel

daardie eerste asemteug van lewe

verbasing en skok dat lewe so moet pols om

aan die lewe te bly

daardie vibrasie en verrukking van lyf teen lyf

is die uitlewing van die ingebore ritme

wat met ons gekettingde sosiologie verward geraak het

Dit is die metrum van vertering

die oerdier-opslurping van versadiging

die wegskram van uit-tering

die afweer van die onhygendheid van die dood

Boheem

2011-07-17T12:22:00.000+02:00

hoe kan ek opstaan vir myself

ek wat nie huis het

nie 'n betroubare eenkleurige kar nie

geen mediese fonds

geen lewensassuransie?

hoe kan ek vir myself opstaan met kieriebeen-arms

hoes-bors, afgekoude vingernaels en lae rugpyn

hoe kan ek vir myself opstaan?

ek het geen aandele

ek kan skaars politiek ekonomie of godsdiens gesels

ek is nie 'n bedrewe namedropper nie

ek praat nie die "lingo" nie

ek staan vir myself op deur my hardnekkige lus vir vryheid

noem dit boheems

ek hou van die kleurvolheid

die geurvolheid

die polsende ritmes

wat die woord oproep

hoe kan 'n boheem 'n gypsy

'n hippie vir haarself opstaan?

kan haar stringe krale

kan haar kruie-tuin

haar spruite

haar rou groente

haar red?

hoe staan ek vir myself op?

op my se twee kaalpote

met my andersheid

my ongetemdheid
my nuuskierigheid

met die vryheid om relatief los te staan

van 'n burokratiese grysheid

daar is een toneel in die boek Don Quixote waar die predikant van die dorp die Don se huis invaar en al sy boeke verbrand - meeste van die boeke handel oor die knight-errants, ontdekkingsreise ens . die dorp het gedink dit sal die antwoord wees op quixote se wilde verbeeldingsreise. nee dit het dit nie gestop nie - hy het self die pad ingeval opsoek na avontuur en na sy geliefde Dulcinea.

dis my (boheemse) ondergang: die boeke wat ek lees.. aai te veel Zorba the Greek, Hermann Hesse, Jack Kerouac, Laurie Lee, Uys Krige, John Steinbeck, Tolstoy, Pasternak. die lewe van die haweloses, die reisigers, die uitverstotenes, die soektogters, die hand-tot-mond lewe. dis nie maklik nie, maar dis volbloedig. dis alleen. dis ryk. dis vreesaanjaend. dis uitbundig. dis onrustig. dis inspirerend.

wat my so aantrek tot die lewe wat ek lei is die onsekerheid, die verrassende vorms wat die dae aanneem van 'n roetine-lose bestaan. (wees gerus, baie hippies beland uiteindelik in die groot korporatiewe maalstroom en maak miljoene, skaamteloos! do not fret! ons is nie hele-mal aan ons eie devices oorgelaat nie, iewers sal 'n sisteem ons aan die hals beetpak en ons saamsleep. our redemption is close!)

kyk vir madame chocolatier in die film Chocolate. 'n corny maar gepaste voorbeeld. sy is anders. sy kan nie stil sit. is sy optimaal gelukkig? nee. kry sy vreugde uit die deel van eerlike vriendskap? ja.

wie is optimaal gelukkig?

ek probeer myself omring met dit wat mooi en uitdagend is. mense. musiek. kleure. beweging. kuns. natuur.

die tye wat ek "present" is, aanwesig in my lyf my hart en my kop is wanneer ek op my gelukkigste is. wanneer ek nie jaag na 'n doelwit, hyg na perfeksie, smag na vervulling. daai plek waar die bewussyn juig om eenvoudig net wakker te wees.

dis nie boedhistiese airyfairy goete nie. dis eenvoudig 'n vreugde put uit dit wat hier en nou is.

die wonderwerk van die lewe te vier.

ons doen dit te min.

ek leef teen my leeftempo. ek leef intens, maar stadig. ek vat lank om te groei met dinge. ja, ek kan vinnig leef. ek het. maar ek wil nie meer. ek leef nie die op-die-stoep-sit-lewe nie. maar daar is 'n aantrekking daarnatoe. hoe baie mense se hulle wens hulle kan minder doen, en meer leef.

ek leef

ek byt

ek proe

ek kou

dis soet

dis bitter

dis opdraend

dis huil

dis val

en dit is weer opstaan

Still Life

2011-07-15T12:28:00.000+02:00

in the look of my eye

silent in the eternal moment

that is where i want

to be

for you

just like a still life

hanging on your wall

chiaruscorically

calling your eyes

to the light and darkness

of my

speechless being

in die kyk van my oë

stil in die ewige oomblik

is dit waar ek

wil wees

vir jou

net soos 'n stillewe wat

teen jou muur hang

chiaruscories

jou oog roep

na die

lig en donker

van my

sprakelose wese

as jy van naai hou lees verder

2011-07-13T15:18:00.001+02:00

soos sekere van julle al agtergekom het is ek mal daaroor om met woorde te naai (-;

hier is my

stof tot naaidenke

hulle se mos jy sal saai wat jy naai. en soms sal jy naai wat jy saai.

ja jinne, alles is 'n naaiery.

met ons highbrow naaivorsing, fancy naaislaanboeke en ons hordes naaigraadse studies het ons uiteindelik besef ons deel almal een great en mighty naaisionaliteit. of jy nou 'n naaipolitaner, naaimakwalanders of naaizi is mag jy naai net wie jy fokken lus het.

met ernstige naaibetragting kom ek agter dat hierdie spel op aarde een groot naai-apery is. net naaibootsings en naaipratery waar jy kyk. waarlik kan ons nie teen ons naaituur baklei nie.

sekere kenners beweer dit is 'n knaende naairosis, maar ek dink ons is net te damn naaiskierig! en kyk waar het dit ons gebring - 'n wonderlike spul naaisate met 'n glorious naailatenskap.

ek kan dit nie genoeg benaaidruk nie, maar ons is almal genuine en naaigemaak.

selfs naaidoodse ondersoeke toon dat die naaiskokke van 'n goeie naaiery jou summier na die hiernaaimaals stuur.

ja, laat ons meer naailatig en naaiywerig wees en hierdie naailope met volle bors en spier hardloop.

ons sal naaiderhand die rowwe see's met toe oe naaivigeer tensy ons naaistreef om die beste naaiers moontlik te wil wees. die naaigevolge sal 'n soete naaismaak in die mond laat...

naaispel en naaiskrif: the time is naai to NAAI

suiwerste troos

2011-07-08T13:37:00.001+02:00

Suiwerste troos geskryf en voorgelees deur Lara Kirsten by Lara Kirsten 1

Hierdie gedig is geskryf op aanvraag van Hugh Hodge - die redigeerder van New Contrast, die Kaapstad gebaseerde letterkundige joernaal. In 2010 het hierdie publikasie sy 50ste bestaansjaar gevier met 'n spesiale uitgawe van 'n wye verskeidenheid essays, gedigte, "reviews" ens. Hugh wou he ek moes in my moedertaal 'n poe''tiese brug bou tussen toe en nou. Dit was 'n uitdaging veral omdat ek net twee dae gegee is om betyds die "deadline" te maak en omdat hy my laat weet het dat die digter wat net voor my in hierdie uitgawe gedruk gaan word is ... Ingrid Jonker!

suiwerste troos

van daar tot hier loop ek oor die sillabes van die hart
voel ek aan die polsende metrum ons knaende smart
trap ek in doolhowe waardeur ons tonge steier
sodat ek die dringende instinkte van die keel nie kan weier

dit is tot hier waar ons bekgevegte gekom het om my sinne
tot stilstand te ruk en my digterlike motief te heroorweeg:
dit is 'n hygende begeerte om self-woord te pleeg
sodat die volk die diepere uitdagings van ons bestaan kan beleef

die soektog bly tril in die wande van my mond
ek kan nie wag tot die verbale revolusie gaan woed
en ons ons eie sweepslae wat die kragtige verbeelding verwond
met die purgatoriese vlamme-tong tot 'n einde gaan roep

nou kan ek helder die lied van my voorgangers sing
sodat die hoop van die taal ver en wyd uitkring
op die vlaktes van hierdie tong staan ek trots en vreesloos
die suising van my taal die suiwerste troos

19 nov 2010

buitelyn

2011-07-07T21:15:00.001+02:00

buitelyn

laat ek jou buitelyn wees

geen inkleur

geen passie

geen traanklier

geen hart

geen binnenste

net 'n buitenste

lyn

met buitelyne kan ek werk -

dit

vloei

een-voud-dig

die

omtrek

van

wese

Re-visiting The Tankwa

2011-07-05T14:20:00.000+02:00

uit premordiale modder

sif ek ledemate, boude en dye

brei ek die spiere van my lyf

met die klei van die aarde

dat wanneer ek tot niet gaan

die grond-aarde my lyf makliker kan herken en verstaan

en sonder moeite my selle kan verteer

en my siel tot in die hartsaarde kan assimileer

i have looked over the world

and did not find myself at home in the shade of trees

next to rivers or in the embrace of mountains

i have looked over the world

and found myself in the barren Tankwa

the place that taught me to count the waterdrops

with my tongue

Thanks to all the photographers at Afrika Burn who captured my performing!

when a calligrapher and poet meet

2011-07-04T16:35:00.003+02:00

photos: anja wiehl & andrew van der merwe

How does a calligrapher flatter a poet? by calligraphing her poem in the beach sand of Plettenbergbay. Andrew wrote/calligraphed a line of my poem Afrika-gedig into the sand (photo in the middle right). the line reads as follows: met hierdie gedig wil ek nie sin maak nie.

And what a sense of humour this calligrapher has! I just HAVE to share one of our dialogues we engaged in on facebook: (Afrikaans-speakers will specifically enjoy the word-play)

A: i must object to being called a calligra-fist :)

L: okay, what wld you like to call yourself?

A: Calligraphile

L: ah, i like that!

A: Kalli-grappie?

A: Call me a calligrapher or I'll give you the calligfinger

L: LOL, you so funny i can not focus on my blog post... but keep them rolling and kielie-graphing my delighted laughing muscles!

Andrew's work is astounding. Go have a look at more of his work at http://www.behance.net/beachscriber/frame

andrew with his calli-tools (photos: alison bannister)

site_specific

2011-07-03T20:21:00.004+02:00

Lara performing her Stone Poem in Plettenbergbay at Site_Specific Land Art event, 24 May 2011. photo: Timothy Twidle

In the beginning of May I met the wellknown South African land artist Strijdom van der Merwe for a cup of tea in Stellenbosch. He mentioned that he is going to be part of South Africa's first Land Art event Site_Specific hosted in Plettenbergbay in May this year. My senses immediately stood on end – I have lots of admiration for this type of artistic expression – seeing that it uses mostly natural material in a natural environment. Land Art relies strongly on photography, because most of this art is momentary/ephemeral expressions – wind and water can come at a whim and whisk it away. Strijdom and I briefly discussed a way of how I can contribute. I love performing my poetry in nature and using found objects in my poetry. I was so happy that Strijdom created an opening for me to contribute to Site_Specific.

Nature is such a poetic and theatrical space where my poetry can truly take flight . I felt honoured that the artists created moments for me to interact with their work. Thanks especially to Simon Max Bannister, Andrew van der Merwe and Gordon Froud for letting me dialogue with their art via my poetry. As some of you following my blog have noticed, the past year I have found lots of animation from fire, clay, soil, stone. To be part of this very earth-inspired event has spurred my creativity even more.

Yet I must confess, my energies have been scattered a lot with the Afrika Burn and Site_Specific events - so much stimulation and sharing primal and elemental beauty. Besides utter enchantment with the Burnings, the Creativity and the Love, sleep deprivation was one effect that in time overtook me. I overrode the fatigue and pushed forth wanting to be so much part of these incredible expressive experiences. As much as I was being earthed, I was at the same time being unearthed. That is the life of Lara. I want to share and experience so much yet I have to make peace with the boundaries of my body and soul.

Thanks to all that have shared their hearts and creativity with me. My heart is so filled-up with the hope that this world still has wholesome and beautiful places to explore and be part of. AND my gratitude goes to all for supporting my form of expression. It is a very lonely and daunting task at times.

Applause to Strijdom van der Merwe and his vibrant team who created and organised such a great event as Site_Specific (http://www.sitespecific.org.za/).

Here a poem I performed during the event:

Stone poem

my poem is stone which i lay down in your hand

feel the lines, the shape,

the contours, the textures

you need no eyes to see this poem

you need no ears to hear this poem

FEEL the organica that was purged

by the heaven's fire

into hardy inhabitant of this clay-earth

my poem is stone which i lay down in your hand

feel the weight weighing down

like the fertile earthiness of breasts

into the hollow of your hand

this stone is poem which i lay down in your hand

feel the sound, feel the metaphor,

feel the rhythm and rhyme

break open in soft sand between your fingers

smear this soft powder on your cheeks:

i anoint you the expectant mother

who conceives sand

gives birth to stone

and raises it to mountain

The poetry of photography

2011-07-02T12:21:00.004+02:00

I partook in a multi-media collaboration Op het Punt van aanraken with Spanish-Dutch photographer, Carmen Gonzalez and music improviser, Francois le Roux (The Ha!Man) at the Het Podium theatre, The Netherlands, 2009. The theme explored aanraken ie touch on a sensual, erotic and spiritual level.

Initially Carmen sent me her photographs and I started adding poetry to them; soon a beautiful dialogue between image and word unfolded. The photos were projected onto a big screen on the back of the stage, while I performed around the images and Francois' evocative music - quite a theatrical experience!

View more of Carmen's hauntingly beautiful photographs http://www.flickr.com/photos/solea/

Here are six (of the 36) photographs>

spelonk

my lyf lê soos ‘n oop poel

kom klim met jou kale lyf binne my

laat ek weer my elke bloeddruppel voel

met jou vlees wat deur my water spelonk sny

swart vlinder

jy is die swart vlinder wat

op my lippe kom land

ek kan skaars asemhaal

met jou fluweel vlerke

wat teatraal my

mond annekseer

verdwaalde skadu-wese

die verdwaalde skadu-wesens van die dig-geslote vertrek

verlang na die warmte tussen jou bo-bene

smag na die soele gehyg van jou asem

hunker na die bloed wat so vlak op

die vel in miljoene digte takke tril

skadu-wesens verlang na die warm aanraking van jou vel

honger na die driedimensionaliteit van jou kniekoppe

kwel oor jou polsende borste

en wil weer gevind raak in die donker holtes

van jou lyf

drinkezusters

wellustig is die aanraking van tong

teen die koel drup drup van sensualiteit

drup drup langs die wande van my mond

deur die gange van my keel tot

onder waar dit in die warm holte

van my oop lyf uitstort

en weer van voor begin

wellustig is die aanraking van been

teen hand vryf die erotika

vryf oor die binnewaaie van my been

langs die dye van my onrus tot

daar waar dit hygend tot stotterende

sillabes vanuit my lippe

aarde toe val

wellustig is die aanraking van hitte teen hitte

golwend en botsend teen mekaar

en deurmekaar tot sweet uitpêrel op vel

en stringe van my

en stringe van jou aanmekaar ryg

en dorstige monde tonge uitwerp opsoek na
daardie eerste druppel van versadiging

bitch

sal jy my nog aanraak as
ek die kop van 'n hond het
en die lyf van 'n vrou?

boudoir

kyk maar moenie raak
wil hê maar moenie raak
reik uit maar moenie raak
begeer maar moenie raak
hunker na maar moenie raak
honger maar moenie raak
dors maar moenie raak
kwyl maar moenie raak
wellus maar moenie raak

The Elusive Spring

2011-07-01T19:21:00.000+02:00

I met a land artist, Simon Bannister at the First International Land Art event, hosted in Plettenbergbay, 22-29 May. Our hearts are very much in the same place - in the wild elements of nature. I want to write so much about him. Yet I think for now I will let the poetry speak for now : we engaged in a poetic dialogue playing the roles of various "elemental characters". Here his re-mix of the dialogue>

The Elusive Spring (remix) by NATURE

I am the seed ignited with soular light
budding with urgency to taste my kindred elements tonight
Long I've travelled to find the sweet truth of the African dust
The dark waters of your trust

I am that ripple astir in the dark flesh of earth
the great memory of all life that has thundered before me
I am the stars reflected, the dust, the water, the rain
Those streaks of light that wound so deep

I am the thirst, my falling leaves playing the scales of universal love
while your willful light dances before me
Deeper my wild roots yearn for your sanctuary
the forests and mountains, the unity

It is the tip-ends of my tenacious roots that beat fiercest
through the wild darkness
to find that rarest and sweetest of water
longing for your love

With this kiss, I transform
With this moment, i now see
The spark of your molecular truth
the elusive spring, the spell you cast on me

As the seismic dance of our hearts, warms to earth's mercurial nature
the inflamed rhythm beats,
the primal pulse, spinning the infinity
selfless eternal wanderlust

Cut me down, I do not care, for I am taken with life,
into the ground I will return to feed another maker
All that remains to be done is to celebrate
This ephemeral brilliance of our fate

hotel bedford

2011-06-27T16:59:00.001+02:00

ek het in 'n vorige post (22 Junie) oor die GREAT oosthuysen-familie geskryf waar ek tydens my fiets-reis in die oos-kaap in februarie 2011 oorgebly het. in kort : 'n familie wat hulle deur en harte vir my oopgemaak het, sonder om my van 'n bar of soap te ken. chop-chop het die ys gesmelt, die soundsystems uitgerol, gepartykie laat die biesies bewe. die pa, andre, het vir my 'n CD opgeneem waarop ek 50 minute se klaviermusiek speel. my eerste vol-lengte opname! ek het laas week een van die tracks op my blog opgelaai. hou die spasie dop > nog meer gaan volg(-;

hulle seun, diaan, het die sondag oggend "Hotel California". saam met sy kitaar gesing - wat 'n engel van 'n stem. ek het die woorde van die song http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/eagles/hotelcalifornia.html gevat en dit omskep in >>>

hotel bedford

vir die oosthuysens in bedford

op 'n helder ooskaap straat, warm wind in my hare
koel geur van skaduwee's wat oprys deur die blare
daar voor aan die groen kant van die straat
hoor ek hoe glimmerende klanke met my praat
my voete groei vlerke en my oë word helder
ek't gestop vir die nag of drie
daar staan julle in die deur
ek hoor hoe adam blaf
en ek dink by myself,
'hierdie is die knus sonhuis EN die koel oase van 'n sterregewelf'
julle vat my fiets en wys my die weg
daar was stemme deur die gang,
wat aan my ore kom hang...

welkom by Hotel Bedford
so 'n lieflike plek
wat jou gees en lyf opwek
soveel liefde en plesier in Hotel Bedford
enige tyd van die dag
kan jy dit daar vind sonder om te soek of te wag
haar stem is die van 'n aktrise, sy het 'n huis van spieëls en klippe
en 'n fan-club van kinders en engele wat hang aan haar rooi, rooi lippe
sy het baie mooi, mooi drome wat sy op haar vlerke neem
en hoe ons kon dans in die valentynsnagte
soele sweet en soene bly klou alomheen
sommige dans om te lewe, sommige lewe om te dans!

so roep ek die kaggaberg,
asseblief, bring my 'n glas koelte
hy antwoord, 'sorrie, ons is uit; ons het dit nog laas bedien in die
voorjaar se soelte'
en nogsteeds klink die stemme van hier naderby
wek hulle geeste in die middel van die dag wat agter my kuite bly ingly
en ek hoor hulle sê...

welkom by Hotel Bedford
so 'n lieflike plek
wat jou gees en lyf opwek'
soveel liefde en plesier in Hotel Bedford
enige tyd van die dag
kan jy dit daar vind sonder om te soek of te wag
hulle weet hoe om te lewe in Hotel Bedford
wat 'n wonderlike plek om die tyd te verwyl
daar waar jy in die oase se skadu's kan skuil;
die liedere van 'n suiwer seunstem kan hoor sing
en die sketse van 'n meisiehand oral om jou sien uitkring

kitare teen die muur
koffie op die vuur
en hy sê, 'kom speel die klawers van die yamaha,
ek sal jou opneem vir die nageslag, sê net ja'
en tussen die klankmeester se kabels
roep ek my galoperende vingers bymekaar
en ek speel diep in die rekenaar se geheue in
en voel en hoor hoe die klanke my hart oorwin

...

die laaste ding wat ek onthou, ek't my rooi perd opgesaal teen 'n wolklose
lug
en uit die hittegolwe van Poseidon gevlug
ek kon die roep van die pad nie langer ignoreer
om die lesse van die swerwers verder te leer
die portier sê,

ons is geprogrammeer om liefde te gee en te ontvang.
jy kan enige tyd jou gang gaan
maar jou hart sal bly om na Hotel Bedford te verlang.

24 februarie 2011

Letter to a cameraman at Afrika Burn

2011-06-26T16:27:00.002+02:00

I have written in a previous post about my disjointedness about seeing a performance of myself at Afrika Burn on youtube. The cameraman, Gilles Chevalier, a charming man with a wonderful eye and spirit has posted the youtube video a bit more than a week ago. I saw some great footage of his of the Afrika Burn experience. Initially when i saw the video of me performing i was very positively moved, but since then people have been questioning me about nude Afrika Burn photos/videos that is doing the rounds . thanks to all for the interaction. yet it has all made me feel more unresolved than before. the best thing i could think of doing was to write to Gilles.

Dear Gilles,

i knew somewhere along the line you would read my "dilemma" blog i posted a few days ago. it has been such whirling times in my soul the past week. contradictory times. it is my first week that i have been so fully present on facebook, watching videos and surfing the net. i used to be very anti social media, mainly because of the "unreal" spatial aspect of it. but now i see more of the good qualities in it, like it's brilliant power of communication.

in the past week i have had so many conversations about the nudity thing that my brain is so split. i know you say the problem is not me being topless in the video, but my performance itself and the sound quality of the video. yet i think it ALL plays a role in my mental uprootedness.

(to see the video of me and Justin inserted in the Fata Morgana youtube film by Herman van Wyk that i have seen after your one, did not challenge me – and strange – there i was in the complete nude. maybe the reasons for this is that the video is mainly centered around the burning of the Fata Morgana, it is quite celebratory and the inserted footage of me and Justin is rather fleeting. the video is much shorter, just under 2 minutes and it is less intense and raw.)

to view your video stirs a few things. it is my first full on youtube appearance of a raw performing piece – a piece that literally goes back to the soil of the earth to discover a more primal, elemental power of being. even if i did it as a public performance at Afrika Burn, it was a very personal and intimate journey with my own Self, within the universal theme of heritage and creativity. i had my reservations about performing it. you mention that the sound quality is not the best, one does not hear my voice completely - that could not be helped. it is one of those things with performing the way i do in the tankwa - the space is SO big and scattered and people are all over the place. it is impossible with an unplugged voice to reach everyone (and the camera mic). And the other thing is that the video is a shortened version (about 11 minutes) of the whole 30-40 minute performance, not conveying the complete narrative< but hey, i understand youtube exhibits videos that are striking, short and sweet (-;

my main statement in my "dilemma" blogpost of seeing your video was me feeling uprooted and out of place > it is not the video and the nudity that made me uneasy - it is the context in which it is placed - one of the wi(l)dest platforms of social media - youtube. there has been one person verbalizing to me that i make too much fuss of it all. yet i believe my feeling about this displacement is valid. to take nudity out of its natural context and paste it onto a wider "Public Wall" will stir many. it has stirred me. if i stand naked it may appear as a confidence in myself. which it is. yet it is a vulnerable confidence - a naked and expressive body and soul that still craves to feel "together, protected and contained".

all the good friends i have made at Afrika Burn, including you, have given me such a solid sense of belonging. i have never felt quite so inspired, challenged, free, loved and so incredibly happy as at Afrikaburn. it is a very kindred connection that joins the Afrika Burners together. that connectedness is not present in cyberspace. that is exactly one of the reasons for creating festivals like Afrika Burn - to bring people together in REAL time and REAL space, to unlock mythical and primal energies in ourselves; to express our souls in an extraordinary togetherness in an age where our souls are being so challenged and chopped up to fit into "default" roles ruled by distorted and unnatural man-made norms and systems.

as i told you in my previous mails, the visuals of your video is so incredibly striking, the composition and editing so beautifully done. forgive me for not mentioning the good qualities of the video in my pervious blog. that was pure neglicence on my part by being so spaced out by all these external dialogues happening. i have been quite so exuberantly alive and expressing myself at Afrika Burn. to be back in the post-Afrika Burn space, unleashes so many afterthoughts and questions from varied people. lines have been blurred there. i love the blurring! yet i am back in the default world and somehow i need to function here as well; it is hard, but i do. is the Net part of the default world? do i need to care so much? i want to be so ferociously myself in ALL spaces. so i have to make peace with my full being being present in ALL these spaces. i can not be so fussy. i should relax about all of this. be cool and let myself flow, as i know i can. this is why i have joined the cyberspace and facebook community. there is value to be got and added there.

if you ask me the question now: would i like to have the video on youtube, i would answer "Yes". man has recorded their journey since time immemorial – from rock paintings all the way to youtube. let me not be fearful of this story of mine being told and recorded.

seeing that i mentioned my "dilemma" with this youtube video in a previous post, i think it necessary to post this letter as a resolution. Gilles, no hard feelings from my side. i am happy that you made a great video. i am simply a feral woman fearing any form of captivity. but then, one is only free when one has stopped fearing.

Lara

To my fellow Afrika Burners - a poem for you all

2011-06-24T09:09:00.000+02:00

I miss my Burning Family so much. You had crept deep into my heart.

I want to share a poem with you

The Pulse of Fire

from this wild dance i stumble over my feet

the wild energy

still clinging around my calves

i tiptoe guardedly with

the pulse of fire that pumps firelight through my veins

it can only be fertile fire

that is so alive

and colours my blood red-hot

so that I can look out over the plains

like newly fired clay

and feel decades of survive

beating through my blood

the fever of the will charges through the flaming tunnels

with an insistent rhythmica

it reforms my feet into

primitive pulsations of dance

that flames over the skin of earth

taughtly strung muscles tremble ritualistically

like resonating songs over vocal chord and plains

yes, indeed! fire's captured energy knows no equal

fire speaks in one language

that all clay and skin fathom without cerebrality

it is the embrace of fire

that teaches us to love

it is the unrest of fire

that teaches us to know no peace

unquenchable phrases of fire

siss steam sing

fired body is now alone,

in her vitrified melancholy,

so fiercely alone

photo: Francois le Roux

Direction of Fish / Rigting van Vis

2011-06-23T16:35:00.007+02:00

In March this year I was part of a colloborative exhibition/show in Parktown, Jhb. The fellow artist was sculptor Coenie Strydom. He assembled 18 of his ceramic and cement sculptures for which I wrote 18 complementing poems. Here are two of the pieces >

rigting van vis I

vis-kop-en-vin wys die rigting aan

waar ons heen moet gaan:

na die water-katedrale

waar ongehoorde liedere

deur wier en alg breek

en die water-hamonieё

my lyf be-vin

en my ge-aard-heid

distilleer tot

hierdie nuwe

vis-bestaan

direction of fish I

head and fin of fish show the direction

in which we must go:

to the water cathedrals

where unheard songs

break through moss and kelp

and the harmonies of water

re-fin my body

and distil

my being into

this new

fish existence

rigting van vis II

soos katedrale-klanke
klink die see deur die holtes
van die skeletale oorblyfsel van
vis
roep sy oogholtes hunkerend
na die nat glimmer vinne
wat eens die soet smaak van die getye

geproe het
-

direction of fish II

the sea sounds like cathedral timbres

through the cavities

of the skeletal remnants of

fish

the hollow of his eyes calls longily

to the wet glimmer fins

that once tasted the sweetness

of the speed of tides

Pols van Vuur

2011-06-22T18:42:00.004+02:00

Pols van Vuur by Lara Kirsten

Herewith my first sound appearance on my blog! It is me improvising on the piano!

[play the track while reading the poem below]

I am playing on an electronic piano of the Oosthuyzen family I met in February this year in the quaint Eastern Cape town of Bedford. It was during my first cycle journey of the year; I stopped over at the schools in the small towns and gave workshops in Afrikaans poetry and where there was a piano at hand, we made music as well!

I was staying over at the hostel of the Bedford Country School when friend, Hessie in J-Bay suggested I make contact with the Oostuyzen family living just next to the school. Hessie emphasized that they have a sound studio (-; I loaded my bike, waved the school kiddies goodbye and trekked next door. I made contact and lo and behold, this vibrant family opened up their home for me for the entire weekend. Andre Oosthuyzen, his wife Rika and their two beautiful children, Diaan and Coreen are the "music" and "arty" family in Bedford.

And what a weekend we had. It was Valentinesday the Saturday and sommer in a jiffy they organised that I play piano for the Dance that evening. Andre is also a brilliant DJ, so after the formality of dinner and civilized piano music we had the djol of our lives. You can not imagine that a mother of two can party so exuberantly as Rika! Go Girl!

Anyway to get back to the recording - I never thought I would do a recording on an electronic instrument; I just prefer the wood, ebony and ivories of a REAL piano. Yet I grabbed the opportunity when Andre suggested the idea of recording. On the Sunday in their livingroom, amidst noises coming from the television, computer games and chattering I recorded a 50 minute CD. (That is the wonder of this electronic instrument - you play directly into the computer so no external noises are picked up.) Andre, well-versed in sound engineering quickly sorted all the tracks and voila, burnt the CD and gave it to me to take on my journey. The collection of 23 tracks is a mix of classics, blues, jazz and improvisations. I have used the CD as a demo; and it has been opening a few doors of opportunity and sharing!

To have ones music on disc is such a powerful tool. And even more powerful now that I have discovered the tools of the internet and uploaded a track onto The Net. Technological gadgets and programs are so much part of our First World existence, and yet I am dumbstruck by the possibilities and convenience it adds to one's life.

The track featuring here was inspired by a filmmaker and friend of mine in Stellenbosch, Pierre Lombard. I initially called the track "Son op die R63". I had visions of Pierre making a short film of this long and beautiful road, the R63. I cycled on that road in the sweltering heat of that February sun. I now changed it to "Die pols van Vuur" (The pulse of Fire). My Afrikaans poem below adds an extra dimension to the music. Read, listen and enjoy!

die pols van vuur

uit die wilde dans steier ek

die wilde pas

nog taai om my kuite

trippel ek vreesbevange met

die pols van vuur wat fakkels deur my are pomp

dit kan net vrugbare vuur wees

wat so lewendig in my binnenste kom sit

en my vel rooi-warm verkleur

sodat ek soos ‘n nuut gepoleerde beeld

oor die plein staar

en dekades van survive

in my rooi bloed voel klop

die koors van die wil kom met die vlamme-tonnels

deurgelei met ‘n indringerige ritmika

dit hervorm my voete tot

primitiewe passies dans

wat vlam oor die vel van aarde se kontinente van klip

styfgespande spiere tril ritualisties

soos uitgegilde liedere oor stemband en vlaktes tril

ja, wragtig! hierdie vasgevange energie ken geen gelyke

vuur praat in een taal

wat alle klei en vel sonder serebraliteit kan verstaan

dis die omhelsing van vuur

wat ons leer om lief te hê

dis die onrus van vuur

wat ons leer om geen vrede te ken

voortstuwende frases van vlam

suis stoom sing

nou is beeld van lyf alleen,

in haar geharde melankolie,

so bitter-alleen

day in day out

2011-06-22T09:05:00.002+02:00

day in

day out

i look to find traces of you

in the folds of the city

on the edges of the wind

i catch phantom-parts of you

a shoulder here

a cheekbone there

but never the whole you

i scavenge alleys

sniff torn newspapers

all that i pick up is

signs of your unwhererabouts

A great connection

2011-06-21T10:14:00.004+02:00

I am staying over for a few days at the home of a good friend, Maggie Verster. She is The One who has rigged me up with my blog, my facebook, twitter and gmail and helped to set-up my blackberry to perform like a mini-wizard! We met in Hogsback where she is based for some weeks in a year. For the rest of the time she lives with her family in Jozi and she opened up her home for me whenever I pass by. She has wonderful wifi connection so I can connect, update and upload to my heart's content.

Maggie is an Educational Technology Specialist. For REAL. Can you imagine someone like this crossing my path? I am blessed to the max! It is one of those relationships one can so easily take for granted, because of the free flow of interaction. Yet I need to send a special note of gratitude to her. I can run to her with almost any technological heart ache and she will find a remedy! I know you are reading (and administering) my blog, so you will read this, dear Maggie.

Maggie and I connect in a wonderfully flowing and comfortable way. She is such a spirited and enthusiastic woman. In her company any mood of heaviness and despondency evaporates. She has been a great support to me. If I can call anyone a fan of mine, she is definitely it - the best you can possibly imagine! Around her I feel the confidence of a lion on the hunt. As an artist astir with so many mind and body flights she has a way of reconnecting many of my loose running threads. Initially we had passionate dialogue about the pros and cons of cyber-networking. Before I met her I was rather reactionary about the whole C-generation and its workings. To be honest, I was simply uninformed.

Only two months ago I started to confirm all my Facebook requests, tweeting and blogging. Lo and behold, I am now quite addicted...I love photographs, writing and communication... so all these tools were created for me!!! I understand why I rebelled against it – the fear of being sucked in.. And ooipelooi I am so sucked in!! I love crossing boundaries. It was bound to happen to step into this realm!

Maggie > ek onthou my en jou dialoog aan die begin >

ek se banaal
jy se kommunikasie
ek se ydelheid
jy se opvoeding
ek se tentakels
jy se omhelsing

jy het vir my 'n wereld oopgemaak wat my eers skrik op die lyf gejaag het.
'n wereld wat my dizzy, f*kkin dizzy maak.
maar sonder druk of stoot het jy my in die wonder web ingetoor.
ja hierdie wereld toor met my kop
dit maak my duiselig
dit oorweldig my
dit stimuleer my eindeloos
- ek sit tot wie weet watter ure in die oggend op jou wifi -
dit daag my uit
dit verskuif my grense
dit laat my ril van plesier
'n wereld met nimmereindigende poorte
wat my soos Alice – weirdly wonderful – laat voel

I feel so well connected – on so many levels – thank you, Maggie. You are much loved and appreciated!
x