REVIEW

And the rains came down – a review of pushing from the riverbank

I am a fan of Alan Finlay. So the moment his latest instalment of poetry, pushing from the riverbank popped in my mailbox, just six days after publisher Gary Cummiskey shipped it i had that foreplay anticipation that increases your breath and heartbeat. You know those seconds before you are deflowered.

I, still infront of my 15 by 15cm blue mailbox, the grey ugly key still hanging on the tiny lock tore open the fawn manila and felt the cover – gloss. I then flipped it around and was met by a poem; “why do i wake up at four/ in the morning and think; “now is the time to work/ to finish the day before/ it starts”? what day is it/ just night sweeping over/ us: as my little boy climbs/ into bed beside me says/ daddy i can’t sleep i want to/ talk” – pushing from the riverbank

I then slid it back into the manila and took the walk home, salivating like a mongrel after sniffing Dogmor. I got home, buried it with some few festive books and magazines crying out to be read first as if they gained something from my indulgence. They felt a little jealous that here i was with a new ‘chick’ while i hadn’t deflowered them. They didn’t know i was going to kiss and tell – with the new chick that is.

Okay; the following day (which is today 15.12.10) i sat down and took serious bites on Finlay’s serving. The poetry is matured, as should be expected from Alan whose stint in his previous lifetime was editor of New Coin. Some people call New Coin ‘heaven’, saying that only few make it into its pages and it’s through the proverbial narrow road. Actually i had my first poetry published in the Coin when Alan was the editor and i haven’t managed to since then – which should say i have been on a wide road to??????? hahahahaha!

So, sometimes i go into reviewing poetry collections already prejudiced because i have professional relationships with the poets. Me and Alan met in Johannesburg when Shivava Cafe still existed as a venue where we could be creative while getting imbibed with the nectar. We hit it off – just like that. However that has nothing to do with how i interpret his poetry in this post.

Many years later Alan’s poetry still reflects the hunger of that simple man who wrote a poem about the mayor (Amos Masondo) of Joburg and called it a ‘found poem’. In it he was waxing lyrical about how a mayor who claims to understand Soweto lived in Kensington and how a march was planned to his house. Maybe when you have run out of labels you want to give people you like you might call Alan an activist. I probably think he’ll be the first to protest. He has worked with various poets though and his poetry is of such a quality that it does not need him holding its hand to stand out amongst others.

Alan’s poetry is characterised by rich imagery and a descriptive element that gives his work a strong presence. On the child goes out he writes, “the father holds a wall against his throat,/ my son and i walk out into the garden and it’s getting dark./ swing me, he says. But it’s getting late. As the light/ leaves, his life/ the father has already gone into the dark to find the child...”

Well, quite truly i don’t want to quote the whole collection. It is littered with strong poetry which often defies the structuralism approach some poets love. This is very experimental, in style and syntax. Alan is as ease with language and style. One notices that he hardly pushes himself as poetry is not a personality contest. Maybe he just pushes from the riverbank – probably Jukskei.

This thin collection is made up of 19 beautiful poems, both in verse and prose with catchy titles such as the dream of the tiger, after the fire, case study no.1, the child goes out, the child wants his mother, in the back of the bakkie, enough of an interruption, i watch you go etc.

Pushing from the riverbank is published by that hot iron, Dye Hard Press; the pages contain some pre-school drawings that should remind you of that time in your life before you tasted a kiss. I don’t understand the relevance of them in the book though, same as the caricature of a seven storey on the cover.

Details of retail and how you can get it can be sourced from http:dyehard-press.blogspot.com or check dyehard’s Facebook page.

It’s worth a read and should form part of any poetry collector’s archive. It will be worth something someday – when we all learn ‘to live for writing instead of writing for a living’ (apologies to Mzwandile Matiwane RIP)

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REVIEW

The 9th Letter


Dye Hard Press founder and poet of serious note Gary Cummiskey writes about 'minister's daughter stoned on crack', then moves on to write about 'so we slip down behind the counter/ and start to fuck', then jumps and writes about '...we watch the girl in the backroom sticking a knitting needle up her hole'. All in one book, titled today is their creator.

The title of the collection is a quote from Robert Rauschenberg and jells well with the 22 poems which have a strong leaning on social commentary (Gun, Telephone, Today, And we watched, etc), romance based nostalgia (Rain, Soft Words, Some bastard, etc), to those almost naughty notes reminiscent of Michelle McGrane (Mona Lisa, Little Prajna, Vodoo, etc).

Then there's the other box that eludes a tag where poems like 'space ship, wheelbarrow, garage, cyclist, etc are found.

Gary the Englishman has always had a serene playful demon fueling his muse, which makes this collection one in a long list.

The poems that touched me for very obvious reasons were 'And we watch' which is social commentary lacking from people who live the gutter life some of Gary's rants touch on, "and we watch the township lesbian being gang-raped, this will cure her and teach her to appreciate cock/...and we watch the drunk mother hysterical because while she was busy getting laid outside the shebeen her child was butchered for muti/...and we watch the torture and beatings continue in Harare/...and we watch the girl in the backroom sticking a knitting needle up her hole'. These lines are very rich, even though they explore human 'poverty' in all its forms, especially at the time when people one would expect to spit such reflections are pre-occupied with using their voices to sell Sasol Inzalo BEE shares as if they mattered to the average mother in the shebeen, girl in the backroom, and slain Banyana Banyana striker's family whose daughter was killed for her despise of cock.

The collection is classic because it's up to date, as you have seen with Harare on the quoted stanza. Many legislations later, lesbos and social misfits are still searching for heaven in the xenophobic Valhalla called South Afrika.

Another one that got me thinking was what's on today's menu?. 'a DVD played backward on the neck of an astrologer/ a loaf of bread rejected by a slaughtered seal/ a can of baked beans farting its way to the White House', and it reminded me a little bit of obsolete ex-firebrand Mbongeni Khumalo (Apocrypha).

In short today is their creator is a must have. Gary sounds like a cloned Eminem at times and maybe he and Marshall Matthers have a common gene in their bloodstream.

Maybe Eminem read a lot of Gary as this is Cummiskey's nineth collection outside of the anthology he edited before lynching it last year titled Green Dragon.

today is their creator needed chapters the same way the book of Proverbs and Revelation carry different messages and are chaptered (sic) differently. Gary should learn to put road signs, not to clatter his book with poems that should stand separately with their ilk. The collection should have been easier to digest if one knew what course they were in instead of just having the first and fourth courses all served at the same time.

This beautiful collection is available at Dye Hard Press, P.O.Box 783211 Sandton 2146 South Afrika.

For more of Gary's literary children go to http://dyehard-press.blogspot.com.

FEATURE

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

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

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

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

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

Johannesburg-based Botsotso Publishing’s Allan Kolski Horwitz says “the term ‘independent’ connotes freedom from restraints, both ideological and commercial. We should reject the term small because it reflects on scale and, perhaps, ambition.” An exception to the preference for “independent” is Cape Town’s Modjaji Books, recently launched by Colleen Higgs, who says: “I prefer the term ‘small’. It is a matter of small staff – myself – and few books.”

For Johannesburg’s Pineslopes Publications’ Aryan Kaganof, however, the labels are unimportant: “I’m concerned with publishing books that I believe in.” Over and above the commitment that these publishers have about the work that they produce, there are also clear views about their role, which sometimes has a wider socioeconomic and politically context as opposed to a more limited literary context.

Bila says: “We must publish books that matter…We must not promote mediocrity, the stuff that is ceaselessly churned out by commercial publishers chasing cash, topical stories and often exploiting vulnerability. “We also need to promote writing and publishing in all South African languages, and give voice to excluded black, rural and women writers, as well as those writers and poets who says things that annoy those that wield power – be it government or business.”

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

Berold and Higgs take a somewhat cooler view of an independent publisher’s role, which is “to print work that has real literary value but little market potential because the writer is unknown or the work to challenging, either politically or intellectually,” says Berold. “In a cultural desert like SA, independent publishers have a huge role.” For Higgs it is a matter of “taking risks - publishing good work by writers who may not as yet have the recognition they deserve. It is also about publishing genres – such as poetry or drama – that the mainstream publishers may not want to tackle. To be at the cutting edge, seeking out new talent, creating more space for new voices”.

Kaganof, however, is cynical about the role of independent publishers: “It is to allow us to pretend there is an audience for anything outside of the mainstream.” Considering that independent publishers are playing a marginal role in an overwhelmingly commercialised book market, it is not surprising that they sometimes view commercial publishers with ambivalence. “Independent publishers don’t have a huge voice in shaping SA’s publishing direction,” says Bila. “It is the big publishers who are represented in book-related councils set up by the state. Their participation through the Publishing Association of SA, or as individual big publishers, gives them more access to government opportunities, especially to supply schools.” To Mashego, “the situation is simple: book fairs, like the Cape Town one, are meant for commercial publishers have no space for independent publishers. Book retailers are not kind to independent publishers because we can’t provide them with the same benefits and perks that commercial publishers can. The attitude should be that the literary world created by commercial publishers is not the ultimate one…we have the right to create our own. We are entitled to our own book fair without the commercial publishers, we are entitled to our own awards where we don’t compete with writers whose publishers have the ability to befriend the judges. We need to establish our own distribution and marketing networks.”

Kaganof views the work of commercial and independent publishers are different: “I don’t think they are concerned with us and I certainly don’t think we should be concerned with them.” Berold says he “doesn’t mind” commercial publishers “though it would be nice if they could acknowledge the importance of independent publishers”. For Higgs there is no conflict: “I don’t see us as incompatible. They are working in different parts of the same field. They are also doing important work and they do it professionally. We can learn much from engaging with them and taking advice.” Thus for independent publishers it is not simply a matter of publishing books – that is, being focused on making a profit – but rather of playing an active role in contributing to the ongoing development of South African writing and introducing that writing to local readers.

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

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

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

Independents can also play a role in niche publishing. “It can make sure that strange, odd, misunderstood, peculiar, yet important, voices don’t get overlooked,” says Higgs. But from a financial point of view, as well as in wider aspects of recognition, independent publishers face substantial challenges.

Many independents, such as Botsotso, Deep South and Timbila, are reliant on public funding from bodies such as the National Arts Council or the Arts and Culture Trust. “Financial constraints are always the bane of producing art,” says Horwitz, “and dependence on public funding is not always a guarantee of quality or of intellectual vitality. Public funding can also cushion mediocrity and crudeness.”

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

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

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

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

Despite all the obstacles, though, independent publishers in SA remain committed to their work and, most importantly, believe in what they are doing. “You can publish what you like,” Higgs says, “what you are passionate about, what moves you, what interests you. You don’t have to publish things that are politically correct or you feel compelled to by external market forces.” For Kaganof a key benefit to authors involves “not having to deal with useless people who ‘staff’ the larger publishers”, while for Horwitz a benefit resides in the freedom to select, design and market in a manner which is “consistent with one’s world view and values”.

Bila likewise values the freedom from being guided by the dictates of a commercial market, and Berold says a key benefit is being accountable to nobody but his authors and his instincts. “I can do as I please,” says Mashego, “and mingle with readers without the stigma of being a CEO or publisher. It also helps me to think out of the box…the opportunity to innovate is what I see as the ultimate benefit. I wouldn’t trade it for the mainstream.”

First published in Business Day’s books and publishing supplement nov/6/2007. Also available at www.kaganof.com and Dyehard Press Blog

kasiekulture would like to thank gary cummiskey for permission to reproduce this piece