Afrikaans is ‘n kwas wat herhinneringe van stowwerige plaaspaaie optower. Dit kweek albasters wat met tyd ‘n marmer skynsel trotseer. Die Karoo-taal bars en kraak tussen die voortrekkers se maaltande en vertoef in die beker van die volkstong. Afrikaans wek ‘n vreemde heimwee in ons, openbaar ‘n skat helaas verbloem en breek altoos deur soos die dag om weer te heers Vanaf Jan van Riebeeck, kombuis-, kalbas- Gaboen-, en geheimtaal. Dit spreek tussen die lyne van etiket, maar noem ‘n ding op sy naam: sterk soos ‘n vuis, dog fyn soos ‘n bloeiseltjie en rooi-wang perskes spruit vanuit hierdie blom. Ons vir jou, Afrikaans.
We said we'd walk together, baby come what may That come the twilight, should we lose our way If as we're walkin, a hand should slip free I'll wait for you And should I fall behind Wait for me.
We swore we'd travel, darlin side by side We'd help each other stay in stride But each lovers steps fall so differently But I'll wait for you And if I should fall behind Wait for me
Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true But you and I know what this world can do So lets make our steps clear that the other may see And I'll wait for you If I should fall behind Wait for me
Now there's a beautiful river, in the valley ahead There 'neath the oaks bough, soon we will be wed Should we lose each other in the shadow of the evening trees I'll wait for you And should I fall behind Wait for me Darlin' I'll wait for you Should I fall behind Wait for me
I scan the internet hourly with searches like“Klaas Jonkheidmurder latest”. I am dissatisfied with everything that I read. I can’t believe that I am writing ‘Jonkheid’ and ‘murder’ in the same phrase. I have never known anyone who has been murdered, and never interrogated the word. It is so different to ‘died’, even to ‘killed’: the word written to me in an email. Klaas had been killed. It wasn’t the right word: people are killed in car crashes and other accidents all the time. A murder is a different thing, an immoveable thing, an act beyond reversal and without the mishap of accident.
Klaas would have understood my process: denial, bargaining, depression. I would have found him patronizing. I bargain with the internet every day, hoping to read something that will make the whole thing fall into place. I am irritated with any group claiming his death as racist genocide or an indictment on national safety. I haven’t faced up to the fact that context, even an eye-witness account or last words can’t undo what is done. What is done, is the removal from the now of something and someone I took for granted. A person so consistent in my landscape, so well established, that I had perceived them as invulnerable.
I am no stranger to the death of beloved friends. And most of my friends are large personalities, ‘distinguished’ as the media insists he was, but not by accomplishment: by the willingness to live outside of what is accepted and acceptable, to live in a state of mental and spiritual youthfulness. Klaas loved crisis, he loved it for its ability to renew. He liked to use archetypes, ideas about fantasy and reality and other intellectual adventures I didn’t always trust. For his own demons, Jack Daniels, his Harley and the voracious collection of obscure musicians connected him, I think, to the moment and to others. I have him to thank for Nick Drake, Martha Wainwright, Regina Spektor, Ani diFranco, Imogen Heap, Brandi Carlile and countless other staples in my own music vocabulary.
I’ve been reading back through our intermittent, but consistent 5 year mail conversation, and found things that I had overlooked. Klaas had loved The Little Prince. I choose to remember him with words from the book: “Only children know what they are looking for.”
After posting my petulant piece on the absence of a music video to the beautiful "Wicked Little High"by Bird York. I received a mail from her 'webmaster', who I assume is her online media director / PR consultant. I was really pleased to hear from her (Bird's representative), and she acknowledged the 'gap' in terms of a video for the song. Part of our conversation included the possibility of a fan video (a reference I made in my post.)
I have always been terrified of fan videos, especially poorly put together scenes from Grey's Anatomy, or worse, entire pieces of beautiful music set to a still image of a C.D cover. I decided to probe my aversion and YouTube'd my idea of one of the best pieces of music ever penned: Hallelujah, written by Leonard Cohen and sung by Jeff Buckley. Unfortunately, I retrieved, the entire song as backdrop to the "love triangle" dramatized in Robin Hood (2006). It was a physically and spiritually painful audio-visual experience.
Here is my dilemma: beautiful music does not belong to its author and can be expressed by a fan or listener that truly appreciates and respects its integrity. Unfortunately, in an age of instant self-publishing, discernment is a rarity.
I hope that anybody who feels the way that I do about Ms. York's music, had been moved by it, and doesn't seek to copy it, would spend the time crafting a worthy visual accompaniment to her song.
Please see Jeff Buckley's mishap: I regret to anticipate that many may enjoy it.
