LAUNCHING DUMAN'S DEEPEST SPRINGS

BY HECTOR KUNENE

Dateline: 18th June 2010

LAUNCHING DUMAN’S DEEPEST SPRINGS

It was an inspiring, unforgettable affair as the voluminous, imaginative work, Deepest Springs, by NMM Duman was launched in the city of Roses.

Firstly, I must say that the library space that was used was very welcoming and showed that a major preparation and decorations were taken into deep consideration. From the poets who rendered their pieces - the likes of Mr. Magic Raselebeli Khotseng to Mr. Kgang Abel Motheane and yours truly (Hector Kunene) was absolutely amazing.

The charming Charmaine Mrwebi was the chairlady and addressed the crowd of about 35 guests well with great motivation for the young writers who still want to get their work published. She also emphasized that it is of vital role for authors to use their mother tongue in order to promote indigenous languages.

Hector Kunene delivered a pulsating speech and a poem called a Life of a woman and dedicated it to the Author of the day, Mrs. Duman. Mr. Motheane stated that it is important for writers to express themselves and tell stories from generation to generation. He also motivated more on bridging the gap and learning other languages; as a result he is a living example as some of his books he has written in Zulu, Sotho Tswana, Pedi and Xhosa.

Mr. Raselebeli blazed the crowd with a poem called “If wishes were horses” and got the crowd “eating out of his palms” The book reading by three ladies who rendered a couple of chapters of the book gave an alarming call about the character of Dikeledi and Kuena whom it is a responsibility of all to find out by reading the book which will soon be available in the library however the contacts are available for those who would love to purchase a copy.

I understood the book to be multi-diversity in terms of where the author was aiming to reach. It is politically and culturally inclined. There is a point of beginning and it reaches climax at a certain point and the only way to get to the full story is by reading it.

I enjoyed the humility of the writer herself when she took the stage and addressed her crowd. I felt her sense of humility and the love for writing as she explained that the over 400 paged book was actually double the size it is now, so the publisher had to speak her down in cutting the story for printing! I said to myself: “Yoh this great woman can write!”, and right there she demonstrated that you don’t need to write according to schedule. She pulled a bank letter that she also wrote on it a new story; now that is a writer that means business.

I was also captivated by her smile and her pride of achievement that was hidden deep inside her humble voice; and she exhumed with brio and a level of excellence as she presented her love for writing and that she was actually inspired by her mother who told her stories. By now I was gasping for air, wondering what she was going to say next as she rivaled with words and made pure sense. Although she did not want to sell the book herself but I could tell that she had it covered as she did not go into details about the book price… but then came her husband who spoke more about money and publishers other than other things.

The book cover was designed by the author’s daughter, so I guess a family has shown us that together working as one we can achieve many. Apparently the other daughters also write, so I take it that we must expect a lot from the Duman family! The book looks brilliant outside and I picked up that once you start reading it you will never stop until you are finished. At some point I wanted to swipe my card right there and buy a copy - however there was no facility to do this but I owe myself a copy.

Last but not least Mrs. Duman seemed more to me like Bessie Head. Her style of writing reminded me of the book I read years ago called Maru by Bessie Head and apparently the book also has a character called Dikeledi. After the launch I grabbed myself a sandwich as I avoided a queue behind Mrs. Duman and when I approached her she was signing an autograph to another fan so I waited for her to finish and whilst I was talking with her, another fan was queuing behind me so you can imagine what the future holds for Duman. I wish her all the best and I must say she has challenged me and other writers based in Free State and the outside world.

By the way, our brilliant author started writing her book in 1996 - and it’s just been released in 2010! Do the Maths; now who can say dreams don’t come true! She will do great and with that size of the book it means business. What a humble woman she is. May God bless her work….

The sparkling poetry of Teboho Mohanoe

By O Bolaji

When we read something - be it a piece of prose or poetry, we often want it to interest us, to fascinate us, to come across as fresh, as the experts say. Normally the language used in poetry is supposed to be heightened hence those we refer to as "poets" often have impressive facility with words.

A poet like Job Mzamo (in Mangaung) is a sort of wordsmith, using language and imagery to fascinate us, knocking words into light, bouncy, lissome, even irreverent, burnished shapes; and creating poetry in the process. Teboho Mohanoe is on the way to becoming a sophisticated poet, and this short essay is about him.

My main concern here is his poem, "Mary" published in his book, Enter the Night (DRUFOMA 2001). It is one of his simpler poems, but one with a powerful message. The message comes across at the very end. In this poem the poet begins by telling us about how a particular lady is abused, is long suffering. Then the very end:

"And she was buried today"

This haunting ending is proof enough that the poet has succeeded admirably at putting across his message - and in a style which is simple enough. The freshness of the poem reaches an apogee by using this style.

In fact the way the poem is structured reminds me of a poem, "Just a passer by". By Oswald Mtshali. (Published in "A selection of African Poetry" edited by Senanu and Vincent) In this poem, the poet describes how a man was gruesomely killed, as if (the poet) does not really care. Then he goes home, and a woman neighbour says to him:

"Have you heard? They’ve killed your brother"

"O No! I heard nothing. I’ve been to Church"

The strength of the poem lies in the fact that the poet is ultimately being ironic and sarcastic; for he not only heard about the death; he witnessed it himself!

The first time I read Mohanoe’s poem, "Mary", I asked him whether he had read Mtshali’s poem (referred to above), and in his typical inscrutable, inconclusive manner, Mohanoe just smiled and nodded. Maybe he was impressed by the much earlier Mtshali poem hardly matters; as Mohanoe’s "Mary" is distinctive in its own right.

Lovers of poetry might also draw a parallel between Mohanoe’s poem, and Michael Echeruo’s "Threnody" (Also published in the book, "A Selection of African Poetry"). Here the poet light heartedly seems to be rejoicing with the world (nature); then suddenly:

"I caught my doveIn the heart of spring
And I was dead!"

This type of conclusion tends to jolt the reader’s attention, resulting in concentrated bafflement and interest. And such writing appeals to a large number of people.

HOW DO I TALK ABOUT MY ORDEAL?

New book by Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga

“Maiwe –mama - we –mama - we, can somebody please help me!,” she could not fight back anymore. All she could do was just kick and scream but to no avail. The monster grabbed her with his iron like, muscular hands. “If you continue making noise I am going to kill you. I can slaughter you even now, you hear me?” He looked her straight in the eyes, wearing a face of brutality with red eyes and she continued sobbing looking on the ground. She realized he meant what he said. In her heart she was just praying that he would just take whatever he wanted and leave her alive.

Maze was a pretty, intelligent, smart and innocent girl with a very bight future. She was the kind of girl who could not even kill an insect. Her mother always used to fight with her because she was scared even to slaughter a chicken. Her defense was that even though it was meat she always felt sorry to end its life.

Just sixteen years old, she was developing into a very beautiful woman like her mother. Having been raised in a strict family, she was determined to do well in her life. Her father was a pastor at a mission in the village and her mother was also teaching at the same mission. All she wanted in life was to become a nurse; surely she could make it because she was bright and committed to her school work. Even her mother agreed that, it was the best profession for her because she was very kind. In the near future she wanted to go and study her nursing in the city close to her one and only David.

David, her boyfriend was her senior at school. He was an intelligent young man but very short tempered. Everyone, even his teachers knew that he was a no nonsense young man. David passed his matric very well and went on to study medicine at the university. Even though he was far in the middle of the city he continued to communicate with his sweetheart. Maze was really the darling of his family, they all loved her. It was also the same situation at Maze’s family, they all loved David. They wished the two will get married and grow old together.

If only she knew what she was going to meet today she would have stayed home. But such is life; we never know what tomorrow brings. Maze spent the whole morning and afternoon at home. In the afternoon her best friend from school, Memory came to visit her. The two young friends spent the afternoon studying, gossiping and giggling. Memory was staying about two kilometers away from the mission. It was in the same village but there was a forest in between. When it was almost Sunset, Maze accompanied her friend to her place. “Maze my dear you have to go back home. I do not want your parents to panic for no reason.” The two friends hugged each other and went different directions.

Moses was a very talented footballer but very ill disciplined. His teachers told him to work hard and take football as a career but to no avail. He liked to drink and smoke. Some even suspected that he was a drug addict. He ran away from school without even finishing his matric. It is always like this - once a student starts drinking and smoking. It is not easy to concentrate on school work. Smoking is addictive and not all students have the money to buy cigarettes even though they like blow the smoke in the air. Moze, as he was known by his friends, joined a junior team. Sometimes he would go to training sometimes they would never see him even for more than a week. The coaches liked him very much but they could not do anything with his ill discipline.

One day his coach saw Moses’ picture in the paper. The police were looking for him in connection with house robbery. Moses ran away from the city to a small village where he knew people don’t see newspapers everyday. It was in this forest that he met helpless Maze coming from her friend’s place.

She never saw him coming. But judging by the way he grabbed her by the waist she knew she was in deep trouble. There was no way she could fight this monster. He was strong, muscular and evil. “Your chance to survive lies in doing what I want you to do. If you want to be stubborn I will show you that I can be stubborn too.’’, she could not reply, all she could do was sob.

Moses carried the poor sobbing girl away from the small road to the small shrubs far away. He laid her on the ground, tore her pants and forcibly opened her legs….

Read the rest of this short story, in the new book of stories: HOW DO I TALK ABOUT MY ORDEAL? by Maxwell Perkins Kanemanyanga. Those interested in the book can phone 071 0446879