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Huilboek
Huilboek is Hattingh se eerste boek in negentien jaar. Dit is 'n verweefde teks wat afspeel tussen die hier van Nieu-Seeland en die verlede van Ryk se kinderjare in die 1960's aan die Oosrand. Wie wás die kind op die stoep saam met sy ma en pa en ouma en boeties en Outa Toon? En wie was Outa Toon, van wie ons slegs die skouer en rug sien op 'n foto met pa en seuns? Die man wat vir Ryk gesê het, "Jy is mos die een met die hart."? Huilboek is 'n kragtoer.
160 pages, Paperback
Published April 15, 2016
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
March 10, 2018
'n Boeiende en fassinerende mosaïekteks wat nadenke, bestudering en selfs 'n herlees regverdig. Dit is duidelik die werk van Ryk Hattingh, maar is beslis die hoogtepunt in sy oeuvre.
A fascinating mosaic of a text deserving a reread, clearly for me the highlight of Hattingh's unusual oeuvre.
A fascinating mosaic of a text deserving a reread, clearly for me the highlight of Hattingh's unusual oeuvre.
November 15, 2016
“It's not easy writing about your own book. The best way to do it is to write the next one, and that is how I've always done it. A new skin for an old ceremony (to paraphrase Leonard Cohen). In a sense I've only written one book, five times over. But Huilboek is different than the others, it is more like a debut in a second life. Not only was it written in a different location surrounded by strangers and other languages, it came to me drop by drop. The water never really flowed. It was a long, tedious process. Word for word. But then it happened. In 2014, while I was incapacitated with the new knee, I suddenly had time to wade through my diaries, revisit my literary friends, collate my annotations. Find the tone. The tone is crucial, I think. I've always been harping on about tone.” Ryk Hattingh about Huilboek in reply to my request to tell me a little about it.
This beautiful Afrikaans book sets you, as an English-speaking reader, a difficult task: you feel a bit like you're standing at the bottom of Kilimanjaro, and you've only got 500ml of water with you! It's a difficult book to read – I'm not just talking about the Afrikaans – maar dit ook. But his poetic voice, strong and clear, grabs you immediately. As does his hospitable way of welcoming you, the reader, into his home and his life. Right near the beginning I was idly wondering how I would translate this for my English-speaking friends. Take the word 'gaps' for example:
“Ons sou ons koppe skeef moes draai en ons brille afhaal, anders sou die wind dié ook gaps.”
'Steal' or 'take' won't do: too serious, 'pinch' is too mean, and 'lift' is just too general. Its sound is part of its charm, its playfulness. But luckily Ryk himself came up with the perfect word: 'snatch' (and of course being Ryk her – the wind's - snatch is also in the mix there ever so slightly!) So I hope a version translated by the author will be available shortly.
He's got his work cut out for him. To start with, he'll have to lure us all with a translation of the title. It's called Huilboek because when he was little he cried an awful lot. Eventually his exasperated mom got him an exercise book in which he had to make a cross every time he burst into tears. One day he wept 105 times! Anyway. Cry Book. No. Weep Book. NO. Crybook. One word, but still, pah! Crybaby, perhaps.
Ryk Hattingh lives in New Zealand and much of this book seems to have sprung from his yearning for … what? The Highveld? The bushveld? To have the ability to correct past painful memories, or to press Ctrl Alt Delete at abuses carried out by his uncles and father? Don't get me wrong. He's not a malcontent, not at all, he's made himself a wholesome, interesting and valuable life, he just seems (to me, at least) to be a poet with his some of his roots wrenched about, rearranged somewhat. Something that hits close to home is his musings about suicide. He writes that friends, good friends, – quite a few, actually – have committed suicide (a few good enemies also!) He muses whether he hasn't been, in a measure, partly responsible. I think he's touched on a little-known truth. Can one indeed be a catalyst for the actions of others? It does sound a bit mad, a bit egotistical, even, but I think there's something in it. Especially if one is super sensitive and partial to the idea of suicide oneself. I'm going to let the book speak for itself, here's an extract:
“Last time you didn’t want to say too much. You felt vulnerable, raw, as if your emotions were a bit grated. You have revealed too much. Explained too much. Love compels one to do rare things, to violate your own codes, step over self-imposed limits and enter unknown zones. Especially if one feels yourself so close to your beloved, feels so part of your beloved, so united that you divulge everything to your beloved as if you are talking to yourself, everything that wells up from inside that makes you feel as if you want to talk and bleed and sigh at the same time, as if you want to enchant your beloved with the love in which you are so miraculously submerged, a love that took possession of you with your confessions and declarations and cries in order for you to never separate again. Together you can dissolve like a cloud in the great nothingness. In order to stay whole. But then, after you have said everything and the thorniness of the situation reveals itself – the insurmountable distance between you, the hundred realities that separate you – you think back to your declarations and suddenly you are horrified. You realise you have said things that should rather not have been said. You said too much, or it feels that way. Exposed yourself too much. What have I done? What did I say?”
This beautiful Afrikaans book sets you, as an English-speaking reader, a difficult task: you feel a bit like you're standing at the bottom of Kilimanjaro, and you've only got 500ml of water with you! It's a difficult book to read – I'm not just talking about the Afrikaans – maar dit ook. But his poetic voice, strong and clear, grabs you immediately. As does his hospitable way of welcoming you, the reader, into his home and his life. Right near the beginning I was idly wondering how I would translate this for my English-speaking friends. Take the word 'gaps' for example:
“Ons sou ons koppe skeef moes draai en ons brille afhaal, anders sou die wind dié ook gaps.”
'Steal' or 'take' won't do: too serious, 'pinch' is too mean, and 'lift' is just too general. Its sound is part of its charm, its playfulness. But luckily Ryk himself came up with the perfect word: 'snatch' (and of course being Ryk her – the wind's - snatch is also in the mix there ever so slightly!) So I hope a version translated by the author will be available shortly.
He's got his work cut out for him. To start with, he'll have to lure us all with a translation of the title. It's called Huilboek because when he was little he cried an awful lot. Eventually his exasperated mom got him an exercise book in which he had to make a cross every time he burst into tears. One day he wept 105 times! Anyway. Cry Book. No. Weep Book. NO. Crybook. One word, but still, pah! Crybaby, perhaps.
Ryk Hattingh lives in New Zealand and much of this book seems to have sprung from his yearning for … what? The Highveld? The bushveld? To have the ability to correct past painful memories, or to press Ctrl Alt Delete at abuses carried out by his uncles and father? Don't get me wrong. He's not a malcontent, not at all, he's made himself a wholesome, interesting and valuable life, he just seems (to me, at least) to be a poet with his some of his roots wrenched about, rearranged somewhat. Something that hits close to home is his musings about suicide. He writes that friends, good friends, – quite a few, actually – have committed suicide (a few good enemies also!) He muses whether he hasn't been, in a measure, partly responsible. I think he's touched on a little-known truth. Can one indeed be a catalyst for the actions of others? It does sound a bit mad, a bit egotistical, even, but I think there's something in it. Especially if one is super sensitive and partial to the idea of suicide oneself. I'm going to let the book speak for itself, here's an extract:
“Last time you didn’t want to say too much. You felt vulnerable, raw, as if your emotions were a bit grated. You have revealed too much. Explained too much. Love compels one to do rare things, to violate your own codes, step over self-imposed limits and enter unknown zones. Especially if one feels yourself so close to your beloved, feels so part of your beloved, so united that you divulge everything to your beloved as if you are talking to yourself, everything that wells up from inside that makes you feel as if you want to talk and bleed and sigh at the same time, as if you want to enchant your beloved with the love in which you are so miraculously submerged, a love that took possession of you with your confessions and declarations and cries in order for you to never separate again. Together you can dissolve like a cloud in the great nothingness. In order to stay whole. But then, after you have said everything and the thorniness of the situation reveals itself – the insurmountable distance between you, the hundred realities that separate you – you think back to your declarations and suddenly you are horrified. You realise you have said things that should rather not have been said. You said too much, or it feels that way. Exposed yourself too much. What have I done? What did I say?”
November 7, 2018
Vir my was dit ‘n vinnige, maklike boek om te lees maar ‘n absolute mors van tyd. Dis ‘n string van onsamehangende vervelige gebeurtenisse in die geweldige depressiewe bitter skrywer se lewe met die oorgebruik van woorde soos fokken en poes. Dis hartseer om te dink sulke negatiewe hol snert wen literêre pryse in Suid-Afrika.
March 13, 2017
As kind het Ryk Hattingh se ma vir hom ‘n boekie gegee waarin hy elke keer wat hy huil, ‘n merkie kon gaan maak. Om sy aandag van die huil af te trek. Huilboek is ‘n reis deur drome en verlangens, na ‘n Suid-Afrika wat biggel onder die onbetroubaarheid van herinneringe. Dit is die bevestiging van ‘n “tweede lewe” as skoenmaker, een wat storms deurkyk en deurstaan en groot skoonheid vind in die skaam, skemersang van die swartvoël (Turdus merula), die groei van 'n groentamatie.
January 2, 2017
Onvergeetlik.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews