Friday, September 14, 2012

The Second Chapter

In an age of ineptitude in African literature, "it takes the schizoid to survive rule sacred by universal sanction...", said Lesego Rampolokeng on Talking Prose.
When I first encountered The Second Chapter, I was intrigued by its linguistic aesthetic which seemed to transcend linearity of thought as well as emotion.
A subjective observation of his work from my part is not overpowered by the temptation to ‘defend’ or ‘promote’ him, but merely to pay homage to a book that awakened my diabolical senses. When reading this somewhat forgotten anthology, it is as though a triad exists, where the writer reads to my inner me, while using my own voice; inner speech which is the mechanism by which I become one with this "live thought" sacerdotal text.
There has been a wave of reclusive expressionism which borders on escapist remodeling of reality that permeates common interpretations of our present condition as a people. One would thus assume that the extent to which our writers are avoiding or obfuscating truth in a cluttered world of anguish has reached 'thought-police' level. But Lesego has long abandoned this idealist chivalry of confining words and has proclaimed that:

between assimilation & alienation they don't ban
they throw the switch on communication
& from selling-out to buying in is a grey-matter line
                         the monstrosity is regent
now poetry is beauty pageant
jump the class fence & land in affluence
but what lies beyond the prettiness of the performance
when gangrene sets in after the applause?

Paul Wessels writes that "Lesego Rampolokeng has abdicated whatever distance exists between words and their meaning in favour of a subjective presence which pushes subjectivity (not to mention language) to the extreme. It is no idle coincidence that much of his poetry is intensely difficult to read. The writer who ablates himself, who eschews humanist notions such as identity and representation, becomes a singular voice, an absolute presence. There are many pretenders, and many imitations of what is considered to be his "style". None succeed. If one can even talk about style in relation to his work, it has to be an anti-style, a style that when imitated or assumed, ends in death. Sorry, wrong prescription , wrong dosage. The patient is dead."

And I couldn't agree more. His ingeniously lucid style of story-telling about what the unobservable rage of generations has left on monuments of our terror on record.

It's either you emphatically loathe him or disgustingly adore his brutal oratory, but this Artaudian anomaly is a blister on the wrinkly arm of the literati. 
When South African literature is becoming a prosaic flagellation exercise by the wanna-be depressed artists; with relish and zeal, armchair critics and their proletariat, the resultant archives are ordaining mediocrity as literary genius. 
Some of the contenders for the coveted title of "deepest" writers have proven to be culprits who obfuscate  proponents of regurgitated intelligentsia.
But the dreary staccato tone of his voice is a constant reminder, which nags the senility out of any ear, un-worded inner furnaces split ajar by the vulgarity of his truths.
His tenacity of purpose in trying to show that there is no literary rule that should remain unbroken is astounding. And he breaks all, if not even the unwritten.
I believe that Papa Ramps, with ostensible authority can claim the label of "The Last Poet" of our fraudulent phantasmagoria of plagiarist wordsmiths.


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