RONELDA S. KAMFER

1.

Jolyn Phillips’ third book and second poetry collection is an epic poem called bientang. This long form poem fictionalises the life of an obscure historical figure, a Strandloper woman named Bientang. When I Googled the name Bientang, the first ten suggestions that came up, were for the restaurant, Bientang’s Cave. Based on the prices on the menu and seaside location I couldn’t help imagining the security at Bientang’s Cave ushering the person it is named for away, for disturbing the customers. When you open Bientang Cave’s homepage, you’re greeted with this description of the cave’s history:

The Legend of Bientang… This cave was named after Bientang, the last known Khoi Strandloper to have lived in the cave. She lived here at the turn of the 19th Century and is said to have disappeared mysteriously, no one knows what happened to her…

The cave proved to be a very suitable home for her as she could be totally self-sufficient. She dined on the rich supply of seafood which she gathered within meters of her home. Running water was plentiful, thanks to the ever-trickling stream, which still runs to this day under the staircase at the entrance to the cave.

Fruit and vegetables were grown in her garden, which is where our kitchen stands today.

Bientang was very protective of her home and guarded it passionately. It was not uncommon for her to hurl profanities as well as the occasional rock at people who dared to trespass in her domain. The ageing Strandloper was however not all bite, and lived in total harmony with all of God’s creatures, which were plentiful in those days. It has been said that a family of Spotted-Genet Cats were her constant companions, they still live in the cliffs and if you are lucky, you might just see them too.

Bientang was believed to have been a very spiritual being with supernatural powers and the ability to communicate with animals. Pods of whales would return year after year to this exact spot and remain here for months on end. We would like to believe that it is this same spirit of Bientang, which attracts the whales to Walker Bay each year. The spirit of Bientang remains with us. Perhaps you can feel it too!’

I felt excessively annoyed with this advert, and for some undetermined reason. But then I read a paragraph from the poem that told me exactly why I was feeling this way. The scene describes Lord Montagu−presumably an English naturalist−exploring Bientang’s cave dwelling along with Klaas, his Khoi guide:

ons het onder by haar grot gekom en ons kon sien hier
hier bly ʼn vister daar was ʼn klein soutpan
walvisvel het gehang ʼn varswaterpoel en twee grafte
met geel blommetjies wat ons Chainouqua boetablom noem
sy perd net so bleek soos hy hy het sy stert geswaai
sy perd het van die varswater gesuip
lord Montagu het nie skaamte nie

hy het ingeklim hom met boerseep gewas
sy baard geskeer en gesê: “I feel like a new man”
ek het vir hom gesê ons staan op iemand se bidplek

Bientang (stylised as bientang in the book) is in many ways, a response to this reductive narrative that robs historical figures of their complexity to make them more palatable commodities. This applies to the likes of Malcolm X, Nelson Mandela, Maya Angelou and certainly Bientang. What makes this eulogistic portrayal worse in the case of someone like Bientang is that she’s a lot less known than these other figures, and therefore you could say that the reductive view becomes the only perspective. Phillips in part attempts a corrective to this. Only in part, because the text is more complex, and less cut and dried than that. Phillips takes it upon herself as a Khoi descendant, to reclaim Bientang’s spiritual remains and bestow upon it the rightful dignity that it deserves.

2.

On the title page bientang is subtitled: ʼn !naugedig. Phillips provides two definitions for !nau. The first definition frames the opening pages of the poem. ‘“A person in a state of transition” from one stratum of society to another is !nau i.e. in a condition of taboo, dangerous both to himself and to all with whom he comes in contact. Thus, when a child attains the age of puberty he is no longer a child but neither is he a full member of the tribe, and so for a period he belongs nowhere but is removed from the solidarity and security of his former position’. We meet Bientang on the threshold of womanhood, in this liminal state referred to as !nau:

die !nau kom vining aan ek moet in my hut sit
die mans suiker die elandgebed vir my eer
my troubare sal vir my met ʼn klipdaskaros seen
my kinders sal altyd behoort aan sy pa’le
wat van rivier kamma-kan kamma vandaan kom

ons is die qua van duiwelsgat en ons gaan nêrens
vandag dra ek my seehondvoorskoot kapallangs mantel
ek is die heerser van my hut melk self die bokke
my broer het sy eed afgelê ek word vandag
vandag is ek nie meer ʼn !naumens nie my mense sing

vandag is ek ʼn vrou ek word uitgesmeer met boegoe
dit maak my vrugbaar atta’le vat my vanoggend
na die hut en sê vir my ek is nie meer ekke nie

sy buk ek kruip as sy kruip ek skil as sy skil ek
ek gaan nooit weer iets met my eie hande kan bewerk nie
my hande word toegesluit sy leer my voete saam-saam strop
atta sê van nou af moet ek wegbly van die see af
die slangdokter praat my lewe warm met die boegoe

my rooidag maak die see ontsuimig in die hut
ons wag ons wag ons wag mane om sonne verby

A lot is explored in this opening: the lessons of the older woman (atta) to the younger, the fertility rituals, the intertwined metaphor of the woman’s menstrual cycles and the moon’s cycles. The feeling of trepidation and careful excitement. The text is both mysterious and intricately woven, like a veil covering a young bride’s face. Much of Phillips’ power as a poet resides in this juxtaposition of lexical simplicity and psychological complexity. For a reader with a limited or non-existing Nama or KhoeKhoegowab vocabulary, it requires careful reading to put together what’s happening at certain points in the poem, as the meaning sometimes hinges on unfamiliar words (even for Afrikaans speakers) like !nau and others. Meaning unfolds slowly, and mysteriously, clarity gradually emerges. Like your eyes adjusting to the dark in a cave perhaps.

Phillips always works her way back to earlier parts in the text to explain events more explicitly. I found this a little frustrating, after putting in so much effort to piece things together. And I liked the ambiguity. The explanation negates the subtlety of the telling. I’m not opposed in any way to clarity in a narrative, but it feels out of place in this case and a little redundant. Serving a similarly expositional purpose are photocopied extracts that function almost as direction markers for the reader. It comes across as an attempt to convey information interestingly. But to me, this only had the sheen of inventiveness and didn’t add much to the text. Not to suggest that Phillips lacks originality, just that it’s located elsewhere in the book. But these are superficial dents on an otherwise immaculate surface. Flaws that would be considerably less pronounced in a less refined text.

On a deeper level, Phillips has an easy relationship with poetic rhythm. While everything surrounding the narrative is finely crafted and constructed, the words always flow easily, with unassuming grace through the centre of it all. Like a fountain in the middle of some complex architecture. Just a brief example of how Phillips captures a complex social interaction in so few words:

ken jy jou plek Bientang het Klaas gesê
as jy daar bo kom ken jou plek
die kleurlingvrouens kom goed oor die weg
met witvrouens want onder by die hawe ken elkeen sy plek
hulle albei vlek vis maar die een vat kuite en braai dit
met kaiings en die ander een vat die snoek en verkoop dit
jy is van dié wat die viskuite huis toe vat  

The second definition of !nau, frames the latter parts of the poem, ‘Thus cold water is a source of great danger to a !nau person; he must on no account come in contact with it, and after purification he must be reintroduced to it with much ceremony, being splashed all over by some qualified person. As an example of its powers may be cited the Hottentot witch-doctor, who never washes nor touches cold water from year’s end to year’s end.’

This relates to the phase in Bientang’s life in the cave. After making a pact with the ocean, she leaves her family to go and live on her own, for reasons I won’t reveal in this review. Here Bientang finds herself in a different sort of liminal state, living somewhere on the precipice between our world and the spiritual world. She speaks (prays) to the ocean and the ocean speaks through her. The way Phillips describes this evokes images of those shamans who induce madness so that they can travel to the spiritual plane. And in the same way that those shamans would change and metamorphose into other animals, Bientang becomes indistinguishable from the ocean. Philips finds unexpected ways to show the connection between Bientang and the ocean. Particularly in the way Bientang often speaks in an almost resentful way to the sea. It denotes the easy way long-married couples complain about each other,

as ek sonder my mensgoed kan klaarkom sal ek sonder jou
see klaarkom ek het jou nie nodig nie hoor jy jy sê
vir my in my slaap daar sal weer ʼn storm kom
die dorp wegvreet ek is nie meer bang nie
ek is nie meer bang vir jou waterkrag nie
jy het my seerang gegee ek het oo sê hier

3.

Bientang is a relatively short collection, that encapsulates quite a lot. Like a detailed, small-scale model of a time and place. I should mention that there are other voices, besides Bientang’s in the poem. The most prominent of these is Klaas and the author herself. The latter voice opens up a meta-narrative within the text, that takes the depiction of Bientang in interesting directions. The author uses this as an opportunity to challenge her own assertions of Bientang. And complicates the narrative in an enjoyable way. It also shields the poem from predictable categorisations. For me the most striking lines from these meta poems were,

nou kom jy met die aantyging dat ek jou ʼn mite probeer maak
dat ek jou ʼn stalagmiet probeer maak my woorde drup jou vas
in ʼn soliede kalsietkolom die waarheid is
bientang ek gebruik jou om vir my ʼn heenkoms te skep

ek wil jou nie besing soos ʼn strydlied nie ek weier
om jou te besing as ʼn slaaf jy forseer my in verbastering
want jy moet ʼn quena kumm-slaaf wees in
tweeduisend en twintig is baster wees nie ʼn vrybriefnasie nie

is jy chainouqua kumm khoi kan ek veertigduisend jaar se bestaan omwis
vir grond ek het vir so lank !kun-woorde versamel en in jou tong ingebou
nou spoeg jy dit een vir een uit wat moet ek nou maak jy skil af op papier

There is something disconcerting in seeing a creation reject its creator. It’s a particular kind of violence that the author willing visits upon herself. But you understand immediately why it’s necessary. Bientang needs to reject her author, to retain her agency. Phillips does this to remind the reader that Bientang is in fact not her creation. She was a real woman. She existed.

Out of this obscure history, Phillips manages to unearth something valuable and affecting. Bientang avoids the obvious routes to reach its destination, this isn’t a slave’s lament, praise song or folk tale, it’s the inverse of those things. An epic poem told intimately and with humility. Perfectly captured in Jolyn Phillips’ low voice, that reminds you of an ocean with slow, ebbing waves that belies the depths below.