I could name you a number of reasons why Poetry Africa, the annual festival in Durban, South Africa in its seventh year in 2003, is so terrifically refreshing. The 22 poets in attendance are by and large world-class. The audiences are large and enthusiastic. Then there are the organizers –- dynamite, together, respectful, non-hierarchical, relaxed but on time –- go ahead, you try it! And they’ve concocted a super event –- six nights of featured readings and special events that mix locals and visitors, professors and slammers; Zulu, English and Afrikaans; daytime workshops and panels in prisons, schools, museums. On opening and closing nights all the poets represent –- the UN of Poetry where the capital is Africa (15 poets are from Africa, 7 of them from South Africa). Poets even get an assignment – write a poem about Durban for the last event. There’s an emotional arc to it: by the time the gathering is over you’ve made real contact both with other poets and audience regulars. (I became friends with the US Cultural Attaché, how ’bout that!) And you feel like you’ve made a dent in world depression.
But it’s South Africa itself that makes Poetry Africa so vital, so full of potential, such an special juncture for poets. This country has huge problems –- AIDS and poverty much worse than in the First World. But having rid the land of apartheid, the people seem deeply united. There is a lack of cynicism. There is a lack of fear. It’s the union of cultures, the deep mutual respect of peoples who cooperatively killed evil, that comes across in the diverse South African poetries: tribal, performance, avant garde, political, lyrical. Africa, specifically South Africa, is ready for a larger voice in world poetry, and Poetry Africa shows how to do it –- import the world to your home stage, then let the voices speak for themselves.
I got my first hint that something more was up when some previous participants in Poetry Africa warned me that I wouldn’t be able to go out at night unless accompanied by an armed guard. The truth would turn out to be simpler (you didn’t need an armed guard), and more complex (there is a hideous amount of street crime in Durban –- a trade-off for maintaining the fragile governmental coalition that keeps the Afrikaaner money at home while Blacks rule the government).
My JFK-Joburg flight made a stopover in Dakar (nine hours to Senegal, halfway to South Africa from New York), and I had thoughts of getting off and following the jeliya trail for a couple weeks. Luckily, I followed through to Joburg, where I was met by the Director of Poetry Africa, Peter Rorvik, and two poets whose paths I’d crossed in the past: Lesego Rampolokeng, the brilliant sardonic rapper from Soweto known as Papa Ramps, and the mighty Dutchman Jaap Blonk, the world’s greatest sound poet. The four of us would definitely give the Three Musketeers a run for their rands (8 rands to a dollar –- beers range from 5 to 8 rand, the fanciest meal I had was R79).
Our mission: an outreach program cooked up by Peter and his staff at the Center for Creative Arts in Durban. We’d be in Nelspruit for three days giving workshops, appearing on the radio, meeting the head of the Cultural Council, and giving a final performance at the outdoor amphitheater at the Botanical Gardens. We drove three hours under the Southern Cross, making our way to Upumalanga, a rural province that contains the Kruger Game Reserve, one of the most famous tourist safari sites in Africa. It was also a great location for me to begin to grasp how deep and affecting the changes in South Africa are.
