Citrus Inspired Word Art - clemengold.com
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01 Citrus Inspired Word Art A COMPILATION OF SOUTH AFRICAN POETRY & ART Created in collaboration with ClemenGold ®
Transcript of Citrus Inspired Word Art - clemengold.com
01
Citrus Inspired Word Art
A COMPILATION OF SOUTH AFRICAN POETRY & ARTCreated in collaboration with ClemenGold ®
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Artwork by Alex Hamilton Light and Rain by Jim Pascual Agustin
My tangariene, mandaryne, My klementyne deur Deniel Barry Nartjiegenot deur René Bohnen
Artwork by Johann du Preez
A Naartjie in Our Sosatie* by Rob Boyd In die boord deur Melanie Carstens What We Need by Jamie Conway
The naartjie by Mandy Crooks
Artwork by Alex Hamilton
Ma’s naartjies by Kirsten Deane Naartjie by Gail Dendy
Artwork by Christiaan Diedericks
Mending the Marriage by Gail Dendy Naartjie Love by Ashley Dowds
POETRY & FEATURED ARTWORK*
ContentsINTRODUCTION
* 04
05
06
07
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09
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Appassion-naartjie by Ashley Dowds
Clementine deur Gaireyah FredericksNaartjie by Diana Ferrus
Artwork by Jenny Parsons
A naartjie by any other name…. by Barry Ger
Almost by Jillian HamiltonPraise poem to the naartjie by Bruce Haynes
Artwork by Collen Mashwanganyi Artwork by Karin Abedian
Gebaster met ‘n nartjie deur Niël Jonker
Nartjie – ‘n Haiku deur Dalena LombardArtwork by Joshua Miles
Lunch Box Delight by Michelle Luffingham
Artwork by Jaco Sieberhagen
The Mother of All Naartjies by Sally-Ann Murray
ClemenGold se Royals deur Anmiray Opperman
Unforgettable by Sally-Ann Murray
Die gedagte van iets deur Nadine Petrick
Artwork by Karina Marie PienaarThe Naartjie by Glenn William Read
Artwork by Marike Kleynscheldt ClemenRym deur Martli Slabber
Segments of Sunshine by Melissa Sussens
afourer by Archie Swansona redolence of winter by Sue Woodward
Sunrise with naartjies by Stephen Symons
School Holidays by Jarred Thompson
oranje is ons heimwee deur Johann van der Walt
Hi Sweetypie - Naartjie My deur Peet Zeeman
Artwork by Sarah Pratt
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In a time when creative and performing artists worldwide were challenged by the restrictive realities created by the COVID-19 pandemic, ClemenGold®, a truly South African citrus brand with a heart for the arts, encouraged wordsmiths to use citrus, or the humble naartjie, as the inspiration for poems, prose or short stories.
“A nation is as rich as its creative output,” says Abraham van Rooyen, Executive Chairman of the ClemenGold® Group. “The arts in all its forms push boundaries, broaden horizons, capture, explore and create pure beauty and joy to both creators and observers.” ClemenGold®, South Africa’s most recognisable and loved mandarin brand and its leaders are known as patrons of the arts, having supported various artists and cultural initiatives in the past.
33 works were chosen that best captures the imagery, metaphor, playfulness, humour, sensuality, nostalgia and sense of home and belonging that a naartjie ignites. The paintings and other visual art works shown here were created during a previous collaboration with ClemenGold®.
Citrus Inspired Word Art
INTRODUCTION
05
Light and Rain
Rain speckles the windscreen and the glasswindows, playful tapping without a rhythm. The drops mingle to form bigger dropsbefore sliding down into the rubber gapsthat hold the glass in place. Exhaust fumes
coil from pipes under us and every other minibus taxi stuck in shudder-stop traffic. The mountain, a shape suddenly darker than the skies that mask the time of day.It would be so much easier to surrender
the mind to the limits of the body, let frustration rub against the nearest stranger. But then a giggle from a little girl pricks my ears. I turn to her. “Mama, look at the lights!” She is tugging
at a woman who has fallen close to sleep. An orange globe rests in the girl’s left hand as she points with her right. The woman shifts out of slumber. “The lights are clinging to the windows!
They look like my naartjie!” Laughing, the girl digs her thumbs into the fruit, releases in such a small and crowded space more than just a scent. Something unexpected, something I didn’t know I needed.
JIM PASCUAL AGUSTIN To l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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My tangariene, mandaryne, My klementyne
My tangariene, mandaryne, My klementyneJy laat my in tale praatwant jy my naartjie, is tog so na aan my hart
my hart klop wild as ek na jou kykJy kan my glad nie ontwykJy is net te poenankies*met jou oranje sonskyn wangetjies
Jy’s ferm, tog sag en onvermydelikek smag om jou sommer vas te drukin my hande wil ek jou vashoulaat jou soet reuk vir ewig aan my vasklou
Ek wil my lippe teen jou voellaat my mond met jou soet sap oorspoelWant jy’s my voor, my hoof, my nagereg,jou goedheid neem al my herfs tot lente kwale weg
My tangariene, mandaryne, My klementyneJy laat my in tale praatwant jy, my liefste naartjie is na aan my hart
Jy glinster soos die oggend sonskynen laat al my sorge verdwyn jy bring soveel vreugdein alle dele en aspekte van my lewe
DENIEL BARRYTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
ek wil jou tog so graag bewaarsodat alle generasies jou kan ervaarwant met jou is daar geen hoekomsnet ’n baie, baie mooi toekoms
My tangariene, mandaryne, my soete klementyneJy laat my in tale praatwant jy is na aan my hart
My tangariene, mandaryne, Ja, my soete klementyneJy laat my in tale praatwant jy, my liefste naartjie is tog so na aan my hart
*poenankies – mooi
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Nartjiegenot
ryp wintersfeer vir afskil-smul,poeding, blatjang, bola, vrugtesmeer of ‘n sitrusdans wat in die glas gebeurbessieblydskap gin; maar begin, beginby die begin
‘n nartjie is ‘n ronde dorpievol oranje huisies,dit weet die kleuters mos
‘n nartjie maak ‘n sonkol in joumaag, ‘n sonkol in jou hart –die soet planeetjie sapis ‘n ligfluisteraar
dis geelrooi lettergrepe in die sonsondergang,‘n gesmokkelde boodskap van die godein groen bome, oesdans ouer as ‘n duisend jaar
wanneer die stippels kleur en wolke geur heelallein jou boorde van blydskap hang
RENÉ BOHNENTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
08JOHANN DU PREEZ
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A Naartjie in Our Sosatie*
A snapshot on the rocksFour students stand togetherThey squint at the sunSmile happily for the cameraYears later it is rainy and coldLook, I’m middle-aged now, and ignoredWaiting in a lawyer’s officeThe receptionist peels a naartjie.It is the citrus scent, no doubtThat triggers this warm memorySends me looping back in timeRecalling youth, sunshine and musicNaartjies and Tassenberg for breakfast,The sea breeze just picking upWaiting for the music to beginAt the pub which juts into the seaA barefoot rebel poet savantEmerged from the hinterlandStalked the ruling regime with lyricsChallenged us all, then left too soon.I remember it as SummerAnd a perfect dayBut this is now, I stuck around(The bored receptionist calls my name)
ROB BOYDTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
* The title of this poem, A Naartjie in Our Sosatie, is borrowed from
an album title, put out by Shifty
Records; a “compilation of South
African rebel rhythms”. Released in
the mid-1980’s, during the height
of Apartheid, one of the songs on
the album, Hou My Vas Korporaal,
was by Bernoldus Niemand, the
alter ego of James Phillips, who
performed a concert with his band
The Cherry Faced Lurchers at the
Brass Bell in Kalk Bay; I was there
and I try to recall here in the poem.
James was a barefoot rebel singer/
songwriter and poet of
immense talent.
10
In die boord
‘n Suid-oostewind suisDeur die jongman se kopDie dou verdamp stadigSoos hy na haar kyk deur die nartjiesHaar arms soepel, lenige takkeWat na die son oprankEn vrug draVersigtig, een vir een, Na die mandjie aan haar buikHy soek in haar perfek-ronde gesig Die verborge saad van belofteHy ruik haar bloeisels, die sitrussonVars in die vroegoggendHy kyk na haar deur die blareHulle ritselSy kyk op, sien hom deur die nartjiesIn die oggendgloed-oranje Hy kyk af, bloosSy mandjie is net halfvolHy pluk verwoedEendag, eendag weet hySal hy die pad na haar hart oopskil
MELANIE CARSTENSTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here . What We Need
I don’t think I really understand what I want out of life anymore.
She said, “What we have in lifeis dependent on what we don’t.”
I said, “Well, what do I really have?I feel empty, just waiting to be filled.”
She tossed me a naartjie from the cupboard,“You didn’t have one of these before, did you?
Now you have something to holdsomething to look at and something to eat.
Something to help you grow a littleand something that’s sweet. It’s simple.”
And what could be more simplethan a single juicy naartjie in my hands?
Maybe one sweet naartjie is indeedall that I’d ever want, or ever need.
JAMIE CONWAYTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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The naartjie
Today I watched a baby playwith a naartjieshe had her way
in her fist she held it tightand squeezed itwith all her might
with bright delight the juice ran downout the fruitalong her arm
then to her mouth she’d lift it upand drip the juiceinto her cup
so much joy was to be foundfrom this orange fleshso soft and round
That naartjie tastelike no other on this day she did discover
MANDY CROOKSTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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Ma’s naartjies
My sister and I came through the back door. We were sharinga cigarette in ma’s backyard.A no-name brand because times have been tough.My sister says she lus for naartjie because there’s a plastic bagof naartjies in the washing room. I don’t understand why ma would keepnaartjies in the washing room.
My sister and I walk to the living room where everybody’s sitting in conversation,aunties, uncles, cousins and parents. My sister asks a rhetorical question but ma doesn’t know the difference.“Ma, are those naartjies in the washing room?”
The smell of the naartjies were too common to the both of usfor us not to know what they were. We eat naartjiesat three in the morning when we can’t sleep
and our stomachs remember that we forgot to eat.“You can have one my baby,” Ma says.I tell my sister she must keep me a piece.“Get Kirsty her own one,” Ma says.
I say thank you and I eat the naartjiewith sticky fingers and a watery mouth.I swallow, taste ma’s love from the washing room.
KIRSTEN DEANETo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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Naartjie
A fruit with tangerine wings.
A fruit that’s easily dislodgedlike a cupcake from its paper frill.
A fruit as brightas a string of Chinese lanternsreflected in water, glass bowls, antique silver.
A fruit with a décolletage that’s hidden until peeled,like a young girltaking ownership of her womanhood.
A fruit inking its scentin the room that remembersbrothers, the homeless, the bohemian,the I just want you to love meall-weather bellwether types.
A fruit that carries inside itthe geometry of a particular belly,an array of orange pillowsneatly cosseted in a bright cocoon.This fruit is ready and plump and ripe.No more, no less. I want it. Do you?
GAIL DENDYTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
15CHRISTIAAN DIEDERICKS Follow @christiaandiedericksf ineart
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Mending the Marriage
I do not know when I beganto be so visceral. Green I’d been,but then my body alteredits proportions.For months the doctor(good, bald, lean)had ministered potions at my feet:magnesium, copper, boron – it was better than frankincense and myrrh.I loved the smell. How wellhe tended me, promised mea home for life, a berth.
In the background, his solid wife: Mind to check the moistureis all she said.
When the pickers came, I leantthrough leaf-green wallsto hear their gossip. Such goings on!A startled starling tippedthe orchard’s serried rows, then flew beyond. I was not ready yet. Time would flingits colours at my cheeks. My belly, fat,slightly puckered, would one daymatch the Willendorf’s. I was proud of that.
GAIL DENDYTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
What’s to tell? The doctor,good, kind, smart and true, in lieuof anaesthetic, picked me above all else,and with a gleaming pocketknifesevered my stem truly and so well.I slipped into his open palm.The unflowering was done.My flesh aroused a glowing scent.My honey-coloured blood was spent.
Was the dull wife satisfied with this?Long they bickered into the night,faced opposite sides when they went to bed.And so my purpose was not yet done.On the morrow I willed her heart to shine,I put a tingling taste upon her tongue, arranged a subtle fragrance round about.I offered up my pith, my skin, my juicy flesh to bring her humour in. She softened, glowed,reached for her man. What’s to tell?Her sweetness is known in all the land.
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Naartjie Love
A land-urchinClustered in orangeness,Robed in the colour of joy,Sheds its skin Like petals,Willing the intercourse of flesh and tongue;Its white Umbilical threadsOf veined, lacy sinewsPromises unspoken Friendship,And in a juicy gesture of loveComes apart In a tumescentSigh of fragranceAs honest As prayer
ASHLEY DOWDSTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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Appassion-naartjieThe name itselfProceeds it, Forthright in its terroirNo citrus bowers proclaim THIS citizen At Versailles:It shrugs off the rhymeOf an Orangerie!
Rather, it finds kinshipIn cardamom, clove andpiesang;In its allegiance withEast Indian TradewindsOr the call to prayerAs sky lightens over Bo-Kaap
It precludesThe brazen sting of the orangeOn the tongue; Shuns even the bladedCross-cut: an unnecessary obligation In its sacrament of communion.
It ushers its own UbuntuIn the willingness Of flesh: those sacks of goldAnd liquid ore,Chucked nonchalantly into side-pockets and onto snoek-skiffsOr rucksacked upDevil’s Peak
ASHLEY DOWDSTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
With biltong and rusks,Or even spiked sacrilegiously with vodkaAs contrabandOn rugby stands.
It is ordinary as a donkey cartOn a Karoo pass at sunset;As spellbound as the Ceres rockscapeIn its sacrament of light and reassuranceThat lingers,And as present As the young boy at the back of the cartWatching his fingers puncture The compliant rind,Shedding petals of colourOn the dusty passLike clues to a mythic Past- the memory Of watermeide, Those seductiveSirens of the Swartland.
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Naartjie
here you came a native from southeastern asiaflamed your orange onto the soillit up the expanse and sprayed your aromadeep into the valley
when frost approached the vineyards fleda smooth grape wrinkled but youbecame the sun, a morning glowan afternoon warmtha sunset tendernessa soft skin, easy to undressand sweet sweet syrup that flooded the lips
you lingered long after consummationbecame a moment always hankered forplease never leave you were reborn in Africa
DIANA FERRUSTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
Clementine
Ek trek djou vel af en ontbloot djou dun wit lagie wat djy probeer wegstiek. Djy lyk afgerond en vol van jouself.Ek wonne of ek nóg van djou wit sal kan afskilver.My ma’t altyd gesê dit gie wit-seerkeel en is typically die eienskap van ‘n ‘naachie’.
My mond water, ma ek beheer my tong.Ek byt my lip.Djy sal djou saak moet stel met hiening om djou bek gesmeer Mevrou.
Djy skuif-skuif nade, ma foseer nie jouself in my keel affie. Ek appreciate’ie gesture.Djy gie toe in mondjies vol en ek verteer amper te gulsig,soveel so, my mond trek water.
By nou het djy al djou ware kleur ontbloot en dit kom nogal nechies verpak in sakkies vol.Dié friendship stane kry nou smaakvol gestalte hieren ek moet sê…ek was skepties aan die begin, maar djy issie sout werd.
“Aangename kennis Clementine.”
GAIREYAH FREDERICKSTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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A naartjie by any other name….
Orange, round and honey- sweet, A tangy, tart-tasting treat,Is this citrus that first grew,In the Chinese city of Whenzhou.
Imports to the west began,Through a province in Japan.This is why many a consumer,Knows it by the name: Satsuma.
Confused by others it has been,With its cousin, the tangerine,Which had years before been brought,From Tangier, a Moroccan port.
In the UK, it is sold by dealers,Among the fruit known as “easy peelers”.Elsewhere is it dubbed the mandarin,Because of its ancient Asian origin.
So many terms for a simple food,But in South Africa, folks aren’t in the mood,To use words which are stiff and starchy,For us, it’s just the plain, old naartjie.
BARRY GERTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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Almost
naartjies smell so goodlike orchards in the summerwisps of aromatic citrus vapours
naartjies look so goodgently moulded roundstinted by the sunfashioned to fill a hand
naartjies taste so goodlike stolen fruitsavoured on nights of secret pleasure
i peeled a naartjieand raised it to my mouthin its wholenessanticipating the sweetness on my tonguestickiness at the corners of my lips
but i dropped itand it rolled awaybeyond my reach
JILLIAN HAMILTONTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
Praise poem to the naartjie
You are encapsulated fire.You take our sun’s heatand make something sweetto eatYou miracle worker!What genius possessed youto flush fireacross the skinsof your swelling citrus stars?You reach out to usand sayherepick mepeel metaste the liquid lightI’ve suspended withindripSouth Africa’s sunlightdown your chin.
BRUCE HAYNESTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
23COLLEN MASHWANGANYIFollow @collenmaswanganyi
KARIN ABEDIANFollow @karinabedian
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Gebaster met ‘n nartjie
Kom gou paaltjie toeteks my buurvrou oorkant die padwat dan nou sy’s mos bietjie moeilikdie suurlemoen is baie soet sê syhulle’s gebaster met ‘n nartjie
So gaan dit aan dwarsdeur die lockdownpaaltjie toe met ‘n brood - bybaksel van my kursusnou ook aanlyn soos alsen terug met ‘n gebreide mus of bord kos
van bespiegel oor siekte en reëlstot presidentsredes sonder twakdorpstrate skoon ongemaklik bly tuis en gaan aantot levels val en reëls onvolgbaar vervaag
NIËL JONKERTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
En waar ek eers gekoes het vir law enforcementkry ek gister kuiergaste sonder maskersdie kinders bou fort op die damwal ek braai snoek en maak patats soos my mahulle bring koek van amandelmeel
Kom gou paaltjie toedis ‘n hele skinkbord vol soetkoekies appeltert en nog wateendag is die boom leeg ek moet kom vatdie suurlemoene is baie soet sê syhulle’s mos gebaster met ‘n nartjie
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Nartjie – ‘n Haiku
heiligsoet beloftesjou geurige huid betowersongeel verleidster
DALENA LOMBARD
JOSHUA MILESFollow @ joshua_miles_artist
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Lunch Box Delight
The Bell rings – brrrriiing ..Shrieks of yayness!A stampede of feet and untamed energy
Rummaging, … I find your cool fullness …… there!Nail to skin,you peel awaywith ease arousing a fresh, uplifting aroma,and in my burst of hungry excitement –I let go,Gravity does the rest asthe peels return to earth.
For a brief moment,I delight in your symmetry,Perfect shapes of fleshy bliss.Burst - the first injection of sweet juices Ignites my desire for another and another of youMy friend’s eyes loom largeGingerly, I share a piece of my treasure,Giggle
My spirit soars,My body dances,As I relish the juicy, delish, scrumptiousness of simply,
a homegrown naartjie.
Without, even knowing.
MICHELLE LUFFINGHAMTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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The Mother of All Naartjies
back then when she peeledthe skin a sudden tangbared the flesh she slipped her false teeth out picked twosegments and wedged the fangs between grinning lips: how we kids screamed. Ran s c a t t e r e d heartbeats thumping against skintight inner drums
Then how she stalked us one by one with red snarling gums, our guts gripped by terrified delight.How one by one she killed each glowing lamp in the little flatthe only light left her ghostly torchlit grim and ghastly beneath a determined chin dripping juice sticky trail
Such delicious hiding and seeking, leaping and shrieking till at last all was spent.Then we washed hands, sat at the enamel kitchen table,said grace, and ate our mince, mash and peas.(Slowly. Because: Mind Your Manners! And: No mixing food into mush!)On top of the humming fridge was a chipped blue bowl,piled high with simple truth:if we were good, pudding would be the sweetest naartjies always she saved the best for last always kept the love for ever after
SALLY-ANN MURRAYTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
Clementine is an old folk songTangerine is a deep orange colourMandarin is an ancient tonguebut Naartjie is my mother
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Unforgettable
My father’s very old now.He forgets all sorts of things.Even me, sometimes.
But he’s still a big naartjie fan. He picks a naartjie over other fruit, any day.
Why do naartjies mean so much to you? I askWhy do you love them so much, Dad?
Naaaaartjies? he savours the word aloud. Then silence, except for chewing.His hands shake as he peels another.
Maybe that’s the point.He never needs to think about naartjies. He just loves to eat them.
Old habits die hard,people say. And this one I remain so grateful for.
SALLY-ANN MURRAYTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
ClemenGold se Royals
“Naartjies,naartjies hies hulle nouBring ’n bak en ek skil hulle vijou “
“Nakkies! Nakkies! hoeveel kos daai naartjies ?”
“Praat antie vani Mangerines of ie Tangerines?”
“Nee,O jinne ! Ma die goed het smart name Hoe smaak hulle?”
“Soet my antie, stroep soet! Die mangerines is manageable skil vi skil En die tangerines!...Oooo ...sy, sy! tango in die keel afMet ha goud geel stroopieStroop soet...”
“ O, ma jy neh Nakkies. Kan jou oêk lekke Verbeel”
“Nee antie, is true Hies nog ‘n Clementine oêk Dié naartjies ko nie meti lag deuri Hulle is Royal, hulle ko van CLEMENGOLD”
“Clemengold!... rêrig!? Ja antie nou ko ek maak gou jou job easy al jou naartjies: is sold “
ANMIRAY OPPERMANTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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Die gedagte van iets
“Jy bewe soos ’n riet.” Jy staan in my kamerdeur. Jou lyf is hoendervel, jou mondhoeke blou van koud. “Kom, klim in.”Ek gooi die deken halfpad oop sodat jy langs my kan inskuif. Ek raap jou op en gooi my arm om jou, trek jou styf teen my vas. Die agterkant van jou bobene en jou boude brand ys teen my geslaapte lyf en die vel in jou nek is klam teen my ken. “Hoekom gaan jy uit sonder ’n warm ding? Die son is nog nie eers behoorlik op nie.”Jy antwoord nie, jou lyf ril net teen myne.Ons lê lank so. Ek voel hoe die lewe terugklim in jou murg. Soos ’n pot sop uit die yskas wat stadig opgewarm word, als wat styfgestol was, raak weer sag en verteerbaar. Jou asemhaling word reëlmatig. Jy loer oor die afgrond van droomland. Nét voor jy afspring, draai jy om. Kyk my in die oë en glimlag. Jy vee ’n krul hare uit jou gesig en wriemel uit my greep. Op my bedkassie lê die skille van ’n nartjie. Jy tel ’n stukkie op en druk. Fyn nartjie-mis hang vir ’n kort oomblik in die lug. Jy buig die skil weer en weer en maak klein wolkbrekies van lekkerruikreën in die kamer. Die koue oggendson beur verbete deur ’n skrefie tussen die gordyne. Druppeltjies vang ’n lift op ’n flou sonstraal. Dit blink soos sterre, net voor dit verskiet. Jy vat ’n groter stukkie skil en draai weer terug na my. Druk die skil voor my gesig. Die nartjiereën gaan sit
NADINE PETRICKTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
in my wimpers en op my wang. Dit laat jou lag. Jy vee met jou vinger oor my gesig en druk jou vinger in my mond. “Proe dit na iets?” “Dit proe soos die gedagte van iets,” antwoord ek.“Watse gedagte?”Ek draai op my rug.“’n Olieverwarmer wat druppend warm word. ’n Ou pienk kombers. Bruin blare op geel gras. ’n Dag se lê op die bank en Wimbledon kyk terwyl jy eintlik moet leer vir ’n Wiskunde-eksamen. Wintervakansies met corduroy-broeke en jou broer se ou blou trui.”“’n Gedagte van klein wees?” vra jy.“Dalk,” antwoord ek. “Maar miskien ’n gedagte van vry wees.”Jy draai op jou sy, jou kop op jou hand. Met die ander hand vee jy die stukkie nartjieskil saggies oor my lippe. “Is jy depressed?” vra jy.“Ek glo nie,” sê ek, “dalk net melankolies.”Jy leun vorentoe. Soen my saggies teen my slaap.“Hoekom was jy buite?” vra ek en kyk na jou.“Ek wou nog ’n nartjie vir jou pluk,” sê jy, en klim weer onder my arm in.
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The Naartjie
The mandarin is an ancient fruitFrom which we bred all citrus loot -
Any lemon, lime or pomeloCan rightly call it daddy-o.
But oddly-paired with this fruit’s nameChina’s northern tongue’s the same,So here in our great Southern landWe chose to give this fruit a hand
The homegrown name on its ID-kaartjieIs none other than the famous naartjie.
GLENN WILLIAM READTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
KARINA MARIE PIENAARFollow @karinamariepienaar
32MARIKE KLEYNSCHELDTFollow @marike.kleynscheldt .art
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ClemenRym
Herringboxes without topses dra die swagman se nooien Bolandse meisies is lieflik getooiNartjiegeur sprei hartsverlangeskil knak sproeireën brand-oranje
Oranges en lemonslui die klok van Sint ClementsBoegoe, narsing, koekmakrankegeure maak hul eie klanke
Wat beter as die nartjie-wysievan jou hart se lieflingmeisieHier, my liewe ver-land-kindmet geur en klank en kleur gebind
stuur ek vir jou g’n rooiborsduifberggans is te raserigmaar hierdie boksie soet jolyttroos vir benoude kloostertyd
‘n proesel van ons bakermatas mandaryn-kwatryn vervat:Winter-son se vroeë byten herfs se malse soetigheid
MARTLI SLABBERTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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Segments of Sunshine
Beneath warm wintersunshine you gift yourselfeagerly to me; your skinpeeling back with ease.I always want more,every segment of youpressed between my teeth.
You stain my fingerssunset and stickyuntil I dripwith your burst.I could gorge myselfon the sweet extravaganceof you, your bitter sheenlingering through soap,a perpetual reminderof our time together.
Once, I strapped your goldenbox to my red scooterand raced back to my roomwhere I would marrymyself to your delicate sweetness.
MELISSA SUSSENS To l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
I have shared youwith friends and lovers,have hoarded your glowto satisfy only myself.
Oh Tangerine,I will always bringyou home with me.
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afourer
from marrakech the road runs northto where the foothills of the atlas fallstreams distilled of powder snowcarve layered sandstone canyonsto the desert plains below imam’s plaintive call at break of dayfirst light sweeps last lingering stars awayrufous-breasted redstarts chatter in afourer groves dew drops glint from dark green leavesfragrance drifts through citrus trees
a berber shepherd with his crook in handherds goats to where the souk tents standwicker baskets filled with almonds dates and apricotstomatoes olives nadorcottsa chanting goshawk circles in the burnished sky
ARCHIE SWANSONTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
a redolence of winter
a constellation of orange planets in a dark green cosmossmall suns hanging thick in loosefitting jacketsthe tang of citrusI reach up, pluck soft gold, slip off the jacket divide the segments, eat with mathematical precisionah, an explosion of bittersweet I squeeze the skin between thumb and fingerrelease the oil rub it on my wristsbreathe a redolence of winter
SUE WOODWARDTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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Sunrise with naartjies
Always from the east – a gathering of countless paper cuts of sunlight turning to deeper wounds, that draw flame until a brightness grows over the waking of the house. In drawing open the curtains – the kitchen ignites, the damp slicks of dreams instantly evaporate into first light, as every sleep-fogged electron spins to clarity and habit.
An entire solar system rests on a dining table, a jumble of planets that have misplaced their orbits and surrendered gravity to a porcelain embrace.
Each planet’s dimpled surface polished to inflammable citrus, so in passing, they release the sweet scent of a childhood long spent.
STEPHEN SYMONSTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
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School Holidays
i. In the morning we went to the veld to play, climbed that one tree and made a house of it, pretending no one saw. Then, jumping down, we raced to the edge of the veld and looked out over the place where everything falls down. Heat broke out of our foreheads (and the clouds too) while we took brunch in our mouths—freeing violent orange through our teeth.
Orb of seed and juiceeaten before the kiss.
Speak in scents untamed.
JARRED THOMPSONTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
ii. In the afternoon we rationed our reading, peeled the glue from spines and dissolved eyes in inkwells. My mother said it’d be good for us to stretch our minds to see what isn’t there. I read about a fruit so evil that when you drew its skin back it would spray citrus into the atmosphere, calling you back to your nakedness: those layers and layers of sensitive hair.
Clinging to your sweetother who rights the ruin
of your ripened rind.
iii. In the evening we took off our Velcro clothing, stuck the ends of facecloths between toes and in earholes. Taking a closer look, we glimpsed the pink of our nailbeds—a tight space we couldn’t get to. Somehow, we knew reaching that deep would hurt. Then, in our pj’s again, we ate more of that huddled fruit, stripping and popping segment by segment, learning about the pleasure of little sips. You said you hated the pulp; that you’d give anything not to have that stringy feeling in your mouth. I said you need that stringy feeling; that that is what holds it all together.
Play on the scales ofmy tongue; root me in-between
the leaves and naartjies.
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oranje is ons heimwee
op jou stoep in potchefstroom skuins voor winterwaar jy ‘n nartjie opgelig het in antwoord op die flou sonhet jy gesê dat as ons hierdie wêreld wil oorleefdit nodig is om die lewe se bitter kwistig af te skilsy norspeule sonder verweer weg te skeur en die soet heimwee uit elke teer oomblik soos sitrusskywe van herinnering af te sluk
tussen die middagskaduwee en aandkoelteluister jy hoe die duiwe sin aan die wêreld terugkoeroorkant hang die kerkklok lankal dorjy kyk na die vrug geanker op jou palm en sugdis tog wat die lewe werklik is nie waar?
‘n nartjie-planeet van bittersoetons weet goeie tyding kom nooit alleendíé vrug kweek waarde uit elke seisoenmaar dis die harde skil wat die winter weghoutog na die kraakvars spritz wat selfs die oë laat brandvolg ‘n sondelose somer wat blywend smelt in jou mond
JOHANN VAN DER WALTTo l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
nou is die stoep leeg geafdak onder dieselfde duiwekoerjou stoel bleek en stom en die middagson skaamjy is haas oppad per trein na die ewigheiddie oranje oomblikke in potchefstroom los wel sy nasmaak-op my kombuistafel slaap ‘n nartjie in die vrugtebaksó skil ek die hartseer en koester herinneringe van goud
die lewe is soos ‘n nartjieaanvaar beide die bitter en soetdis hoe ons bly oorleefen wanneer die seisoene draai sal ons ook groet
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Hi Sweetypie - Naartjie My
Hi Sweetypie-I remember wellThat nightI first touchedThe sweetness of youIntimate it was.The smoothness of your skinVelvet softAnd lingering on my tongue,Expectantly,Sweetness of a kiss to come.
Orange was your bodiceCut to fit your swelling little hips.I remember the feel of your necklaceAs I reverently (In awe of your purity)Undressed you to peep at Your lacy flesh.An oily spray of honey and rosesBursting around meQuickening my heart.
PEET ZEEMAN To l isten to the poem on SoundCloud, click here .
Then all the houses Of all my wishesWent up in smokeAs you rolicked Around in my mouth,Filling my senseWith a fresh breeze of orchardsWhere birds meet and sing.
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Stream audio poems from the ClemenGold ® page on SoundCloud.
Happy listening!
