City Girl

Cape Town
Director / editor: Niklas Zimmer
Camera: James Tayler
Performer: Catherine Scott
Voices: Katherine Bull, Deborah Poynton, Renate Meyer
1'00’’
2009

Sitting naked on her balcony, a woman blurs the line between public and private space, exploring both her comfort and discomfort in the city. She muses about why she likes living there and how it empowers her, as well as increases her sense of vulnerability.

Fragmented

Cape Town
Co-director / Poet / Choreographer: Khanyisile Mbongwa
Co-director / Camera / editor: James Tayler
Performers: Zenande Mankayi, Nicole Olsen
4'53’’
2009

In Cape Town, a city divided along race and class lines, two women can't quite meet and can't quite let go. One gay, one straight, one black, one coloured, the spaces they inhabit connect them, and yet become the thing that separates them from each other. "Fragmented" is a dance poem about the physical and psychological identity of women in the city. They dance in urban spaces marked by masculine architecture that denies the organic curves of their bodies. They venture into marginal areas in which they are subject to intimidation or violation, areas marked by gang graffitti where only men walk safely. Their silhouettes become windows into the cityscape, in a film that dreams of a place where, in a line from the hushed internal monologue of the poem, "I forget your sex and your skin colour".

(Un)veiling

Cape Town
Videographer: Mandilakhe Yengo
Performer: Alude Mahali
Poet: Gary Cummiskey
2'51’’
2009

(Un)veiling explores voyeurism and the power of the gaze. In the midst of the bustle of constrained living spaces in the city, privacy becomes a necessity but isn’t always a given. The city has eyes; it covers and uncovers and someone is always watching- hidden or revealed. Using the poem “Corner Café” by Gary Cummiskey, as its premise, (Un)veiling looks at the fine line between seeing, being seen and not seeing.

Circles

Cape Town
Writer / director: Terry Westby-Nunn
01’54’’
2009

The circle is a prevalent symbol within the city - hardwired for signage, transport and mechanical efficiency. Our lives are ordered by the circle, both externally and internally. This video poem asks viewers whether they too are running rings around their city lives.

I walk the street with loose parts

Cape Town
Choreographer: Louise Coetzer
Editor: Eben Smal
Cinematography: Oscar O'Ryan
Director: Ryan Kruger
Music: Gustav Stutterheim
Producer: Adrian Hogan
04'00''
2008

A dance film inspired by Deborah Steinmair’s poem Dream Weaver. We spend so much time living past one another, we become so caught up in our own small spaces. What is beautiful to see is the strict contrast between a space which normally carries a mass of human traffic, and then to see it empty and deserted. So many of the buildings we surround ourselves with function only from sunrise to sunset and yet there are endless stories to imagine in those spaces after hours. This for me is truly the city alive, with a breath and heart beat that slows down as the day draws to an end. – Louise Coetzer

waitless

Cape Town
Choreographer / director: Ananda Fuchs
4’40’’
2009

Three women sit in an empty suburban swimming pool: one who speaks the other’s mind, one who translates into her lover’s language and one whose mind is being spoken. They are all suspended in waiting. The film uses the words from the Leonard Cohen poem, “Dance Me to the End of Love”, as the women’s bodies remember the rhythm of love and of loss and are swept up in the dance, switching ultimately to a lovers’ tango on the beach – a memory or fantasy?

Walking in Plastic

Cape Town
Choreographer / performer: Mduduzi Nyembe
Poet / voice: Bandile Gumbi
Artist / director: Kai Lossgott
2009

Performance artist Mduduzi Nyembe presents a memory of a wounded woman, a dream for an absent father, and a dance in a street market for survival. They are ritual stories of the heartache of the slums – substance abuse, violence, gender inequalities, chronic unemployment, families’ incapacity to provide for and protect their children. Each of Nyembe’s characters, taken from his daily interactions in the township, is left, in the words of poet Bandile Gumbi, "a constant wanderer / always at the beginning of complete circles", trapped in the existential cycle of poverty.

Terra Obscura

Cape Town
Artist / programmer / director: Maia Grotepass
02'00''
2009

Terra Obscura displays the joint layered effects of computerised forces and human intervention on two sites on the developing edge of greater Cape Town. Grotepass interprets the data to mirror and highlight processes observable in landscape changes that occur due to “low density sprawl”. Informal human interaction and natural processes are mapped to random-based algorhythms. Geometric algorhythms create visual structures referring to formal planned development of the sites. This video is an exploration of imagery captured from an interactive installation work with the same title.

TV Programs 001: Powerlines / Web of Life

Cape Town
Artist / director: Nileru
03’10''
2007

An abstract photomontage work that engages with the electrical power lines which characterizes our urban environment. The combination of still photography, repetition and Solfreggio sound frequencies produce an audiovisual sensory experience which is at once calming and meditative to some, while excruciatingly irritating to others.

The Electrician

Cape Town
Artist / director: Terry Westby-Nunn
Poet / voice / performer: Tanya van Schalkwyk
2'5''
2009

Cities are the dressing rooms of our dreams / fantasies. "The Electrician" romps through another side of Cape Town's blackouts and energy crises, as well as the mind of a city dweller. Is the electrician a figment of her imagination or is she part of an underground city - alternate to the one we read about in the papers and believe to be true? Reality or imaginary, the city plays dress up with our minds.

Omdat ek die stadsrumoer (Because I chose the city noise)

Cape Town
Artist / director: Koeka Stander
Poet: William Rowland
Voice: Helene Rowland
03'21''
2009

A video poem that evokes the silent, boxed-in world of creatures living in aquarium tanks, viewed by casual tourists. In them we see our mirrored selves, trapped inside the noisy city landscape. The writer of the poem and song in this film was blinded at age four, but at 69 still has vivid memories of visiting an aquarium.

Kai Lossgott. Melissa Butler. parentheses. video poem. 2008.

A video poem about Cape Town by the South African video artist Kai Lossgott and the American poet Melissa Butler, created to kickstart the City Breath project.

Two Gifts

by Dawn Garisch

I’ve lived in my body in this city all my life
yet have not known this simple pleasure:
you took me to a lake on a fynbos berg.
I entered like a dream, plunging.

We sat on white sand playing
with shoals of meaning that shift
when you lift the lid off words.
You chose to sit alone while I went in.

The mountain offers up this cup
for gulls and clouds to drink; I, mere fly,
baptised my life within its living liquid,
emerging blessed. I heard you say

women want more than you can give; a man
was drowning in your eye. We walked back,
caressed by sensuous air. Your mouth
was tense. I shook your hand goodbye.

slaap

by Clive E Smith

waar die burger oor my hang kombers
waar die waarheid nuus word en snoes

bang vir slaap en koue dood op naak
my maan die bedlamp brug my dak om bo

kanaal mybad en wasgoed spoel was
haas vir niks en nie 'n baas

sit in son voor heater van god wat faal
kom help my vrou en smaak in mond

sy brand in slaap en hoop vir foet
beenafgesit en reuk in neus van braai

written by Clive E Smith 0834811203 clivesgarage@capepages.co.za

van suk en ses

by Clive E Smith

ek wen net emmies my hart is vol liedere
moses stoot water uitmekaar net vir my en
die son kom op en glimlag my naam hart oor die horison uit

die koerant se opskrifte is oor my en my hare
en my kuif en sagte vel soos room en die girls
skep lepels vol uit my wange en hulle harte is vol

die meide druk die sweet onder my arms uit
en maak hulle hare reguit
en galop in die wind en die skemer kan dit nie mince nie

die katte trek my tone en begin praat
en lag en se^ my naam hardop en miaaw
nooit weer nie en kry jobs by clicks en discom en pep

ek kannie gly nie
ek kannie val nie
ek kannie huil nie
ek kannie pyn of ly nie
ek kannie traan of stog nie
ek kannie alleen of loun nie
ek kannie mis verlang nie
my wiskey glas het nie 'n onder nie

lunching at the foot of the gardens

Allan Kolski Horvitz

sir george grey
governor of the cape colony from 1854 to 1861
stands with one foot forward
quite fey
amazing to think he expanded the borders quite efficiently . . . ahem

a malay woman with sagging breasts
adjusts her black veil
strolls past with three small children
dressed in shorts and t-shirts that read:
well done uncle bin laden
sock it to the Yankees

a rat frightens a squirrel
wins the peanut thrown by a bratwurst of a tourist
camera lens as big as his boep

indeed
the heat forces us all into the shade
except for george grey who has to bleach
in the sight of history

*

and in this hour of meditation

the laughter of muscular nigerians
fills the lawns with mangrove swamps and oily deltas
bottles of baby powder masquerading as coke

the clatter of anorexic supermodels strutting down sidepaths
makes schoolboys
burst into pimply flamencos

secretaries in tight pants eating bananas on the benches
send text messages to their boyfriends
imploring invitations to dinner

xhosa cleaners in orange jackets and black hats worthy of halloween
sweep leaves from the feet of bearded Sikhs
sitting hunched over fake passports

mounted policemen nibble weeds
planted by hippies outside parliament on the day
verwoerd went under the knife

streams of curvaceous young women
fail to stop turning old men into yeats
goodgrace ah graciousness ah h a dis g rac e ?

PICTURES (The National Gallery)

by Khanyisile Mbongwa

I SPEAK ONLY IN PICTURES THAT SEE THE EYES IN ME
BUT ARE BLIND TO THE KIND IN ME
IMAGES THAT LIE RIDICULOUSLY HANGING ON WALLS ENDLESSLY
EMERGING WITH CERTAIN SOULS TRANCEEDING INTO THE TIMELESS WITH NO BOUNDARIES BEYOND JUST BEING A MERE PAINTING ON MY WALL
THESE PAINTINGS OF ROMANTIC CHILDHOOD CONCEIVE NOTHING BUT ONLY CAPTURE THE POSSIBILITY OF ME AND YOU
AND I WONDER IF THEY DESCRIBE WHAT IS TRUE OR ARE THEY JUST AN INDICATION OF THE FAILURE WE DO

I SPEAK ONLY IN PICTURES THAT SEE THE EYES IN ME
BUT ARE BLIND TO THE KIND IN ME
IMAGES INNOCENTLY NAKED BUT FRAMED IN THE MIND OF SEXUALITY FRUSTRATED BEINGS THAT CONCEPTUALIZE THEIR INNOCENCE AS A FRAGMENT OF THEIR DESIRES
THAT TRANSPIRES TO BE HOGGING THE SOCIETY ROBBING IT OF ITS HUMBLE PRESENTS
TURNING ME AND YOU INTO A PRECINCT OF PREY VULTURES AWAITING NERVOUSLY TO BE FRAMED FOR A NEGATIVE IMAGE TO CAPTURE WHAT THEY DREAM ON ON WHITE WALLS
WHILST THE WITH RUSTY PAINT DRIPDRIPPINGS ON THE SIDES TELLING THE TRUE STORY OF WHAT WAS

I SPEAK ONLY IN PICTURES THAT SEE THE EYES IN ME
BUT ARE BLIND TO THE KIND IN ME
THESE IMAGES YOU SEE MIGHT DEFINE BUT DON’T CONFINE THE STRUCTURES YOU SEE DAILY - THAT SMILE, A LIE WITH HUGS, THAT QUESTION WHY THE LINE SPLITTING REALITY, WHAT JUSTICE I ASK, WHEN TRUTH IS LIES EDITED TO DISCREDIT THE PEDESTAL BESTOWED UPON ME
THIS JURYWOULD BE SERVED BY QUESTIONING ITS AUTHORITY

I SPEAK ONLY IN PICTURES THAT SEE THE EYES IN ME
BUT ARE BLIND TO THE KIND IN ME
THIS ENGLISH LANGUAGE UNDERSTOOD WITHIN ME AS MY LIPS ROAM FREELY,, MY MIND RESTS EASILY BUT MY HEART, PONDERS THIS REALITY
OF THESE UNSPOKEN WORDS THAT ONLY MY EYES WITHIN THE PICTURE SEE

I SPEAK ONLY IN PICTURES THAT SEE THE EYES IN ME
BUT ARE BLIND TO THE KIND IN ME
EARS OPEN UP TO THE WONDERS OF THE STORIES FORETOLD
THEN LOST IN BETWEEN THE LINES THE STORY HOLDS
DEPICT THE TRUTH AS A LIE GETTING OLD
WHAT SOULS HAVE BEEN SOLD
WHAT SOULS HAVE BEEN SOLD

I SPEAK
ONLY IN THE PICTURES
I SPEAK ONLY IN THE PICTURES THAT SEE THE EYES IN ME
BLIND TO THE KIND
EYES IN ME
PICTURES THAT SEE
AND I SPEAK AND I SPEAK
THE TRUTH AND LIES YOU SEE
PICTURES IN ME, PICTURES YOU SEE
I SAID I SPEAK ONLY IN PICTURES THAT SEE THE EYES IN ME
BUT ARE BLIND TO THE KIND IN ME

In Woodstock tier die wind

by Danie Marais

’n week al lank.
Ons dak kraak soos die maste
van ’n ou seilskip in ’n storm
en die wolke maal en mor
oor Tafelberg se rand.
Aan die berg se voet lê die stad
oorbelig en uitgewas
soos ’n ou poskaart.

In Stellenbosch het jou senuwees ingekonk
en jou wil versaak –
oor die telefoon sleep jou tong
en tussen die snot en trane deur
hoor ek nie mooi wat jy probeer sê nie:
wetie & seblief & slaappille & rotgif & drain cleaner
& hospitaal & uitgepomp & ingespuit & jy oukei, ja, oukei
is min of meer al wat ek verstaan …

In Woodstock skeur die wind
gepas
terwyl ek wag vir die telefoon om weer te lui.

As die wind gaan lê
sal dit stil en skoon en leeg wees,
maar terwyl die palmbome stuiptrek
en die telefoondrade skud
is dit moeilik om te glo.

In Woodstock teister die wind my nou
met wetie & slaappille & rotgif & jou groot sagbruin oë
en alles deurmekaar

en êrens lê jy soos my afgekapte hande
in ’n voorlopige lakengraf
en lek verdriet en dooie gebede in jou kussing.

Ek wens ek kon sê ek verstaan nie
hoekom mense in noodweer rotgif & slaappille
en hul onskuldige lywe vol merke sny nie,

maar in Woodstock skryf die stukkende wind
jou wanhoop met wolke
huil jou woede deur die vuil strate en kartonmense

vir iemand om te hoor.

As die wolk skeur oor Tafelberg

by Danie Marais

"It's coming, keep the car runnning"

The Arcade Fire

Op pad huis toe in die laatmiddagson
op Eastern Boulevard
sien ek ’n watte-wit golf
stadig
oor Tafelberg breek
en teen die krans afspoel.

My ma sê as dit gebeur het
sou sy as kind in Tamboerskloof
op die sypaadjie gaan sit om te kyk
hoe die wille Suidoos die hemel
teen die berg afblaas.
Die prentjie van my ma ¬–
’n dogtertjie van 10 ¬–
wat bang-bang lekkerkry
met haar oë op die berg
laat my na aan haar
en die jaar 1955 voel.

Onafwendbaarheid het ’n vreemde bekoring
as dit soos ’n onstuimige wolk
oor Tafelberg rol.
Jy kyk na die noodwendigheid
van berg en breek
die hopeloosheid
van asem teen klip
die blinde soen
van hemel en aarde
ma en kind
en jy weet hoekom mense nie anders kan
as lag en huil
en vashou en verloor nie.

Jy volg die lyn van die kabelkarretjie
wat in die kolkende wit woeling verdwyn
en jy weet die goeie en die slegte nuus
sal jou altyd weldra bereik
waar ook al jy of jou ma dan is.

A woman's journey

by Bulelwa Basse

The universe itches
at the soles of her resiliernt feet,
with its persistent requests

step-by-step she treads tactfully
towards the accomplishment of each,
without a sigh in sound

Even when her shoulders emulate
the shape of her burdens,
the corners of her eyes
crease with a smile,
whenever she is greeted
by the innocence of her kind

Her arms, welcoming,
Her intellect, provocative
Her tongue, gentles enraged hearts
and her beauty, silencing

Grown men break into infant tongues
in her presence,
clumsy over her supremacy
Many have competed
and all have self-ridiculed,
in a quest for opulence,
yet priceless is her worth

Her love is nothing short of God:
She seeks connection
with every soul she meets
Found love, first,
before knowing who she was

In random tragedy
she learns hard lessons
Through loss of many sentimentals,
gains internal sharpening

Her eyes widen with awe
per universal orbit
And with life's surprising schooling,
steps the world
with a little bit of wisdom

Her footprints unravel mystery
Her word speaks comprehension
And her exchange rives consciousness
Like stitches on assembly on a quilt,
every encounter is history recorded,
as she journeys with all the living's aspirations
Dreams, their successes
Mourns their losses
Cries their tears
And fights for the feeble-minded one's sanity

It is this essence of woman
that propels the world
to dreams fulfilled
Gives birth to characters of excellence,
cultured minds,
conquering attitudes
and celebrated spirits
Because hers, has always been blessed
with the power of building
not only a home, but also a nation