Shakespeare and the Coconuts. Natasha Distiller

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Shakespeare and the Coconuts - Natasha Distiller

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(Kwela Books and Snailpress, Cape Town, 2002) and later re-published in Seasonal Fires: new and selected poems (Seven Stories Press, New York, 2006).

      My thanks to Jennifer Poole for her sterling research and editorial assistance, to Julie Miller and Roshan Cader at Wits University Press, and to Inga Norenius for her editing.

       Introduction

      Ingrid de Kok’s poem ‘Merchants in Venice’ addresses the relationship between rich, established Europe and its so-called high culture, and poor, entrepreneurial Africa. The poem offers ways to read the presence of Africans in this famous landscape. One of the poem’s subtexts speaks to Africans’ political, economic, and cultural rights, and the disavowal, refusal, or lack of their recognition. Ancient histories of exchange resonate with the globalised present, as the young men of De Kok’s poem are saturated, not only in Venice’s celebrated light, but also in relations of power that span time and place, and are imbricated with the markers of culture invoked by the poem’s descriptions as well as by its title:

       Merchants in Venice

      We arrive in Venice to ancient acoustics:

      the swaddling of paddle in water,

      thud of the vaporetto against the landing site,

      and the turbulent frescoes of corridors and ceilings,

      belief and power sounding history

      with the bells of the subdivided hour,

      on water, air and all surfaces of light.

      What have we Africans to do with this?

      With holy water, floating graves and cypresses,

      the adamantine intricacy of marble floors,

      gold borders of faith, Mary’s illuminated face

      and the way Tintoretto’s Crucifixion is weighted

      with the burden of everyday sin and sweat,

      while the city keeps selling its history and glass.

      On the Rialto, tourists eye the wares

      of three of our continent’s diasporic sons,

      young men in dreadlocks and caps, touting

      leather bags and laser toys in the subdued dialect

      of those whose papers never are correct,

      homeboys now in crowded high-rise rooms

      edging the embroidered city.

      How did they get from Dakar to Venice?

      What brotherhood sent them to barter and pray?

      And on long rainy days when the basilica

      levitates, dreaming of drowning,

      do they think of their mission and mothers,

      or hover and hustle like apprentice angels

      over the shrouded campos and spires?

      Into the city we have come for centuries,

      buyers, sellers, mercenaries, spies,

      artists, saints, the banished,

      and boys like these: fast on their feet,

      carrying sacks of counterfeit goods,

      shining in saturated light,

      the mobile inheritors of any renaissance.1

      De Kok’s poem brings to the surface what is hidden beneath the beautiful veneer of European culture, ‘the way Tintoretto’s Crucifixion is weighted / with the burden of everyday sin and sweat, / while the city keeps selling its history and glass’.

      Commerce and its patterns of exploitation, and the real lives of real people lived above, beneath, and within the layers of art and history that comprise the physical and cultural architecture of Venice, inform Europe’s beautiful objects and invest them with a different meaning to their commodified claims to fame. The poem insists on this without reducing Europe’s artistic accomplishments to instrumentalist objects of power and overpowering. At the same time, the poem makes visible the human struggles which belie any easy celebration of intrinsic worth. It brings history and politics into art. It also stakes a claim for what Africans are entitled to inherit from this history, by insisting that they have always been a part of the grubby, painful human living which makes high art, which enables it to exist as object and as artefact. Europe’s art would not mean what it does without Africa, that is, without its exploited human and other resources, and its symbolic position in a global history and economy. With this acknowledgement, Africans’ relationship to Europe’s texts and treasures becomes participatory. At the same time, ‘art’, ‘Europe’, and ‘Africa’ are all located in the realities of daily life, within the dynamics of which each concept is constructed.

      The poem allows for a discussion of the ways that people produce artefacts and ideas. Some of the most celebratory writing about Shakespeare can make it sound like we are products of Shakespeare’s texts, which become ahistorical and unimplicated in politics and materiality. This book describes some of the ways Shakespeare’s texts have been implicated in South African history, politics, and materiality. In addition, it explores how and why this history matters.

      Let me say from the outset that while I am arguing against seeing Shakespeare’s literary or philosophical influence in South Africa as proof of ‘his’ universality, I am not therefore arguing that ‘he’ has no ‘authentic’ place in South Africa. Indeed, the anxieties about authenticity and belonging raised by debates on Shakespeare are far more interesting to me than what I consider to be historically inaccurate and theoretically naïve statements that rely on essentialised versions of concepts such as ‘culture’, ‘African’, ‘European’. De Kok’s poem makes it clear that these ideas are always products of material history, of people’s investments (financial and emotional), of complex human processes.

       Shakespeare and coconut logic

      There is a long tradition of South Africans appropriating Shakespeare, which goes back to the colonial mission schools. The nature of that appropriation is complex, and involves sociopolitical interactions and aspirations, including specific colonial, South African, incarnations of the dynamics of class mobility and modernisation, their relation to Christianity, to English as a language of social and therefore economic power, and to English Literature as a formalised field of study. South Africans who have entered into this tradition have been seen as selling out to a kind of colonial coconuttiness which enabled the entrenchment of a racist social system, or as transforming the master’s tools in order to dismantle his house. However you want to read their behaviour, the fact remains that they read, loved, and used Shakespeare in their own lives and works. So Shakespeare has an African history, which is as African as any other aspect of the region’s cultural development. To say this is to take a political stand, one which refuses to see colonial history and its aftermath as containable by binaries: coloniser/colonised, oppressor/oppressed,

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