Tuis » Algemeen » Koeitjies & kalfies » HC Bosman
| HC Bosman [boodskap #101291] |
Di, 08 Februarie 2005 10:33  |
Ferdi Greyling
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Herman Charles Bosman, saam met JM Coetzee seker die beste skrywer wat
ooit uit SA gekom het, sou die afgelope naweek 100 jaar oud gewees
het. Om dit te vier, hier is een van sy minder bekende stories. Minder
bekend, maar so 'n briljante stuk vertelkins....
-------------------------------------------------
The Recogning Blues
I was ambling down Eloff Street, barefooted and in my shirt-sleeyes,
and with the recognising blues.
I had been smoking dagga, good dagga, the real rooibaard, with heads
about a foot long, and not just the stuff that most dealers supply you
with, and that is not much better than grass. When you smoke good
dagga you get blue in quite a number of ways. The most common way is
the frightened blues, when you imagine that your heart is palpitating,
and that you can't breathe, and that you are going to die. Another
form that the effect of dagga takes is that you get the suspicious
blues, and then you imagine that all the people around you, your best
friends and your parents included, are conspiring against you, so that
when your mother asks you, 'How are you?' every word she says sounds
very sinister, as though she knows that you have been smoking dagga,
and that you are blue, and you feel that she is like a witch. The most
innocent remark any person makes when you have got the suspicious
blues seems to be impregnated with a whole world of underhand meaning
and dreadful insinuation.
And perhaps you are right to feel this way about it. Is not the most
harmless conversation between several human beings charged with the
most diabolical kind of subterranean cunning, each person fortifying
himself behind barbed-wire defences? Look at that painting of
Daumier's, called Conversation Piece, and you will see that the two
men and the woman concerned in this little friendly chat are all three
of them taking part in a cloven-hoofed rite. You can see each one has
got the suspicious blues.
There is also the once-over blues and a considerable variety of other
kinds of blues. But the recognising blues doesn't come very often, and
then it is only after you have been smoking the best kind of rooibaard
boom, with ears that long.
When you have got the recognising blues you think you know everybody
you meet. And you go up and shake hands with every person that you
come across, because you think you recognise him, and you are very
glad to have run into him: in this respect the recognising blues is
just the opposite of the suspicious blues.
A friend of mine, Charlie, who has smoked dagga for thirty years, says
that he once had the recognising blues very bad when he was strolling
through the centre of the town. And after he had shaken hands with
lots of people who didn't know him at all, and whom he didn't know
either, but whom he thought he knew, because he had the recognising
blues
then a very singular thing happened to my friend, Rooker Charlie. For
he looked in the display window of a men's outfitters, and he saw two
dummies standing there, in the window, two dummies dressed in a smart
line of gents' suitings, and with the recognising blues .strong on
him, Charlie thought that he knew those two dummies, and he thought
that the one dummy was Max Chaitz, who kept a restaurant in Cape Town,
and that the other dummy was a well-known snooker-player called Pat
O'Callaghan.
And my friend Rooker Charlie couldn't understand how Max Chaitz and
Pat O'Callaghan should come to be standing there holding animated
converse in that shop-window. He didn't know, until that moment, that
Max Chaitz and Pat O'Callaghan were even acquainted. But the sight of
these two men standing there talking like that shook my friend Rooker
Charlie up pretty badly. So he went home to bed. But early next
morning he dashed round again to that men's outfitters, and then he
saw that those two figures weren't Max Chaitz and Pat O'Callaghan at
all, but two dummies stuck in the window. And he saw then that they
didn't look even a bit like the two men he thought they were -
especially the dummy that he thought was Max Chaitz. Because Max
Chaitz is very short and fat, with a red, cross-looking sort of a face
that you can't mistake in a million. Whereas the dummy was tall and
slender and good-looking.
That was the worst experience that my friend Rooker Charlie ever had
of the recognising blues.
And when I was taking a stroll down Eloff Street, that evening, and I
was barefooted and in my shifl-sleeves, then I also had a bad attack
of the recognising blues- But it was the recognising blues in a
slightly different form. I would first make up a name in my brain, a
name that sounded good to me, and that I thought had the right sort of
a rhythm to it. And then the first person I would see, I would think
that he was the man whose name I had just thought out. And I would go
up and address him by this name, and shake hands with him, and tell
him how glad I was to see him.
And a name I thought up that sounded very fine to me, and impressive,
with just the right kind of ring to it, was the name Sir Lionel
Ostrich de Frontignac. It was a very magnificent name.
And so I went up, barefooted and in my shin-sleeves, to the first man
I saw in the street, after I had coined this name, and I took him by
the hand, and I said, 'Well met, Sir Lionel. It is many years since
last we met, Sir Lionel Ostrich de Frontignac.'
And the remarkable coincidence was that the man whom I addressed in
this way actually was Sir Lionel Ostrich de Frontignac. But on account
of his taking me for a bum -through my being barefooted and in my
shirt-sleeves - he wouldn't acknowledge that he really was Sir Lionel
and that I had recognised him dead to rights.
'You are mistaken,' Sir Lionel Ostrich de Frontignac said, moving away
from me, 'You have got the recognising blues.'
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| Re: HC Bosman [boodskap #101294 is 'n antwoord op boodskap #101291] |
Di, 08 Februarie 2005 17:40  |
bouer
Boodskappe: 4803
Geregistreer: Desember 2003
Karma: 0
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Senior Lid |
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"Ferdi Greyling" skryf
> Herman Charles Bosman, saam met JM Coetzee seker die beste skrywer wat
> ooit uit SA gekom het, sou die afgelope naweek 100 jaar oud gewees
> het. Om dit te vier, hier is een van sy minder bekende stories. Minder
> bekend, maar so 'n briljante stuk vertelkins....
Dankie vir die stuk. Soos gewoonlik weet mens dat Bosman,
beter as enigiemand in die hele heelal, weet hoe om die spyker
op die kop te slaan.
Gloudina
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| Re: HC Bosman [boodskap #101300 is 'n antwoord op boodskap #101291] |
Wo, 09 Februarie 2005 06:53 |
Zuben el-genubi
Boodskappe: 29
Geregistreer: Augustus 2004
Karma: 0
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Junior Lid |
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Uitstekend. Dankie.
Koot
"Ferdi Greyling" skryf in boodskap news:665h01dngl7qcf4u8r4m8ktgeek31ch68s@4ax.com...
>
> Herman Charles Bosman, saam met JM Coetzee seker die beste skrywer wat
> ooit uit SA gekom het, sou die afgelope naweek 100 jaar oud gewees
> het. Om dit te vier, hier is een van sy minder bekende stories. Minder
> bekend, maar so 'n briljante stuk vertelkins....
>
> -------------------------------------------------
>
>
> The Recogning Blues
>
>
> I was ambling down Eloff Street, barefooted and in my shirt-sleeyes,
> and with the recognising blues.
> I had been smoking dagga, good dagga, the real rooibaard, with heads
> about a foot long, and not just the stuff that most dealers supply you
> with, and that is not much better than grass. When you smoke good
> dagga you get blue in quite a number of ways. The most common way is
> the frightened blues, when you imagine that your heart is palpitating,
> and that you can't breathe, and that you are going to die. Another
> form that the effect of dagga takes is that you get the suspicious
> blues, and then you imagine that all the people around you, your best
> friends and your parents included, are conspiring against you, so that
> when your mother asks you, 'How are you?' every word she says sounds
> very sinister, as though she knows that you have been smoking dagga,
> and that you are blue, and you feel that she is like a witch. The most
> innocent remark any person makes when you have got the suspicious
> blues seems to be impregnated with a whole world of underhand meaning
> and dreadful insinuation.
> And perhaps you are right to feel this way about it. Is not the most
> harmless conversation between several human beings charged with the
> most diabolical kind of subterranean cunning, each person fortifying
> himself behind barbed-wire defences? Look at that painting of
> Daumier's, called Conversation Piece, and you will see that the two
> men and the woman concerned in this little friendly chat are all three
> of them taking part in a cloven-hoofed rite. You can see each one has
> got the suspicious blues.
> There is also the once-over blues and a considerable variety of other
> kinds of blues. But the recognising blues doesn't come very often, and
> then it is only after you have been smoking the best kind of rooibaard
> boom, with ears that long.
> When you have got the recognising blues you think you know everybody
> you meet. And you go up and shake hands with every person that you
> come across, because you think you recognise him, and you are very
> glad to have run into him: in this respect the recognising blues is
> just the opposite of the suspicious blues.
> A friend of mine, Charlie, who has smoked dagga for thirty years, says
> that he once had the recognising blues very bad when he was strolling
> through the centre of the town. And after he had shaken hands with
> lots of people who didn't know him at all, and whom he didn't know
> either, but whom he thought he knew, because he had the recognising
> blues
> then a very singular thing happened to my friend, Rooker Charlie. For
> he looked in the display window of a men's outfitters, and he saw two
> dummies standing there, in the window, two dummies dressed in a smart
> line of gents' suitings, and with the recognising blues .strong on
> him, Charlie thought that he knew those two dummies, and he thought
> that the one dummy was Max Chaitz, who kept a restaurant in Cape Town,
> and that the other dummy was a well-known snooker-player called Pat
> O'Callaghan.
> And my friend Rooker Charlie couldn't understand how Max Chaitz and
> Pat O'Callaghan should come to be standing there holding animated
> converse in that shop-window. He didn't know, until that moment, that
> Max Chaitz and Pat O'Callaghan were even acquainted. But the sight of
> these two men standing there talking like that shook my friend Rooker
> Charlie up pretty badly. So he went home to bed. But early next
> morning he dashed round again to that men's outfitters, and then he
> saw that those two figures weren't Max Chaitz and Pat O'Callaghan at
> all, but two dummies stuck in the window. And he saw then that they
> didn't look even a bit like the two men he thought they were -
> especially the dummy that he thought was Max Chaitz. Because Max
> Chaitz is very short and fat, with a red, cross-looking sort of a face
> that you can't mistake in a million. Whereas the dummy was tall and
> slender and good-looking.
> That was the worst experience that my friend Rooker Charlie ever had
> of the recognising blues.
> And when I was taking a stroll down Eloff Street, that evening, and I
> was barefooted and in my shifl-sleeves, then I also had a bad attack
> of the recognising blues- But it was the recognising blues in a
> slightly different form. I would first make up a name in my brain, a
> name that sounded good to me, and that I thought had the right sort of
> a rhythm to it. And then the first person I would see, I would think
> that he was the man whose name I had just thought out. And I would go
> up and address him by this name, and shake hands with him, and tell
> him how glad I was to see him.
> And a name I thought up that sounded very fine to me, and impressive,
> with just the right kind of ring to it, was the name Sir Lionel
> Ostrich de Frontignac. It was a very magnificent name.
> And so I went up, barefooted and in my shin-sleeves, to the first man
> I saw in the street, after I had coined this name, and I took him by
> the hand, and I said, 'Well met, Sir Lionel. It is many years since
> last we met, Sir Lionel Ostrich de Frontignac.'
> And the remarkable coincidence was that the man whom I addressed in
> this way actually was Sir Lionel Ostrich de Frontignac. But on account
> of his taking me for a bum -through my being barefooted and in my
> shirt-sleeves - he wouldn't acknowledge that he really was Sir Lionel
> and that I had recognised him dead to rights.
> 'You are mistaken,' Sir Lionel Ostrich de Frontignac said, moving away
> from me, 'You have got the recognising blues.'
>
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| Re: HC Bosman [boodskap #101304 is 'n antwoord op boodskap #101294] |
Wo, 09 Februarie 2005 10:27 |
PietR
Boodskappe: 3341
Geregistreer: Julie 2003
Karma: 0
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Senior Lid |
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Nie dat ek 'n probleem met die plasing het nie, tante, maar as 'n ding nie
jou pas nie, dan skyt jy in jou klere as iets in engels geplaas word. Pas
dit jou dan draai jy soos die beste weerhaan na die wind.....
"@rogers.com" skryf in boodskap news:57-dnaf5H623ZZXfRVn-hA@rogers.com...
>
> "Ferdi Greyling" skryf
>
>> Herman Charles Bosman, saam met JM Coetzee seker die beste skrywer wat
>> ooit uit SA gekom het, sou die afgelope naweek 100 jaar oud gewees
>> het. Om dit te vier, hier is een van sy minder bekende stories. Minder
>> bekend, maar so 'n briljante stuk vertelkins....
>
> Dankie vir die stuk. Soos gewoonlik weet mens dat Bosman,
> beter as enigiemand in die hele heelal, weet hoe om die spyker
> op die kop te slaan.
>
> Gloudina
>
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| Re: HC Bosman [boodskap #101312 is 'n antwoord op boodskap #101294] |
Wo, 09 Februarie 2005 13:24 |
Ferdi Greyling
Boodskappe: 1232
Geregistreer: Mei 2006
Karma: 0
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Senior Lid |
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On Tue, 8 Feb 2005 12:40:43 -0500, "@rogers.com" wrote:
> "Ferdi Greyling" skryf
>
>> Herman Charles Bosman, saam met JM Coetzee seker die beste skrywer wat
>> ooit uit SA gekom het, sou die afgelope naweek 100 jaar oud gewees
>> het. Om dit te vier, hier is een van sy minder bekende stories. Minder
>> bekend, maar so 'n briljante stuk vertelkins....
>
> Dankie vir die stuk. Soos gewoonlik weet mens dat Bosman,
> beter as enigiemand in die hele heelal, weet hoe om die spyker
> op die kop te slaan.
>
> Gloudina
Net vir die rekord - Bosman is in 1951 dood. Aangesien kopiereg verval
50 jaar na die dood van die outeur, is daar nie meer kopiereg op
Bosman se werk nie.
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