The undeniable fact: we are born by parents. To be an individual: our responsible is to discard the parental form and replace our own. What we want to be and are. Guided by our very own ideas as model. Few reach this goal. A copy of what should be discarded. Not many manage and resume as copy their life. Among the not many is the life of Karin Jonkers. The fathers denial of his daughter, himself not only a writer but also a politician, made public in his speech his denial. The ultimate proof that both are individuals. Upright.
Accepting the consequences. In public for all those cowards who choose the broad side of life. Like this his comment of her suicide has to be not only looked at but seen, reportedly he said: "They can throw her back in the sea for all I care." We have to, must as child of our parents discard the form we received at birth. By birth she was destined upper-class. Many are, growing up, revolutionary, sinking back into the comfortable frame of life. Even she. As it seemed. But consequently her loyalty was her own, focused on the South African questions many looked at, denying to see. Not caring what whoever told her to do: her divorced husband her lovers, her friend Jack Cope, himself a writer who always was there when needed. Nelson Mandela read her poem, "Die kind (wat doodgeskiet is deur soldate by Nyanga)" ("The child (who was shot dead by soldiers at Nyanga)"), in Afrikaans, during his address at the opening of the first democratically elected parliament on 24 May 1994.
Ingrid Jonkers was homeless and in need of love. Apartheid, her father responsible for censorship was her enemy. Neither Jack Cope and Andre Brink helped or could help. She had to manage it alone. She was loved and loved but homeless.
As it happened with the New Zealands poet and writer Janet Frame, also Ingrid Jonkers was periodical in a mental hospital: sent by her father! ...
She and a few others home is the fringe of, what generally is called madness. But here, as society's fools, poetry and real life is the only true possibility. She is sane and insane. Not either-or but proofs that both is possible - as long as everything is given and nothing to loose and be taken.
Accepting the consequences. In public for all those cowards who choose the broad side of life. Like this his comment of her suicide has to be not only looked at but seen, reportedly he said: "They can throw her back in the sea for all I care." We have to, must as child of our parents discard the form we received at birth. By birth she was destined upper-class. Many are, growing up, revolutionary, sinking back into the comfortable frame of life. Even she. As it seemed. But consequently her loyalty was her own, focused on the South African questions many looked at, denying to see. Not caring what whoever told her to do: her divorced husband her lovers, her friend Jack Cope, himself a writer who always was there when needed. Nelson Mandela read her poem, "Die kind (wat doodgeskiet is deur soldate by Nyanga)" ("The child (who was shot dead by soldiers at Nyanga)"), in Afrikaans, during his address at the opening of the first democratically elected parliament on 24 May 1994.
Ingrid Jonkers was homeless and in need of love. Apartheid, her father responsible for censorship was her enemy. Neither Jack Cope and Andre Brink helped or could help. She had to manage it alone. She was loved and loved but homeless.
As it happened with the New Zealands poet and writer Janet Frame, also Ingrid Jonkers was periodical in a mental hospital: sent by her father! ...
She and a few others home is the fringe of, what generally is called madness. But here, as society's fools, poetry and real life is the only true possibility. She is sane and insane. Not either-or but proofs that both is possible - as long as everything is given and nothing to loose and be taken.