“AVE ATQUE VALE”

The South African Poet, David Friedland, died last week. He and I and Peter Horsowski were once “The Three Poets” who met at the old Porto Bello Restaurant in Long Street some years back.

We used to feast on vegetarian food, share our new ideas and poems, talk about Rothko and others who made the human condition worthy. When Porto Bello closed, we’d meet at Deerpark Café.

Peter and I and his wife Trish were among the six pallbearers who escorted David to his place of final physical rest. As we lowered his simple pine coffin into the ground and I looked down at the six-foot depth, and as we shoveled in the earth, with our spades turned upside down to express our reluctance, and then right way up to accept the returning to dust, I thought about David and his courage and mastery and generosity and the huge encouragement he gave to all poets.

MARCIA LEVISON, David’s longtime friend, editor and publisher who lives in Johannesburg could not attend his funeral, but was there in spirit to bid him farewell. So too present in spirit were Billy Kennedy and the committee of the Poetry in McGregor Festival.

THIS IS THE OBITUARY WRITTEN BY MARCIA:

David Friedland – one of South Africa’s important poets –- has left us. I feel very privileged to have been a very long-time friend and his colleague at Wits, and more recently his editor and publisher. To be involved over so many years in so many roles gave me insight into his unique blend of refinement, sensuousness and humour. Handicapped physically by his blindness, he was acutely aware – of words and literature, of music, weather, and above all of people – their essence, their joys and problems. It was as if David saw people and understood their inner being even more intensely than if he could physically see them. He was a caring and inspiring mentor, and his friend Narendre Gordhan recalls, “Our friendship was timeless – over 40 years. I was eager to learn to write poetry and David shared his knowledge and skill with me. I remember the glorious days when we played chess and scrabble. David helped me believe in myself. He was like a father, so humble, he made coffee for me – a treasure to remember.”

Sadly, in his last years his hearing failed and his lifelines were restricted. The staff of the Helen Keller home in Pinelands cared for him and cheered him, and Peter Horsowski most gallantly filled those years with companionship and purpose.

In the same way that our mutual friend, Gus Ferguson, was a unique voice in South African poetry, so was David. He wrote of himself, of his dealings with God, death, love, sex, the world outside, music, literary figures and characters with tenderness, empathy and often with a mischievous touch. After he moved to Cape Town, he would sometimes return to Johannesburg, and with great courage stay on his own at a hotel and visit those friends he missed so much. He came to read to my poetry group – always a delightful, moving occasion. Because he taught Latin I want to say ‘Ave atque vale’ – farewell my friend.

David Friedland – one of South Africa’s important poets – has left us. I feel very privileged to have been a very long- time friend and his colleague at Wits, and more recently his editor and publisher. To be involved over so many years in so many roles gave me insight into his unique blend of refinement, sensuousness and humour. Handicapped physically by his blindness, he was acutely aware – of words and literature, of music, weather, and above all of people – their essence, their joys and problems. It was as if David saw people and understood their inner being even more intensely than if he could physically see them. He was a caring and inspiring mentor, and his friend Narendre Gordhan recalls, “Our friendship was timeless – over 40 years. I was eager to learn to write poetry and David shared his knowledge and skill with me. I remember the glorious days when we played chess and scrabble. David helped me believe in myself. He was like a father, so humble, he made coffee for me – a treasure to remember.”

Sadly, in his last years his hearing failed and his lifelines were restricted. The staff of the Helen Keller home in Pinelands cared for him and cheered him, and Peter Horsowski most gallantly filled those years with companionship and purpose.

In the same way that our mutual friend, Gus Ferguson, was a unique voice in South African poetry, so was David. He wrote of himself, of his dealings with God, death, love, sex, the world outside, music, literary figures and characters with tenderness, empathy and often with a mischievous touch. After he moved to Cape Town, he would sometimes return to Johannesburg, and with great courage stay on his own at a hotel and visit those friends he missed so much. He came to read to my poetry group – always a delightful, moving occasion. Because he taught Latin I want to say ‘Ave atque vale’ – farewell my friend.

MARCIA LEVESON

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Image: Untitled (Black in Deep Red) by Mark Rothko. 1957.