Growing up in the NG Kerk (Dutch Reformed Church) some of us have come to believe that dominees (ministers) come in prototypes.
After years of careful observation from the benches of NG Kerk places of worship, all ministers appear to be moulded during their extended theology education to sport the same look and project the same sound.
Yes, in my mind, all of them wore neat grey suits and used similar big words. Fortunately, one of life’s fringe benefits is discovering that typecasting people is dangerous and unfair.
Nevertheless, upon learning about a theologian poet whose work is subtly laced with eroticism, dormant stereotypes had to be kept on a tight leash.
Professor Cas Vos is dean of the theology faculty at the University of Pretoria. By virtue of his designation, not only is he a dominee, but the head dominee. His CV shows a prolific list of academic publications — articles, books, chapters in books and a rich collection of verses.
When Vos speaks, his words sound like the poetry he crafts. They are beautiful.
‘Words are my oxygen,” Vos admits as he sits down in the little lounge in his office.
Except for a Bettie Cilliers-Barnard painting — he has written a poem about her — and a lone Pierneef, the office is a typical academic space with files and books and stacks of paper.
Though the inspiration for a poem can grab him at any time — he has a little book to scribble it down before it evaporates — he does most of his writing at home and at weekends.
Because Vos is a theologian, he can write the way he does.
His field of expertise is homiletics, the ability to communicate the teaching of the scripture, which has exposed him to old texts, antique worlds and people from all walks of life. This frames, but does not restrict, his poetry.
He writes about John Lennon, Arthur Rimbaud, Saartjie Baartman, God, making love and the chilling childhood memory of his head repeatedly hitting the jagged dirt road after falling from a wagon.
After four anthologies — and with the benefit of hindsight — he has no regrets about pursuing theology instead of literature.
Theology was something he wanted to do ever since he was a child — he describes himself as a ‘very pious youngster” — but he did not allow it to cage his mind.
‘I would have suffered if I was only a minister. It would have been too limiting,” says Vos. ‘My poetry has built bridges to other worlds.”
He has written since his primary school days in Marikana near Brits in North West, when, he says, compositions were about creating pictures with words.
He never really stopped, but became a serious poet only about 10 years ago.
His first anthology, Vuurdoop (Baptism of Fire), published in 1999, was short-listed for the Ingrid Jonker Poetry Prize. Two years later he released Gode van Papier (loosely translated as Paper Gods) and in 2004 Enkeldiep (Knee Deep).
But his latest work, Die Afdruk van Ons Hande (The Imprint of Our Hands), was launched last week at the University of Pretoria after four years of grindingly hard work.
‘I thought I was done two years ago. I submitted it to my mentor and critic [the poet] Henning Pieterse and he said I had to write 15 more poems. This was how the Gilgamesh Epic was born,” he said.
The Gilgamesh Epic, considered a masterpiece in world literature, is believed to have originated about 5 000 years ago in what we know as Iraq. Gilgamesh was a king who ruled a city called Uruk. His tales were captured on clay tablets that are on display today in the British Museum in London.
‘It is the oldest epic in the world of literature. Gilgamesh captures human existence in totality — our quest for immortality, love, violence. Pursuing Gilgamesh gave the anthology a completely different life. But I had all this raw material that had to be shaped into poems. It was a mammoth task,” says Vos.
The end result was a section, the Uruk fragments, based on the Gilgamesh Epic, with 11 fragments.
With this work, Vos believes his poetry has grown up. ‘I did not think my first anthology, Vuurdoop, was that good. It was like a child who was learning to walk, but one becomes increasingly skilful. I have a better grip on the technical side of writing now,” he says.
He is waiting for the next impulse to arouse his creativity.
It can emanate from sitting in a hotel room in New York, where he went to write in 2005 to feel the city’s vibration, from watching movies, which he loves to do or from listening to Mozart, his favourite composer. It can be any time of the day or night.
‘In poetry I am susceptible to any form of temptation,” he confesses.
But what does the church say about his poems — in particular the ripe words he uses so imaginatively to capture love, such as Ishtar, a goddess of love, calling out to Gilgamesh to ‘spoil her with his sweetest fruits”?
Vos admits there is a dualism. ‘You can say what you want as a poet. I think that is what I really am.”
Yes, Vos is a poet and a dominee, but through his poetry he defies any stereotypes.
Breyten Breytenbach was correct when, a few years ago, he responded to Vos being a dominee: ‘I have learned long ago not to spit people out.”
Die Afdruk van ons hande is published by Protea Boekehuis