Dissident, underground, alternative, avant-garde, revolutionary, anarchist, are some of the words that have been bandied around in trying to come into grips with the works and persona(lity) of the prolific and irrepressible South African film-maker, novelist, poet and fine artist, born Ian Kerkhof in 1964 and resurrected as Aryan Kaganof in 1999.
But like many of his genre-busting and compartmentalization-defying works of art, Kaganof refuses to be pigeonholed, branded or iconized. His rebellion against labels is unflinching in his take on the various monikers that readers\viewers\critics have attempted to put on him:
i have read these labels and looked up their meanings
in various dictionaries, especially when i’ve read
them applied to me. but my soul wasn’t grown
in a dictionary; so, ie. that is, vis a vis
“alternative” – i always wondered,
alternative to what? because
what it was that was going
was always going down
as far as i could see
and if underground
meant anything
then it placed
me under-
underground
cos i didn’t find
it deep enough to
be worth playing in
as for “avant-garde”
i’d rather be on my guard
and revolutionary is just going
round and round making it all ungovernable
again so I rebel music take my soul and suss me out
In the same way that Kaganof refuses to be stationed at some enclave, cocoon, corner, quarter, section or province called underground, avant-garde, alternative, revolutionary or whatever; he does not make any claim to have placed himself anywhere else; but rather accredit the source, the ultimate principle, whatever you call him\her\it – nature\God and so on:
I never placed myself here
God did that and if there ain’t
no god it must have been a very
fine accident of nature giving me
white skin in a place where that means
i don’t have to work very hard in order to
have a house and a hearth while all around
me God (or another accident of nature)
made the so-called blacks to do the
hard labour and in my lifetime
i wonder will it change?
and in this lifetime
i heard their
voices
crying
in the night
time, Lord when
will it change?
What drives Kaganof?
It used to be Valazza
a white Valiant ’66, straight
six engine a most reliable vehicle
before that a Jaguar Executive that cost
so much to start up I never drove anywhere,
I would call up fancy ladies and ask them to come
to my place where we’d sit in the plushly upholstered
vehicle and admire the engineering. before that an Audi 500
that cost me R10 000 cash to buy and nearly a million to fix
and before that twice a Toyota Corolla; one that was stolen
from outside my house in Westdene and the other I
overturned while speeding drunk down Louis
Botha Avenue which made me wonder
whilst I was overturning how come
they never changed the name of
this motherfucking Avenue to
something indigenous like
Gqom Avenue? or the
Whoonga Freeway?
Kaganof is not romantic or nostalgic about the purpose of his work and his life:
When I was a little younger I hoped to change the status of the Youniverse
by writing verse that broke open the status quo and revealed the mortal
condition we’re all condemned to as a sickening joke played on us by
a demented deity with anti-social tendencies; but nowadays, given
the rising cost of living, i would be content with paying next
month’s rent and having a little over in order to daily
bread on and forgive God his or her trespasses
against the dignity of mankind
He is equally nonchalant and makes no clumsy attempt at political correctness in declaring the instrument\weapon and medium he has chosen to do whatever it is he is up to:
Jirre, I used to walk around with a Glock strapped to my right ankle
thinking it would save me in the event of an attempt to rob me
of my poetic license. these days i walk everywhere naked
under my clothes just like the baby i was reborn as
the few words i can remember
are all i have left
to shoot with
If Kaganof was to write a manifesto for the ungovernables, anarchists \ undergrounds\ dissidents\ alternatives\ revolutionaries, what would it say?
There’s a wonderful book written by Jesus Sepulveda
it’s called The Garden of Peculiarities
it’s the book i wish i’d written
he’s already chewed
what i’ve only
bitten
I asked Kaganof about his journey from birth till here\there; wherever he is or is heading to and he responded frankly:
Your question is very ambitious
as I used to be
these days
the rent
takes up
most of my
continuity. I hope
that I can pay next month’s
I don’t have much time for anything
else and, in this sense, I believe my poetry
is universal
The dissident’s (apologies to Aryan) explanation of the name change from Ian Kerkhof to Aryan Kaganof once again reveals his proclivity to fuse the personal\private and the political\public:
I returned to South Africa in 1999 in order to meet my biological father
who was not yet in heaven. I wrote about this meeting in my novel
Uselessly, published by Jacana, 2006. When my father passed
on I changed my given name to the name that honours my
bloodspermmachette donor/father, his name. The birth
name I was given by my mother, who was not married
to my father, is the name of the man she was married
to (who was not my father). So the renaming is my
return to my patri-lineal ancestry. In effect I had
the name-change that South Africa still needs
to go through in order to be independent,
truly independentalicously free, of so-
called white minority rule. What a fool
am I for thinking it will ever be
Allowed ? Not while the ANC
are constitutionally com-
murder-mitted a la Mari
carnally to black slavery.