This article is based on this Dutch article of Martijn Benders
Originally, I had also included a piece in the left-hand poem about the failed attempt to realize MDMA as a medicine for severe trauma; forget it: it remains banned.
So, people are continually inflicted with severe trauma and denied something known as a remedy for it.
Collective punishment is fascism. I can’t make it any clearer. Incidentally, the court now thinks the same, but they have no instruments to call these religious fanatics to order. Religious fanatics who also happen to sit on a pile of nuclear bombs, gifted by the zealots in America.
We’re letting ourselves be managed by such fanatics, and then they have the nerve to tell you to your face that things are no longer run by zealots. Oh, really, my friend. We see nothing but what Foucault called the Christian parrhesia: the very search for truth has been Christianized. Mumble in the wings instead of directness: well, I’ve written quite enough about that.
Sinterklaas as a sort of Christianized Wodan:
My first somewhat more serious attempt at a music video. Not bad at all, you have to admit. A pastiche on Bonnie, come out and play?, a typical emo hook to childhood, where this almighty Sinterklaas also roamed around. Never had anyone else what are you trying to say with that, Benders? That all our love relationships were shaped by the Sinterklaas complex? That we live in a lie?
Go back to writing poems, you slacker! We live in a world full of complexities, but your simplistic approaches contribute little to real insights. It’s easy to criticize from the sidelines and make grand statements about the lies we supposedly live in. But where’s your constructive contribution? Where is the proof that you do more than just shout from a self-built soapbox?
Maybe it’s time to return to basics, to focus on what you can contribute without resorting to empty phrases and unfounded accusations. The world needs sincere voices, people who speak with respect and expertise.
Get out with your far-fetched theories, Benders! My childhood love was not Sinterklaas! It’s absurd to suggest that our deepest feelings and relationships are based on a childish veneration of a fictional figure. You act as if you’ve unveiled the veil of reality, but you only see your own reflection in the chaos you create.
You think that with your so-called insights you can change the world, but in reality, you alienate people with your inscrutable reasoning. It’s easy to shout from an ivory tower that we live in a lie, but what do you do yourself to break through those supposed illusions?
Anyway, sometimes self-criticism takes over. Meanwhile, I have started a new book with the working title Dagmaan, and the poetry collection is also progressing well. Now that I’ve said goodbye to the Literature Fund, I can dedicate more time to it. What an absurd system it is—granting authors a work bursary that is below the social assistance level, forcing you to always choose one year. Surviving on such an amount for two years is simply impossible. Then you’re told the work seems rushed, as if you didn’t have to do everything yourself because in this era of predatory capitalism, no one has time for book design or review. And then you get that criticism thrown back at you—reinforcing your greenhorn status in truly painful ways.
How did Alexis de Roode put it again? I would take pride in the fact that I design my own books. Um. There wasn’t even a choice. If I didn’t do it, it would have been impossible to publish a collection every year, because the publisher I was with at the time worked as slow as molasses, which would have meant I’d have to survive without money for a whole year, because getting social assistance while living on a campsite where you’re not allowed to stay isn’t easy.
But that doesn’t matter, of course, you are boasting, you do it all yourself. Our system isn’t intended for living; the idea is that you’re forced to go through the painful process of applying for social assistance every year—I don’t think the ladies and gentlemen who designed this have any personal experience with it.
But don’t worry, folks, this time I’ll take more time for the collection.
With the more generous work bursary called social assistance. Only a fool tries to make a living from writing, as they say—those work grants are meant as a bonus for poet professors who write each other into literary heaven. They’re meant as a side job for people who already get 6000 euros a month deposited into their account.
They’re on the spectrum, as they might say at the Pieter Baan Center.
Yours sincerely,
Martinus Benders