Sharing the memory of Adam Small
ON JUNE 25, 2016 the first contributor to this column, my husband professor Adam Small, died. I thought now would be a good time to pay tribute to him as a columnist, poet and playwright of note, and a fine husband and father.
This writing is not intended to constitute a biography of his life. His work and achievements have been well documented in various places. Also, the space available here does not allow for a full-fledged biography. Instead, I hope to provide insight into aspects of his family life that might not be documented in the public domain. Before I do that, I nevertheless will summarise his most important achievements.
Between 1957 and 2013 seven volumes of Afrikaans poetry were published, and between 1965 and 2015 five dramas. In 1961 and 1979 respectively an essay and a novel were published, both in Afrikaans. Between 1975 and 1986 he published three works in English. This included two volumes of poetry and a translation of some work of the Afrikaans poet, NP van Wyk Louw.
Adam had no interest in collecting prizes and awards, yet many awards and acknowledgements came his way in his lifetime. I do not detail these, but mention only two. In 2008 the Department of Arts and Culture awarded him the Lifetime Achievement Literary Award, and in 2012 he was the recipient of the Hertzog Prize for his drama oeuvre.
For a long time I have felt that his poetry oeuvre has not received the full recognition it deserved, because his poetry opened up new vistas, especially for writers who came after. Be that as it may, it is uplifting to hear schoolchildren reciting some lines of his poetry.
Adam Small was a scathing satirist, one who knew the true meaning of satire. Satire is not about being “funny”. Yes, it may make some people laugh who know not that they are laughing at themselves. His satire was aimed at the fool who thought he knew all, but did not know he was laughing at himself.
Adam was also a newspaper columnist of long standing. When I came to know him in 1965 he had already been writing newspaper articles on and off for, especially, the local papers.
What gave him great joy was to be approached by the Cape Times to become a regular columnist. He truly enjoyed this aspect of his life and devoted his time and attention to his columns, perhaps at the expense of a new volume of poetry.
Adam and I shared a marriage of 46 years and six months, from December 1969 until his death in June 2016. I will share with readers, among other things, his thoughts on death. I quote the last two stanzas of a poem Adam wrote for our daughter Zaidee on the passing of a dear friend of hers in 2015: These words are sadly penned, In that we had to part, but are also written with an almost cheerful (almost wuthering) lightness of heart. We do not din about death as the wages of sin rather, like Dylan Thomas, we believe “Death shall have no dominion”.
Adam certainly did not rage at the thought of impending death, not even during the few hours he must have known that night, was all there were left for him in this life.
When I asked our two children what memory or two they could share about their father, the responses came readily.
Our daughter remembers how he introduced her to books and fostered a love of reading. One of the first books he gave her was a book of Dutch origin, Karel de Kikker – Charles the Frog. Although Zaidee, at the time, could not yet read, she remembers that she loved paging through the book, looking at the illustrations, which themselves told a story. To this day she has Karel De Kikker on her bookshelves, and to this day she treasures books and loves reading.
Our son’s most enduring memory of his father is of the latter’s patience and stillness. His father would for long periods be quite still, not only quiet, but still. I think this stillness enfolded his mind’s workings. Then there was the infinite patience Adam had when he explained something the children had not yet grasped. These explanations encompassed a range of topics, from arithmetic and maths to practical things like mending a bicycle tyre puncture.
As far as I am concerned, there are far too many memories to single out even a few. However, I will share with readers what I thought was a remarkable physical feature of his – I think he had beautiful hands. I wrote a poem about his hands entitled “Jou Hande”.
Hands, I think, are most significant. They do our physical work, they feed us, and they caress our loved ones.
Jou Hande was published in one of our literary journals, and I had the privilege to read it at some literary gathering.
We have, but also have not, lost a remarkable husband and father.
Although Adam Small has died, his presence permeates the house we have all lived in for so long.
And of course, his literary work is out in the public domain.