'I have fine memories of the Nacht van de Poëzie - the quality of the readings, the people met there, the camaraderie, the venue, the way one was looked after and made to feel welcome - so it is with pleasure that I accept your invitation to take part in the 37th edition. I was there in 1996 you say? A lifetime ago, and we’re still on our feet - even if a little less sure of the balance.'

'Every once in a while - in fact, most rarely - one comes across something that shifts one’s sense of the purpose of continuing to write and paint. A time of existential stocktaking when the clamour and stench of the past and the hopelessness of a future seem to fall away and even the most outrageous contradiction rings true. And you stop to say: “Yes, damn it - this is it! Now I know again what I have always known!” I’m tempted to quote from every page. I cannot resist one last snippet, this is Sartorius speaking: “Memory is what remains of forgetting.”'

'Please find below a poem by Sartorius - which you may not have seen before. It is very beautiful. Particularly as I’m rather deeply reading "A Poet’s Work" by Sam Hamill at present, where there’s some quite striking references to translation, to what goes lost and what may be gained - and particularly from the Classics as well. And in the process I came across a wonderful reference to Pessoa in José Saramago’s ‘The Notebook’ (jumping books, as you may see): “He was a man who knew languages and wrote poetry. He earned his bread and wine replacing words with words. He wrote poetry as one must write poetry, as if for the first time.” Sometimes it is good to remember this when the world becomes too heavy and sombre and bloody (as is very much the case in South Africa). It is a pity that the invitation to Utrecht came in this most hectic and exhausting year of the birthday when, in a sense, one is reluctantly obliged to look back and reflect on the long road, but is also trying to bring one last gift to the country of one’s birth. I always knew that the year would be disruptive but perhaps underestimated the extent to which one will not be free enough to “write poetry as if for the first time”, or to paint poetry for that matter. I’m chafing ever more under the impression that this most useless of disciplines, and finally the unutterable - poetry - should have become just another consumer excuse. A fugacious ‘performance’. (I’m NOT suggesting that this is what the Nacht van de Poëzie is or has become!) I do think it is something new, this form of ‘communicating’, the “wham bam thank you ma’am” moments of arousal as lasting as a smartphone message. The younger and newer variation of human species will work out ways of accessing what is truly important, but I’m convinced us older models of humanity do not really fit these times of transition. Let us meet at some other time and relax and perhaps not even speak of poetry. Who knows, perhaps in Marseille? So - life only starts now. I wish you and your staff all the best for a fine night of poetry. You won’t miss me. Be well - and see you soon! A warm embrace

Breyten”