For poet Bibi Slippers, it was always important to be creative. Creativity was inevitable. But creativity was starting to feel different for Slippers when something shifted in her.
Poet Bibi Slippers is named after her two grandmothers, Beatrice and Barbara. PHOTO: Rebecca Pitt
*“Bibi praat goed en duidelik. Gesels spotaan saam gedurende taalkringe (…) Eet baie graag die klei, ” Juffrou De Villiers wrote in the report card. It was 1987 and poet Bibi Slippers was three. By the time Slippers was in grade two, Juffrou Lizzie Venter had determined Slippers’ future: Slippers would be a writer.
Slippers says she was a strange child growing up. She liked her teachers. She liked learning. She dressed weirdly. And she thought differently – more freely.
“Ses kabouters baie klein, ry in hul, kaboutertrein,” was Slippers’ first poem, written when she was in primary school. But it wasn’t only poetry that mattered. Countless interests captivated her mind: Journalism, art, producing, performance and books, books, books. One thing was clear: Words were important.
When Slippers joined LitNet magazine, in 2010, she was making people coffee. When Slippers left, she was the poetry and content editor. Amongst numerous awards for her work, are the Eugène Marais and UJ prize for her debut poetry collection Fotostaatmasjien, in 2017.
Certainly, Venter was right.
Bibi Slippers’ also had a book show, In Die Bed Met Bibi, which ran for two seasons on national television. PHOTO: Rebecca Pitt
A magical machine
During her time at university, Slippers spent most of her time in the library. But she was not only there for the books. Slippers was in the photocopy room. She was looking through the bins for discarded photocopies. Why were these people throwing away their photocopies, Slippers thought? Was something wrong with the photocopies, she wondered? Slippers enjoyed going through those bins of discarded photocopies. She liked looking at them and thinking about them. She kept them in a flip file.
Slippers’ fascination with photocopies began in Pretoria. On that day in Pretoria, her grade one class had a school outing. The outing wasn’t very far. It was down the hallway, to the school’s office. One by one Slippers’ classmates put their hands on the photocopy machine and out came several Xerox copies of handprints. Then, it was Slippers’ turn. “It was magic,” said Slippers. To have your hands copied in this amazing instant way, as a six-year-old, was incredible, she said. That really made an impression on Slippers.
So, it was no surprise that Slippers started researching photocopy machines during her masters in creative writing, at Stellenbosch University. Once again, she had access to that magical machine.
Before everything was digitised, said Slippers, people were making falsified documents using photocopiers. They committed fraud using photocopy machines – it was clever, Slippers said. Forensic researchers would look at the patterns that the machines made in the prints. By doing this, they could identify the machines that made the falsified copies. That was clever too, she said. “The fingerprint of the machine could also be its fault,” said Slippers. Fascinating, she said.
Bibi Slippers’ debut poetry collection, Fotostaatmasjien, received numerous prizes including the UJ and Eugène Marais prizes for poetry. PHOTO: Rebecca Pitt
A fingerprint stain
After reading Tony Hoagland’s work something changed, said Slippers. It changed the game. Resist neither natural inclination nor indulgences, he wrote. Hoagland wrote that what is wrong with your poetic voice, might be what makes it right, she said.
According to Slippers, reading Hoagland’s theory was necessary for her own words she would choose to put down on paper. Faults are necessary, she said. “That might be your only door where there is room for individuality and creativity,” said Slippers.
What Hoagland was saying about one’s poetic voice was the same thing that fascinated Slippers about the way forensic researchers found the photocopy machines that made those falsified documents. In the same way that the fingerprint of the machine was its fault, the thing that is your fault could also be your individuality – your fingerprint, said Slippers.
That changed things for Slippers. And she needed it, she said. In Slippers’ poetry collection Fotostaatmasjien, her poems are printed on those photocopies she found in the library bins, during her university years. The entire collection’s design is made to look as if a malfunctioning photocopy machine made it overnight, Slippers said. It is a commentary on creating; it is commentary on the possibility of creativity. “Especially in this day and age where everything is so copied and reusable,” Slippers said. It asks: Where everything has been said and done, how can one be creative in this day and age, said Slippers.
Bibi Slippers’ pre-school report card in 1987. PHOTO: Rebecca Pitt
Serious about play
Thinking about faults in the way that Hoagland put it, was necessary for Slippers, she said. It meant that Slippers work didn’t have to be perfect. That is impossible, said Slippers. “It just opened up some space for me to play.”
And taking play seriously was always important for Slippers.
“I think that is something people can’t get,” said Slippers. People don’t get how much Slippers likes pop music, for example.
“Yes, I like pop music. But, I like pop music VERY MUCH,” she said. “I am serious about it and I really try to understand how it works, “ said Slippers. Slippers’ interest in those mundane things, like pop music, is almost academic. She really thinks about it – even if it is just pop music. “It is your intent and your way of approaching [something] that makes it your serious work,” she said.
A few pages into Slippers’ poetry collection are two quotes. The one is from David Owen and the other by Marcus Boon – two intellectuals who wrote on photocopy machines.
The poetry, in poet Bibi Slippers’ Fotostaatmasjien, is printed on some of the photocopies she found discarded in bins, during her time at university. PHOTO: Rebecca Pitt
“The oldest copier invented by people is language…the second great copy machine was writing,” Owen said. “But suppose copying is what makes us human. What then?” said Boon. Slippers lets the quotes stand one after the other as if in conversation with each other. If Boon is correct, Slippers is the exception.
Slippers was, indeed, always different. As a child, she was reading. She loved her brother Ben, a pet sheep. Most people don’t think twice about throwing their faulty photocopies away. Most people wouldn’t look back. But Slippers would. Slippers would find those photocopies. She would pick them out, discarded in those library bins. She would think about those things we overlooked. She would notice. And from those faulty copies, Slippers would create.
*Please note: This interview was conducted before the nationwide lockdown regulations were implemented.
Please note that this article has been updated to correct the spelling of Tony Hoagland’s name.