{"id":38183,"date":"2014-11-27T19:00:52","date_gmt":"2014-11-27T19:00:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.eoisabi.org\/?p=38183"},"modified":"2020-11-10T20:37:50","modified_gmt":"2020-11-10T20:37:50","slug":"nadine-gordimer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/?p=38183","title":{"rendered":"Nadine Gordimer"},"content":{"rendered":"<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">South African novelist and short-story writer, Nobel Prize for Literature in 1991. Most of <strong>Nadine Gordimer<\/strong>&#8216;s works deal with the moral and psychological tensions of her racially divided home country. She was a founding member of Congress of South African Writers, and even at the height of the apartheid regime, she never considered going into exile&#8230;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><a href=\"http:\/\/www.bbc.com\/news\/entertainment-arts-28295542\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignleft size-full wp-image-38189\" src=\"http:\/\/www.eoisabi.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/10\/NGordimer.jpg\" alt=\"NGordimer\" width=\"192\" height=\"192\" srcset=\"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/10\/NGordimer.jpg 192w, https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/10\/NGordimer-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 192px) 100vw, 192px\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>Nadine Gordimer<\/strong>\u00a0(1923-2014) was born into a well-off family in Springs, Transvaal, an East Rand mining town outside Johannesburg. It was the setting for Gordimer&#8217;s first novel,<em>\u00a0The Lying Days\u00a0<\/em>(1953)&#8230;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">From her early childhood Gordimer witnessed how the white minority increasingly weakened the rights of the black majority.\u00a0In her first\u00a0collection of short stories,\u00a0<em>Face to Face\u00a0<\/em>(1949), which is not listed in some of her biographies, Gordimer revealed the psychological consequences of a racially divided society. The novel\u00a0<em>The Lying Days<\/em>\u00a0(1953) was based largely on the author&#8217;s own life and depicted a white girl, Helen, and her growing disaffection toward the narrow-mindlessness of a small-town life. Other works in the 1950s and 1960s include\u00a0<em>A World of Strangers\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0(1958),\u00a0<em>Occasion for Loving<\/em>\u00a0(1963), and\u00a0<em>The Late Bourgeois World\u00a0<\/em>\u00a0(1966). In these novels Gordimer studied the master-servant relations, spiritual and sexual paranoias of colonialism, and the shallow liberalism of her privileged white compatriots&#8230;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">Gordimer won early international recognition for her short stories and novels. <em>The Conservationist\u00a0<\/em>(1974) juxtaposed the world of a wealthy white industrialist with the rituals and mythology of Zulus.\u00a0<em>Burger&#8217;s\u00a0Daughter\u00a0<\/em>(1979) was written during the aftermath of Soweto uprising. In the story a daughter analyzes her relationship to her father, a martyr of the antiapartheid movement.\u00a0<em>July&#8217;s People\u00a0<\/em>(1981) was a futuristic novel about a white family feeing from war-torn Johannesburg into the country, where they seek refuge with their African servant in his village.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">Gordimer&#8217;s early short story collections include\u00a0<em>Six Feet of the Country\u00a0<\/em>(1956),\u00a0<em>Not for Publication<\/em>\u00a0(1965) and\u00a0<em>Livingstone&#8217;s Companions\u00a0<\/em>(1971).<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\"><em>[Source: \u00a0www.kirjasto.sci.fi\/gordimer.htm]<\/em><\/p>\n<h4 style=\"text-align: left;\"><span style=\"color: #003300;\">\u25ca &#8216;The Ultimate Safari&#8217; \u2192 <a href=\"https:\/\/fyr.ndla.no\/\/en\/link\/8458\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><span style=\"color: #003300;\">read pdf <\/span><\/a>\u00a0\u2190<img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright  wp-image-8767\" src=\"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/06\/safari.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"268\" srcset=\"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/06\/safari.gif 399w, https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/06\/safari-300x269.gif 300w, https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/06\/safari-150x134.gif 150w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 298px) 100vw, 298px\" \/><\/span><\/h4>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><span style=\"color: #003300;\"><em>The Ultimate Safari&#8217;<\/em>\u00a0 tells the story of refugees fleeing the civil war in\u00a0Mozambique. Three children from a poor village \u00a0are at home -a house with no roof- their parents do not return at the end of the day. Having heard that the children are alone, their grandparents come take them to their (grandparents\u2019) house. The grandparents take the decision to flee to the South African border, as many others were doing at the time. With very little food and water they make the long journey through the Kruger park and they struggle for survival: with others, they kill game in the park for food but can seldom make fire \u00a0to avoid park rangers who would most likely have them sent back to their war ravaged villages. Their grandfather, weary from travel, dies in the Kruger.<\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><span style=\"color: #003300;\">They finally arrive at the refugee camp and register to get a sleeping tent, food and medication. The children go to school in this refugee camp and the story ends with a foreign journalist interviewing the grandmother in the tent about returning to Mozambique after the war, she answers<em>\u00a0\u201cThere is nothing. No home.\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2022\u00a0\u00a0<strong>Listen<\/strong>\u00a0[from 01&#8217;30\u00bb] to Nadine reading an abridged version\u00a0\u2193 [remember the narrator is 11 years of age]<\/p>\n<p><iframe loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/w.soundcloud.com\/player\/?url=http%3A%2F%2Fapi.soundcloud.com%2Ftracks%2F54964958\" width=\"100%\" height=\"166\" frameborder=\"no\" scrolling=\"no\"><\/iframe><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">THAT night our mother went to the shop and she didn\u2019t come back. \u00a0Ever. What happened? I don\u2019t know. My father also had gone\u00a0away one day and never come back; but he was fighting in the\u00a0war. We were in the war, too, but we were children, we were like our\u00a0grandmother and grandfather, we didn\u2019t have guns. The people my\u00a0father was fighting \u2013 the bandits, they are called by our government \u2013\u00a0ran all over the place and we ran away from them like chickens chased\u00a0by dogs. Our mother went to the shop\u00a0because someone said you could get some oil for cooking. We were\u00a0happy because we hadn\u2019t tasted oil for a long time.\u00a0Perhaps she met the bandits.\u00a0Twice they came to our village and we ran and hid in the bush and\u00a0when they\u2019d gone we came back and found they had taken everything.We were waiting there for my mother that night she never came back.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">We stayed there all day. Waiting for her. I don\u2019t know what day it\u00a0was; there was no school, no church any more in our village, so you\u00a0didn\u2019t know whether it was a Sunday or a Monday.\u00a0When the sun was going down, our grandmother and grandfather\u00a0came. \u00a0Our grandmother\u00a0took us \u2013 me, the baby, my first-born brother, our grandfather \u2013 back\u00a0to her house and we were all afraid\u00a0of meeting the bandits on the way. We waited\u00a0a long time at our grandmother\u2019s place. \u00a0Our mother never came.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">So they decided \u2013 well, our grandmother did; our grandfather made\u00a0little noises and rocked from side to side \u2013 we\u00a0would go away. We children were pleased.\u00a0We wanted to\u00a0go where there were no bandits and there was food. We were glad to\u00a0think there must be such a place; away&#8230;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">To go there, we didn&#8217;t know what to do.We met other people who were\u00a0also going away. We joined them because they seemed to know where\u00a0that was better than we did.\u00a0To get there we had to go through the Kruger Park. We knew about\u00a0the Kruger Park. A kind of whole country of animals \u2013 elephants,\u00a0lions, jackals, hyenas, hippos, crocodiles&#8230;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">So we started to go away again. \u00a0A man led us into the Kruger Park; are we there\u00a0yet, are we there yet, I kept asking. Not yet, the man\u00a0said. He told us we had to take a long\u00a0way to get round the fence, which he explained would kill you, roast\u00a0off your skin the moment you touched it, like the wires high up on\u00a0poles that give electric light in our towns.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">When I asked the next time, they said we\u2019d been walking in the\u00a0Kruger Park for an hour. But it looked just like the bush we\u2019d been\u00a0walking through all day, and we hadn\u2019t seen any animals except the\u00a0monkeys and birds which live around us at home, and a tortoise that, of\u00a0course, couldn\u2019t get away from us. My first-born brother and the otherboys brought it to the man so it could be killed and we could cook and\u00a0eat it. He let it go because he told us we could not make a fire; all the\u00a0time we were in the Park we must not make a fire because the smoke\u00a0would show we were there.\u00a0He said we must move like animals among\u00a0the animals, \u00a0away from the white people\u2019s camps.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">The buck ran from us. They jumped so high they seemed to fly.\u00a0We followed the animals to where they\u00a0drank. When they had gone, we went to their water-holes. We were\u00a0never thirsty without finding water, but the animals ate, ate all the\u00a0time. Whenever you saw them they were eating, grass, trees, roots.\u00a0And there was nothing for us.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">When it was very hot during the day we would find lions lying\u00a0asleep. They were the colour of the grass and we didn\u2019t see them at\u00a0first but the man did, and he led us back and a long way round where\u00a0they slept. I wanted to lie down like the lions.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">We were tired, so tired. My first-born brother and the man had\u00a0to lift our grandfather from stone to stone where we found places to\u00a0cross the rivers.\u00a0We had to keep up, the man who\u00a0led us always kept telling us, we must catch up, but we asked him to\u00a0wait for our grandfather.\u00a0So everyone waited for our grandfather to catch up. But he didn\u2019t.\u00a0It was the middle of the day; insects were singing in our ears and we\u00a0couldn\u2019t hear him moving through the grass. We couldn\u2019t see him\u00a0because the grass was so high and he was so small.\u00a0We all went to look for him;\u00a0we called him softly but the noise of the insects must have filled the\u00a0little space left for hearing in his ears. We looked and looked but we\u00a0couldn\u2019t find him. We stayed in that long grass all night.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">In the afternoon the man who led us came to our grandmother\u00a0and told her the other people must move on. He said, If their children\u00a0don\u2019t eat soon they will die.<br \/>\nOur grandmother looked at us, me, my first-born brother, and my\u00a0little brother on her lap.\u00a0She got\u00a0up, with her feet apart the way she puts them when she is going to\u00a0lift firewood, at home in our village, she swung my little brother onto\u00a0her back, tied him in her cloth. She\u00a0said, Come.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">So we left the place with the long grass. Left behind.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">There\u2019s a very big tent, bigger than a church or a school, tied down\u00a0to the ground. I didn\u2019t understand that was what it would be, when\u00a0we got there, away. This one is blue and white like that\u00a0one but it\u2019s not for praying and singing, we live in it with other people\u00a0who\u2019ve come from our country. Sister from the clinic says we\u2019re two\u00a0hundred without counting the babies, and we have new babies, some\u00a0were born on the way through the Kruger Park.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">The people in the village have let us join their school. I was\u00a0surprised to find they speak our language; our grandmother told me,\u00a0That\u2019s why they allow us to stay on their land. Long ago, in the time\u00a0of our fathers, there was no fence that kills you, there was no Kruger\u00a0Park between them and us, we were the same people under our own\u00a0king, right from our village we left to this place we\u2019ve come to.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">Some white people came to take photographs of our people living\u00a0in the tent \u2013 they said they were making a film, I\u2019ve never seen what\u00a0that is though I know about it. A white woman squeezed into our\u00a0space and asked our grandmother questions which were told to us in\u00a0our language by someone who understands the white woman\u2019s.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> How long have you been living like this?<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> She means here?<\/em> our grandmother said. <em>In this tent, two years\u00a0and one month.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> And what do you hope for the future?<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> Nothing. I\u2019m here.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> But for your children?<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> I want them to learn so that they can get good jobs and money.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> Do you hope to go back to Mozambique \u2013 to your own country?<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> I will not go back.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><em> But when the war is over \u2013 you won\u2019t be allowed to stay here?\u00a0Don\u2019t you want to go home?<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">I didn\u2019t think our grandmother wanted to speak again. I didn\u2019t\u00a0think she was going to answer the white woman. The white woman\u00a0put her head on one side and smiled at us.<br \/>\nOur grandmother looked away from her and spoke \u2013 <em>There is\u00a0nothing. No home.<\/em><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">Why does our grandmother say that? Why? I\u2019ll go back. I\u2019ll go\u00a0back through that Kruger Park. After the war, when there are no bandits\u00a0any more, our mother may be waiting for us. And maybe when we left\u00a0our grandfather, he was only left behind, he found his way somehow,\u00a0slowly, through the Kruger Park, and he\u2019ll be there. They\u2019ll be home,\u00a0and I\u2019ll remember them.<\/p>\n<h6 style=\"text-align: right;\">\u25ca \u00a0&#8216;Loot&#8217; \u2193 [read by the writer] &#8211;\u00a0recorded at Harvard University in April, 2005.<\/h6>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.youtube.com\/watch?v=2ZRXnGkuGYU\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\" wp-image-50618 aligncenter\" src=\"http:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/Loot.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"279\" height=\"385\" srcset=\"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/Loot.jpg 348w, https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/Loot-218x300.jpg 218w, https:\/\/englishroam.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/11\/Loot-109x150.jpg 109w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 279px) 100vw, 279px\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<div>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>Once upon our time, there was an earthquake: but this one is the most powerful ever recorded since the invention of the Richter scale made possible for us to measure apocalyptic warnings.<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<div>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>It tipped a continental shelf. These tremblings often cause floods; this colossus did the reverse, drew back the ocean as a vast breath taken. The most secret level of our world lay revealed: the sea-bedded &#8211; wrecked ships, facades of houses, ballroom candelabra, toilet bowl, pirate chest, TV screen, mail-coach, aircraft fuselage, canon, marble torso, Kalashnikov, metal carapace of a tourist bus-load, baptismal font, automatic dishwasher, computer, swords sheathed in barnacles, coins turned to stone. The astounded gaze raced among these things; the population who had fled from their toppling houses to the martime hills, ran down. Where terrestrial crash and bellow had terrified them, there was naked silence. The saliva of the sea glistened upon these objects; it is given that time does not, never did, exist down there where the materiality of the past and the present as they lie has no chronological order, all is one, all is nothing &#8211; or all is possessible at once.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>People rushed to take; take, take. This was &#8211; when, anytime, sometime &#8211; valuable, that might be useful, what was this, well someone will know, that must have belonged to the rich, it&#8217;s mine now, if you don&#8217;t grab what&#8217;s over there someone else will, feet slipped and slithered on seaweed and sank in soggy sand, gasping sea-plants gaped at them, no-one remarked there were no fish, the living inhabitants of this unearth had been swept up and away with the water. The ordinary opportunity of looting shops which was routine to people during the political uprisings was no comparison. Orgiastic joy gave men, women and their children strength to heave out of the slime and sand what they did not know they wanted, quickened their staggering gait as they ranged, and this was more than profiting by happenstance, it was robbing the power of nature before which they had fled helpless. Take, take; while grabbing they were able to forget the wreck of their houses and the loss of time-bound possessions there. They had tattered the silence with their shouts to one another and under these cries like the cries of the absent seagulls they did not hear a distant approach of sound rising as a great wind does. And then the sea came back, engulfed them to add to its treasury.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>That is what is known; in television coverage that really had nothing to show but the pewter skin of the depths, in radio interviews with those few infirm, timid or prudent who had not come down from the hills, and in newspaper accounts of bodies that for some reason the sea rejected, washed up down the coast somewhere.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>But the writer knows something no-one else knows; the sea-change of the imagination.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>Now listen, there&#8217;s a man who has wanted a certain object (what) all his life. He has a lot of &#8211; things &#8211; some of which his eye falls upon often, so he must be fond of, some of which he doesn&#8217;t notice, deliberately, that he probably shouldn&#8217;t have acquired but cannot cast off, there&#8217;s an art noveau lamp he reads by, and above his bed-head a Japanese print, a Hokusai, &#8216;The Great Wave&#8217;, he doesn&#8217;t really collect oriental stuff, although if it had been on the wall facing him it might have been more than part of the furnishings, it&#8217;s been out of sight behind his head for years. All these &#8211; things &#8211; but not the one.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>He&#8217;s a retired man, long divorced, chosen an old but well-appointed villa in the maritime hills as the site from which to turn his back on the assault of the city. A woman from the village cooks and cleans and doesn&#8217;t bother him with any other communication. It is a life blessedly freed of excitement, he&#8217;s had enough of that kind of disturbance, pleasurable or not, but the sight from his lookout of what could never have happened, never ever have been vouchsafed, is a kind of command. He is one of those who are racing out over the glistening sea-bed, the past &#8211; detritus-treasure, one and the same &#8211; stripped bare.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>Like all the other looters with whom he doesn&#8217;t mix, has nothing in common, he races from object to object, turning over the shards of painted china, the sculptures created by destruction, abandonment and rust, the brine-vintaged wine casks, a plunged racing motorcycle, a dentist&#8217;s chair, his stride landing on disintegrated human ribs and mettarsals he does not identify. But unlike the others, he takes nothing &#8211; until: there, ornate with tresses of orange-brown seaweed, stuck-fast with nacreous shells and crenellations of red coral, is <em>the<\/em> object. (A mirror?) It&#8217;s as if the impossible is true; he knew that was where it was, beneath the sea, that&#8217;s why he didn&#8217;t know what it was, could never find it before. It could be revealed only by something that had never happened, the greatest paroxysm of our earth ever measured on the Richter scale.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>He takes it up, the object, the mirror, the sand pours off it, the water that was the only bright glance left to it streams from it, he is taking it back with him, he&#8217;s taking possession at last.\u00a0And the great wave comes from behind his bed-head and takes him.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>His name well-known in the former regime circles in the capital is not among the survivors. Along with him among the skeletons of the latest victims, with the ancient pirates and fishermen, there are those dropped from planes during the dictatorship so that with the accomplice of the sea they would never be found. Who recognized them, that day, where they lie?<\/strong><\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\"><strong>No carnation or rose floats.\u00a0Full fathom five.<\/strong><\/p>\n<h6 style=\"text-align: right;\">\u2022\u2192<a href=\"http:\/\/vimeo.com\/11128918\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">The Generation Gap<\/a>\u2190[2003]<\/h6>\n<p><strong>\u2022\u2192<a href=\"http:\/\/www.aljazeera.com\/programmes\/talktojazeera\/2012\/09\/201292913438182241.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">\u00abThe Culture of Corruption\u00bb [TALK TO AL JAZEERA]<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">\n<p style=\"text-align: justify;\">South African novelist and short-story writer, Nobel Prize for Literature in 1991. Most of Nadine Gordimer&#8216;s works deal with the moral and psychological tensions of her racially divided home country. She was a founding member of Congress of South African Writers, and even at the height of the apartheid regime, [&#8230;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":28,"featured_media":38189,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[170],"tags":[175,266],"class_list":["post-38183","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-stories","tag-story","tag-modern_writers","odd"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38183","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/28"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=38183"}],"version-history":[{"count":14,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38183\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":55169,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/38183\/revisions\/55169"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/38189"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=38183"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=38183"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishroam.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=38183"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}