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N.P. van Wyk Louw (1906-1970) - vertaal deur/translated by Ilze Gertenbach & Charl J.F. Cilliers

To A Urologist

Doctor, by courier I send again:

this fruit, fine-pressed and fair,

sifted from dark flesh: from air

distilled and cherry juice and grain.

In your flask let my scant scourings

not mingle with those sun-drunk things.

(Translated by Charl J.F. Cilliers)

Barriers

 Without hesitation, my naked soul will

 come to you in its simplicity,

 as from the depths of sleep our dreams,

 as against the light of dusk the trees

 reach for the cerulean moon;

 come with all its dark urges,

 and say the holy, unheard of

 things that people are so

 hesitant about, that waver at the edge

 of my mystic words.

(Translation of Grense N.P. van Wyk Louw (1906-1970,

By Ilze Gertenbach)

Lucas Malan – vertaal deur Charl J.F. Cilliers

Meditation

Lucas Malan

Pigeons have come to nest again. Untidily,

as they usually do. Peacefully here

on the stoep, in the latticework of a vine,

amongst leaves making themselves at home. Briefly.

They sleep now in pairs, as they should. Serenely.

Listen to the whole neighbourhood considering their fate,

our modest neighbours who can sleep safely tonight;

perhaps for the whole season, only just protected,

lightly held in half a calabash of sticks and grass.

(Who still remembers the four who were here last year?)

Here they sleep now, the soft blue-feathered ones,

able to drink all night from the wholesome Milky Way

in motionless dreams of their progeny unscathed,

whilst the Southern Cross unwaverlingly plummets.

(Vertaal deur Charl J. F. Cilliers)