Basil du Toit. Vertalings in Afrikaans, deur Helize van Vuuren.
KLIPGATGROT, WALKERBAAI
Kuslyne het hul voedsel-
vondse afgeskud, hul in soutkomme vasgevang
vir gety-ure, hul aan stekelrige rotse
vasgesuig onder kalsiumdeksels;
dis ‘n verdeling van mondjiesvol
vir geduldige rapers met nette en
lemme; skeppend en skurend versamel
hul die snotterige oes, ryk aan
marine olies, positiewe soute, suiwerende
sure; verganklike geslagte gaan so verby,
gevoed op die nimmerrustende branding,
hierdie gekonsentreerde dieet, ure van vryheid.
Hulle het gedryf oor die neerslag, ape
wat hul metodes verplaas het
van vyebome na seekuste – hand
tot mond, maag tot brein, vet tot slaap.
Kultuur was klimaat – ‘n mistige see-
waas, rustigheid; ‘n groeiende omvang
van afvalhope (voëlbene en visbene,
arikreukelkolke en mosselkappies en
perlemoenskulpe) het hul rykdom bevestig;
‘n opgewonde gebabbel het uit grotbekke
geborrel na die daal van die nag –
met kletsende enkelskulpe
het die jagters hul wêreld teruggedans
na feesmakers in die vuursirkel, herstellend
aan ‘n hele dag se skitterende ervaring
deur die wonderbaarlike niks van hul stemme –
die reuk van see-afval op die dryflyn,
die sien van ‘n druppende walvisstert hoog gelig
agter die branders, die knopperige
rollende ruggraat van ‘n suidelike walvis.
– Basil du Toit (Stilet 29, Maart 2017)
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KLIPGAT CAVE, WALKER BAY
Coastlines have shed their culinary
pickings, trapping them for tidal
hours in salty basins, clamping them
under calcium caps to prickly rocks;
it is a distribution of mouthfuls
for patient scavengers with nets and
blades; scooping and scouring they
gather the snotty harvest, rich in
marines oils, positive salts, purging
acids; ephemeral generations passed
thus, stoked on neverceasing surf,
this concentrated diet, hours of leisure.
They drifted over the deposits, apes
who had transferred their methods
from fig trees to sea shores – hand
to mouth, belly to brain, fat to sleep.
Culture was climate – a misty marine
haze, tranquillity; a spreading girth
of middens (bird bones and fish bones,
whelk whorls and mussel bonnets and
limpet hoods) attested to their wealth;
excited babbling bubbled out of
the openings of caves after nightfall –
with chattering ankle-shells
the hunters danced their world back
to feasters in the fire circle, restoring
a whole day’s bright experience
by the miraculous nothing of their voices –
the smell of sea-trash in the driftline,
sight of a dripping fluke lifted high
beyond the breakers, the knobbly
rolling spine of a southern whale.
– Basil du Toit (Stilet 29, Maart 2017)
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