Versindaba kompetisie vir vertaalde gedigte (62)
W.H. Auden. Vertaling van Engels in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Johann de Lange.
Begrafnis-blues
Stop alle horlosies, trek uit die telefoon,
maak die hond stil met ‘n sappige been,
bedek die klaviere en met gedempte trom
bring die kis uit, en laat die roubeklaers kom.
Laat vliegtuie oorhoofs kerm en sirkel in hul nood
en teen die lug die boodskap skryf, Hy is Dood,
sit ’n papierstrikkie om die nek van elke stadsduif,
laat verkeersbeamptes met swart handskoene wuif.
Hy was my Noord, my Suid, my Wes en Oos,
my werksweek en my Sondagstroos,
my middag, my middernag, my gesels, my lied;
ek dag die liefde duur vir ewig: dit het nié.
Die sterre het geen nut meer: doof iedereen;
pak weg die maan en sloop die son;
gooi uit die oseaan en vee op die woud.
Alles wat goed en eg was, is nou klatergoud.
***
Funeral blues
W.H. Auden
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
(Song IX / from Two Songs for Hedli Anderson)
Bronverwysing:
Auden, W.H. 1940. Another Time: Poems by W.H. Auden. Londen: Faber & Faber.