Vertalings

Joachim Ringelnatz. Vertaling in Afrikaans

Wednesday, April 1st, 2020

 

 

 

Joachim Ringelnatz (1883 – 1934). Vertaling uit Duits in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Robert Schall

 

 

 

Das Ei

 

Es fiel einmal ein Kuckucksei

Vom Baum herab und ging entzwei.

 

Im Ei da war ein Krokodil;

Am ersten Tag war’s im April.

 

 

 

Die eier

 

ʼn Koekoekeier, dronk van kop,

val van ʼn boom en breek sy dop.

 

Dié dop uit kruip ʼn krokodil;

dit was, glo ek, op 1 April.

 

 

 

 

Osip Mandelstam. Vertaling in Afrikaans

Monday, March 23rd, 2020

 

Osip Mandelstam: Vertaling uit Russies via Engels in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Helize van Vuuren.

 

54

 

Waar kan ek skuil in hierdie Januarie?

Wyd-ope stad in ‘n mal doodsgreep…

Kan ek dronk wees van geslote deure?

Ek wil bulk uit slotte en knope…

 

en die skok van terugblaffende paaie,

en die hole op skewe strate –

en uitsigloses skarrel in hoeke in

en pyl haastig weer uit…

 

en in die put in, in die vratterige donker

gly ek, in in die yswaterwerke,

en ek struikel, ek eet dooie lug,

en koorsige kraaie ontplof orals –

 

maar ek roep agter hul, skreeu na

‘n rottangstuk uit bevrore hout:

‘n Leser! ‘n Raadgewer! ‘n Dokter!

‘n Gesprek op die yl trap!

 

1 Februarie 1937

 

Osip Mandelstam(1891-1938) –Tweede notaboek uit Vorónezh Notebooks  (1936-1937), 2016-vertaling Andrew Davies [© Afrikaanse vertaling Helize van Vuuren, 21 Maart 2020]

 

Benno Barnard. Vertaling in Afrikaans

Saturday, March 21st, 2020

Benno Barnard: Vertaling uit Nederlands in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Daniel Hugo

 

Telefoongesprek met ’n vriend wat k het

In memoriam Kamiel Vanhole

 

Met die skeikunde tot in sy tone

is daar nog vyf-en-vyftig kilogram vriend

wat iets hoes oor die boek wat hy lees –

 

plus die geringe gewig van sy siel

(dit sit in die pineaalklier, het Descartes gedink).

Die telefoon hou op met asemhaal,

 

jy, rymelaar, klou aan daardie been

soos ’n hond.  Sy lyf is so maer van rook;

die verpleegsters – o, harde mensliewendheid

 

van hul hande – is sendingsusters in ’n kolonie

van die Katolieke koning Kanker; die dokter

is die distrikshoof: hulle vermoor uiters menslik,

 

druppel vir druppel, lieftallige tewe, fatsoenlike skurk.

Die mens?  Duisternis wat aan die brand geslaan het.

Die mens? Tussen twee stiltes ’n geroesemoes.

 

Die dood is ’n lomp oplossing vir die raaisel van die tyd.

Die dood is ’n linkse remedie. Skel gerus

(jy sit jou lewe lank op die os wat jy soek, sê Zen)

 

tot by die hospitaal, neurie die onsamehangende

swanesang van die postmodernisme; roep

die veearts as jy dit nie meer kan verduur nie.

 

(Uit: Krijg nou de lyriek, Amsterdam/Antwerpen: Uitgeverij Atlas, 2011)

 

 

Breyten Breytenbach. Vertaling in Engels

Thursday, March 19th, 2020

Breyten Breytenbach: Vertaling uit Afrikaans in Engels. Vert. deur Ampie Coetzee.

 

when you let the mother-tongue

 

when you let the mother-tongue

wither in my mouth

you take away the world

darken my memory

causing me as a stranger

and without an own pair of shoes

to suffer the future

which I cannot mould anymore

but only interpret

and not penetrate

 

when you take the language

away from me

you rip my heart from my dreams

to replace it

with oral antics

of a tongue that can only

do the blind work of ants

 

when you file me as mere number of the masses

like a caged-in parrot

peck-pecking at his mirror

you make me an orphan

in the empty house of my fathers

without language to reflect my absence

 

(From: op weg na kû , p. 118. Human & Rousseau, 2019.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breyten Breytenbach. Vertaling in Engels

Tuesday, March 17th, 2020

 

Breyten Breytenbach: Vertaling uit Afrikaans in Engels. Vert. deur Ampie Coetzee.

 

beloved, language

 

beloved, I’m writing to you in this tongue

because losing it leaves me wordless

it is a gruesome experience

to scratch in the graves of forebears

I am ashamed

 

this language, beloved

dissolves in the mouth as the last taste

of the pebble we used to suck against thirst,

disappears because it was in the mouth

of corrupted white people

even though in places it touched a universe

 

with meagre words

I want to sing about our love for a last time

from mouth to wound to merciless soil

I am ashamed that I now have to be ashamed

 

the mouth is too secret not to feel pain

I will scratch open the grave

and bury the pebble between your thighs

and swallow the last bit of spit.

 

death is never having to be thirsty again,

my beloved language

 

(“liefling,taal”, from die beginsel van stof, p.18.  Human & Rousseau 2011.)

 

Osip Mandelstam: Vertaling in Afrikaans

Monday, March 9th, 2020

Osip Mandelstam: Vertaling uit Russies via Duits in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Helize van Vuuren.

 

 

Tristia

 

Ek het afskeid geleer – sy wetenskap;

ek leer dit snags, uit pyn en yl hare.

Geloei van osse. Wag, lang gevangenskap.

Stadsbewaking, díé wat die laaste was.

En ek – ek stap in die nag soos die hane,

omdat ek, met smart op my skouer, wandel, lank,

een oog in die verte sien deur sy trane

en vrouegeween hoor in die muse-lied.

 

Wie, wat die woord hoor: Afskeidneem,

weet wat die skeiding en verwydering bring,

wat sy naam is as vlamme op jou staan,

Akropolis, en hanegeskreeu weerklink?

Wat as ‘n nuwe lewe, enigeen, daag,

waarin die osse loei, uitgerek in die stal,

wat hierdie vlerkgeslaan daar uitsê

van die haan op die muur, wat die nuwe bring?

 

Ek het lief, wat steeds voortspin, die weefdraad –

Die skippie wat vlieg, die weefspoel-gezoem…

O kyk: verepluim, ‘n werklike, van swane –

die kaalvoet Dehlia – sy kom!

O ons lewensgrond, die skraal-en-smalle,

die bedelwoorde, wat van vreugde praat!

Ag, net die verlede kom, op ‘n ander keer:

die nóú, as jy haar herken – jou geluk.

 

So is dit dan: die bord van erdewerk, mooi

en die wasbeeld, deursigtig, bo-op.

(Soos eekhorinkie-vel, gelooi.) Daarnaas

oor die was geboë, ‘n meisiesoog.

Nie vir ons is dit om Erebus te vra:

koper vir die mans, was vir die vroue.

Op ons val die lot, as ons veg in verslane stryd;

Hul sterf, as hul in die toekoms kyk.

 

  • Osip Mandelstam, uit Gedichte 1928

– Vertaal deur Helize van Vuuren, via Paul Celan, Ossip Mandelstamm Gedichte – Aus dem Russischen übertragen von Paul Celan, Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 1959).

 

 

Tomas Tranströmer. Vertaling in Afrikaans

Sunday, March 8th, 2020

Tomas Tranströmer: Vertaling uit Sweeds in Afrikaans. Vert. deur De Waal Venter.

 

 

Haikoe

 

 Wit orgideë.

Tenkbote gly verby.

Die maan is nou vol.

 

 

Kragdrade span ver

in die koue se wit ryk

noord van alle musiek.

 

 

Die helder wit son

hardloop alleen nader na

die dood se blou berg.

 

 

Ja, ons moet lewe

met die fynskrif van die gras

en gelag uit kelders.

 

 

Die son lê nou laag.

Ons skaduwees is reuse.

Netnou is als skadu.

 

Uit: Haikudikter

 

Breyten Breytenbach. Vertaling in Engels

Sunday, March 1st, 2020

Breyten Breytenbach: Vertaling uit Afrikaans in Engels. Vert. deur Ampie Coetzee

 

lay-aside letter for a poem

 

Dear poem, stay with me.

Do not when the end is near

leave me in the lurch. We have been together in many stories

for years and tides, through lands and landscapes and loves

and secret rooms where gallows towered,

from the one mask to the other

monkey trick or apostrophe or funeral. Who knows me better?

 

I did not always treat you well,

misused you, whored with you, even

like a shameless Peter betrayed you as a sentimental weakness

or something one whispers under the cloak to fighters in the mountains

even before the cock crows a third time.

 

Yet I never actually forsook you.

I saw how hard you tried

to be my forefront and my rearguard

to cover my fear and ecstasy, how often you

had to apologize for me.

 

And now you have come of age – or simply sick and tired?

Now you can  so-called live on your own without me.

But stay a while. Hold tight my hand

and lead me now I can see and know less and less

to count off the words like scarce small change.

Come let’s pretend we still like each other

and travel together the last syllables

to where I can let you walk on your own

to the death of the tongue.

 

Oh, we could have gone further, I grant you that,

up to the borders of crossing

where I was too scared of losing you, my young guide.

 

Do you still remember our distant discoveries

in dark trains through the night, click-clack,

and the dreams I had passed on to you,

to wake up early and hungrily

look through the window upon new landscapes

of lying-erect mountains where other wild poems live –

what are the people doing there?

 

You are the only one that I ever allowed

in the intimate lost places, to lay with me

and the beloved under the sheet

with your feet like rough metaphors.

 

And now we are old. I am looking for you, bokkie-bokkie

on the yard, paging through tattered notebooks

to see if perhaps you’ve left a message

(you always had too many loose thoughts.)

But you are missing. You don’t want to take revenge, do you?

 

When I wake up from the night you have

left me an empty sheet of paper.

You look at me across the work table speechless.

What do you want to say?

 

That it has passed? I am too old and full of freckles?

That I couldn’t protect our thoughts anymore,

I no more wanted to inject you with speech,

and you choose to live in the bush like a beast

to sing and to dance of forgotten gods?

 

Rather kill me before you go.

Stay with me.

Slit my throat as final line!

 

(‘weglêbrief vir gedig’  from die beginsel van stof pp. 34-36. Human en Rouseau, 2011.)

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