Fanie Olivier – vertaal deur/translated by Charl JF Cilliers
- Fanie Olivier
Fanie Olivier was born in Pretoria, grew up in the Cape and learned to write in Durban. He studied Law and Afrikaans at Stellenbosch, and his first volume of poems was gom uit die sipres. There were further post-graduate studies in Utrecht in the Netherlands, and he obtained his doctorate at Potchefstroom University. He was a lecturer at the old University of Natal and (similarly) at Durban-Westville. He was Arts Editor for Rapport newspaper for three years, and then again a lecturer at the still existing University of Venda. He worked for almost two years at the Adam Mickiewicz University in Poznan in Poland and then again as an advocate in Durban. Since the end of 2007 he returned to the new University of KwaZulu-Natal, but went back to Poland. After his first volume of poems he published five more volumes: om alleen te reis, paradysrigting van die wind, skimmelig, verklarings 1967-1987 and apostroof (2010). He published a couple of celebratory volumes and the distinctive Die mooiste Afrikaanse liefdesgedigte, an anthology of love poems. In 2009 he translated JM Coetzee’s novel Disgrace.
for travellers signposts are like a prayer
and for an overview of what lies where
possession of a route map is beyond compare.
but if one is entangled, trapped here
in urban toil – hound and home so near,
the dearest kith and kin – it would appear
a city atlas could be the very thing
to coax one into plotting
the overall terrain: with CD’s playing,
blissfully from your bed scrutinise
the scene: alleys a woman would be wise
to skirt; green oases under smoggy skies.
i know: angst freezes you cuts you down to size;
angels lift you into a deeper, darker, sweeter ring
(Uncollected)
(Tr. by Charl JF Cilliers)
orb
(for ina rousseau)
how awesome are you, beautiful sphere
with ravishing soil, loam, malleable clay
dolomite that splinters under the sun,
granite ruptured by a root, huge austere
mountains flaking off into a vlei,
a marsh overnight turned to stone?
how you bring forth life from a cocoon that’s spun,
from an egg cell, a succulent finding its place
on a drop of sand! full of colours you sway
the seasons, full of sound every tree!
you blink an eye and the phoenicians are obliterated;
with a flick of the wrist the egyptians are swept away;
whoosh, you shatter the greeks, the roman empire
vanishes like an afterthought your dreams set free.
who are we to toy with you like a silver ball
from a station teetering somewhere in space?
who do we think we are, we who continually conspire
to rip apart your innards, throw
smoke up into your clouds, who let forests fall
to slabs of tar, bare botches of a concrete overrun?
one move from you and the skyscrapers’ steel
snaps like that shade tree that a worm has made its meal,
a blade of grass cracks concrete, the plight
of aids blights our smug self-sufficiency.
a whiplash of hail makes it clear,
a flash of cosmos reveals what you sow.
how awesome you are, how beautiful a spot,
bold planet that turns, turns unabated
turns through a million years of light;
how pathetic, how trivial are we
who think we are creation’s crown: what rot!
(Uncollected)
(Tr. by Charl JF Cilliers)
vi
the hand, its task complete, lies on the palette
fingers mix colours in a dream’s rich honeycomb
and against the wall, perfect in chrome,
his model is immortalised in her portrait.
so softly that a pencil’s light tracery
can be heard she folds the rug to tuck him in
strokes him where sleep’s silver softnesses begin
and in the sweet deep undulations algae drift dreamily.
beside the coast’s dark line lie the harbour’s winking lights.
so colours need to intermingle, flow,
words evoke words, stone upon stone.
the wispy sketch against the wall must disappear from sight.
her hand and everything within start to bleed and glow
her eyes, his canvas, incomprehensibly becoming one.
(From: die kunstenaar kyk na sy model. An unpublished poem, 2010)
(Tr. by Charl JF Cilliers)
for months my small hamlet lay there safely, still,
i watched the gangly granadillas cling
to the fence i planted as security
against intrusion from outsiders’ shrill
weighing up of joy and agony.
shrubs along the path had grown dense
and songbirds appeared again to sing
slowly everything made sense
and behind shutters i am in charge, the man
planting more windbreaks everywhere i can.
then on a night like this it falls apart
under your shining lips: blown
away by the wind roaring through the dell
façades scattering, my plan
in tatters like my protected heart
friends ask where are this dumb fool’s ears:
even the piggies learned their lesson well:
in order to survive one always should
use tar, concrete, corrugated iron, stone.
how would they know with how much care
i chose the spot where i had planned to stay
the wind a gentle breeze over these many years
and not a hint of perfume in the air
i found out everything i could
to prevent a new beginning and the same despair.
how could i have guessed that you lived all alone
here in the mountains, that my house of cards
of thatch and straw would be blown away?
after all, i too am only flesh and bone.
(Uncollected)
(Tr. by Charl JF Cilliers)
Translator:
Charl JF Cilliers was born in 1941 in Cape Town. Initially he went into the field of electronics and lectured for 4 years. He then joined Parliament as a translator in 1968 and retired in 1998 as Editor of Hansard. His first volume of poems West-Falling Light appeared in 1971, to be followed by Has Winter No Wisdom in 1978. His Collected Poems 1960 – 2008 appeared in 2008 and The Journey in 2010. His latest volume of poetry, A momentary stay. was published in 2011. He also published a volume of children’s poems, Fireflies Facing The Moon, in 2008. He has retired to the Cape West Coast where he continues to write.
