Posts Tagged ‘Hendrik J. Botha vertaling’

Hendrik J. Botha. Vertaling in Engels

Monday, January 18th, 2021

 

Versindaba kompetisie vir vertaalde gedigte (91)

 

Hendrik J. Botha. Vertaling van Afrikaans in Engels. Vert. deur Hendrik J. Botha.

 

Reaping

 

Barely ten years old, chasing a ball

you meet a taxi at breakneck speed.

 

All traffic halts at a theatre table

where sterile drapes and equipment prepared,

follow the line of faceless doctors, icibly able.

 

Your heart then shudders free, hovers like a bird

over liver and kidneys, cauterized and cut,

slivers of cornea peeled from your eyes.

 

Amid four walls, so serene,

you, your wound, dark dead eyes and I

– all to complete the macabre scene –

with no body left, but the one bereft

to hold a small still hand. Or mine.

 

***

 

Breindood

Hendrik J. Botha

 

Skaars tien jaar oud, onbesorg,

jaag jy ‘n bal tot voor die taxi op hellevaart.

 

Steriel op ‘n teatertafel afgedek,

Ventilator, monitors, oorplantingspan:

volledig opgestel.

 

‘n Hart fladderend bevry.

Lewer en niere sorgvuldig

afgeklem, losgesny.

Korneas geskil.

 

Na afloop van die makabere tafereel

tussen geteëlde mure, net ek en jy,

donker wond en dooie oë,

sonder iemand om tot slot

jou óf my hand vas te hou.

 

 

Botha, Hendrik J. Atropos. 2015. Kaapstad: Queillerie, NB Uitgewers. p. 33.

 

 

Hendrik J. Botha. Vertaling in Engels

Monday, January 18th, 2021

 

Versindaba kompetisie vir vertaalde gedigte (90)

 

Hendrik J. Botha. Vertaling van Afrikaans in Engels. Vert. deur Hendrik J. Botha.

 

Love bar none

 

For thirty years in Hammanskraal

you taught students to read and write,

wisened them in the arts of science and geography.

They looked up to you: schoolteacher, sage, hero.

 

But on a Saturday in September

the tables were abruptly turned:

a boy of ten with sun bleached hair,

alabaster–blue eyes with a gaze

of a different kind.

 

Three days after a hit and run

– a taxi without brakes, sirens and lights –

 

he grants you a kidney

in the blink of an eye.

 

***

 

Oor die kleurgrens

Hendrik Botha

‘n Liefdesgedig

 

Vir dertig jaar in Hammanskraal,

leer jy kinders lees en skryf,

maak hulle wys in wiskunde en geografie.

Kyk hulle op na jou, die skoolmeester en heer.

 

Op ‘n Saterdagaand in September

word die bordjies plotseling verhang:

‘n seun van tien, sonblond, oë albasterblou

kyk áf na jou.

 

Ná ‘n tref–en–trap drie dae terug

–‘n taxi sonder remme,

ligte, sirenes –

 

skenk hy

sonder om ‘n oog te knip,

vannag vir jou ‘n nier.

 

Bronverwysing:

Botha,  Hendrik J. Atropos. 2015. Kaapstad: Queillerie, NB Uitgewers. p. 34.

 

 

Charles Bukowski. Vertaling in Afrikaans

Wednesday, December 23rd, 2020

Versindaba kompetisie vir vertaalde gedigte (54)

 

Charles Bukowski. Vertaling van Engels in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Hendrik J. Botha.

 

Om ‘n glimlag te onthou

 

ons het goudvisse gehad wat in die rondte swem

in ‘n bak op die tafel naby die venster met swaar gordyne.

my ma, altyd met ‘n glimlag, het van ons verwag

om gelukkig te wees: “wees gelukkig, Henry!’

en sy was reg: dis beter om gelukkig te wees, as jy kan.

my pa sou haar en my slaan, male sonder tal

terwyl hy worstel met die vuur wat hom van binne brand.

 

my ma, arme vis,

wou net gelukkig wees:

“glimlag, Henry, waarom glimlag jy nooit?”

 

en sy sou glimlag om my te wys hoe,

en dit was die hartseerste glimlag ooit.

 

een dag was al vyf die goudvisse dood.

hulle het op die water gedryf,

oë nog oop.

toe my pa tuiskom het hy hulle vir die kat gevoer,

sommer daar op die kombuisvloer, terwyl ons toekyk hoe my ma

glimlag.

 

***

 

A Smile To Remember

Charles Bukowski

 

 we had goldfish and they circled around and around

in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes

covering the picture window and

my mother, always smiling, wanting us all

to be happy, told me, ‘be happy Henry!’

and she was right: it’s better to be happy if you

can

but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while

raging inside his 6–foot–two frame because he couldn’t

understand what was attacking him from within.

 

my mother, poor fish,

wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a

week, telling me to be happy: ‘Henry, smile!

why don’t you ever smile?’

 

and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the

saddest smile I ever saw

 

one day the goldfish died, all five of them,

they floated on the water, on their sides, their

eyes still open,

and when my father got home he threw them to the cat

there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother

smiled

 

 Bronverwysing:

Bukowski, Charles. 2007. The Pleasures of the Damned, Poems 1951–1993 (p15) New York: Harper Collins

 

 

Charles Bukowski. Vertaling in Afrikaans

Monday, December 21st, 2020

 

Versindaba kompetisie vir vertaalde gedigte (52)

 

Charles Bukowski. Vertaling van Engels in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Hendrik J. Botha.

 

Om sonder ‘n wekker te lewe

 

my pa het altyd  geglo: vroeg bed toe

en op met hanekraai; só bly mens

gesond, welvarend en wys.

 

teen agtuur saans was alles donker

in ons huis, teen dagbreek moes ons

opstaan en aanmeld vir ontbyt.

 

my pa het vir ‘n leeftyd die roetine volgehou,

uiteindelik jonk gesterf, arm

en volgens my nie baie wys.

 

ek het sy advies in die wind geslaan;

laat gaan slaap, nog later opgestaan.

 

in die proses het ek nie juis die wêreld verander nie,

wel talle verkeersknope misgeloop,

heelwat moeilikheid bloot verpas,

ook talle vreemde en interessante mense

raakgeloop;

 

een daarvan

ekself – iemand wat my pa

nooit

leer ken het nie.

 

***

 

Throwing away the alarm clock

by Charles Bukowski

 

my father always said, “early to bed and

early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy

and wise.”

 

It was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house

and we were up at dawn to the smell of

coffee, frying bacon and scrambled

eggs.

 

my father followed this general routine

for a lifetime and died young, broke,

and, I think, not too

wise.

 

taking note, I rejected his advice and it

became, for me, late to bed and late

to rise.

 

now, I’m not saying that I’ve conquered

the world but I’ve avoided

numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some

common pitfalls

and have met some strange, wonderful

people

 

one of whom

was

myself – someone my father

never

knew.

 

Bukowski, Charles. 2004. The Flash of Lightning Behind the Mountain (p.44 ) New York: Harper Collins.