Posts Tagged ‘Maya Angelou vertaling in Afrikaans’

Maya Angelou. Vertaling in Afrikaans

Tuesday, December 15th, 2020

 

Versindaba kompetisie vir vertaalde gedigte (49)

 

Maya Angelou. Vertaling van Engels in Afrikaans. Vert. deur Marieta McGrath.

 

Wanneer groot bome val

 

Wanneer groot bome val,

sidder die klippe op ‘n duisend heuwels,

lê leeus laag

in die lang gras,

boemel selfs die olifante

na veiligheid.

 

Wanneer groot bome val

in die woud,

keer alles wat klein is in hulself,

hul sinne

verby vrees verstomp.

 

Wanneer groot siele sterf,

word die lug om ons

lig, raar, steriel.

Ons haal asem, vlugtig.

Ons oë sien, vlugtig,

met pynlike klaarheid.

Herinnering, skielik verskerp,

doen ondersoek,

kou aan sagte woorde

ongesê,

beloofde wandelinge

nooit onderneem nie.

 

Groot siele sterf en

wat vir ons werklik was,

verlaat ons.

Ons siele,

afhanklik van hul

koestering,

krimp en verskrompel.

Ons verstand, verlig

en toegelig deur hul

lig,

val weg.

Ons word nie soveel waansinnig

as gereduseer tot die onuitspreeklike afsydigheid

van donker, koue

grotte nie.

 

En wanneer groot siele sterf,

sal daar na ‘n tyd weer vrede blom,

geleidelik, maar altyd

sporadies. Ruimtes vul

met ‘n soort

sussende elektriese vibrasie.

Ons sinne, herstel, maar nooit weer

dieselfde nie, fluister, fluister in ons ore:

Hulle was. Hulle was.

Ons kan wees. Ons kan wees, ons kan

beter wees. Want hulle was.

 

 

***

 

 

When great trees fall

Maya Angelou

 

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

 

When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

 

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

 

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance,

fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance

of dark, cold

caves.

 

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.


Bronverwysing:

Angelou, Maya. 1990. I shall not be moved. New York: Random House.