O die dans van ons Suster! Oh, the dance of our sister!
Eers oor die bergtop At first she peeps coyly
loer sy skelm, over the mountain top
en haar oge is skaam; and her eyes are shy
en sy lag saggies. and she laughs softly.
En van ver af wink sy From afar she beckons
met die een hand; with one hand;
haar armbande blink her bracelets shimmer
en haar krale skitter; and her beads sparkle;
saggies roep sy. softly she calls
Sy vertel die winde she tells the winds
van die dans about the dance
en sy nooi hulle uit, and she invites them,
want die werf is wyd for the backyard is vast
en die bruilof groot. and the wedding huge.
Die grootwild jaag The big game run
uit die vlakte, out on the plains,
hulle dam op die bulttop, they gather on the hilltop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate their nostrils dilate
en hulle sluk die wind; and they swallow the wind;
en hulle buk, and they stoop
om haar fyn spore to see her dainty tracks
op die sand te sien. on the sand.
Die kleinvolk The little folk
diep onder die grond deep underground
hoor die sleep van haar voete, hear the drag of her feet,
en hulle kruip nader and they inch nearer
en sing saggies: and sing softly:
'Ons Suster! Ons Suster! 'Our Sister! Our Sister!
Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom! 'You have come! You have come!'
En haar krale skud, And her beads bounce
en haar koperringe blink and her copper hoops flash
in die wegraak van die son. in the drop of the sun.
Op haar voorkop is die On her forehead is the
vuurpluim van fiery plume of
die berggier; the mountain falcon;
sy trap af van die hoogte; she steps down from the plateau
sy sprei die vaalkaros she spreads the gray pelt
met altwee arms uit; wide with both arms,
die asem van die wind raak weg. the breath of the wind grows quiet.
O, die dans van ons Suster! Oh, the dance of our sister!
translation by seasofme231012geckojig
one of my absolute favourite afrikaans poems.
robert ardrey wrote in the introduction to the soul of the ape (the only one of eugene marais' books which was published in english):
He was a man courtly - gentlemanly in every oldtime ecstatic sense. His charm was something that contemporaries who outlived him recall with yearning...he was a poet with no eternal page to write upon. As a scientist he was unique, supreme in his time, yet a worker in a science then unborn... a human community in the person of one man. He was a poet, an advocate, a journalist, a story-teller, a drug addict, a psychologist, a natural scientist.
YOU ARE READING
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Poetrymy personal favourites in one book. these all come from older collections. hardly any of the media belong to me
