Balling I
Heeldag, kort-kort die hele Meidag al,
wimpel fyn vaal reëngaas oor hierdie berg
se arm grint, yl groen en blertse oker besembos
in bloei, tot by die eerste dakke baksteenrooi
en grys, ou tuine ruig en ouer mure krom—
Die somer kom, ’n swart verkluimde merel
sonder sang, kom traag, ’n weë sleepsel, slakkegang—
ver hiervandaan vlam blare rooi en lug én lig
in ligtelaaie blóú. Daar blink die reën,
blink kaggelvure, en blink die kleinste nietigheid
wat ek onthou . . .
Die somer kom, maar ek gaan winter toe.
Die fret
Genoeg, fret: wees vry. Jou nie meer
vasloop in stoephoeke nie, beton of
marmer onder jou pootjies wat móét grawe—
Jý, sélf, langgelyfde tonnelaar,
jou stert gebós van hoop teen alle hoop in,
dapper klein angstige self—Ek het my
ander verwese selwe gesê ek sién jou soek
na uitkoms, hulle gemaan om roerloos te sit
op die treetjies wat afloop na die wye meer,
opdat jy kan draai en vreesloos vlug
verby ons die treetjies af: hoe bittermooi
is jou pels—Kom, en welkom, en vaarwel,
en red my in die fynbos, die meerduine.
Tonnel vir my, tonnel: eindelik verloste fret.
By uit gemmerbier
Die gode red nie altyd nie, By.
Ag jouself besonder, uitgelepel betyds.
Ek ken ook penarie, hoewel ’n bietjie
ingewikkelder dom of ingewikkelde slim,
sodat ek nog makliker tussen korf
en nektarkelk kan verdwaal.
Dít ook ken ek: jou bedremmelde sit deurnat,
vernederd dronk die joos in: hoekom juis jy?
Maar reeds stroop jy die taai met pootjies
van voelertjies af, sleep ’n entjie druipvlerk,
sit weer asof jy wil sterf—woer-woer
verwoed in die rondte dan tot jy spits op jou
angel-ent tol, ’n danseres en pointe met
wonderlike improvisasies, al knieënde en
elmboënde in oksel en lies, jou buikie hol teen
jou ruggie, die ene gedetermineerdheid
om syig-wollig waasgevlerk weer te vlieg.
Ek pleit met die lug: droog haar tog gou!
Nie vergeefs nie: dit skep jou, lanseer jou
die ruimte in. Dog skaars het jy stippel-verdwyn
of hier kóm jy al weer—Vinnig gooi ek
die gemmerbier uit, en hoop jy sal nog leer:
vanmelewe se soet is tog die beste, of as jy dan
móét “in” wees, dat ’n Iets sal uitlepel net betyds.
van Membraan
Sheila Cussons
Listen to “Exile I” read in the original Afrikaans by the translator:
Cussons is one of Afrikaans literature’s most celebrated—and enigmatic—poets, beloved of other writers but not widely known outside of the Afrikaans-speaking literary and intellectual community. Her work is marked by linguistic dexterity and arresting metaphorical experimentation, as well as sharp wit. These three poems are from her 1984 collection, Membraan, published in Cape Town by the eminent publishing house Tafelberg, and are representative of the work she produced around the time of her return to South Africa after decades in Europe. They showcase her characteristic mix of confessional lyric (“Exile I”), close observation of the everyday, often rendered with humour and pathos (“Bee from Gingerbeer”), and a mysticism informed by her faith. Cusson’s conversion to Catholicism was unusual for an Afrikaans-language writer, and her poetry frequently performs a turn to the metaphysical that reveals her to be an heir to George Herbert or John Donne as much as to writers closer to home.
The chief challenges for a translation from Afrikaans—as with other Germanic languages—involve decisions about word order and compound words, as well as finding approximations (not necessarily in the same place) for alliteration, assonance, and repeated vowel sounds, and accounting for idiomatic resonances, puns, or productive ambiguities. Afrikaans allows for inventive compound formation (nouns, adjectives, verb-noun compounds like “kort-kort”—literally “short-short” [“Exile I”]) that is neither easily nor concisely rendered in English. Some words can be understood in context as both adjective and noun: in “Exile I”, for example, old gardens are bushy and also move as if overflowing (both suggested by “ruig”), while walls are bent and curve actively (“krom”). There is also the problem of idiom when direct translation to a standard international English is difficult. To be “die joos in” (“Bee from Gingerbeer”), literally “the devil in” (though the etymology is unclear), is to be very upset; “the hell in” is the South African English equivalent, likely a borrowing.
I have made use of italics selectively to indicate Afrikaans words retained to emphasise strangeness or local resonance or because they are generally used in South African English (“fynbos”), or to replicate emphasis, which can be indicated in Afrikaans by acute accents on any vowel (plus “y”). I have chosen not to render precisely the many diminutives of which Afrikaans is so fond, as in “die treetjies”, literally “the small steps” (“The Ferret”).
The chief challenges for a translation from Afrikaans—as with other Germanic languages—involve decisions about word order and compound words, as well as finding approximations (not necessarily in the same place) for alliteration, assonance, and repeated vowel sounds, and accounting for idiomatic resonances, puns, or productive ambiguities. Afrikaans allows for inventive compound formation (nouns, adjectives, verb-noun compounds like “kort-kort”—literally “short-short” [“Exile I”]) that is neither easily nor concisely rendered in English. Some words can be understood in context as both adjective and noun: in “Exile I”, for example, old gardens are bushy and also move as if overflowing (both suggested by “ruig”), while walls are bent and curve actively (“krom”). There is also the problem of idiom when direct translation to a standard international English is difficult. To be “die joos in” (“Bee from Gingerbeer”), literally “the devil in” (though the etymology is unclear), is to be very upset; “the hell in” is the South African English equivalent, likely a borrowing.
I have made use of italics selectively to indicate Afrikaans words retained to emphasise strangeness or local resonance or because they are generally used in South African English (“fynbos”), or to replicate emphasis, which can be indicated in Afrikaans by acute accents on any vowel (plus “y”). I have chosen not to render precisely the many diminutives of which Afrikaans is so fond, as in “die treetjies”, literally “the small steps” (“The Ferret”).
Sheila Cussons was a South African artist and poet. Born in 1922 on the Moravian Mission Station at Piketberg, she completed school in Pretoria and studied fine art at what is now the University of KwaZulu-Natal, before moving to Amsterdam. Her poems began to appear in magazines in South Africa in the 1940s. Her first collection, Plektrum (Plectrum), published in 1970 by Tafelberg, won three important awards: the Ingrid Jonker, Eugène Marais, and W. A. Hofmeyr Prizes. A convert to Catholicism, Cussons lived in Barcelona with her husband for twenty-five years before returning to South Africa in 1983. In the same year, she was awarded Afrikaans literature’s highest accolade, the Hertzog Prize. Cussons died in Cape Town on 25 February 2004. The poems translated here appeared in Cussons’s 1984 volume Membraan, published by Tafelberg, and are reporduced here by kind permission of NB Publishers and the Estate of Sheila Cussons.
Andrew van der Vlies was born and raised in South Africa and educated there and at the University of Oxford. Until recently, he worked at Queen Mary University of London, and he is currently a professor in the Department of English and Creative Writing at the University of Adelaide, South Australia, and extraordinary professor at the University of the Western Cape, South Africa. Van der Vlies has published widely on South African literatures, print cultures, and gender studies. His recent books include Present Imperfect (Oxford, 2017) and, as editor, Race, Nation, Translation: South African Essays, by Zoë Wicomb (Yale, 2018). Translations of other poems by Cussons have appeared in Modern Poetry in Translation and the Denver Quarterly.
