Eugene Marais - Afrikaans poem (with English translation)
Izak Bouwer
DIE DANS VAN DIE REEN
Lied van die Vioolspeler, Jan Konterdans, uit die Groot Woestyn.
Written by Eugene Marais
O die dans van ons Suster!
Eers oor die bergtop loer sy skelm,
en haar oge is skaam;
en sy lag saggies.
En van ver af wink sy met die een hand;
haar armbande blink en haar krale skitter;
saggies roep sy.
Sy vertel die winde van die dans
en sy nooi hulle uit, want die werf is wyd en die bruilof groot.
Die grootwild jaag uit die vlakte,
hulle dam op die bulttop,
wyd rek hulle die neusgate
en hulle sluk die wind;
en hulle buk, om haar fyn spore op die sand te sien.
Die kleinvolk diep onder die grond hoor die sleep van haar voete,
en hulle kruip nader en sing saggies:
“Ons Suster! Ons Suster! Jy het gekom! Jy het gekom!”
En haar krale skud,
en haar koperringe blink in die wegraak van die son.
Op haar voorkop is die vuurpluim van die berggier;
sy trap af van die hoogte;
sy sprei die vaal karos met altwee arms uit;
die asem van die wind raak weg.
O, die dans van ons Suster!
THE DANCE OF THE RAIN
Song of the fiddler, Jan Konterdans, from the Kalahari
written by Eugene Marais
Oh the dance of our Sister!
First she peeps slily over the mountain top,
and her eyes are shy;
and she laughs softly.
And from far off she beckons with one hand;
her armbands flash and her beads glitter;
softly she calls.
She tells the winds of the dance,
she invites them, for the clearing is wide and it will be a
great
wedding.
The big antelope race up from the plains
they bunch on the hilltop,
straining wide their nostrils
and they swallow the wind;
and they bend to see her faint footmarks in the sand.
The little people deep under the ground hear the rustle of
her feet
and they creep nearer and sing softly:
“Our Sister! Our Sister! You have come! You have come!”
And her beads shake
and her copper anklets glint in the sloping of the sun.
On her forehead the fire-plume of a mountain eagle;
she steps down from the heights;
she spreads out the grey kaross with both her arms;
the breath of the wind is lost.
Oh, the dance of our sister!
From The Penguin Book of South African Verse
Edited by Jack Cope and Uys Krige
Typed onto newsgroup by Gloudina Bouwer