Literary Translation

Annel Pieterse translates Louis Leipoldt

 
Polfyntjie:

Kom gee vir my polfyntjie,
Dit maak nie saak nie wat,
Die kleinste, nietigste lyntjie
Waardeer ek as ’n skat.
Koop waar jy wil, by smouse,
Penswinkeltjies, of wat
Jy kry in Krismis-kouse —
Dit bly vir my ’n skat.
Net iets wat jy as joue
Betrag het, gee my dit,
Ek neem dit aan as goue
Gesteente tot besit.
En as jy eenmaal sterwe,
Dan pryk dit nog by my,
Gegee meer as ge-erwe,
As liefdeblyk gekry.

© C. Louis Leipoldt, 1929. Die nuwe brandwag. Tydskrif vir kuns en lettere.

 
Uittreksel: Op my ou Karoo.    

Hier wil ek rus, op ons vaal Karoo,
Hier, waar die veld ’n leegte is,
Hier, by die slang en die akeldis,
Hier, met die hemel blou daarbo.

Grawe hier, boetie, ’n graf vir my:
Hier is ek tuis, my land is hier;
Hier, waar die korhaan bruilof vier—
Hier wil ek lê in ons grougeel klei.

Stel nie ’n klip of ’n kruis daarbo,
Skrywe geen teks, wat ’n mens kan lees;
Sê net: "Hy slaap, waar hy wou wees—
Hier in die skoot van ons vaal Karoo.
...............................................................
Laat my alleen op die toekoms wag,
Hier in my graf op ons vaal Karoo.
Dek my met veldbossies, boetie! So,
Nou sal ek rus tot die laaste dag.

© C. Louis Leipoldt, 1921. Oom Gert Vertel en Ander Gedigte.

 
In die Boesmanland.

Vaal rotse rondom, met vaal sand en klei,
En boesmangras en varings, geel en groen—
Wat ’n mooi wêreld hierdie! mooi geboen
Deur die Natuur, en mooi ook deurgebrei
Met bossies en met blomme! Dis vir my,
Asof die son die wêreld self wil soen,
En ook die sterre daaraan mee wil doen
By nagtyd, as die veld sy sluier kry:
Hier was my tuiste in my woeste jaar,
Toe ek nog kind was, sonder pyn of vrees,
Want ou Paaiboelie self was toe te klein!
Al die rooi klippies het ek ingegaar,
En al die varings was vir my gewees
Maters, wat elke somer het verdwyn.

© C. Louis Leipoldt, 1921. Oom Gert Vertel en Ander Gedigte.

Keepsake

Give me but a token,
Whatever it may be,
The tiniest little ribbon
Is precious wealth to me
Buy where you will, from pedlars,
From hawkers’ trays, or what
You’d find as stocking fillers —
I’ll treasure in my heart.
Give only what you’ve gazed on
And what your hand has known
I take it as a golden
Memento, as my own.
And should you pass away,
This prize remains with me,
No heirloom, but a favour,
A mark of love recieved.

© C. Louis Leipoldt, 1929. English translation by Annel Pieterse

 
Extract: In my old Karoo

Here I will rest in our dry Karoo,
Here, where the veld’s an empty plain,
Here, with the snake and the leguan,
Here, under heavens blue above.

Bury me here, brother, dig my grave:
Here is my home, my land is here;
Here, where the korhaan’s cry is clear —
Here I will rest in our fallow clay.

Set not a cairn or a cross above,
Mark not with text for a man to see;
Say but: “He sleeps, where he would be—
Here in the lap of our dry Karoo.
...................................................................
Leave me to wait for the judgment day,
Here in my grave in the dry Karoo.
Cover me with brushwood, brother! So,
Now I will rest, here let me stay.

© C. Louis Leipoldt, 1921. English translation by Annel Pieterse.

 
In the Bushmanland

Pale rocks around, pale earth and clay
And bushman grass and ferns, gold and green—
What a lovely region this! Buffed clean
By Nature’s hand, a woven tapestry
Of brushwood and of flowers! It’s to me
As though the sun would kiss the very world
And the stars, too, would partake
At night-time, when the veld is veiled:
Here was my home in my wildest year,
as a child, with no fear or pain,
For even fear itself was still small, then!
I collected all the red pebbles,
and each fern was to me
a friend, that every summer would disappear.

© C. Louis Leipoldt, 1921. English translation by Annel Pieterse.

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