So Maak Hul Liefde in die Suid-Kaap / And Thus They Make Love in the Southern Cape (Afrikaans)

so vergaan als wat vergaan –
die gewete en die nostalgie.
die platteland roep aan berge
en hier aan blare soos tibetanse nonne.
vergelyk nou die aankoms van die winter
seisoen en die versoening:
soos een die ander; lank en hard.
 
hier is die blare in hul tibetanse tooing,
maar vêrder in die klein karoo
lê die stof stokalleen en moeg.
geen blom sal hier meer blom –
geen vrug sal hier loop vrug.
en hy sal haar vir elke klank bevrug.
maar daar is die winde suf van huil.
 
hul aankoms hier is mee die val
van die akkerboom se tibetanse kleed
en die wingerd se tibetanse rok.
die takke hier is swanger:
wind en vrug, goudlig, koer-koer
van die duif in haar karoostof jas.
saans loop hul padlangs, een hand in die hart.
 
die leem ruik soos plataan
al langs die laning na die wit gebou.
die toring van ivoor is hol en kaal,
maar die wyn spoel hier in oorvloed
uit die altar – die rots in twee gekloof.
dis nie die wyn wat die brein beset,
dis ‘n reine aangesig van die man op die muur.
 
maar hul geeste sal in duisternis verdwyn,
en aan geen lewe en aan geen dood verval.
sit hulle in die kerkbankboord, veraltyd suf;
maar die liefde kom soos lente – vergelyk:
stadig, suutjies, skugter en skaam,
maar nog nooit nie, nog nooit gebroke.
en teen die orrel en die klok se sang...

 
Translation:

thus all things that wane will wane –
our conscience and nostalgia.
the veld’s expanse calls to mountains
and here upon the leaves like tibetan nuns.
now compare the winter’s advent;
the season and reconciliation:
one like the other; drawn-out and grim.
 
here the leaves are resting in their tibetan finery,
but beyond here in the small karoo
lies the dust – desolate and weary.
no flower will yet flower here –
no fruit will come to fruitfulness.
and for every sound he’ll scatter seed.
but the winds are tired of wailing.
 
but the fall of oaks’ tibetan robes
and the vineyard’s tibetan dress
accompanies their coming.
the branches here swell pregnant:
wind and fruit, golden light, cooing
of the dove in a cloak of karoo dust.
at dusk they amble on the path, one hand in the heart.
 
the loam smells of the sycamore
all along the avenue towards the pallid house.
that ivory tower is hollow and nude,
but here wine flows with plenty
from the altar – the stone split in two.
it’s not the wine that grips the mind,
it’s the sacred gaze of the mounted man.
 
but their spirits will disappear in darkness,
and will not fall to any life, to any death.
they sit among the pew-orchard, always still;
but love grows like the springtime – equate:
slowly, silently, shivering and shy,
but never broken.
and to the music of the organ and the church bell...
 

 
Footnote: it is often very difficult to translate from one language to another without losing the poem’s nuance. This is especially true for Afrikaans. It is a language heavy with idiomatic and expressive speech, laden with metaphors, alliteration, personification, and layers and layers of connotation (even more so in the cultural associations made with places like the Karoo or the town of Stellenbosch, an inspiration for this poem). As in any language, there are certain words that are even more difficult to successfully translate; for instance “suf”: a weariness or tiredness of thinking and of being, something equivocal to pursed lips and agitated aversion to talking. Certain words lose their connections to others that share the same stem but have distinct meanings, thus weakening the overall effect. Another feature of Afrikaans is the very easy agglutination of words into new concepts and metaphors. But even where the meaning is lost, the power of poetry is in itself.