deur N.P. van Wyk Louw

Die jaar word ryp in goue akkerblare,
in wingerd wat verbruin, en witter lug
wat daglank van die nuwe wind en klare
son deurspoel word Continue reading Vroegherfs →

deur T.T. Cloete

++ Chili is deur ‘n digter gemaak – Neruda

daar is meer poësie in die sneeuvlokkie
as in die letterkunde en baie meer poësie
in die miskruier in die toktokkie
in die meteorologie en entomologie
in die moremis en in die bergpiek
die horison wat in die hemel wegraak
in die rooswolk is daar baie meer liriek
die aarde is deur ‘n digter gemaak

Uit: Die baie ryk ure, 2001

“La guitarra”, Poema del Cante Jondo 1921

vertaal en verwerk deur Uys Krige

Nou begin die vingers
deur die snare vaar:
vyf donker treurendes
singende altegaar.
Nou begin die klag
van die kitaar. Continue reading Kitaar →

I

Crouched upon sea-chiselled gravel, staring out and up at the sea,
++ The gnarled and glorious twister, seasoned in danger, went
Thrusting his heart at that monstrous wall of water
++ Beyond which somewhere was Ithaca.

Behind him the island was terraced, before him terrace on terrace of waves
++ Climbed to the cruel horizon; though he was strong, he wept,
The salt tears blent and blurred with the salt spindrift
++ While the salt of his wit grew savourless.

Behind him also, faintly curling out of the woods, a voice,
++ Which once entranced, now pained him; instead of that too sweet song
He yearned for the crisp commands of laundry and kitchen
++ Which his wife must be giving in Ithaca. Continue reading Day of Returning →

Ek bekommer my gedurig, en oor alles … Continue reading Ek bekommer my gedurig →