Poems – gedigte – own

On this page you will find some of my very own poems – in English and in Afrikaans. I love poetry and whenever I have a spare minute – which is not very often – I do like to write. I am no professional writer or poet, it’s all about dropping down a few lines.

Indien jy van my gedigte op ‘n webbladsy wil plaas, maak asseblief seker dat jy erkenning gee aan wie die gedig geskryf het – my skuilnaam is Nikita. Dankie aan die mense wat erkenning gee aan die wat dit toekom.

Augustus 2013

Indien jy ‘n Afrikaanse digter is en hier lees, onthou: Hierdie persoon wat hier skryf is NIE ‘n professionele digter nie, hierdie persoon wil graag ‘n paar woorde bymekaar sit, omdat sy dit GENIET en LIEF vir Afrikaans is. 

Quote from Megg Wilson: As a native-speaking English person I know how much Afrikaans people are constantly ripped off by the English. Having a completely mixed up family I am also lucky to be completely bilingual. This all means that i have the best of both worlds, which I would like to share a bit of.

Afrikaans is an extremely expressive and descriptive language with words that can’t even possibly be translated into English…Read Megg’s blog here…
http://piecesofperfection.wordpress.com/2008/04/28/the-afrikaans-language/#comment-18

I’ve decided to organise all my own writings [poems I TRY to write!] and translations I’ve done on one page. Please do enjoy and feel welcome to leave any comments…some of these poems are to be found on my blog too…please bear in mind, I’m no professional  poet, what you find here…is just “me”…You will find a mix of Afrikaans and English poems here. Most my own, but a few I’ve translated either from Afrikaans to English or vice versa. When a poem has been translated, I do write a note with the poem about the translation. Very few poems are actually translated on my blog – it’s only on requests of readers that I do translations.

Herfs in November

Herfs in November – in die Noorde – 
is soos roomys in die winter. Dit pas nie.

Jy loop rond in stofverwaaide strate
Onverskillig kyk jy rond na
‘n mengelmoes van kleure
Bondels hare waai rond in die wind
En om hoeke van geboue fluit ‘n skerp windjie
Beelde van veranderinge flits om jou verby
Verslawend staar jy na bloedrooi papawers
En jy onthou: dis November maand!

Soms onthou jy ook van die fyn blomme
en die spruit wat iewers voort bly kabbel
in die berge waar die bobbejane geel perskes vreet
Dan dink jy aan die bloekombome en vinke in die lusernland
Vae gedagtes van die kleigat drentel in jou geheue
En jy strompel geduldig verder oor verkleurde blare
En wonder oor die liedjies van die lente.

Versperde donker wolke hang laag in die skemeraand
Dikgeweefde herinneringe van die aandkrieke wat
hul betowerende liedjies op vioolnote sing
sink en omvou onmiddellik jou gedagtes.
In die agterkamers van jou geheue
onthou jy die rooskleurige grassade wat buig in die wind
en skielik hoor jy die swaeltjies se twitter terwyl hulle
die lang, moeilike vlug terug huistoe neem.
©Nikita 22-11-2019 19:10

This next poem based on the very famous poem of Ingrid Jonker: The Child! (Face book has some pages with entries about the killings – ask me links and I can drop it in the comments box. Nothing is made-up about places and events.)

The White Farmer

The white farmer is not dead
at Hopewell nor at Port Elizabeth
not at Kimberley nor at Brits
where he lies with an axe in his head.

The white farmer is in the dark shadow of the ANC
on guard with pangas, axes, rifles, guns
and kitchen irons, ready to brutally burn and torture farmer and wife
the white farmer is present at all food markets, charities and schools for black, white and brown children
the white farmer peers through the hearts of EVERYONE
this white farmer just wanted to feed the whole nation
of South Africa, black, white and brown
the white farmer is brave and a refugee in a whole world
that turned a blind eye.

The white farmer is not dead
at Sabie and Lydenburg nor at Tzaneen
not at Uitenhage nor at Randfontein
where he lies with a bullet in his head
and his wife tied to a chair- raped.

This white farmer supported the community
in every way he could by sharing his belongings with his black workers
on the farm as well as in his shop but laid
dead in his house, brutally murdered by one of those

in a world where leaders are turning a blind eye!

Nikita (24/8/2018)

I wrote the  poem about Bobby Fischer in a very short time…on the day he died…This is how I like to write…I can’t sit and think about what I have to write…if the words come freely…I pen them down…otherwise they’re lost forever…You will find a mix of poems here…English as well as Afrikaans…I’m writing a very short explanation in English about the Afrikaans poems, so you will have an idea what it’s about…

If you are Afrikaans,  I hope you enjoy these couple of lines.  My contribution to the Afrikaans language in August. 14 August is Afrikaans language day!

My siel op haelwit wolke

In gietende reën sypel my gedagtes: eindloos!
Ek stuur vir jou die goud
van sondeurdrenkte landskappe
in die galery van my stille gemoed.
My opgevoude gedagtes steek vas
en onderhou my geheue
wat onvermydelik verstrengel is
en soos gister
vind jy my siel op haelwit wolke;
my gedagtes wentel om die aura van my taal
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit:
wat die tuimelende bergstilte
laat rol oor die dansende blou waters
na die holtes van my gedagtes.

==Nikita 14/08/2015 

Grys ou Stad – ‘n pantoen

die son brand fel neer op hierdie dag
waar dit woel en krioel –  van vroeg tot laat
leë siele loop onbeduidend met niksseggende gedagtes
kruiend staar hul tot êrens in die verlede rond

waar dit woel en krioel – van vroeg tot laat
oer-stemme eggo helder in my gedagtes
kruiend staar hul tot êrens in die verlede rond
en messel dit wat is met dit wat was

oer-stemme eggo helder in my gedagtes
leë siele loop onbeduidend met niksseggende gedagtes
en messel dit wat is met dit wat was
die son brand fel neer op hierdie dag

Nikita-29/6/09 (14:30)

This is my 3-minute “poem” to Bobby Fischer. If you don’t know chess…a chess board has got 64 squares…and Bobby Fischer was 64 when he died in January 2008. In this poem I compare his chess-life (which wasn’t really very pleasant for him)…with a chess board…

“Someone great… has passed…”

Today, today only 64
He made his last move
– the most important –
to the square of death

no more breath
or even check!
no more castling
only en passant’ing!

His sword has swung
after years of struggle
ruined by politicians
he moved like a knight

Threatened and powerless
he moved quite swiftly
across the board of
64 squares!

Each square a knight-mare
Till he found his piece
Iceland, oh Iceland!
Where he rests in peace!

©Nikita~~18 January 2008

“Nothing eases suffering like human touch.” ..Bobby’s words before he died!

Encircled
Unfolded subtle moves
squared and checked
sliced fearlessly
through minds and space
time and time again:
uninvited –
unasked, locked
encompassing en passanting
files cleared
control demanded:
E2 E4
gradually infiltrated
and distracted
surrendered: piece by piece
‘Thou shall not move’
–Nikita–30/3/2012 23:30

This first poem is the most recent poem I’ve translated from English to Afrikaans, but I’ve also changed it slightly, it’s not exactly the poem…”I wandered lonely as a cloud” by William Wordsworth. I call my interpretation of the poem..”The  Daffodil-dance”.

Die Affodil-dans

Alleen wandel ek
soos ‘n los-wolkie
wat sweef oor hoë berge,
heuwels, valleie en dale
Skielik sien ek ‘n plaat Affodille
‘n blink-geel, songeel,
goudgeel versameling
wat skitter en skyn
langs die meer onder die bome
swewend en dansend
buigend en juigend
ná die Somerreëns

Langsamerhand – soos die sterreskyn
Glinsterend – soos in die Melkweg-lyn
Al langs die kant van die baai
Vang my blik die verruklike dans
die aanskoulike geswaai
van koppies wat draai
onder die hange van ‘n krans

Ver-weg op my rusbank
lê ek uitgestrek
Langsamerhand weerkaats
die dansende skynsel
in my binne-oog
Die opgewondenheid van alleen-wees
vervul my hart met plesier
en ek dans die dans!
van die blinkgeel, songeel,
goudgeel, bly-geel Affodille!

©Nikita 26th August 2008

This next poem was originally written in Afrikaans and then my American friend, Dan, asked me to translate it – so here is the translation. It was written about my memories of Hillbrow – Jo’burg [South Africa] A suburb not anymore what it was, but in ‘those’ days a great place just to be with friends.

Folded memories
Slowly and quietly,
in pouring rain –
my mind seeped: endless!
in the nuances of silent calls
to dust-loaded, plastered
and mutilated places.
Dusted images commuted by
my folded thoughts –
that voluntarily escaped
a Hillbrow of yesteryear
—nikita-14/7/2012

Opgevoude herinneringe
Traag en stilweg,
in gietende reën –
sypel my gedagtes: eindloos!
in nuanses van stille gesprekke
na stofbelaaide, toegepleisterde
en verminkte plekke.
Afgestofde beelde pendel deur
my opgevoude gedagtes – 
wat onwillekeurig onstnap
na ‘n Hillbrow van vervloë – Nikita- 14/7/2012

I was asked by Wayne Visser to translate one of his poems which you can find here…and read on this link with comments too… https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/09/02/i-am-an-african/

Ek is van Afrika

Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek daar gebore is
Maar omdat my hart met Afrika klop
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat my gelaat donker is
Maar omdat Afrika my gedagtes omgrens
Ek is van Afrika
Nie omdat ek van haar leef
Maar omdat my siel tuis is – in Afrika

Wanneer Afrika oor haar kinders ween
Is my wange deur traandruppels deurweek
Wanneer Afrika haar voorvaders eer
Buig my hoof in respek daarheen
Wanneer Afrika oor haar slagoffers rou
Is my hande in gebed gevou
Wanneer Afrika haar oorwinnings vier
Dans ek op die maat van die oorwinningslied

Ek is van Afrika
Met haar asemrowende ylblou lugruimtes
Laat sy die toekoms skitterend skyn
Ek is van Afrika
Waar ek gegroet word asof familie
En ek ervaar die gevoel van meervoudig
Ek is van Afrika
Want haar wildheid bring vertroosting vir my siel
En bring my nader na die bron van Lewe

Wanneer Afrika-musiek in die wind weerklink
Volg my polsslag die ritmiese klop
En word ek een met die klank
Wanneer die Afrika-kleure in die son glinster
Verdrink my sintuie in haar reënboog
En is ek die natuur se pallet
Wanneer die Afrika-verhale om die vure op-klink
Volg my voete hul tydlose ‘wink
En is ek die spore van die verle’

Ek is van Afrika
Want sy’s die krip van geboorte
En troetel die oer-oue wysheid
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy leef in die skadu van die wêreld
En brand met ‘n gloeiende inspirasie
Ek is van Afrika
Want sy is die land van môre
En ek eer haar tydlose geskenke

©Nikita — 2nd September 2008

The English version:
I Am An African

I am an African
Not because I was born there
But because my heart beats with Africa’s
I am an African
Not because my skin is black
But because my mind is engaged by Africa
I am an African
Not because I live on its soil
But because my soul is at home in Africa

When Africa weeps for her children
My cheeks are stained with tears
When Africa honours her elders
My head is bowed in respect
When Africa mourns for her victims
My hands are joined in prayer
When Africa celebrates her triumphs
My feet are alive with dancing

I am an African
For her blue skies take my breath away
And my hope for the future is bright
I am an African
For her people greet me as family
And teach me the meaning of community
I am an African
For her wildness quenches my spirit
And brings me closer to the source of life

When the music of Africa beats in the wind
My blood pulses to its rhythm
AndI become the essence of sound
When the colours of Africa dazzle in the sun
My senses drink in its rainbow
And I become the palette of nature
When the stories of Africa echo round the fire
My feet walk in its pathways
And I become the footprints of history

I am an African
Because she is the cradle of our birth
And nurtures an ancient wisdom
I am an African
Because she lives in the world’s shadow
And bursts with a radiant luminosity
I am an African
Because she is the land of tomorrow
And I recognise her gifts as sacred

Copywright: Wayne Visser – 2005

Suid-Afrika: my land

Jy’s indrukwekkend, manjifiek
jou sondeurdrenkte landskappe
weerkaats helder beelde in my siel
jou pragtige wonders flikker oneindig
lank in die stilte van jou nagrus

Mount Aux Sources – so elegant en grasieus
verrys jy vanuit die voetheuwels, soos
‘n fakkel by die Spele ets jy lekkende
beelde teen die muur van my geheue
en voel ek jou hitte gloeiend teen my hart

O Blyde! ek fantaseer oor jou
magiese kragte wat jy sorgloos
en galant in die galery van my
stille gemoed stilletjies uitpak terwyl
my dawerende applous eggo
oor die velde van my gedagtes

Moederstad! hoe inskiklik laat jy my
telkens hakkel wanneer ek my herinneringe
sagkens koester – jou fasades!
waar ek jou gambiet betree
en gewillig my pionne oorgee

En saans voel ek jou fluweelagtige
skoonheid van elke sonsondergang
stadig neerdaal in my gemoed terwyl
ek stadig drink van jou geloofs-fonteine
wat borrellend bruis in oorvloed

Fragmentaries vier ek feeste
ek dans en omhels jou en jy –
jy blus my gees telkens met jou
magiese heildronke: een-vir-een
op ‘n toekoms – wat mag wees!
–Nikita –14/8/09 14:00

This next poem is a ‘cento‘ which I wrote a little while ago, by using Shakespeare lines.  A ‘cento’ is a poem written by using lines or passages of other authors in a new form or order. I used different plays of Shakespeare where he quoted something about the game of chess.

A Game of Chess
Sweet lord, you play me false
For a score of kingdoms you should wrangle
and I would call it fair play
How fares the king?
His hour is almost past

A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!
And I have horse – will follow where the game makes way.
I have his horse!
Give me another horse!
So, the good horse is mine.
My day’s delight is past, my horse is gone.
The rascal hath removed my horse.

Are the knights ready to begin their triumph?
A wandering knight?
I am undone! The knight is here!
Great shouts within all cry ‘the mean knight!’
Great is the humour of this dreadful knight.

I dare thereupon pawn
My life I never held but as a pawn
I have not pawn’d to you my majesty?
I pawn’d thee none!
I’ll send some bishop to entreat
The bishop will be overborne by thee
Wat says my bully rook?

There stands my castle!
His queen, it was his queen!
Queen of queens, how far dost thou excel?
Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen
Sir your queen must overboard!
Will take your queen
Farewell sweet queen!

I’ll move the king.
The skipping king, he ambles up and down
This may gall him for some check
No mates for you!
We’ll draw!
My lord, your son drew my master
Where’s the master? Play the men!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown 

image: googleimages

CENTO
A poem consisting only of lines from other poems. This, from the Italian word for patchwork, is almost a technique rather than a form, especially as it can be of any length, and any metre, and need not rhyme; however, as the finished poem is referred to as a cento, just as a sonnet is called a sonnet, it is a form.

This is not my own writing, but I ‘put’ the lines together.  All these lines are Shakespeare’s writing. What I’ve done, was to take lines – with the same theme, which is the moon, and put them together – and I was trying to get it to make sense. The title is my own though, of course. This is what  you call a ‘cento.’

I do love Shakespeare and my favourite is Hamlet, maybe because it was the book prescribed when it was my matric-year. It was always a nightmare, having to study Shakespeare and knowing all those quotes – I think I studied about 50 of the quotes. We had to know from what Act/Scene the quote was and you never knew which quotes you would get, but even that didn’t put me off from Shakespeare.

Moonrider

The pale-faced moon looks bloody on the earth
It is the very error of the moon
Swifter than the wandering moon
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon
This old moon wanes!
She lingers my desires

Sweet moon, I thank thee for they sunny beams
So many journeys
That I, being govern’d by the watery moon
Of the extreme verge:
for all beneath the moon
You moonshine revellers and shades of night
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!

Another moon: but, o, methinks, how slow
And the moon changes even as your mind
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon
My lord, I am a mile beyond the moon
-Nikita- 

Net ons… [Just us…]
Ek probeer ‘n glimlag onderdruk
Terwyl die son onbewustelik op jou hare skyn
Onder die perfekte blou lug
Omring deur klanke van die natuur
Hou ons pas – met niemand
Kompleet op ons eie skedule
Geen afsprake om na te kom
En beloftes om te maak of breek
— ©Nikita  —6 Feb 2008 – 8:00

Image:http://iasos.com/artists/annenberg/sell.html

Do yourself a favour to see the complete image! I know I “stole” from Andrew here, but it is such a beautiful painting!! I just had to upload it here, which I couldn’t, to show you all, but now here’s a piece of it! I know he’ll forgive me! see another part at the bottom of this post!
Jou afwesigheid
Die son se stilte sprei oor die more-dou
en maak jou afwesigheid soveel moeiliker
Tyd kan nie uitvee die herinneringe
En moeiliker die misverstande
Nog die gebroke siel heel
Maar die soete verlede van lank gele’
Steek vas en onderhou my geheue
Verblydend is jou bestaan
Wat my wêreld  verkleur!
–©Nikita–Sept 2008

My smekende gedagtes

Ek sak my hoof en oordink my vreugde
Ligsinnig verkrummel ek
die verdroogde blare
in my Afrika hand en ‘k laat
dit waai soos kaf in die wind
Dit smee my gedagtes mee
met die onrus in my hart
wat bly groei en bloei
Waarom verpletter ons die volke
van hierdie aarde?
Waar’s die regeerders
van hierdie wêreld?
Ken hul nie Sy toorn?
Offers bring en oë opslaan
uitroepe van “wees ons goedgesind!”
weerklink in my smekende gedagtes
Sal ons ooit die Tempel binnegaan?
Ek luister na my gedagtes in die mÔre
en laat die moordenaars en leuenaars
deur Hades swerwend dryf
hul ontmoet die gelag van Charon op Styx
Nooit sal hul die Elisiese veld bereik
Nóg betowerend; nóg kan in delf
Hul egosentriese voorland:
Tanatos!
Sál hul ag slaan op my geroep?
©Nikita 5 Julie 2008

Please click on THIS LINK to read what I’ve said about this poem and to have fun on the River Styx!

Enjoy this next piece of music ….piano concerto in D major…while reading the poem…

Die strelende skemer van my gemoed

Vanselfsprekend dartel
jou skadu’tjie
langsaam, ritsellend
soos ‘n vlokkie
eind’lose skaterlag
vibrerend in my gemoed
en die weerspieëling
is onvermydelik verstrengel
tussen Haydn en Wagner
en die draaikolk
van my gryse gedagtes
wat in die
strelende skemer
van my gemoed bly vloei
©Nikita
29 Junie 2008

The soothing twilight of my mind
Self-evidently frolic and sprightly
Your little shadow
gradually quivering
– as a flakelet –
endless peals of laughter
vibrating in my mind
and the reflection
is inevitably intertwined
between Haydn and Wagner
and the whirlpool
of yesterday’s thoughts
flowing
through the soothing twilight
of my mind
–Nikita – 16/2/2012

https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/06/29/die-strelende-skemer-van-my-gemoed/

This poem as well as the next poem is about my thoughts….and South Africa…also about what happens in South Africa.

Die Broosheid van my Siel

Dit is soos gister
dat my gedagtes swerf
op golwe van stormwinde;
ongesiens, verwyder dit
die eind’lose groenbedekte
ystergrendels van my hart

Verstommend genereer dit
beelde uit lande
versamel van die Ooste en Weste
die Noorde en van die see af
– ‘n half herwonne reis

Diep onder lê ‘n sluimerende stilte
ontsnapte krete reën om my
helder buitelyne van donker oë
kruis my lewenspad
en ek huiwer

Hunkerend na ‘n somers-motreën
blomruigtes, onweerstaanbare weerligstrale
waterfonteine, ‘n ontnugterde haelbui
Vind jy my siel op haelwit wolke

Ja, soos gister
stap ek deur die Dorsland
met lofoffers
en êrens omhels die broosheid
die gedagtes van my siel.

©Nikita 18 Junie 2008
Enjoy the music of Hilary Stagg

https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/06/18/die-broosheid-van-my-siel/

This poem was written by Totius…it’s about his little daughter that was struck by lightning..and she died instantly in his arms…I’ve translated it for my English friends to “enjoy”…I think this is a pain only a parent like Totius can describe…

Oh the painful thought

Totius….translated (originally: O! Die Pyngedagte)

Oh the painful thought: my child is dead!
It burns like a dart in my flesh…
People don’t see anything….
Only God knows my suffering!

Days come and nights go
Shadows grow tall and short
Behind me, the echo of my work’s moving spirit;
and I… continue my way to the cross

But then, a pain poked through my heart!
so much, the brilliance of my life disappeared;
Your child is dead; died a horrible death!
And I clenched my chest due to the pain…

Oh the thunderbolt-thought!….yes, beloved child!
One flash of lightning scorched your tender body,
but numerous thunderbolts burnt my heart
and left it …. bleeding

She was so tender, like a butterfly …
She glided lightly about;
A breath of wind could damage her tiny wings
and…what a death she died!

Few children die like this
only one in ten-thousand!
and oh!…It’s my little girl..
witnessed by me…. and died in my arms!

Oh the painful thought: my child is dead!
It burns like a dart in my flesh…
People don’t see anything…
Only God knows my suffering!
translated by….

©~~Nikita…12 Nov 2007

https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2007/11/12/seven-ii/

This next poem is my translation from an English poem, written by a South African poet, Wayne Visser – you can read the English poem on the link at the end of this poem. It’s a poem about Africa…beautiful…”I know a place in Africa”…

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar ek die son op my rug voel skyn
En die sand tussen my tone speel
Waar ek die seemeeu op die windjie hoor
En golwe op eindlose strande breek

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die berge die blou lug ontmoet
En valleie die groen wingerde huisves
Waar bome hul pers kleed sprei
En die bosveld sy room kleed dra

Ek weet van ‘n plek in Afrika
Waar die dondergode hul stemme laat hoor
En sien ek hul weerligspiese neerdaal
Waar ek die reuk van reenwolke intrek
En die soet van die stowwerige doudruppels proe

Dis ‘n wildernis, die plek
Van Evolusie en dinosorusse
Waar lewe begin het, hier was die eerste mens
Van lewende fossiele en olifante
Waar leeus brul en springboktroppe spring

Dis die plek van swaarkry
Van woestyne en doringbome
Waar paaie doodloop en jagters jag
Van horisonne en grense
Waar reise begin en sonsondergange bloei

Dis die plek van vryheid
Van ontdekkings en pioniers
Waar donkerte geskuil – en die lig deurgebreek het
Van ware legendes en wonderwerke
Waar dagbreek begin en hoop helder brand

My hart is tuis in Afrika
Waar die tromme se ritme in my klop
En tydlose liedere in my ore sing
Waar die reenboogmis in my oë skyn
En vriende se glimlagte my welkom heet

My gedagtes ontspan in Afrika
Waar die mense na aan die aarde leef
En seisoene die veranderde gemoed aandui
Waar besige markte handel dryf
En die Skepping sy stadige gang steeds gaan

My siel is gelukkig in Afrika
Haar strome bring lewe in my are
Haar winde bring genesing vir my drome
Wanneer haar verhaal vertel is
Verenig dit in ons noodlot.

© Nikita…2008
Read the ENGLISH version here…

Koedoe/Kudu..Image: Treknature
 
 
This poem is my translation of the Afrikaans poem…”Die Dans van die Reën” by Eugene Marais.
Please read on THIS LINK more about Eugene Marais.

This translation has been [used and] published in a book for Grade 6 – reading series [in South Africa] – and,  I’m still waiting for the publishers to send me my copy! Hopefully, I will receive it soon. Update Sept 2011: I have now received my copy of the reading series – here is the page from the booklet.

The Dance of the Rain
Song of the violinist: Jan Konterdans
translated by:Nikita

The Dance of the Rain
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
First, over the hilltop she peeps stealthily
and her eyes are shy
and she laughs softly
From afar she begs with her one hand
her wrist-bands shimmering and her bead-work sparkling
softly she calls
She tells the wind about the dance
and she invites it, because the yard is spacious and the wedding large
The big game rush about the plains
they gather on the hilltop
their nostrils flared-up
and they swallow the wind
and they crouch to see her tracks in the sand
The small game, deep down under the floor, hear the rhythm of her feet
and they creep, come closer and sing softly
“Our Sister! Our Sister! You’ve come! You’ve come!”
and her bead-work shake,
and her copper wrist-bands shine in the disappearance of the sun
On her forehead, rests the eagle’s plume
She decends down from the hilltop
She spreads her ashened cloak with both arms
the breath of the wind disappears
Oh, the dance of our Sister!
©~~ Nikita…Feb 2008
My translation can also be found on the next link.

http://allpoetry.com/opoem/121576-Eugene-Marais-The-Dance-of-the-Rain

Body and Soul
Standing by the window
I feel your closeness uncovered
looking back my eye catches a sunbeam
touching your unwrapped muscular body…
my soul surfing the lines
of your thoughts…
orbiting the aura that precedes
my imagination;
reaching and bursting through
the crust, entering my heart and
suddenly…I turned and the desire to meet
is far beyondmy understanding.
~~~Nikita©…Jan 2006

Paaie van herinnering

Ek wandel op paaie van herinnering
in die laataand van my skemering
seer is die felle herinnering
opgewonde die blye ontmoeting

Ek klop aan die deur van smart
ek het nie vergeet die liefde van my hart
en drink soms die beker van smart
wat soos kanker bly vreet in my hart

Ek steek nie al die kerse aan
die brand — jy sal verstaan
as jy laat in die aand
net een kry wat brand

Net een wat steeds brand
vir ons liefde se stand
wat lank nie is: bestand
teen die wette van vanaand
~~~Nikita ©…2001


Gister en vandag

Ek sit met gedagtes wat loop
gedagtes van hartseer tot by die bo-loop
van gister, gister se nadraai
van herinneringe wat is – oorlaai
Gister se herinneringe – vars in my geheue
en ek koester die seer in my hart gedweë
ek wil onthou, onthou die mooi
wat nie meer in my is – die mooi
Die bedding van my hart
is deurtrap en bekrap
met spore van ink
van gedweë en dink –
ek het nog nie gevind
die liefde wat wink
Vandag, na gister – vandag
‘n dag van liefde en lag
Verby is die seer en terug die lag
ek’t gevind die liefde van my hart!
Liefde wat gewink het
wat ek gevind het
in aandskemering
tot in die môre – volbring!
Vandag, na gister – vandag
met ‘n hand vol sterre
sien ek in die verre
net die geluk in pag!
©Nikita ~~2001

Afrikaans
Die taal wat ek liefhet
Afrikaans
Die taal wat ek praat
Afrikaans
Die taal waarin ek dink
Afrikaans
Die taal waarin ek droom
Afrikaans
Die taal van my hart
Afrikaans
Die taal wat ek koester
Vir nou en altyd
Afrikaans
Jy is myne
Afrkaans
Jy is nou
Afrikaans
Jy is besonders
Afrikaans
Jy is uniek
Afrikaans
Jy is getrou
Afrikaans:
My denke
My wese
My lewe!
©–Nikita…2008

 The next two translations are songs, therefore I’ve posted the songs here too, because it’s worth listening to the songs (melodies) while followingthe words. The first song is sung by a South African tenor..Ge Korsten… he died a couple of years ago. The second song is sung by Valiant Swart and Laurika Rauch…and Laurika is a great artist and a legendin South Africa…you will notice it by the reaction of the audience when she appears on the stage…on this link you can listen to Ge Korsten also singing “Liefling”.
 https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/03/31/lied-van-die-lewesong-of-life/

Song of life
To be young brings blissful days
The sun shines ‘bout every day
The children in the streets skate and do bike riding
Youngsters listen to new music
Nobody thinks about time flying by
And that life is moving on
And that life is moving on

Chorus:

Sing with me a song of life
Sing with me ‘bout young and old
Life gives so much back to us
But often days go flying by
Sing with me a song of life
Sing with me ’bout young and old
Life gives so much back to us
But often days go flying by
Yes, quite often the days fly so soon

But life is never ever static
Days come and days go
Young people get married and live their lives
Now come even tougher times
Everybody works as for now and here
Hours, weeks, months and years fly like the wind
Yes, hours, weeks, months and years fly like the wind

Chorus:

Sing with me a song of life
Sing with me ‘bout young and old
Life gives so much back to us
But often days go flying by
Sing with me a song of life
Sing with me ’bout young and old
Life gives so much back to us
But often days go flying by
Yes, quite often the days fly so soon

The older get much older too
They become grandpa and grandmamma
Days grow shorter very quickly
Slowly the sun goes down
Memories make us wonder ‘bout life
Beautiful and harder days
Near its end
Beautiful and harder days
Near its end

Chorus:

Sing with me a song of life
Sing with me ‘bout young and old
Life gives so much back to us
But often days go flying by
Sing with me a song of life
Sing with me ’bout young and old
Life gives so much back to us
But often days go flying by
Yes, quite often the days fly so soon

© translated by: Nikita..2008

 Suncatcher

See if you could catch me the sun
There’s a room in the house where it can be hung
It’s dark by the window in the middle of the day
Do you remember how brightly the room could laugh?

See if you could bring me the sun
There’s a song in the corridors the sun can sing
Coz it’s quiet in the corners, this cold season
Can you see what the wind and rain do to me?

Chorus
S-u-ncatcher!
I ask you, please, let it shine for me again
S-u-ncatcher!
Let me understand
How a summer disappear like that in the nothingness
And let it shine

See if you could get me the sun
There’s a home in my heart where the sun can live
See if you could steal me the sun
There’s a place in the garden where the sun can play

Chorus
S-u-ncatcher!
I ask you please, let it shine for me again
S-u-ncatcher!
Let me understand
How a summer could disappear like that in the nothingness
And let it shine

Bring some light for the meanders on my road
And a handful of rays for the darkness in my heart

~~~ © Nikita…2008

Dankie aan Francois vdM wat vandag [18/6/2011] vir my die foto van my geliefde waterval gestuur het!! Die waterval is die einste waterval in die volgende gedig- op ons familieplaas! Ek kon ure en ure by die waterval sit – daar rondstap en in die rante rondklouter. Soms het ons by die waterval oornag met familie wat van die stad kom kuier het. Dit was altyd groot pret om met die niggies en nefies wat dit geniet het om rond te swem in die poel – alhoewel dit altyd vir my te koud was, was dit heerlik vir die wat braaf genoeg was.

Suid-Afrika – my skaduwee

In die skadu’s
van die groot ou Eik
stoot ek weer in die sand
Boeta se karretjies een-vir-een
‘is verstommend hoe die mierleeus uit hul tonnels
krioel met kierang-hier en kierang-daar

Langs die waterval
sit ek, halfbewus
my gedagtes vind perspektiwiteit
en rol ragfyn ligstraaltjies voor my uit
op die kabbellende water

Op die meulwiel van vervloë
versamel ek babakatjies
pas gebo’, versteek
teen elemente daar buit’
en ek streel die sagtheid
wat ek koester
verder op my reis

Ek verdwaal tussen rante
soekend na onweerstaanbare
toktokkies en miskruiers
‘k neem ‘n honger teug
uit die kom van fluisteringe
“ons-vir-jou-ons-vir-jou”

Hoe sal ek jou kan vergeet
jou alledaagse ontwykende
en eindlose horison
onwetend
bly jy daar vir my
en ek vir jou
Hoe kán ek dan
Vergeet van: “ons-vir-jou”…?

©Nikita 17 Junie 2008

https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/06/17/suid-afrika-my-skaduwee/

Image: google

My gedagtes

Ek’t my hart verloor in die skadu’s
Van ‘n reënerige Oktober-oggend
Die lug was stil en swaar
En die son steeds ongebore
Die afgeleë lied van ‘n eensame voel
Kras deur die stilte van my gedagtes
En brand ‘n afdruk van eensaamheid
Wat nie weggedink kon word nie
Moet ek onthou
Kan ek vergeet?
Die fragmente van ‘n verlore lewe
‘t kan nie heel
Ek peins oor die betekenis van
Hoe en waar en waarom.

©Nikita-8 Jan 2008-8:00

Die holtes van my gedagtes

As kind het ek
die punte van my siel
laat ploeg in die akkers
waar mensestemme
voorheen opgeklink het

Skrams het ek gevoel
hoe die tuimelende bergstilte
‘n deursigtige telegram
van vrede laat deursypel
na die binnekamers van my hart

Die diggeweefde bergstilte het
spatsels waterdruppels moeiteloos
in my gemoed afgeprent
en ek smag na die
holtes van my gedagtes

©–Nikita 4 Sept 2008 20:30

Sien die foto’s wat die gedig geinspireer het..op hierdie link!

https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2008/09/05/embedded-memories/

This poem is my translation of the poem written of one of our best poets Jan FE Celliersand I hope you will enjoy it. The Afrikaans poem …”Eensaamheid” is the poem after my translation.

Loneliness

My fire and I are on guard
My fire and I alone
the evening star
winks from afar
and the fields slumber about

And the day dies impedingly slow
like somebody left in need
unnoticed, unesteemed
without a sigh or laugh
where nobody knows or speaks

Now the air about
in silent worshipping dwells –
no chiming bells
that count the hours:
only the stars that come and go

The oxen, with their heads bowed
Ruminate in the silence of the night,
till one by one
Lies by its yoke
with a sigh after a day’s goad

My fire is all that burns with me
in the endless space
and its little voice wander
like an untold melody
days without end

the young blissful morning
with enliven bygone laughing
Then I feel a tear
in my eye  – it’s near
and I whisper: “God, forgive!”

The sleeping fields lie broad
and broader the dark sea
that separates my fire
and myself tonight
from the world’s happiness and woes

I know there’s a feast tonight
in many glorious halls,
not one to miss me
at the dance or dish –
an exile forgotten and lost

But even if I am, far from the crowd,
in solitude
I feel myself like one
with God alone
a contented child close to His heart.

translated ©…Nikita 11 September 2008

EENSAAMHEID

My vuurtjie en ek is op wag –
my vuurtjie en ek alleen;
die awend-ster
wink al van ver,
en die velde slaap omheen.

En stadigies sterwe die dag,
soos een in sy armoed verlaat,
ongesien, ongeag,
sonder suggie of lag,
waar niemand van weet of van praat.

Nou bly die lug alom
in stil aanbidding staan –
geen tampende bel
wat die ure tel:
net die sterre wat kom en gaan.

Die osse, met koppe gebuie,
herkoue nog stil in die nag,
tot één vir één buk
en gaan lê by sy juk,
met `n sug, ná die trek van die dag.

My vuurtjie is al wat nog leef
in die eindeloos ruim met my,
en sy stemmetjie dwaal
soos `n deuntjie wat draal
om dae lank verby,

om jonkheids blye môre
en laggies lank verlewe.
Dan voel ek `n traan
in my oë staan
en ek fluister: “Heer, vergewe!”

Die slapende velde lê wyd,
en wyer die donker see,
wat my vuurtjie en my
vanawend skei
van die wêreld se vreug en wee;

ek weet daar`s fees vanaand
in menig verligte saal,
maar geeneen wat my mis
by die dans en die dis –
`n balling vergeet en verdwaal.

Maar al is ek, ver van die skaar,
in eensaamheids wonings getrede,
ek voel my soos een
met die Heer alleen –
`n kind aan Sy boesem tevrede.

Jan F E Celliers

Sê nou die afgevalde blare
waai dartellend
en vul heimlik my blootgestelde verlange?
—©Nikita 29 Sept 2008

September Maan

So grasieus en helder
indrukwekkend stil
skyn op ‘n doudeurdrenkte landskap
drapeer haar beeld om ons heen
verlig die probleme van die mensdom
deur haar stilswye skaduwee
glyend vul sy die siele
van haar bewonderaars met
blydskap en wonder oor
haar elegansie en skoonheid
–Nikita–2 Sept 2008 – 6:00

Vriendskap

Soms, op die helderste,
Mees perfekte dag,
Mag ‘n kombers van donkerte
Na jou kant vaar
Om te versmoor – die gawe van geluk
om te vernietig, oorwin en verswelg
Weet dat ek altyd hier is aan jou sy
Geen woord is nodig as ons gedagtes deel
Donker dae sal weer sonnig wees
En gou verdwyn
‘n  Vertroostende wete
Wat behoue sal bly
vir nou en vir ewig!

©Nikita 11 June 2008 – 10:00

Picture: Clarens, South Africa, by Estelle Botha

http://www.eb-art.com/landscapes.htm

Transformasie

Herfs het my wêreld stadig binnegesluip
omhul in ‘n sluier van rooi en goud
Ek snak na my asem by die aanskoue
van die transformasie – die wonderlike natuur!
Soete doudruppels gly van ‘n grashalmpie
met die verbygaan van raserige eende
Ek dwaal na die warmte van verlore gedagtes
versteek waar stof en tyd dit nie kan vind
Die laatmiddag son op my vel, jou lippe
wanneer weerstand verkrummel
deur jou vingerpunte –
Ek weet, nie lank,
dan sal Winter se koue winde begin waai
maar Herfs se warmte sal my by-bly
Met gedagtes aan jou op die koel Herfs-oggend
koester ek die warm gedagtes aan jou verewig

—Nikita—7 May 2008: 9:00

Image: flickr.com/photos/carlosweick/400261505/

Dag en Nag

Ek is dag en jy’s die nag
saam reis ons deur die wêreld, vannag
Ek kan nie slaap, ek dwaal verlore
Jy’s die nag en trek my nader
Ek soek beskerming, jy omvou my
Ek versteek soete drome en roep jou naam
Jy antwoord nie, ek wonder waarom?
Miskien.., sal ek hieroor wonder?
Ek bedek my – met fantasie, verlange
en soete beloftes, sal dit realiseer?

—Nikita —1 July 2008 – 7:00

This next poem is my own translation of Toon van den Heever’s poem…”In die Hoëveld”…I hope you enjoy the English version…”In the High-veld”.

In die Hoëveld

 In die Hoëveld, waar dit oop is en die hemel wyd daarbo,
Waar kuddes waaigras huppel oor die veld,
Waar ’n mens nog vry kan asemhaal en aan ’n God kan glo,
Staan my huisie, wat ek moes verlaat vir geld.
En as ek in die gange van die myn hier sit en droom
Van die winde op die Hoëveld, ruim en vry,
Dan hoor ek die geklinkel van my spore, saal en toom,
Sawens as ek bees of skaap toe ry.

Op die Hoëveld, waar dit wyd is, waar jy baie ver kan sien,
(Die ylblou bring ’n knop dan in jou keel)
Staan my huisie nog en wag vir my, wag al ’n jaar of tien,
Waar die bokkies op die leigrafstene speel.
Maar as die tering kwaai word en ek hoor die laaste fluit,
Dan sweef ek na die Hoëveld op die wind
Ek soek dan in die maanlig al die mooiste plekkies uit
Waar ek kleiosse gemaak het as ’n kind.
Toon van den Heever (1894-1956)

On the High-veld

 In the High-veld where it’s open and heaven’s wide up there
Where herds of tall grass frisk about the veld
Where you can breath freely and believe in God
Stands my little house which I’ve left for money
And If I sit here in the tunnels of the mine, dreaming
About the High-veld wind, wide and free
Then I hear the sound of my tracks, saddle and bridle
At dusk when riding to the livestock.

On the High-veld, where it’s spacious, where you can see far off
(The wispy blue brings a lump to your throat)
Stands my little house, waiting for me about a year or ten
Where the little deer play on the slate tombstones
But if the tuberculosis gets worse and I hear the last wheeze
I then wander to the High-veld wind
And in the moonlight I seek all the most beautiful places
Where I made clay oxen as a child.
—©Nikita — 5/10/2008

Jan FE Cilliers

Dis al

Dis die blond,
dis die blou:
dis die veld,
dis die lug;
en ‘n voël draai bowe in eensame vlug –
dis al
Dis n balling gekom
oor die oseaan,
dis n graf in die gras,
dis n vallende traan –
dis al

My own translation:
That’s All

It’s the blond
It’s the blue
It’s the veld
It’s the air
and a bird circles above in a
solitude flight
That’s it

It’s an exile that came
across the ocean
A grave in the grass
A shed teardrop
That’s all.
–Nikita–2008/10/5

This next poem is a poem by D J Opperman… “Draaikewers”…(whirligig beetle) and I’ve “replied” to his poem…just for the fun of it…Afrikaanssprekendes…as jy hier lees, ek het regtig nie probeer om iets “wonderliks” te skep met die “antwoord” nie, dis in 5 min geskryf en ek het regtig geen poging aangewend om dit iets uitsonderliks te maak nie! Dus…net wat in daardie paar sekondes by my opgekom het! “Draaikewers” van Opperman het nogal ‘n belangrike rol in my lewe gespeel, toe ek baie jonger was…in ‘n verhouding en in daardie verhouding het die gedig vir my spesiale betekenis gehad en daarom my “antwoord”…soos ek die verhouding ervaar het…

Nothingness

Not aware of the dullness between now and then
Oblivious of my existence I
Treasure the conundrums of your thoughts and
Hold on to the never-changing monotony voices of identicalness, stepping
In the dryness of an exciting
Nowhere watching the sluggishness of time
Grabbing the stillness of the wind moving soundlessly through the flatness of my thoughts
Nobody that cares, only the sameness and the harmony of my mind that
Engulfs the unanimity and wholeness of my being
Sometimes my imagination drifts in the minds of angels, then
Stumbles upon the singleness of life!
—©Nikita—18th October 2008

Image: Greece fires 2008

I give thanks

My heart is blighted
and withered like grass
It faces the peril of falling stones
I mummified my heart
against any grief
and I’m like a dessert owl
an owl among the ruins

I lie awake, I have become
like a seagull
alone in the sky
The moon marks off the seasons
and the sun knows its path
the earth trembles around me
and I?
I give thanks to an unfailing love.
— © Nikita 8th November 2008–

Image: Thomas Pace

Image: crystalphoenixgallery.com..’blue rose’
What if

What if
I figure out how to be arrogant
and land on an angel’s mantle
to dial the word love
and play hide and seek
in the shadows of your breath

What if
I figure out how to keep my distance
and play merry tunes
alongside the river banks
on my wooden flute
while capturing your soul in my mind

What if
I figure out how to surf your mind
and make bed in your memories
with your thoughts as my pillow
and play my xylophone tunes
on the solitary hills
of your everlasting trust

What if
I figure out how to take
occasionally rides
on petals of love
and drink a cup of sunlight
in the chambers of your heart
where thoughts of love
may prevail
and my mind gets entwined
instinctively forever
with your courageous spirit
What if!

–©Nikita–29 November 2008

AMAKEIA ~ deur A.G. Visser

In die skadu van die berge,
bos-beskut aan alle kant,
staan alleen die hartbeeshuisie
op die grens van Kafferland.

Saggies neurie Amakeia
op die wal van Kei-rivier,
tot hy slaap, die tere wiggie
van die blanke pionier:

“Stil maar, stil maar, stil Babani;
kyk hoe blink die awendster.
Niemand sal vir kindjie slaan nie –
stil maar, al is Mammie ver.”

Amakeia had belowe
toe haar nonna sterwend was,
om die hulpelose kindjie
tot hy groot was, op te pas.

Liefd’ryk sorg sy vir die wit kind,
tot vir hom die lewenslig
straal uit aia Amakeia’s
vrind’lik-troue swart gesig.

Onheilspellend sien sy tekens,
oorlog kom daar in die land:
Snel die inval, huis en hawe
uitgemoor en afgebrand.

Selfvergetend, doodveragtend,
met die wit kind op haar rug,
na die Amatola-berge
het sy ylings heen gevlug.

“Stil maar, stil maar, pikanienie;
oor die bergtop rys die maan.
Niemand sal vir ons hier sien nie;
môre sal ons huis toe gaan.”

Ag, dat oë van verspieders
ook haar skuilplaas moes ontdek!
“Spaar hom, hy’s so klein nog,” smeek sy
met die hande uitgestrek.

Woedend tier die wilde bende:
“Sterf of gee die wit kind hier!”
“Oor my lewelose liggaam …”
antwoord Amakeia fier.

“My belofte aan my nonna –
beste wat daar ooit nog was –
waar hy gaan, moet Amakeia
saamgaan om hom op te pas.”

“Is jul lewend nie te skei nie,
bly dan in die dood vereen –
kort proses met haar, Maxosas,
laat die blink asgaaie reën!”
*
In die Amatola-klowe
sing nog net die winterwind
deur die riete in die maanskyn:
“Tula – Tula – stil, my kind!”

Amatola Klowe – Amatola Mountains

I was asked by Norma on my “Afrikaans”-page to translate Amakeia in English as she wants to use it as an African poem. Well, I’ve tried my best, so here goes! For English readers: “Tula”=”hush/keep quiet” and “Pikanini”-little boy. For Afrikaans readers: any suggestions to improve the poem…feel free to tell me!

Amakeia

In the shadow of the mountains
bush-sheltered on all sides
stands alone the wattle-and-daub hut
on the boarder of Kaffircountry.

Softly Amakeia hums
on the banks of the River Kei
till he sleeps, the tender baby
of the white pioneer:

“Hush now, hush now, hush Little One
see how the evening star twinkles
No one will hurt you, Little One
hush now, even if Mummy isn’t near.”

Amakeia had promised
when her madam was dying
to look after her vulnerable baby
till he’s a grown-up boy.

Lovingly she cares
for the white child
till the light of day beams
from Amakeia’s friendly-loyal black face.

 She sees the ominous
signs of war:
Quick the invasion, home and haven
Slaughtered and burnt down

Selflessly, death defying
with the white child on her back
to the Amakeia mountains
she’d hastily fled

“Hush now, hush now, Pikanini
over the mountains the moon rises
No one will see us here
Tomorrow we’ll go home.”

Oh, that the eyes of the scouts
had to discover their hiding place!
“Save him, he’s so little!” she begs
with hands stretched out.

Ragingly snarled the wild gang:
“Die or give the white child here!”
“Over my lifeless body,”
replied Amakeia vivaciously.

“My promise to my madam,
the best I could asked for:
Where he goes, Amakeia goes,
to care for him.”

“Unite in death
If in life you can’t be parted.
Quick death with her, Maxosas,
Let the glinting spears rain down!”

In the Amatola valleys
Howls only the winter wind
through the reeds in the moonlight:
“Tula-tula – sleep my child.”
(c) Nikita 9:30 14/2/2009

 

Amatola Mountains – Image: hubertha.co.za
Tyd
Ek hou die tyd in my hande
terwyl ek onder die koel lakens
in die maanverligte kamer lê
niks kan my gedagtes aan jou keer
behalwe die beperkinge van verbeelding
soete rakings bring die sug van genot
terwyl ‘n verdwaalde uil sy goedkeuring gee
geen beperkinge is geplaas
in die alleenheid van die middernag
terwyl ek op jou terugkoms wag

-Nikita- 8/4/08 21:00

Aksioom
(stelling wat waar is sonder bewyse)

My beleë gedagtes
het danig met ‘n pyl
die dampkring om ons
huiwerig binnegedring

Afsydig het jy die die buikgord
van jou hart buitengewoon
ingetrek en daarmee saam
die sfeer om ons vernou

Balhorig het ek met woorde
jou gebombardeer
besimpeld-besluiteloos
het jy die dekmantel
gelig en stadig begin delf
in ‘n argaïese verlede

Domastrant en diktatoriaal
het jy ondersoekend erken:
‘n dilemma! en aanvaar jy
aanspreeklikheid as skipper
en red die breukeling

Selfversekerd en delikaat
het jy my gedagtes omvou
lugleegtes doodgelag en
doodluiters my hart bedraad!

-Nikita-17/5/09

The Erl-King…translated into Afrikaans..

Die gedig is deur ‘n blogleser gesoek en ek het hom vir haar vertaal nadat ek die oorspronklik-Afrikaans-vertaalde nie kon kry nie. Twee dae later kry ek dit nadat ek die titel een woord gespel het! Wel, ek het besluit om my interpretasie hier te los – saam met SJ du Toit s’n. Ten minste kan jy sien waarom ek nie ‘n digter is nie! hehe… wat jy hier van my kry is: WYSIWYG!

Die Elwe-Koning –

Wie ry daar so laat deur die donker, somb’re nag?
Dis ‘n vader met sy kind
Hy hou die knaap klemmend in sy arm
Hy hou hom veilig, hy hou hom warm.

“My seun, waarom lyk jy so beangs?”
“Sien vader nie die Elwekoning nie?
Die Elwekoning met sy kroon en trein?”
“My liewe kind, dis mis wat opstoot in die vlakte.”

“Kom nou, liewe kind, kom nou saam met my
Ek het lekker speletjies om met jou te speel.
Lieflike blomme blom op die strand,
My moeder het baie kledingstukke van goud.”

“My vader, my vader, hoor jy nie die
beloftes wat die Elwekoning fluister vir my?”
“Wees rustig  my kind, bedaar, dis die
nagtelike wind se ritseling deur gedroogde blaar’ .”

“Wil jy nie saam met my kom, my seun?
My dogters sal jou liefderyk versorg,
My dogters dans hul nagtelike dans
Hul sal jou wieg totdat jy slaap.”

“My vader, my vader, sien jy nie daar?
Die Elwekoning-dogters in die donker daar?”
“My seun, my seun, ek sien duidelik
hoe grys die wilgerbome lyk.”

“Ek’s lief vir jou, jou skoonheid bekoor my, my seun.
En as jy nie gewillig is, dan moet ek jou forseer!”
“Nee vader, my vader, hy gryp my arm!
Die Elwekoning het my seer gemaak!”

Die pa sidder, sy ry is wild
In sy arms hou hy die kermende kind
Hy kom tuis met ‘n geswoeg en gesweet
In sy arms – die lewelose kind.

Nikita-25/6/09
Oorspronklike gedig deur Goethe
Oeps! Hier het ek so pas die vertaling van SJ du Toit op Litnet opgespoor..waarom kon ek dit nie twee dae terug kry nie? Omdat ek Elwekoning twee woorde gespel het! 
Die Elwekoning
(Goethe)
Wie ry daar so laat deur nag en wind?
Dit is ‘n vader met sy kind;
Hy druk die knapie so styf in die arm,
Hy hou hom veilig, hy koester hom warm.

“My seuntjie berg bang sy gesiggie, vir wie?”
“Sien Vader die Elwekoning dan nie?
Die Elwekoning met mantel en sleep?”
“My kind, dit is ‘n newelstreep.”

“Kom, kindjielief, kom saam met my!
So heerlik speel hul waar ek bly;
Veelkleurige blomme groei op die strand,
Van goud gaan jou kleed wees uit moeder se hand.”-

“My Pappie, is Pappie dan heeltemal doof
Vir wat Elwekoning my saggies beloof?”
“Bly stil, wees rustig maar, my kind!
In dorre blare duisel die wind.”-

“Gaan jy, lief seuntjie, met my saam?
My dogters ken almal reeds jou naam;
My dogters dans voor die nagt’like rei
En wieg jou en dans en sing so bly.” –

“My Vader, kan Vader dan glad nie gewaar
Elwekonig se dogters in die donker kol daar?”
“My seuntjie, my seuntjie, ek sien dit heel goed:
Die ou-gras skyn geel aan die randjie se voet?”

“Jou skoonheid bemin ek, my siel is ontsteld;
En as jy nie wil nie, gebruik ek geweld!”
“My Pappie, my Pappie, nou vat hy my raak!
Elwekoning het my seer gemaak!”

Die vader skrik; hy ry soos die wind,
En hou in sy arms die kreunende kind,
Bereik sy plaas in bange nood;
Die kind lê in sy arms dood.
Vertaling – SJ du Toit

The Erl-King

WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp’d in his arm,
He holdeth him safely, he keepeth him warm.

“My son, wherefore seek’st thou thy face thus to hide?”
“Look, father, the Erl-King is close by our side!
Dost see not the Erl-King, with crown and with train?”
“My son, ’tis the mist rising over the plain.”

“Oh, come, thou dear infant! oh come thou with me!
Full many a game I will play there with thee;
On my strand, lovely flowers their blossoms unfold,
My mother shall grace thee with garments of gold.”

“My father, my father, and dost thou not hear
The words that the Erl-King now breathes in mine ear?”
“Be calm, dearest child, ’tis thy fancy deceives;
‘Tis the sad wind that sighs through the withering leaves.”

“Wilt go, then, dear infant, wilt go with me there?
My daughters shall tend thee with sisterly care
My daughters by night their glad festival keep,
They’ll dance thee, and rock thee, and sing thee to sleep.”

“My father, my father, and dost thou not see,
How the Erl-King his daughters has brought here for me?”
“My darling, my darling, I see it aright,
‘Tis the aged grey willows deceiving thy sight.”

“I love thee, I’m charm’d by thy beauty, dear boy!
And if thou’rt unwilling, then force I’ll employ.”
“My father, my father, he seizes me fast,
Full sorely the Erl-King has hurt me at last.”

The father now gallops, with terror half wild,
He grasps in his arms the poor shuddering child;
He reaches his courtyard with toil and with dread,–
The child in his arms finds he motionless, dead.

Suid-Afrika: my land

Jy’s indrukwekkend, manjifiek
jou sondeurdrenkte landskappe
weerkaats helder beelde in my siel
jou pragtige wonders flikker oneindig
lank in die stilte van jou nagrus

Mount Aux Sources – so elegant en grasieus
verrys jy vanuit die voetheuwels, soos
‘n fakkel by die Spele ets jy lekkende
beelde teen die muur van my geheue
en voel ek jou hitte gloeiend teen my hart

O Blyde! ek fantaseer oor jou
magiese kragte wat jy sorgloos
en galant in die galery van my
stille gemoed stilletjies uitpak terwyl
my dawerende applous eggo
oor die velde van my gedagtes

Moederstad! hoe inskiklik laat jy my
telkens hakkel wanneer ek my herinneringe
sagkens koester – jou fasades!
waar ek jou gambiet betree
en gewillig my pionne oorgee

En saans voel ek jou fluweelagtige
skoonheid van elke sonsondergang
stadig neerdaal in my gemoed terwyl
ek stadig drink van jou geloofs-fonteine
wat borrellend bruis in oorvloed

Fragmentaries vier ek feeste
ek dans en omhels jou en jy –
jy blus my gees telkens met jou
magiese heildronke: een-vir-een
op ‘n toekoms – wat mag wees!
–Nikita –14/8/09 14:00
Today was the day that we celebrate Afrikaans as language. Follow this link to see my entry about it.
https://chessaleeinlondon.wordpress.com/2009/08/14/afrikaans-afrikaans-afrikaans/

Hoe sou ek weet
Hoe sou ek weet
ek sou jou soveel mis –
as die gemis so alledaags was?
Hoe sou ek weet ek sou so verlang
– na slegs ‘n aanraak –
so nimmereindingend?
Hoe sou ek weet dat dit so brandend sou wees?
Teen die middag-breek
reik ek na ‘n hand – wat nie meer is daar
ek luister fyn na die sagte, fermheid van ‘n stem
wat ek nou so selde hoor, maar
leegheid gevul deur die lees
van ‘n woord:
‘n naam, jou naam
tog toe nie joune nie
Hoe sou ek weet – in my fantasieë
– dat totsiens sou wees:
‘n woord gevul met soveel realiteit
‘n woord gevul met soveel finaliteit
Hoe sou ek weet?
–nikita 18/8/2008 18:45

Soms …
voel ek blou
en ek gee voor
om nie raak te sien
die gevoelens in jou oë
ek ignoreer jou
vergrote pupille en jou
stem se sagte toon

of verbeel ek my
dat ek dit ignoreer
probeer ek die verlede
net dalk maar… begrawe
dit sou nie die eerste keer
wees…
‘n siklus van ebb en vloed

‘n lang tyd het verby
gegaan sedert
ek jou naam weer neergeskryf het
ek sal geduldig wag
totdat die aarde oopskeur
~~Nikita~~31/12/2009

Die Beste

Afrikaans:

Ek is aan jou verknog
Jy is vir my ‘n sieraad
Jou wingerdstokke groei welig
in my opgeploegde land
Jy is besprinkeld met
onbeskaamde liefde en
jy bring voort troetelkinders
Jou sprekers strek
van die Ooste na die Weste
en jy bly verreweg
Die Beste!

13/8/2010 -21:30 Nikita
The Best
Afrikaans
I’m attached to you!
To me: you are a trinket
Your grapevines flourish
in my ploughed land
You’ve been irrigated with
impudent love
You bear cuddly-children
Your speakers stretch
From the East to the West
And by far:
You’re the BEST
Translated: (c)Nikita – 16/2/2012 – 20:00

Ek stuur jou die goud
oor die dansende blou waters
nie die koue hartelose soort,
maar die goud van ‘n herfsblaar
malend oor ‘n golwende terras
wat ‘n helder skynsel nalaat:
kontrasterend teen die skemer

Ek stuur jou die goud
van ‘n vertroueling met die warmte:
warmte van ‘n spinnende vlam van vuur
wat jou alkant omsingel en dié
van ‘n liefdevolle glimlag
wat jou las sal verlig
en jou plesier sal verskaf

Ek stuur vir jou die goud
van ‘n laatmiddag sonsondergang
langdurig en langsamerhand
die warmligte aanraking
van die strale wat jou deurboor:
laag vir laag tot in jou siel

Ek stuur jou die goud
van goue vonkelende wense en geluk
alhoewel ek nie fisies daar is,
maar my gedagtes wel, wat nooit verwelk:
my gedagtes, altyd aan jou sy!
Ek stuur vir jou die goud!
–Nikita 19:00 17/03/2012

Carol Burnett: Words, once they are printed, have a life of their own.

The camp
White tents like white ant hills.
Strange, awkward stenches fill the war-torn air
Weak, though proud, with no disinfectant
Sitting around in poverty: deprived!
Waiting for food. Waiting for water.
Humiliation. Disgrace. Filth.
Dead bodies carried along white rows
They don’t care, they don’t think!
They can’t think. They  just kill!
The pain inside: it cuts deep, very deep.
No sound. No breath. No life.
No words. No food. Only thoughts.
Only thoughts. Only Blue vitriol.
Children crying, children dying

Hunger screams, hunger wails
Endless waiting.  Timeless prayers.
Shock. Horror. Pain.
Forgotten lives.
Panic. Fright. Terror.
God! My child is dead!
Footsteps. No words.
Empty arms. Eyes watching.
Not my child!
Patience because:
‘Another seepkissie will arrive soon.’
Silence.

Nikita 22/8/2013

Enjoy the song by Eva Cassidy – Fields of gold