Ons Erfdeel. Jaargang 13

[p. 100]

n.p. van wyk louw
Vroegherfs

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; elke blom word vrug,
tot selfs die traagstes; en die eerste blare val
so stilweg in die rook-vaal bos en laan,
dat die takke van die lang populiere al
teen elke ligte môre witter staan.
O Heer, laat hierdie dae heilig word:
laat alles val wat pronk en sieraad was
of enkel jeug, en vér was van die pyn;
laat ryp word, Heer, laat U wind waai, laat stort
my waan, tot al die hoogheid eindelik vas
en nakend uit my teerder jeug verskyn.

n.p. van wyk louw
(Translated by Guy Butler)
Early Autumn

The year matures in golden oak-leaves, in the dun
of darkening vineyards, and, paler at all hours
air washed by fresh winds and the pellucid sun.
Fruits fulfil the individual flowers.
even the slowest, and the first leaves fall
so silently in smoke-dimmed wood and lane
that the slender branches of the poplars tall
lift wither silhouettes each radiant dawn.
Dear Lord, may all these days be sanctified:
let all things fall that were showy and vain
or merely young and far removed from tears;
make riper, Lord, let your wind blow; my pride
strip off, till all that's great at last shows plain
naked and firm above my greener years.

(Afrikaans poems with English translations, edited by A.P. Grové and C.J.D. Harvey, CapeTown, Oxford University Press, 1962)