South African artists on Sylt

One poem, two languages. One poet, two books. One in english, one in afrikaans. Charl-Pierre Naudé considers afrikaans his first language but he thinks after living in England for a while, this might easily change. „In die geheim van die dag“ is his price-winning poetry compilation of 2005, „Against the light“ he called the counterpart launched in 2007. Just as the titles reflect different aspects of light the poems seem different wordings fort he same feeling. „I want to replicate the exact same emotional experience“, says Charl-Pierre Naudé and switches to the other language for the most precise explanation of what his bilingual work is about: „omsetting“ instead of „translation“ which would mean the strict formal rendering into the other tongue. The imaginative aspects are close, the language aspects far apart: „In a way it’s a different book.“ And Naudé’s way of working reflects South Africa of today: „Society is not in boxes any more. You meet people of different languages every day.“

Besides the poems above the journalist Naudé has spent his time on Sylt writing essays on literature – and something readers will be looking forward to: a novel. „Actually I have always written prose, too, and that novel is something I wrote years ago. I’ve been working on the last draft on Sylt.“

Skelet van ’n lente, met glastafeltjie
Sylt-eiland, noord-Duitsland

Daar lê ’n geraamte
onder die glasblad
in my woonvertrek.

En die teekoppies
wat silwerig skud
aan die ander kant
van dié gesmede gewrigte
(nooit sal bo en onder raak nie),
dryf skynbaar in die lug.

Die membraan
van glas is tussenin.

In die uur van die halflig.

Blertse groen marsjeer
glinsterend
soos ’n kinderweermag
oor die valerige duineveld;
die wind onthou die bossies hare.

’n Straler vlieg ’n landskap binne
wat volledig net gedroom is –
maar hou áán met vlieg.

Visvywers spikkel
met hul klippe die water in
en só word die wêreld gepak;
alles eers bakterieë,
dan voëls
en onsigbare aanloopbane wat gesing word
in die fynste stippels kwantumlig.

’n Handvol breinaalde
pryk verlate
in ’n mandjiehawe

en die oseaan
kruip plat tot aan die horison
soos deeg in ’n pan;

dit vloei gereeld oor ’n eiland hier naby
tot net die hoogtetjie met huisies
in die middel oorbly,

’n Sion’s top
waar die water in gordyne van weggly,

die dag onder
en ’n hiernamaals bo
die verdeelstreep

deur Mies van der Rohe.

Skeletal spring with glass table
Sylt island, north coast of Germany

There is a skeleton
below the glass slab
in my living room;

and the tea cups
with their silvery shudder
on the other side
of these cast joints
(never the two sides shall meet),
seem afloat in the air;

the sheet of glass
in between.

In the hour of gloaming.

Spatterings of green
march,
glistening,
like a child army
over the pale grass dunes;
the wind remembers
the young tufts of hair.

A jet plane flies
slap bang into a dreamed region -
but carries on flying.

Stubs pitched in rows
streak into the water
and in this way things are called into being:
at first bacteria,
then birds,
and those secret runways sung into existence
by the minutest
specks of quantum light.

A handfull of knitting needles
shine in the basket
of a little harbour

and the flat ocean
inches out to the horizon
like dough in a pan;

periodically it floods an island nearby
till only the knoll with houses on
in the middle is left,

a Zion on high
from where the water pulls away like curtains,
 
the day below
and an afterworld above
the dividing line

by Mies van der Rohe.

 

ARTISTS
ON SYLT