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Small bird singing in a bush
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AFRICA IN VERSES
Рой Кемпбелл (1901 – 1957) – южноафриканский поэт и переводчик.
- В молодости провалил экзамены в Оксфорд.
- Вёл богемную жизнь, много пил.
- Выпускал журнал «Удар бича» в Южной Африке.
- Не любил атеистов и коммунистов.
- В годы Второй мировой воевал в рядах британской армии.
- Дружил с Толкином, а вот с Льюисом не сошёлся во взглядах.
- Работал на BBC.
- Погиб в автокатастрофе.
Roy Campbell
The Zebras
From the dark woods that breathe of fallen showers,
Harnessed with level rays in golden reins,
The zebras draw the dawn across the plains
Wading knee-deep among the scarlet flowers.
The sunlight, zithering their flanks with fire,
Flashes between the shadows as they pass
Barred with electric tremors through the grass
Like wind along the gold strings of a lyre.
Into the flushed air snorting rosy plumes
That smoulder round their feet in drifting fumes,
With dove-like voices call the distant fillies,
While round the herd the stallion wheels his flight,
Engine of beauty volted with delight
To roll his mare among the trampled lilies.
Roy Campbell
Anadyomene
Maternal Earth stirs redly from beneath
Her blue sea-blanket and her quilt of sky,
A giant Anadyomene from the sheath
And chrysalis of darkness; till we spy
Her vast barbaric haunches, furred with trees,
Stretched on the continents, and see her hair
Combed in a surf of fire along the breeze
To curl about the dim sierras, where
Faint snow-peaks catch the sun's far-swivelled beams:
And, tinder to his rays, the mountain-streams
Kindle, and volleying with a thunderstroke
Out of their roaring gullies, burst in smoke
To shred themselves as fine as women's hair,
And hoop gay rainbows on the sunlit air.
Roy Campbell
Autumn
I love to see, when leaves depart,
The clear anatomy arrive,
Winter, the paragon of art,
That kills all forms of life and feeling
Save what is pure and will survive.
Already now the clanging chains
Of geese are harnessed to the moon:
Stripped are the great sun-clouding planes:
And the dark pines, their own revealing,
Let in the needles of the noon.
Strained by the gale the olives whiten
Like hoary wrestlers bent with toil
And, with the vines, their branches lighten
To brim our vats where summer lingers
In the red froth and sun-gold oil.
Soon on our hearth's reviving pyre
Their rotted stems will crumble up:
And like a ruby, panting fire,
The grape will redden on your fingers
Through the lit crystal of the cup.
Агостиньо Нето (1922 – 1979) – первый президент Народной Республики Ангола.
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- Председатель МПЛА – Партии Труда (она же – Народное движение за освобождение Анголы)
- Сидел в тюрьме за участие в национально-освободительном движении.
- Увлекался марксизмом. Став президентом, взял курс на социализм.
- Свои лучшие стихи посвятил жене – португалке.
- Умер в Москве после онкологической операции
Agostinho Neto
Night
(Translation into English
by Dr. Y., Afrolegends.com)
I live
in the dark quarters of the world
without light and life.
I fumbled through the
streets
leaning on my dreams
stumbling on
slavery
to my desire to be.
Slave quarters
worlds of misery
dark quarters.
Where the wills were diluted
and the men were confused
with things.
I walk in unknown
streets without
tripping
Streets soaked in with mystical light and
the terror arm of ghosts.
The night is also dark.
Исмаил Йоуберт (1920 – 2002) – южноафриканский поэт и писатель.
- В раннем детстве потерял родителей (мать была турчанка, отец – египтянин).
- Публиковался под псевдонимом Татамкулу Африка (в переводе с коса – «Бабушка Африка»).
- Свою первую книгу выпустил в 17 лет, вторую – в 67 лет.
- Сражался на фронтах Второй мировой и в Северной Африке.
- В годы апартеида получил право остаться в белом Районе №6, но отказался из принципа.
- Арестован южноафриканским правительством как террорист, сидел в одной тюрьме с Нельсоном Манделой.
Tatamkhulu Afrika
SMALL BIRD SINGING IN A BUSH
Small bird in a bush:
cars in the street rush
past it like the Gadarene swine,
line upon line.
Soft feathers fluff
in a lean wind, rough
as a rasp in the leaves’ green,
brooming the earth clean.
Cognisant of none
save the strengthening sun,
the blood of its dawn
still red on the hill,
it sings and it sings,
repetitive rings
and showers of sound
seeming profound
to the shallows in me,
but, in reality,
only a bird’s things:
sex and seed, rain on the wings,
consciousness of wamth and light,
withdrawal of the night,
the wind’s suddenness,
or its silences.
All this I know,
and no less know
its innocence, my prescience,
and which the better sense,
and which the finer face,
and which the saving grace:
self-seeking orison
or this simple hymnal to the sun?
Патрик Куллинан (1933 – 2011) – южноафриканский поэт и биограф.
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- Родился в семье владельца алмазной шахты.
- Учился в Оксфорде.
- Пытался возродить южноафриканскую поэзию и с этой целью создал журнал «Кровавая лошадь».
- Выступал против апартеида.
- Считался лучшим южноафриканским поэтом конца XX века.
- Активно поддерживал юных авторов.
Patrick Cullinan
NORTH
This morning we moved North again
Through strange bush.
We know the enemy still follows:
By night we see their fires,
By day their dust.
The old men talk, still,
Of our ancestors from North:
About the rich forests
And swarming game,
And of our return
Which is ordained
In the stars.
I see no sign of this North.
There are smaller trees
And unknown roots, more snakes
And fewer birds.
On a long journey
The land must change.
I think they will cut us off tomorrow.
There was dust this evening
On our right flank. Is it because
They do not want to fight
Among the hills ahead?
Mountains were our country:
They fear ambush and they are right.
There is no mercy between us:
They are so many.
On watch tonight I stare
At one point in the blank sky.
A star glitters. At once
It is there, as though my staring
Brought it out.
Was it ordained?
This star is in the South.
The women and the children sleep
In the warm heart of the camp.
It is not death I fear
But the thought that birth will stop.
I fear the end of my people.
Patrick Cullinan
TO HAVE LOVE
To have love and then lose it:
the white hail in the orchard
lying with leaves it has stripped
and the storm moving away.
Нгватило Мавийу (1983) – кенийская поэтесса, певица, актриса.
- В своих выступлениях объединяет поэзию, музыку и театральное искусство.
- Учится на магистра изящных искусств в университете Британской Колумбии
Ngwatilo Mawiyoo
FLAG AND FUTURE
They declared black the colour of my people,
the Luo and the Taita and every shade within,
including them who chose here over past homes.
Green signified the land and its fertility,
of Marsabit and Muranga and Malindi,
every altitude and region between.
Red was the blood spilled till ’63 in wars
our own and not, every encounter known
and shrouded in silence a declaration
of our right to direct our destiny. White
was the way they hoped we would live
for posterity: in peace, love and unity.
But in the city blood spews as rocks fly
to kill kinship, and police in turn
set young limbs in their sights
every temple hot and righteous
vengeful fists on freedoms fields
and blood spews in the Rift Valley
an artery bearing a jagged rift cut
a century deep, so we fight and die today
to honor the memory though
there are healing-salts at Magadi.
Mourning, and being mourned,
I see the flag and hope aloud now:
white stripes – light this night
bring peace, love, bind us whole.
Let this rich blood build and heal us,
warm and show us how green
Mt Kenya, Turkana, Kibera,
how precious still Ancient Ones see them be.
Уильям Каллен Брайант (1794 – 1878) – американский поэт, журналист и редактор газеты «New York Post».
- Прославился в возрасте 14 лет, написав политическую сатиру на президента США Томаса Джефферсона.
- В колледже изучал древние языки.
- Отказался от карьеры адвоката, чтобы стать редактором.
- Был одним из инициаторов создания республиканской партии США.
- Считается одним из лучших переводчиков Гомера на английский язык.
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