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Friday, 16 June 2017

Outeur & Author


Die gedig wat ek vandag deel is 'n effens filosofiese een oor wat die impak wat 'n skrywer op mense se lewens het. Dit is oorspronklik in Afrikaans geskryf, maar ek het dit ook later na Engels vertaal. Ek plaas beide weergawes.
Today's poem is a slightly philosophical one that I wrote about the impact that an author has on people's lives. It was originally written in Afrikaan, but I later translated it to English as well. I place both versions.

Outeur

Ek, Outeur, neem jou gevange om met my op reis te gaan
en ons travel op die highway van my kop, waar ek jou dwing
om my verstaan van dinge te begryp, my emosies te beleef en
my prioriteite te ondersteun, jy my gekaapte passasier

Ons travel langs paaie van hoop en wanhoop, liefde en haat –
ons besoek God en Abuse, stop by Sosiale Verantwoordelikheid,
kuier by Humor en flits verby Politiek en Geskiedenis.
Ek vra jou nie om jou opinie en kuier nie by jou kennisse – hier tel net EK.

En as ek klaar is, klim jy af van my bus af, maar ek leef in jou kop en
jy maak van my iets anders as wat ek bedoel het om te wees totdat
ek gemaklik pas in jou kopspasie en eintlik maar net jy geword het.
Maar soms klim jy af voor ek stil word en discard my soos gister se rubbish.

Ek, Outeur, kan nooit myself agterlaat om ontdek te word
deur jou wat ná my kom nie, want jy wat ná my kom is op soek
na jouself, en nie na my, en ek is net die grag wat na jouself lei.
En dus sterf ek na elke sin se punt en is dié kolletjie my graf.

Author
(translated from the Afrikaans Outeur)

I, Author, abduct you to go on a journey with me
and we travel along the freeway in my head, where I force you
to comprehend my understanding, experience my emotions and
support my priorities, you my hijacked passenger.

We travel along roads of hope and hopelessness, love and hate –
we linger at God and Abuse, pause at Social Responsibility,
visit Humour and rush past Politics and History.
I don’t ask for your opinion and don’t visit your acquaintances – only I matter here.

And when I am done, you disembark from my bus, but I live on in your thoughts and
you transform me into something I never intended to be, until eventually
I fit comfortably in the space of your head where you have turned me into yourself.
But sometimes you depart before I grow quiet and discard me like yesterday’s rubbish.

I, Author, can never leave myself behind to be discovered
by you who follow me, because you who follow me are searching
for yourself, and not for me, and I am turned into a mote leading unto yourself.
And so I die at the end of every sentence and this dot becomes my grave.

An original poem by Miekie (Marietjie Uys)
'n Oorspronklike gedig deur Miekie (Marietjie Uys)

Marietjie Uys (Miekie) is a published author. You can buy my books here:
You can purchase Designs By Miekie 1 here.
Jy kan Kom Ons Teken en Verf Tuinstories hier koop.
Jy kan Kom Ons Kleur Tuinstories In hier koop.
Jy kan Tuinstories hier koop.
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