Poem
J. Slauerhoff
COMPAGNIE DE MOZAMBIQUE
The Compagnie de MozambiqueOwns all Beira
And the land beyond
And Manga too
And the blacks who labour there
And bushes planted in beds with care.
It owns everything here
The Compagnie de Mozambique.
The animals living here too:
Not only the shambling oxen
With their tsetse flies,
Fluttering birds and insects one can’t see
It owns too.
It grows tiresome
Summing them all up,
But what else is one to do
When one’s sitting waiting
For a bus (run by the Compagnie)
That won’t come,
Hearing a warbler chirping along,
Like a compromise,
With its funny two-note song,
Twixt nightingale and cricket!
(The Compagnie de Mozambique
lays no claim to it.)
António Menano too,
The famous fado singer
Whose dark and muffled voice
Makes all women weep and swoon:
Who cheered all Portugal’s sorrows.
Menano too
Now belongs to the Compagnie de Mozambique.
Eight miles away
He works on a plantation;
He grew rich when all thronged to hear him,
He grew poor when he gambled and lost,
Of course speculating in shares
Of the Compagnie de Mozambique.
He’s contracted for seven years
As a doctor on the plantation,
Gives injections and decides
If a black man who’s done wrong
Is fit enough to be flogged,
For the regulations
Are strict and yet humane
In the Compagnie de Mozambique.
Shall we give money to buy him out,
So he can sing once more of mournful ecstasy?
No.
Menano long since has drunk himself hoarse
On the whisky that’s imported
At a knock-down price
And supplied to the employees
Of the Compagnie de Mozambique.
© Translation: 2007, Paul Vincent
COMPAGNIE DE MOZAMBIQUE
COMPAGNIE DE MOZAMBIQUE
Aan de Compagnie de MozambiqueBehoort Beira
En het land daarachter
En ook Manga
En de negers die daar werken
En de heesters in de perken,
Alles hier behoort
Aan de Compagnie de Mozambique.
Ook de dieren die hier leven:
Niet alleen de kreupele ossen
Met hun tsetsevliegen,
Fladderende vogels en onzichtbare insecten
Eveneens.
’t Wordt vervelend
Alle op te noemen,
Maar wat zal men anders doen
Als men zit te wachten
Op een bus (ook van de Compagnie)
Die niet komt,
Luisterend naar de karekiet
Die het midden houdt
Met zijn vreemd tweetonig lied
Tusschen nachtegaal en krekel!
(Hierop maakt de Compagnie de Mozambique
Geen aanspraak.)
Ook António Menano,
De befaamde fadozanger
Bij wiens donkere befloerste stem
Alle vrouwen weenen en bezwijmen:
Die al ’t leed van Portugal opbeurde,
Ook Menano
Hoort nu toe aan de Compagnie de Mozambique.
Acht mijl verder
Werkt hij op een onderneming;
Rijk werd hij want ieder wou hem hooren,
Arm werd hij want hij moest spelen en verloor
En natuurlijk speculeerend in aandelen
Van de Compagnie de Mozambique.
Nu is hij voor zeven jaar
Daar verbonden als plantagedokter,
Geeft injecties en beslist
Of een neger die zich heeft vergist
Sterk genoeg is voor de geeseling,
Want de reglementen zijn
Streng en toch humaan
Bij de Compagnie de Mozambique.
Brengen wij het losgeld niet bijeen,
Dat hij weer van droeve zaligheid kan zingen?
Neen.
Ook Menano dronk zich al lang schor
Aan de whisky die, hier ingevoerd
Voor verlaagd tarief,
Wordt verstrekt aan de employé’s
Van de Compagnie de Mozambique.
© 1998, Erven J. Slauerhoff / K. Lekkerkerker / Uitgeverij Nijgh & Van Ditmar
From: Alle gedichten
Publisher: Nijgh & Van Ditmar, Amsterdam
From: Alle gedichten
Publisher: Nijgh & Van Ditmar, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of J. Slauerhoff
Close
COMPAGNIE DE MOZAMBIQUE
The Compagnie de MozambiqueOwns all Beira
And the land beyond
And Manga too
And the blacks who labour there
And bushes planted in beds with care.
It owns everything here
The Compagnie de Mozambique.
The animals living here too:
Not only the shambling oxen
With their tsetse flies,
Fluttering birds and insects one can’t see
It owns too.
It grows tiresome
Summing them all up,
But what else is one to do
When one’s sitting waiting
For a bus (run by the Compagnie)
That won’t come,
Hearing a warbler chirping along,
Like a compromise,
With its funny two-note song,
Twixt nightingale and cricket!
(The Compagnie de Mozambique
lays no claim to it.)
António Menano too,
The famous fado singer
Whose dark and muffled voice
Makes all women weep and swoon:
Who cheered all Portugal’s sorrows.
Menano too
Now belongs to the Compagnie de Mozambique.
Eight miles away
He works on a plantation;
He grew rich when all thronged to hear him,
He grew poor when he gambled and lost,
Of course speculating in shares
Of the Compagnie de Mozambique.
He’s contracted for seven years
As a doctor on the plantation,
Gives injections and decides
If a black man who’s done wrong
Is fit enough to be flogged,
For the regulations
Are strict and yet humane
In the Compagnie de Mozambique.
Shall we give money to buy him out,
So he can sing once more of mournful ecstasy?
No.
Menano long since has drunk himself hoarse
On the whisky that’s imported
At a knock-down price
And supplied to the employees
Of the Compagnie de Mozambique.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
From: Alle gedichten
From: Alle gedichten
COMPAGNIE DE MOZAMBIQUE
The Compagnie de MozambiqueOwns all Beira
And the land beyond
And Manga too
And the blacks who labour there
And bushes planted in beds with care.
It owns everything here
The Compagnie de Mozambique.
The animals living here too:
Not only the shambling oxen
With their tsetse flies,
Fluttering birds and insects one can’t see
It owns too.
It grows tiresome
Summing them all up,
But what else is one to do
When one’s sitting waiting
For a bus (run by the Compagnie)
That won’t come,
Hearing a warbler chirping along,
Like a compromise,
With its funny two-note song,
Twixt nightingale and cricket!
(The Compagnie de Mozambique
lays no claim to it.)
António Menano too,
The famous fado singer
Whose dark and muffled voice
Makes all women weep and swoon:
Who cheered all Portugal’s sorrows.
Menano too
Now belongs to the Compagnie de Mozambique.
Eight miles away
He works on a plantation;
He grew rich when all thronged to hear him,
He grew poor when he gambled and lost,
Of course speculating in shares
Of the Compagnie de Mozambique.
He’s contracted for seven years
As a doctor on the plantation,
Gives injections and decides
If a black man who’s done wrong
Is fit enough to be flogged,
For the regulations
Are strict and yet humane
In the Compagnie de Mozambique.
Shall we give money to buy him out,
So he can sing once more of mournful ecstasy?
No.
Menano long since has drunk himself hoarse
On the whisky that’s imported
At a knock-down price
And supplied to the employees
Of the Compagnie de Mozambique.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
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