Gedicht
Adam Small
ON THE P’RADE
Please mad’mc’mon smile
jis look
our little old tents is piled high wit joy
how can mad’m look so sour
shame on you shame
d’you think life’s vinegar
an where’s mad’m buyin it then
cause i bet it’s real expensive
nah, mad’m
c’mon, c’mon smile
look over there
our little old tents is piled high wit joy
This white dame can’t laugh
jis gives orders:
there’s nuthin I want,
the coon formal as hell
But mad’m, pawpaw, pawpaw an banana
an juicy grapes out the heart of Canaan
or maybe the lady would fancy a fig
jis look how swollen it is
plumped right out from top to bottom
don’ blush now mad’m
we got the leaf right here
ja well maybe
I don’ want nuthin hear!
But mad’m
I don’ want nuthin do you hear!
But mad’m
You, you coolie
I\'m going to call the cops!
The fruitboy’s voice suddenly muffled
cops, cops?
hey c’mon lady, don’ be so mean
jis say g’bye nicely
hey guess what
them bare-arse ole nec’trines still blowin mad’m a kissie goodbye
The white woman stomps off
across the parade,
clippety-clop, clippety-clop
Hey lady, hey
mad’m sho she don wanna try our guavas
guarantee ’m lady
great f’ the nerves!
© Translation: 1997, Mike Dickman
From: The Lava of this Land: South African Poetry 1960-1996
Publisher: Triquarterly, Evanston, 1997
From: The Lava of this Land: South African Poetry 1960-1996
Publisher: Triquarterly, Evanston, 1997
OPPIE PARARA
OPPIE PARARA
Please mêrimkamaan smile
kyk net
ons tentjies is vol happiness gapaail!
ag hoe lyk die mêrim dan so suur
foei foei
is die lewe dan asyn
en waar koep die mêrim dit
lyk’s nogal boenop duur
nai, mêrim
toe, toe smile
kyk daar
ons tentjies is vol happiness gapaail!
Die witvrou kannie lag
en sy beveel:
ek wil niks hê nie,
die koelie streng-formeel
Ma’ mêrim, pô-pô, pô-pô en banana
en juicy drywe yt die hartjie van die Kanaän
of hoe fancy die mêrim so ’n vy
kyk net hoe uitgaswel is hy
van bo tot onner ytgady
moenie blush nie mêrim
ons het die blaar daarby
of miskien
Ek wil niks hê nie hoor!
Ma’ mêrim
Ek wil niks hê nie hoor!
Ma’ mêrim
Jou, jou koelie
ek sal nóú die polisie!
Die vrugtevent se stem trek agterna
polisie, polisie?
ag nai mêrim, moet nou nie so spiteful wies nie
sê tog decently goodbye
raai
die kaalgat perskes blow nog vi’ mêrim
Die blanke vrou stáp
oor die parade
klipitie-klap klipitie-klap
Haai mêrim haai
sure mêrim wil nie try onse guavas
ons guarantee hulle mêrim
hulle’s baie goed vi’ die nerves!
© 1961, Adam Small
From: Kitaar My Kruis
Publisher: HAUM, Pretoria
From: Kitaar My Kruis
Publisher: HAUM, Pretoria
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OPPIE PARARA
Please mêrimkamaan smile
kyk net
ons tentjies is vol happiness gapaail!
ag hoe lyk die mêrim dan so suur
foei foei
is die lewe dan asyn
en waar koep die mêrim dit
lyk’s nogal boenop duur
nai, mêrim
toe, toe smile
kyk daar
ons tentjies is vol happiness gapaail!
Die witvrou kannie lag
en sy beveel:
ek wil niks hê nie,
die koelie streng-formeel
Ma’ mêrim, pô-pô, pô-pô en banana
en juicy drywe yt die hartjie van die Kanaän
of hoe fancy die mêrim so ’n vy
kyk net hoe uitgaswel is hy
van bo tot onner ytgady
moenie blush nie mêrim
ons het die blaar daarby
of miskien
Ek wil niks hê nie hoor!
Ma’ mêrim
Ek wil niks hê nie hoor!
Ma’ mêrim
Jou, jou koelie
ek sal nóú die polisie!
Die vrugtevent se stem trek agterna
polisie, polisie?
ag nai mêrim, moet nou nie so spiteful wies nie
sê tog decently goodbye
raai
die kaalgat perskes blow nog vi’ mêrim
Die blanke vrou stáp
oor die parade
klipitie-klap klipitie-klap
Haai mêrim haai
sure mêrim wil nie try onse guavas
ons guarantee hulle mêrim
hulle’s baie goed vi’ die nerves!
From: Kitaar My Kruis
ON THE P’RADE
Please mad’mc’mon smile
jis look
our little old tents is piled high wit joy
how can mad’m look so sour
shame on you shame
d’you think life’s vinegar
an where’s mad’m buyin it then
cause i bet it’s real expensive
nah, mad’m
c’mon, c’mon smile
look over there
our little old tents is piled high wit joy
This white dame can’t laugh
jis gives orders:
there’s nuthin I want,
the coon formal as hell
But mad’m, pawpaw, pawpaw an banana
an juicy grapes out the heart of Canaan
or maybe the lady would fancy a fig
jis look how swollen it is
plumped right out from top to bottom
don’ blush now mad’m
we got the leaf right here
ja well maybe
I don’ want nuthin hear!
But mad’m
I don’ want nuthin do you hear!
But mad’m
You, you coolie
I\'m going to call the cops!
The fruitboy’s voice suddenly muffled
cops, cops?
hey c’mon lady, don’ be so mean
jis say g’bye nicely
hey guess what
them bare-arse ole nec’trines still blowin mad’m a kissie goodbye
The white woman stomps off
across the parade,
clippety-clop, clippety-clop
Hey lady, hey
mad’m sho she don wanna try our guavas
guarantee ’m lady
great f’ the nerves!
© 1997, Mike Dickman
From: The Lava of this Land: South African Poetry 1960-1996
Publisher: 1997, Triquarterly, Evanston
From: The Lava of this Land: South African Poetry 1960-1996
Publisher: 1997, Triquarterly, Evanston
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