Pure Afrikaans Poem


Apologies to my English speaking readers, but this is impossible to translate, and for the huge chunk of Afrikaans followers of my blog, I’d love to share this classic “farce” my uncle wrote many moons ago.  I am sure one can try and do the Google Translate thingy, but also sure some of the humor will be lost.  So please forgive me for this one transgression – I’ll not do it again!!  A watered-down effort appears further down.

Baroque Basilica San Giovanni Battista Finale Ligure, Italy

‘n Gedig om die dag op te vrolik:

Sannie ek hoop dis die einde van die kerk
Ek kan nie meer sit nie, my maag wil werk!
Die dominee praat lank, die son sak laag
Die vreeslike krampe spring rond in my maag
Eers word ek warm, dan word ek koud
Nog nooit in my lewe was ek so benoud!
“Dominee, dominee, praat tog klaar”
My rug trek krom, en die gort is gaar.
Dit knal en dit kraak, en my derms kreun
Toe los ek ‘n poep wat die galery laat dreun!
Die mense kyk om en ek bloos bloedrooi
Die skaamste van almal was Sannie, my nooi.

Die dominee bly stil, sy oge omgedop
Die vrou agter my se hoed sit skeef op haar kop
Kort op die hakke van die stereo klank
Volg die gemeente se reaksie op die vreeslike stank.
Party die giggel, ander die proes
Ander waai met hulle sakdoeke woes.
My oge traan, my kop die sak
Toe kom die vrees: ek gaan in my broek kak!
Sowaar as wraggies, net die volgende keer,
is dit presies wat met my moes gebeur.

Ek dag dis ‘n poep, want die drukking is kwaai
Te laat besef ek dit maak ‘n ander lawaai!
Kort op die rammel soos vir ‘n donderstorm
Kom ek mos agter die poep het ‘n klont gevorm!
Die dominee bly stil en gluur my aan
‘n Ouderling begin woedend sy weg na my baan
Ek spring op met mening om weg te hol
Maar word teruggeruk deur die 10 pond drol!
Die ouderling kom nader en maak sy arms bak
Ek skrik so groot dat ek nog ‘n drol kak!
My broek is nat en die pype staan wyd
So het ek my laas toe ek klein was beskyt!
Die ouderling gryp my vas, ek kan nie beweeg
Toe maak ek vir spite my maag op hom leeg.
Nou is hy woedend, soos ‘n bees so sterk
Hy “free-wheel” my kop tussen sy bene uit by die kerk.
My arme Sannie word verdoof van die walglike reuk.
– Die cheek wat die man het om my kop tussen sy bene te steek! –

Buite los hy my vinnig en staan weer na binne
Stadig herstel ek van my benewelde sinne

Die ding wat my nog altyd verstom,
is hoe het ek by die huis gekom?
Nodeloos om te se, na al die lawaai
is my Sannie se liefde na sy maai.

Een les het ek toe van die kerk geleer:
As my maag nie reg is nie, sit by die deur
En as jou derms draai en jou poephol blom
Probeer so gou as moontlik by die kakhuis kom.

Beautiful Pictures of Churches

In herinnering aan my oom, Fanie, wat hierdie stukkie geskryf het so 40 jaar gelede.

A loose translation, unfortunately not rhyming as the Afrikaans version does:
Sannie I hope that’s the end of the church
I can not sit anymore, my stomach wants to work!
The minister talks long, the sun sets low
The terrible cramps are jumping around in my stomach
First, I’m hot, then I get cold
Never in my life have I been so nervous!
“Pastor, Reverend get that talk finished”
My back is crooked, and the barley is cooked.
Popping and cracking, and my intestines groans
Then I leave a fart that makes the gallery roar!
The people look around and I blush crimson
The shyest of all was Sannie, my girl.

The pastor paused, his eyes overturned
The woman behind me’s hat sits askew on her head
Hot on the heels of the stereo sound
Follow the church’s response to the terrible stench.
Some giggle, others puff
Others waving their handkerchiefs frantically.
My eyes water,  my head down
Then came the fear: I’ll shit in my pants!
Sure really, just the next time,
this is exactly what had happened to me.

I thought it was a fart, because the pressure is fierce
Too late I realized it makes a noise!
Short on the rumble like a thunderstorm
I realise the poo formed a clot!
The minister stopped and glared at me
An Elder began furiously making his way to me
I jumped up with a view to run away
But is pulled back by the 10 pound turd!
The elder comes closer and his arms are wide
I get a fright so great that I shit another turd!
My pants were wet and the pipes stood wide
So I last shat when I was a babe!
The elder grabs me, I can not move
Then out of spite I empty my stomach.
Now he is furious, like a beast so strong
He “free-wheels” my head between his legs out of the church.
My poor Sannie engulfed in the disgusting smell.
The cheek that the man had to stick my head between his legs! –
Slow recovery from my befuddled senses

The thing that has always amazed me
is how did I get home?
Needless to say, after all the noise
I lost my dear Sannie’s love.

One lesson I learned of the church:
If my stomach was not right, sit at the door
And if your gut turns and your ass flowers
Try as soon as possible to get to the shithouse.

In memory of my uncle, Fanie who wrote this 40 years ago.

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About suletta

Fell in love again at age 50! And followed my man to Zanzibar, for him to set up a dairy farm. I managed to travel into Africa a few times in my life, always loving it and experience the "fever" that grips you on African soil - the one that especially the Europeans now and in years gone by, suffer from. Except I am an African by birth - a South African. A Mzungu.So I discovered at this late stage in my life (not that I feel old!) that some people find my babblings about life interesting, and I quote: "live their lives vicariously through me".
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