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T.S. Law & Uys Krige at TSL's house in Dunfermline, 1952
Krige completed his book The Dream and the Desert here during a two-month visit in that year. |
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THE WYS O THE DESERT THE SODGER Fae the Afrikaans o Uys Krige In siccan a dreech ootlin orrie airt ane wurld an groo but growthieness that skyles in aa its sairie stanes or the groo gangs lirt i the luft sae nane may lippen ont, his leefou lane alang the stoorie pad traiks the lane sodger lad. Abuin is the furst nicht staur, abuin Alanerlie the lane sodger lad his leefou lane. His leefou lane wi a wurld o dool an luve yirdit apairt in the howff o his ain hert that nane save he can prove. His leefou lane dreechlie in the desert dayligaun that sweels aroond him lik the groo scaum o the sperflin stoor as the haevie ammo buits plowter the saund attoore. An - oasis alane in this haill wilderness whaur ilka bink an rowe o the camel pad maun gang, whaur nuintyde murls amang the leafs in the sooch o a saft wuin, whaur aathing cawed tae the hunkers wi heat funds beild tae byde ane airt alanerlie whaur the palms skinkle siller i the muin, an whaur deep, deep, doon aneath the stye black waas, the whyte waal watters hain in; anerlie the yin snode airt whaur leerielicht, guid watter an scran, an the crack o men pleesure the hert - aneath the furst nicht staur liggin awo sae faur. Wi his helmet on his heid, bandolier roond his breist, watter-bottle on his hip, rifle ower his shoother, he traiks amang the stoor: a groo-graithit taet againss the mair groo o the ondeemas luft o the doore orrie erd in sicna groo border whaur the nicht mells a weird wi the bricht as the licht aye maun sperfle amang the groo scadda. Abuin is the furst nicht staur, abuin A groo-graithit taet gainss groo-graithit creatioun. An the sodger traiks on, traiks on aye traiks on alang the stoorie desert pad, and his scadda raxin slawlie an siccarlie, cawed attoore the groo pad ower a binsh o broon lavastane, intil the thorn buss. The sodger’s scadda faas ower the desert. The sodger’s scadda faas ower Stievelik an sterklik an black wi aa dreedour, ower the haill wurld faas the sodger’s black scadda. Abuin is the furst nicht staur, abuin On the December 1940. THE DESERT PAD Fae the Afrikaans o Uys Krige The desert pad’s a gyan lang, lang gaet. A scart o quartz, grush, saund or lavastane, gyan lang’s the desert pad, a gy lang gaet. Pitmirklik, bluidruidgowdlik, or chalkwhytelik, lang enyeuch the desert pad, enyeuch o a gaet. Athorte donga an dook, and howe an knowock, gy lang the desert pad, lang enyeuch o a gaet. Athorte thon droothie hauch o grun whaur the stoorie wuin skails ower itsel; athorte thon sairlik sunscoort sautpan, brynewhytelik, the yae braid myle-lang sautpan, brodflet an scoort as bare’s the wheech o the wuin, athooten tree or buss, or even the yae bit, wae bit blade o gress, athoot even the yae bit stane tae brekk yon yae alaneness, the desert pad’s a gyan lang, lang gaet. Athorte thon deep daurk pit o a langdoverin crater amang the wuinherried gullies o black volcanic mountains, raxin whaur hethotterin fever sotters i the busses, syne heech alang cliff aidges, laich bi the flet o the sea plain, a traik, the desert pad, an awfie gaet. Atween droothtaiglt, withert thornbusses, whaur thon illfaured flechfangit vulture frames itsel i the fork o a tree, whyles glowerin even-on, but syne garrin rax its sapsie hause, gowpin, thae wing fedders flappin braid atween bare branches groowbyte as leprosie thare, an awfie traik, this desert pad o a gaet. Thru birlaboot wuins, heech as steeples staunin, saundeevils thegither lik a lyne o set dancers, a yella upscoorin o stoor garrin thon sun dwyne tae’t, this desert pad’s an awfie traik o a gaet. Thru thon faurboond caller an sauchtlik meerage that promises the yae quaet wattersyde o easement an rest alow the waarslin tree fronds bi thon pown lik a siller flett, the desert pad’s a gyan lang, lang gaet. Ower the hard wy o lymestane, granite or sunpan dy, ower the saft o the poother o airnstane or lava-ase, a sair wy, the desert pad, a sairgaun gaet. Whyles granitepurpour, airnstaneorange whyles, or else clybroon, but the colour o a lion maistlie, a sairgaun wy, the desert pad, a sair gaet. Alow thon fylit, lowerin luft, bealyella, tawnie an tuim as this haill wilderness, faur, furder nor the furdest boond, furder nor yon haarhappit mountain, furder nor the luft itsel can hain, the desert pad’s a sairgaun wy o a gaet. As groo’s an auld whang, the desert pad jooks on. Stacher yon wy — is this the end o the ayebydein stoor? Stotter this wy — is thon the bit clachan furrit thare? But the desert pad’s a gyan lang, lang gaet. The desert pad’s a gyan lang, lang gaet. Man’s dool is gyan lyke the desert pad. Lang enyeuch an gyan lang at that is the dool o fowk, lang enyeuch tae gae’t. In front o El Wak, December 1940 THE END O THE PAD Fae the Afrikaans o Uys Krige Suddentlyke, thare’s an end tae’t, suddentlyke an end tae this desert pad o a gaet. Suddentlyke — as the yae man losst i the wilderness stachers, hauf-faain, yovein, syne doonwechtin, the grun tae prove, the-tyme his endmaist strenth ootwith can dwyne — it’s here the pad itsel can pyne i the boond the ondeemas wyld can hyne. As watter pickles throch the saund, as the whyte scansin o the skliff o snaw-faem can tyne itsel i the straund, as howp itsel can foze awo fas lichtlied laun, as the hinmaist forfochen lowe o the ingyne flauchters i the cawin, sae the desert pad can pyne i the boond the ondeemas wyld can hyne. Suddentlyke, thare’s an end tae’t, suddentlyke an end tae thon desert pad o a gaet; no the yae howff wi onie fire for tae blink sherp an quicksillerlyke tae wink; no even the bittockie o newspaper here sydedykein wi the wuin, noo faur, noo near; no even the sillerglisk o a sweetiepaper pirlin its Capegrozet trademerk in the birlin; naewhaur fanbelt, nor cartridge case attoore, aa langsyne happit alow the saund an stoor; naither the skeleton o three-ton larrie strippit bare fae aixle tae ruif as the wuin can herrie, nor the yae fuitmerk, nor onie mair witness o us in aa the airt o oor braidspreid airmie; no even the scad o a fuitpad on this yird bare an hardpackit bi the camel hoofs back an furrit thare, vaigin i the desert, for the oasis watter sair forfairn — alanerlie this bare laneliness, alane as terror, a wilderness alane, this same laneliness o desolatioun as endless again as the heech braid buch o the heevens, ayebydein, birlin an birnin abuin. The daurkest day maun dwyne i the hinnerend as the ilka last licht ot sperfles awo i the dayligaun. The langest nicht o mirk maun syne be spent as the constellatiouns skail i the blue abyss o the sun. Lang last’s an end lik the end o the desert pad, even as the desert pad ends itsel at that. But tae the plainyie o the wurld, an the keenin o the erd, tae fowklik wae an fowklik weerd, tae the hunger o everilk hert, ilka saul maun aye hae caad for yaeness, britherlie saucht on erd, an blytheheid yit; that ilka mairch in ilka airt man maks tae pairt natiouns, peoples, an men, sall scaum awo as cloods i the birsslin sun can dwyne; an syne, whaur frontiers sit, sall rise thare yae day yit, Luve, lyfie, sterk as onie stell, an eemage stanewrocht bi a mell (nocht dwaiblie, nor nesh nane avas but stoore, steelhertit, stieve an aa) — syne sae! this gy auld-eildit craikin, freen, this dreme o saucht ower man can grein, syne sae (caa this baith dreme an widdreme tae) thare ‘ll be yae end tae’t, yae end tae this kinna pad o a gaet. Dibbandibba, on the Abyssinian Frontier, 2 Februar 1941 FLOOERS IN THE BOLAND Fae the Afrikaans o Uys Krige Thare’s nocht here — juist saund an black lavastane wi vulture burds amang leafless thornbusses and aagaets the desert aawhaur aathegither yellie as the jaundies or lik some auld het bealin byle. And here flet alangsyde the lava pad a lane bit crosse abuin the yirdin o a sodger laddie, juist this yae crosse timmert thegither fae twaa bit brodes o an airmie petrol-kist. The crosse-piece cairriet the name o the sodger, the date o his lane deid, his nummer and his unit. The desert wuin waff-waffit athorte the desert noo and again, wabbit whyles, sair forfochen, baet wi its comein an gaein ower this braid desert. Fykie aroon the lowsse flap ahint oor muckle troop-cairrier, it fankles in a smaa bing o lava-ase athin a toorockin birlaboot, syne liggs at peace. But noo it sterts again, draiglin thru the saund, ootraivelin itsel upon the hauf-peelt bass — that luks lik strips o spirlie scraps o paper — aroon the bluegreen stem o the whyte-thorn, syne soochs in saucht ben the sklits atween the lava-ruckies happit upon the mool. Jan van Niekerk, say the cruikit black letters. Jan van Niekerk, lance-bombardier, whaa cam fae the Jan van Niekerk, sae awfie semple, sae naitural, yit yaisual-nane at that, byordnar in the chyce the Guid Lorde Gode made Jan’s the wale o graves. Whit will gang maun gang i the middis o the desert. A sodger chippt awaa a tuim C to C fag-packet on the pad. The wuin wafft the packet aipen, an ruggit-oot its sillerpaper and yin o its fag-cairds wi’t. The sillerpaper skinkit sillerlik the mair i the skelp o the suinlicht, an the caird, gaein birlin ower and ower, syne fund a beild bi a lavastane, wee pictur uppermaist: fower blue bit gowans that daunce i the wuin, fower blue bit gowans nod meadies abuin. Fae the larrie, a sodger sklims doon sae he’ll can rax a bit. He taks a bit daunner. Then turns back again. Noo he staunds alangsyde the grave the-tyme the twaa daurk scaddas o the crosse, lik lang, nerra crepp ribbans, rax ower the mools for a daurker mort-claith. Again the wuin waff-waffs the fag-caird, an skytes it wi yae suddent skoosh nearhaun the sodger lad, lats it faa, then skaigin it yince mair, caws it against his buit. Slawlie the sodger bous doon, lufts the fag-caird an places it on the grave wi the eemage uppermaist, creddlt atweesh twaa stanes, liggin laevel alow the crosse. He claummers back intil the muckle three-tonner, an slawlie, aa the lang, gear-grunshin convoy at last gets gaun again. In this whyte-skimmerin airt, this boond o sic het-trimmelin gleed, abuin the waanrif mools yon lythelik lane crosse staunds againss the black lava-rigg. Fower blue bit gowans yonder, daunce you athin the wuin! Fower blue bit gowans yonder, nid-nod yer meads abuin! GUITAR (Efter Lorca) Fae the Afrikaans o Uys Krige Noo the fingers begin tae reeshle the strings: five whyte murners thegither sing. Noo the plainyie o the guitar dings. I’ the gloamin oor an the tassies stoond. Thur purple draps glink as they jaup i the roond, an the day’s bluidie daith is the gowp o a wound. The still o the nicht, o ilka leaf an flooer, the still o the furst staur, the strings’ still doverin oor, the hiddlins o stillness ben stillness, and aathegither in pooer. Ower aa, the plainyie o the guitar dings. Nae yuiss avaa tae quaten him. Ye cannae help i the plainyie o him. He greets, aye greets as watters plain again, again til saund or stane, an the rain or the gulls blaw laich’s the wuins plain ower the snaw. He murns wi the waanhowp saft ingyne til aa brings. He greets wi the daith whilk is lerkin in aa things. Nae yuiss tae quaten him! Ye cannae help i the plainyie o him! He greets aboot thae things fey awaa yonder: the dreams, an the sichin, the wae things an fonder unspakken whan yae man forlorn alane, aa alanerlie daunders. He greets aboot thae things fey awaa yonder: saund o the waarm Sooth for gardenias greinin. Mosshags o the gray North an sunflooers ilk eenin. He murns for the flane athoot target, boat wi nae haven, lass wi nae waen, heech-nuin wi nae mornin, the freemit athoot freen, aa prayers, an sabbin, an sichin that sperfle athorte the fower wuins. Guitar, daurk guitar, aa dool i the wurd! Hert throch-thirlit bi five swords...... THE BALLAT O THE WATTERS O THE SEA (Efter Lorca) Fae the Afrikaans o Uys Krige. The sea laich lachs faur ayont: whyte teeth o faem, waan lips o the luft. “Whit gauderan hae ye tae sell, ma gallas bit lassie, wi yer wyld ongauns an yer sherp keekans, yer prood, yer soondan het ying breists?” “Freen, I hae naethin tae sell cep the watters o the sea.” “Whit’s the weerd ye hae ben ye, ma quate mannie, yer heid doon bent an yer een glaumert, sombre wi aa kennt; yer langtholean smyle bittersweet? Whit rowes i yer veins, aye pairt o yer blüde yit?” “There rowes i ma veins aye nocht but saut o the waves aye, o the watters o the sea.” “ But whye, wee mither, is yer sang — hoo sauchtlik or saft — aye a plainyie? An the wairsh saut o yer tears, Whaur dae they come fae, hovean i yer een aa day?” “Freemit-yin, the waves are aye singan. Thur sang is aye sairlang. Thur leid — throch aa tyme syne — is aye dool an deid an waanhowp an wae. Freemit-yin, ma een greet the bryne o the watters o the sea.’’ “Oh hert, an siccan bitterheid wi blytheheid an stert-reid — growean til hate aye an envie a weed — whilk aye maun rax ma mense an gowps agin ma wrangous howps: an ootower yer deeps lik stowps reeman ower, lik tassie or gourd fae whaur did ye lowp? Fae whitna weerd?” “Ower aathing they rowe an the saut rowes slee, mair whyte, aye whiter.... til aa growes bitter wi the watters o the sea.” The sea laich lachs faur ayont whyte teeth o faem, waan lips o the luft. BALLAT Fae the afrikaans o Uys Krige The staurs are thrang whaur baith wuid stan, the muinlicht thairs at Malelaan. — “Ma dear, for aye yer hert and han?” — “For aye, ma dear, till aa sall gan...” Muinlichtit flooers are dichtit waan. Waarm wintlin wuins sooch ower the lan. And aa the staurs waanweirdlik stan i the wattersheen at Malelaan. * * * * Anither year, anither sang, an the reever rowes, aye rowes alang... Noo i the gloamin but juist the tane. — “Syne we were twae an noo ma lane.” “Maun ilka thing aagaets aye gan lik the snawwaan flooers at Malelaan?” Dowf i the boond the peeweeps cass, laichlie the wuins i the rashes blaw: “Ay, aa man maks aye mells wi daith as esperance an blytheheid baith aye struissle wi waanhowp an dool, as rinnin watter meets the pool...” Aye the sooch o the wuin i the rashes, till the reeshlin bydes an the nicht growes still, and aa is sterk an the muinlicht waan alow the staurs that skinklin, gan baenwhyte an cauld ower Malelaan ower Malelaan ower Malelaan... THE SEA-MAW I Fae the Afrikaans o Uys Krige Atween tooer an whyte tooer o the cloodfauld ower kyle an craig, siller an blae, hichtin abuin the sea, siller an blae, skliffin the luft abuin the boond o the swaw, sklimmin an scoorin, the yae sea-maw sklimmin an scoorin its lane. Whit can the sea sooch but the wuin maun lament an the sea-maw maen its lane? The sea soochs, the wuin laments, the sea-maw sabs: atween tooer an whyte tooer o the cloodfauld ower kyle an craig, siller an blae abuin i the cleir licht, siller an blae, yon hert maun maen its lane. THE SEA-MAW II Efter the Afrikaans o Uys Krige Whit skraichin’s yon fae the sea-maw, cawin againss the blue aa thru the luft, againss the whyte lik skymin o the licht ootthru the clood, cawin againss the groo o haar aa ower the ben, fae yon sea-maw, whit is yon skraichin? Whit skraichin’s yon fae the sea-maw? Fae yon sea-maw, whit is yon skraichin ower the groo o the dune, ower snaw-whyte straund lik the faem o the sea? Atweesh the luft an the laund for a soondin-brode, atweesh the ben an the bay for echo-stoond, atweesh whyte clood an whyte clood for notes heecher, atweesh green swaw an green swaw for laicher notes, it skraichs an skraichs an skraichs as the wuin skraichs wi’t, lik the skraich o the sea tae’t the-wy the skraich o the hert intaet is aa alane, apairt, yit measurt lik yon blue hicht o the luft, lik yon daurk daipth o the soondin sea, lik eeriness as groolik as haar aa ower the ben that smoors the skraichin. Dool, ay, dool, dool fae’t, and athooten saucht yon caumer taet i the prood hert lyke a blissin, for aa the skaith up-hichtit lyke a tholein, or sair doon-wechtit, loondert wi the fricht abuin the deemin ginn tyme maks accoontment — abuin the need athin the breid the fautor the-tyme breid’s haill athin itsel in needment, abuin the tyle lik torment tulyies us wi sweit intaet oot ot as in a brulyie an the skaith o the greed intae the bitter chrism aa soored athin the stoond o humanness. Naw, naw, an naw I daarsay! I say neer sall yon dool-wechtin gan the faur awaa until the blissit caa thur lyfe haill freed or athooten trimmelin, athooten dreedour lik murrain puit upon man for langtholance. Naw, naw I daarsay, I say naw! An neer sall yon skraich mell wi saucht avaa! Ay, ben its ainsel lat it caw, as tho ilk scurroch ben its ainsel was scart-scart-scartit sair, tae gar it yelloch for a saucht tae skraich! Neer lat its skraich be ocht but intilt aa, no haill its ainsel intil, for divvident as it is, it is nae sang lik melodie says mair for measure nor the singin soochs, but wi the grace-notes tint, rhythm ahint is. I say naw, naw I daarsay, naw for ocht o some guid-fortune faa yon skraichin on, nor blytheheid, lyke a smyte as peentie-peerie, tae sing a sang anent it for its measure wuid say anent the singin mair nor sooch, nor lyfieness lik ben ingyne gan vaigin, nor in the waarslin wi’t, wi blissins melled, nor staurlicht thon daurk orbit for tae ken, nor stuidie grun for fuit tae staun, no staucher, and aathing aathegither an for aye, for aye, for aye that was and is the ayeways that maun be fae noo on, fae noo on, ay, thru aa tyme fae noo on, ayebydein, ay. EFTERTHOCHT ANENT THE WYS O THE DESERT Efter bringin thegither the wark made aroond yae swaatch o the prose o Charles M. Doughty, prose byordnar an muckle intil itsel as in the airtin attoore the I taen a thocht, the hunner year in makkin, that I haed duin some ither desert verses an puit in Scots a wheen o weiretimm poems Uys Krige made in his ain Afrikaans, thon leid o his that fairlie yit gans traikin ootthru his pages lyke the ilka pad aagaets and oniegaets in Thinkin I micht as weel yaise thaem fornent the Arabian wark, lik contar bookein’s wecht for man alane athorte yon boond ondeemas, an myndin hoo I’d puit some sea-chynge verse againss the I taen anent a puckle o ‘watter’ poems, again Uys Krige’s wark, that micht weel even the weibauk o poetic veesioun made gin I micht yaise them duin the Scots leid intilt, soondin the wy the-tither verse was wechtit. At the hinneren, tho, thare was juist yon smaa bit mair wechtin puitten on the Arabian airt, a kinna contar-kennin cawin the keekin at the veesioun agly, a wee thing skellielyke, sae noo bi giein masel a culliecoad on Afrikaans, I haed tae mak aa peels upon Die Seemeeu (II), garrin it gan fuhll flicht wi the same kinna cawin I gied the desert baestial for thair ain wheeshin upon the desert pages o thur poem. Auchterarder Decemer 1986
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