Beautiful in Beaufort West

It is roughly impossible to translate poetry and retain all the qualities and nuances that make it special. Language is too closely aligned with cultural references and the feelings they evoke to permit aspirations of anything more than a best effort. To capture some of the original sense is already an achievement, and yet I feel that my latest attempt has been better than most.

Gert Vlok Nel is well-known in Afrikaans circles for his poetic folk-songs in the compilation "Om Beaufort-Wes se beautiful woorde te verlaat" ("To leave the beautiful words of Beaufort West"). He was already a winner of the prestigious Ingrid Jonker Prize for a debut collection of poetry in 1995 for his earlier work "Om te lewe is onnatuurlik" ("To live is unnatural"), but it was the troubadour songs of "Om Beaufort-wes se beautiful woorde te verlaat" that captured people's imagination.

"Beautiful in Beaufort-Wes" (a song title not to be confused with the title of the compilation) is a key moment in the sequence of songs and very tempting to try and represent. But as with all of Nel's work it poses the additional problem of English mixed into the Afrikaans in a colloquial tone and, something not possible to convey directly. I've stuck with a straightforward translation that maintains the original rhythm, much of the rhyme and hopefully some of the sense of a love lost but not forgotten.

Beautiful in Beaufort West

And you were beautiful in Beaufort West
and I was so awed and awfully in love with you
and you and I kissed on graves and trains
and in the backseats of Ford Fairlanes
and now you and your man are both computer analysts
and last winter you tried to cut both your wrists
and now you write to me:
you can no longer sleep, no longer laugh
no longer do things for yourself
never ever kiss me again

And your pretty words were so pretty and cute
while you smoked those menthol cigarettes
and those sweet sweet things you said to me
while you lay sweat sweat in my arms
and I've forgotten the exact words you spoke
I just remember the smoke and the sweat and Beaufort West
and your naked body under a cool summer cotton dress
no longer sleep, no longer laugh
no longer do things for each other
never kiss each other again

And maybe it's like a story from the Sunday Times
but one evening you suddenly pushed me away
and in the rear view mirror you looked at yourself
and said "maybe I should have a happier face"
that night I could not fall asleep
I felt how my heart ripped loose from my chest
and like a rowboat drifted on down the stream
I could no longer sleep, no longer laugh
no longer do things right
never ever kiss you again

And the last reminiscence about which I sing
is the night you and I rode on the milk train on and on into the night
until the other side of the ding dong gong
when the breakfast waiter passed us by
and that was my wake-up call my love
you said love me please
but I had dreamt we went and lived in Beaufort West
and I could no longer sleep, no longer laugh
no longer do something like that
never ever kiss you again