A poem by Elisabeth Eybers (1915-2007): Brief (Moenie die dood verdink...)

Brief

Moenie die dood verdink, moenie hom vrees:

sy medelye trek ’n vlammekring

om alles wat ooit skoon of teer mog wees

dat geen bederf nog daar kan binnedring.

Maar vrees die lewe met sy donker lis,

sy breeksug en sy onverskilligheid:

jou stil geluk, jou stil vertroue is

vir hom in die verbygaan ’n klein buit

om vir die aardigheid en met een hou

half ingedagte neer te kap om jou

te herinner dat jy klein is en hy groot.

As daar iets is, volkome en onbesmet,

wat kan gered word sal die dood dit red:

daar is geen deernis soos die van die dood.

Letter

Do not suspect death, do not show him fear.

his pity draws a ring of fire round all

that might be delicate or lovely here

and holds decay off as a shielding wall.

Fear life instead with his dark artifice,

indifference and his destructive quest:

your quiet trust, your quiet happiness

for him in passing are as though in jest

at one swift blow to hew down some small prey

half absent-mindedly as if to say

remember you are small and he is great.

If anything, unsullied, undepraved,

is savable, then death will see it saved:

and death’s compassion none can emulate.