A Collection of Dreams
Drome Vertaler
Soos die wind
wat vir my fluister
en bo
oor my sweef
wat is dit om te droom?
jagter van die nag
sprokiesverhaal,
jaag my
om en om
verby
terwyl die wind stories vertel
terwyl die wind in die verte huil
en ek kyk en kyk
oor die plat vlaktes
jagter van die nag
hoor my
hoor my droom van
môreoggend se koue son teen my vel
krokodilvel
‘n droom van vandag
gevang
‘n droom van ‘n plek in die verte
om te droom,
om ’n droom te kou
hoe kou ek dan my tande om dit vas te hou?
drome vanger,
jagter van die nag, wat is dit om te droom?
en kry ek môre 'n nuwe een?
’n brandende droom
van drome wat brand
Olivia Botha, 2024
Translator of Dreams
Like the wind
that whispers to me
and drift
over me
what is it to dream?
hunter of the night,
fairy tale,
chase me
around and around
past me by
while the wind stories tell
while the wind in the distance cry
and I look and look
over the flat plains
hunter of the night,
hear me
hear my dream of
tomorrow morning's cold sun against my skin
crocodile skin
a dream of today
caught
a dream of a place in the distance
to dream
to chew a dream
how do I then chew my teeth to hold onto it?
catcher of dreams,
hunter of the night, what is it to dream?
and do I get a new one tomorrow?
a burning dream
of dreams that burn
Olivia Botha, 2024
A Collection of Dreams
Afternoon Skies
Dreaming Beside You
Flowering Moon
My Autumn Dream
The Whisper of a Thought
Since the beginning of time, when reality has seemed to be torn apart by conflicts and
contradictions, people have fled into dreams. Is that why dreams are just a relic? Or are
they our only opportunity to make unbiased contact with our past? In the state of sleep,
our so-called rationality is switched off and simply lets us feel. This allows us to pick up on
things that lie hidden deep within us.
In "A Collection of Dreams" Botha has tried to grasp her dreams. The abstract forms and
the choice of colors serve like a prism to refract our perception of shape in reality . The
materiality of objects, memories and everyday scenes dissolves and becomes a feeling. A
selection or collection, is always an attempt to capture the essence of something. Perhaps
it is foolish. But for Botha - who constantly dreams of a distant place that was once her
home - it is an attempt to build a bridge and to know at some point whether she will hold
on to the dream or let it go.
Text by Aart Steinmann