Elegy by an aboriginal poetess on the disappearance of her people's traditions and customs, a testament of colonial dispossession.
Ou allons nous: Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Where (are) we going by T Wignesan
[Note: "Corroboree" = *An Australian Aboriginal dance ceremony which may take the form of a sacred ritual or an informal gathering. 'Aborigines living in the coastal Kimberley region of Australia's top end sometimes dance a corroboree re-enacting the arrival of dingoes to Australia. (Oxford English Dictionary)]
Ils sont venus dans une petite ville
Une bande à moitié nue soumise silencieuse
Tout ce qui restait de leur tribu.
Ils sont venus à leur vieux territoire bora
Où beaucoup d’hommes blancs maintenant vont et viennent
comme des fourmis.
La pancarte de l’agent immobilier dit: “Il est permis de jeter
des ordures ici.”
Maintenant les ordures couvrent plus que la moitié du cercle
de bora.
“Nous sommes maintenant comme des étrangers, mais la
tribu blanche est en réalité des étrangers.
La terre nous appartient, sommes nous les héritiers des
vieilles coutumes.
Nous sommes la corroboree* et la terre bora.
Nous sommes de vieux rites, les lois de nos aïeux.
Nous sommes des contes des émerveilles du Temps de Rêves,
des légendes racontées de tribus.
Nous sommes le passé, les chasses et les jeux qui nous font rire, les feux allumés autour de nos campements ici et là.
Nous sommes des éclairs sur la Colline Graphemba
Eclatants et effrayants,
Et le Tonnerre venant après lui, ce gars bruyant.
Nous sommes le lever du soleil silencieux
Illuminant pas à pas la lagune enterrée par la nuit.
Nous sommes des ombres-épouvantes revenant
subrepticement aux feux de campement qui
s’éteignent doucement.
Nous sommes la Nature et le Passé, tout ce qui comporte nos
vieilles traditions
Maintenant en train de disparaître ici et là.
Les broussailles sont détruites, ainsi la chasse et la
rire.
L’aigle, lui, est déjà parti, l’émeu et le kangourou ont aussi quitté les lieux.
Le cercle du bora a disparu.
La corroborée a disparue.
Et nous sommes en train de disparaître.
Hi Tom & Ron: Many thanks for the astute responses, though Tom, I think your horses were displaying "high-horse" mentality vis-à-vis the poor Aussie "Yahoo" as in Gulliver's Travels. Got a sides-splitting laugh from that. Ron, you were right on as usual. Nothing escapes you, I'd swear.
Now, the problem of the "unintelligible" French can be resolved if your computers allow you to make automatic translations of my translations. These poems by the aborigines are still not in the public domain. That must take fifty years after the poets demise - which is not the case here. I'll see if I can make the automatic translations back into English, but the result may not tally with the originals. Every good wish.
mister "T"- hope things are going well- not the best with French took it in High school -forgot it faster than Trigonometry- I am a little familiar with the Carroboree and their musical instrument The digiridoo- spell? a 4ft flute horn that they made music with during that celebration. a young Aussie came to Gold camp with one and played it for us. Sort of a weird moaning sound- i reckon he wasn't too good with it- He was practicing out in the horse pasture one evening and the three horses attacked him. guess they didn't appreciate his music. Love to see your post even if i can't make it all out. My Best to you--lefty
Once again, my French is so little, I cannot read what you've written. But the French will know of Oodgeroo's fine work. It is really unfortunate what colonialism did. Trying to destroy all the indigenous people they encountered by incorporating them by education, language and religion into the European way of endless war over territory and pride.
So much was lost of traditional ways, only now being uncovered and brought back.
I met Jerome on a busy city street in Baltimore, Maryland, when he was forty-five years old. On that particular day, I was out and about, enjoying a much-needed day off from work.
I wanted to purchase a sukiyaki sub. I parked my car in an area of
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Now, the problem of the "unintelligible" French can be resolved if your computers allow you to make automatic translations of my translations. These poems by the aborigines are still not in the public domain. That must take fifty years after the poets demise - which is not the case here. I'll see if I can make the automatic translations back into English, but the result may not tally with the originals. Every good wish.
So much was lost of traditional ways, only now being uncovered and brought back.
Ron