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Die woedende brood

Ons het die ander dag ’n poësie-aand by ons huis gehou. ’n Groot aantal gaste was van oorsee, so Afrikaans was nie beskore nie. Ek en Elma het dus drie van Sheila Cussons se gedigte vertaal.

Hoekom Cussons? Want sy is een van die min mistici in Afrikaans. Die gaste was almal mense met ’n liberale teologie – wat hard werk om te kerk te red van die fundamentaliste. Elma was doodseker hulle sou hou van Cussons se teologie.

En hulle het.

Een van die gaste, David Cooper, sê hy sal nooit weer die nagmaal kan bedien sonder om aan die woede van die brood te dink nie.

The furious bread Sheila Cussons Those who eat bread, not metaphorical bread, but bread with oil and salt, are never so whole as then, so complete, as the fingers that hold the chunk of bread, the skilled, noble fingers of the hand that wipes the sweat from the brow – Jesus and his twelve eat bread, bread with oil and salt; Jesus with just such a mouth, such hands, begotten from Mary and all that distinguishes Him from them, is in his Heart and his Heart in the Father, the Glow in which all began, the grain of wheat, the earth, the bread, the hunger once glorious, maimed to famine, and the Fury and the abundant Blood.
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