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De Amerikaanse schrijver Philip Roth werd geboren op 19 maart 1933 in Newark. Zie ook mijn blog van 19 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 19 maart 2008.
Uit: The Plot Against America
Fear presides over these memories, a perpetual fear. Of course no childhood is without its terrors, yet I wonder if I would have been a less frightened boy if Lindbergh hadn't been president or if I hadn't been the offspring of Jews. When the first shock came in June of 1940--the nomination for the presidency of Charles A. Lindbergh, America's international aviation hero, by the Republican Convention at Philadelphia--my father was thirty-nine, an insurance agent with a grade school education, earning a little under fifty dollars a week, enough for the basic bills to be paid on time but for little more. My mother--who'd wanted to go to teachers' college but couldn't because of the expense, who'd lived at home working as an office secretary after finishing high school, who'd kept us from feeling poor during the worst of the Depression by budgeting the earnings my father turned over to her each Friday as efficiently as she ran the household--was thirty-six. My brother, Sandy, a seventh-grader with a prodigy's talent for drawing, was twelve, and I, a third-grader a term ahead of himself--and an embryonic stamp collector inspired like millions of kids by the country's foremost philatelist, President Roosevelt--was seven.
We lived in the second-floor flat of a small two-and-a-half-family house on a tree-lined street of frame wooden houses with redbrick stoops, each stoop topped with a gable roof and fronted by a tiny yard boxed in with a low-cut hedge. The Weequahic neighborhood had been built on farm lots at the undeveloped southwest edge of Newark just after World War One, some half dozen of the streets named, imperially, for victorious naval commanders in the Spanish-American War and the local movie house called, after FDR's fifth cousin-and the country's twenty-sixth president- the Roosevelt. Our street, Summit Avenue, sat at the crest of the neighborhood hill, an elevation as high as any in a port city that rarely rises a hundred feet above the level of the tidal salt marsh to the city's north and east and the deep bay due east of the airport that bends around the oil tanks of the Bayonne peninsula and merges there with New York Bay to flow past the Statue of Liberty and into the Atlantic.
Philip Roth (Newark, 19 maart 1933)
De Amerikaanse schrijfster Lynne Sharon Schwartz werd geboren op 19 maart 1939 in New York. Zij studeerde aan Barnard College en de New York University en doceerde daarna aan verschillende universiteiten. Zij is bekend geworden door haar romans, maar schrijft ook gedichten, essays, kritieken, memoires. Daarnaast vertaalt zij uit het Italiaans.
Uit: I Wish I Could Say the Same
I never witnessed the primal scene, Freuds keyhole drama in which the child spies the parents in the act. Im not especially curious about how mine disported themselves in bed. But I have lately become curious about what it felt like for her, my mother. Granted, its a subject I dont know much about. Whatever I write is conjecture, intimations from what I saw and heard, or didntwhat was conspicuous by its absence. I have a sense that her deepest satisfaction was in the vanity department, and the connection between vanity and sexual pleasure is even more obscure than are the facts in this case.
My father, who was such a vivid presence for me in his lifetime, has since his death been fading like a Polaroid photo going in the wrong direction, from color and definition back to milky blur. I once thought I knew him through and through, each atom; I had studied him with critical scrutiny, as daughters do. Now Im not sure I knew anything at all except the surface. Now, unless I make a conscious effort to locate the particles of him that lodged in me, hes like someone I used to see around all the time but never knew very wellthe letter carrier or the man who drove the ice-cream truck. Certain people, whether living or dead, need to be physically present in order to be fully apprehended, while others leave traces that more readily adhere. My mother remains as vivid as when I last saw her alive sixteen years ago. I know her better now than I did then.
Lynne Sharon Schwartz (New York, 19 maart 1939)
De Duitse literatuurwetenschapper, schrijver, criticus, jurist en socioloog Hans Mayer werd geboren op 19 maart 1907 in Keulen. Zie ook mijn blog van 19 maart 2008.
Uit: Rede für Christoph Hein
Es gibt noch ein "anderes Thema" für die Dichtung Christoph Heins, und das ist, wie mir scheint, eine ganz ungewöhnliche Sache: ich habe sie bei keinem anderen zeitgenössischen Autor entdecken können. Es ist die Spannung zwischen zwei Arten der Außenseiter, der echten und der falschen. Das Thema der echten Außenseiter ist das Thema schlechthin aller Literatur seit der Antike. Aber was ist mit den Fakern, mit den falschen, den angemaßten Genies, den angemaßten Außenseitern, denen, die auch das Märtyrertum scheinbar anstreben, aber mit Maßen, in jenem Sinne, wie es einer der Autoren der untergegangenen Sozialistischen Einheitspartei einmal geäußert hat, als er sagte, er wisse sehr genau, was das sei, der Sozialistische Realismus, es sei Widerspiegelung der Wirklichkeit, bloß ein bißchen freundlicher. Also gelogen. Und ich glaube, wenn wir diese Welt bei Christoph Hein finden, hat er ein illustres Beispiel als Thema eines Theaterstücks gewählt, Ferdinand Lassalle, bei dem die Elemente des Echten und des nicht ganz Echten unerbittlich - die Szene ein Salon, heißt es bei Christoph Hein - ineinander übergehen. Und dieses Thema kehrt wieder im "Tangospieler". Der ist der Mann des Widerstandes, aber ist er wirklich ein Mann des Widerstandes? Am Schluß hat er doch die Stelle bekommen, die man ihm weggenommen hatte und die er nun jemandem wegnimmt, dem sie auch aus politischen Gründen abgenommen worden ist.
Hans Mayer (19 maart 1907 19 mei 2001)
De Ierse dichter William Allingham werd geboren op 19 maart 1824 in Ballyshannon, Donegal. Zie ook mijn blog van 19 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 19 maart 2008.
A Singer
That which he did not feel, he would not sing;
What most he felt, religion it was to hide
In a dumb darkling grotto, where the spring
Of tremulous tears, arising unespied,
Became a holy well that durst not glide
Into the day with moil or murmuring;
Whereto, as if to some unlawful thing,
He sto]e, musing or praying at its side.
But in the sun he sang with cheerful heart,
Of coloured season and the whirling sphere,
Warm household habitude and human mirth,
The whole faith-blooded mystery of earth;
And I, who had his secret, still could hear
The grotto's whisper low through every part.
William Allingham (19 maart 1824 18 november 1889)
Portret door zijn vrouw Hellen Allingham
De Oekraïense schrijfster en dichteres Lina Kostenko werd op 19 maart 1930 geboren in Rzhyshchiv. Zie ook mijn blog van 19 maart 2007.
Uit: Cultural Aura of a Nation Or A Defect in the Main Mirror
If there is a, what is called, bio-field, "an aura" of a human being, then there must be "an aura" of a whole nation made up of these human beings, though you can't see it with a naked eye.
As far as the notion of "a nation" is concerned, it seems to have, at first glance, quite a clear-cut and easily understandable definition. But there has been so much confusion introduced into this notion recently, that a layman may find himself at a loss. I won't go into the history of this issue but I'll make one obvious statement: if the Ukrainian were not a nation they would have stopped being Ukrainians long time ago. There was some "divine wind" that kept hurling other nations, generation after generation, upon the Ukrainians in the struggle for the possession of a piece of land that God has given Ukrainians to live upon.
And another thing, not connected with terminology. Say, we hear the word "Spain", what associations it brings? Lope de Vega, Calderon, Cervantes, Goya, Prado Museum, Federico de Garcia Lorca, and other names and phenomena along these lines. But wait a minute, what about auto-da-fe, Inquisition, Torquemada, conquistadors, expulsion of Jews from Spain, bloody civil wars. All of it is Spain, too. But why the image of the Spanish nation is not associated for us with all those dreadful things? Why culture dominates? We know the poetry of Juan Jimenez, we know the canvases of El Greco, we know the music of Sarasate. That is what creates the aura of the nation. Also, the one that includes the French composer Bizet who wrote an opera about a Spanish gypsy, based on a story by the French writer Merime. American Hemingway writes a novel called "Fiesta", a movable feast.
Lina Kostenko (Rzhyshchiv, 19 maart 1930)
19-03-2009 om 20:42
geschreven door Romenu 
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