De Argentijnse dichter, essayist en
literatuurwetenschapper Roberto Juarroz werd geboren in Coronel Dorrego op 5 oktober
1925. Zie ook mijn
blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en
eveneens alle tags
voor Roberto Juarroz op dit blog.
vague litanies for
someone who died
leaving all the
A gray cloak over
another cloak of no color.
Even the wind casts
Mockery of the
Nothing left to
but a flat dark sun
or an endless rain.
Or wipe out the
with the wind and
And there is one
drive the desert
until it turns into
and drinks itself.
It it better to
madden the desert
than to live there.
Crack of imminence in the heart
Crack of imminence
in the heart,
while the foot of
dances its blue
in love with its
There is an
that cannot begin
as long as the
dance has not finished
its cultivation of
It is a hymn
the last thread to
tie the fountain
before its flow
carries it away.
There are songs that
there are others
that are silent,
the deepest of all
from the first
Vertaald door W.S. Merwin
Roberto Juarroz (5 oktober 1925 – 31 maart 1995)
De Tsjechische schrijver en politicus Václav Havel werd op 5 oktober 1936 in Praag
geboren. Zie ook mijn
blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Václav Havel op dit
Uit: The Need for Transcendence in the Postmodern
“There are thinkers who claim that, if the
modern age began with the discovery of America, it also ended in America. This
is said to have occurred in the year 1969, when America sent the first men to
the moon. From this historical moment, they say, a new age in the life of
humanity can be dated.
I think there are good reasons for suggesting
that the modern age has ended. Today, many things indicate that we are going
thorough a transitional period, when it seems that something is on the way out
and something else is painfully being born. It is as if something were
crumbling, decaying, and exhausting itself, while something else, still
indistinct, were arising from the rubble.
Periods of history when values undergo a
fundamental shift are certainly not unprecedented. This happened in the
Hellenistic period, when from the ruins of the classical world the Middle Ages
were gradually born. It happened during the Renaissance, which opened the way
to the modern era. The distinguishing features of such transitional periods are
a mixing and blending of cultures and a plurality or parallelism of
intellectual and spiritual worlds. These are periods when all consistent value
systems collapse, when cultures distant in time and space are discovered or
rediscovered. They are periods when there is a tendency to quote, to imitate,
and to amplify, rather than to state with authority or integrate. New meaning
is gradually born from the encounter, or the intersection, of many different
Today, this state of mind or of the human
world is called postmodernism. For me, a symbol of that state is a Bedouin
mounted on a camel and clad in traditional robes under which he is wearing
jeans, with a transistor radio in his hands and an ad for Coca-Cola on the
camel's back. I am not ridiculing this, nor am I shedding an intellectual tear
over the commercial expansion of the West that destroys alien cultures.”
Václav Havel (5 oktober 1936 – 18 december 2011)
Hier met de Dalai
De Zweedse schrijver en journalist Stig Dagerman werd geboren op
5 oktober 1923 in Älvkarleby. Zie ook alle tags voor Stig
Dagerman op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 5
One day a year
One day a year let’s all pretend
that death is tucked up, fast asleep.
That no lives meet a tragic end,
no dreams are shattered on the cheap.
The world’s at peace, there are no wars,
we hug our friend, our former foe.
No beggars die outside locked doors,
all cells are empty on death row.
Nobody’s stabbed, nobody’s shot,
no car runs over someone’s friend.
This can’t be true! – Well, maybe not.
All I’m saying is: let’s pretend.
The Big Match
After the latest round England is top of the
The match gets more melodramatic,
we’re all on the edge of our seats.
Reactions get more problematic
as a team first attacks, then retreats.
The Yankees were leading for ages,
but then England scored a great goal.
The pitch is on fire, chaos rages
and the ref’s disappeared down a hole.
The teams are most entertaining,
but whispers are going the rounds:
the Russians are said to be training
in secret, somewhere out of bounds.
In the streets outside the location
paramedics are standing around
with stretchers and strong medication
as the fans stagger out of the ground.
Vertaald door Laurie Thompson
Dagerman (5 oktober 1923 - 5 november 1954)
Met zijn zoontje René
De Ierse schrijver Flann O’Brien werd geboren op
5 oktober 1911 in Strabane, County Tyrone. Zie ook mijn blog van 5
oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5
oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Flann O’Brien op dit blog.
Uit: Drink and Time in Dublin
“—What do you think happened? What could
happen? I get meself into a quiet corner and I start lowering them good-o. I
don’t know what happened to me, of course. I met a few pals and there is some
business about a greyhound out in Cloghran. It was either being bought or being
sold and I go along in the taxi and where we were and where we weren’t I
couldn’t tell you. I fall asleep on a chair in some house in town and next
thing I wake up perished with the cold and as sick as I ever was in me life.
Next thing I know I’m above in the markets. Taxis everywhere of course, no food
only the plate of soup in the hotel, and be this time the cheque-book is in and
out of the pocket three or four times
a day, standing drinks all round, kicking up a barney in the lavatory
with other drunks, looking for me “rights” when I was refused drink—O, blotto,
there’s no other word for it. I seen some of the cheques since. The writing! A pal carts me home in a
taxi. How long this goes on I don’t know. I’m all right in the middle of the
day but in the mornings I’m nearly too weak to walk and the shakes getting
worse every day. Be this time I’m getting frightened of meself. Lookat here,
mister-me-man, I say to meself, this’ll have to stop. I was afraid the heart
might give out, that was the only thing I was afraid of. Then I meet a pal of
mine that’s a doctor. This is inside the hotel. There’s only one man for you,
he says, and that’s sleep. Will you go home and go to bed if I get you
something that’ll make you sleep? Certainly, I said. I suppose this was about
four or half four. Very well, says he, I’ll write you out a prescription. He
writes one out on hotel notepaper. I send for a porter. Go across with this,
says I, to the nearest chemist shop and get this stuff for me and here’s two bob
for yourself. Of course I’m at the whiskey all the time. Your man comes back
with a box of long-shaped green pills. You’ll want to be careful with that
stuff, the doctor says, that stuff’s very dangerous. If you take one now and
take another when you get home, you’ll get a very good sleep but don’t take any
more till to-morrow night because that stuff’s very dangerous.”
O’Brien (5 oktober 1911 – 1 april 1966)
nog meer schrijvers van de 5e oktober ook mijn vorige
blog van vandaag.
05-10-2013 om 20:32
geschreven door Romenu
Tags:Roberto Juarroz, Václav Havel, Stig Dagerman, Flann O’Brien, Romenu