De Ierse dichter, musicus en komiek Spike Milligan werd geboren op 16 april 1918 in Ahmednagar in Indië. Zie ook mijn blog van 16 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 16 april 2008.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Bump
Things that go 'bump' in the night
Should not really give one a fright.
It's the hole in each ear
That lets in the fear,
That, and the absence of light!
Jumbo Jet
I saw a little elephant standing in my garden,
I said 'You don't belong in here', he said 'I beg you pardon?',
I said 'This place is England, what are you doing here?',
He said 'Ah, then I must be lost' and then 'Oh dear, oh dear'.
'I should be back in Africa, on Saranghetti's Plain',
'Pray, where is the nearest station where I can catch a train?'.
He caught the bus to Finchley and then to Mincing lane,
And over the Embankment, where he got lost, again.
The police they put him in a cell, but it was far too small,
So they tied him to a lampost and he slept against the wall.
But as the policemen lay sleeping by the twinkling light of dawn,
The lampost and the wall were there, but the elephant was gone!
So if you see an elephant, in a Jumbo Jet,
You can be sure that Africa's the place he's trying to get!
Spike Milligan (16 april 1918 27 februari 2002)
De Ierse (toneel)schrijver en dichter John Millington Synge werd geboren op 16 april 1871 in Rathfarnham. Zie ook mijn blog van 16 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 16 april 2008.
Queens
EVEN dog-days we let pass
Naming Queens in Glenmacnass,
All the rare and royal names
Wormy sheepskin yet retains,
Etain, Helen, Maeve, and Fand,
Golden Deirdre's tender hand,
Bert, the big-foot, sung by Villon,
Cassandra, Ronsard found in Lyon.
Queens of Sheba, Meath and Connaught,
Coifed with crown, or gaudy bonnet,
Queens whose finger once did stir men,
Queens were eaten of fleas and vermin,
Queens men drew like Monna Lisa,
Or slew with drugs in Rome and Pisa,
We named Lucrezia Crivelli,
And Titian's lady with amber belly,
Queens acquainted in learned sin,
Jane of Jewry's slender shin:
Queens who cut the bogs of Glanna,
Judith of Scripture, and Gloriana,
Queens who wasted the East by proxy,
Or drove the ass-cart, a tinker's doxy,
Yet these are rotten--I ask their pardon--
And we've the sun on rock and garden,
These are rotten, so you're the Queen
Of all the living, or have been.
John Millington Synge (16 april 1871 24 maart 1909)
De Russische dichter en schrijver Konstantin Vaginov werd geboren op 16 april 1899 in Sint Petersburg. Zie ook mijn blog van 16 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 16 april 2008.
Petersburg
For some time now, Petersburg has been painted for me in a greenish color, which flickers and which blinks, the color terrible, phosphoric. Both on the houses and on the faces, and in the souls shakes the greenish flame, venomous and giggling.
The flame will blink - and not Peter Petrovich before you, but a sticky reptile; flame will shoot up - and you are yourself worse than the reptile; and not people walk along the streets: you will glance under the cap - snake head; you will look carefully at an old lady- a toad sits and moves its stomach.
But young people each with the dream of the special: engineer compulsorily wants Hawaiian music to hear, student - to hang himself in the most effective way, schoolboy - to acquire a child in order to prove his manly power.
You will visit the store - the former General after the counter stands and artificially smiles; you will enter the museum - the guide knows that he is lying, and continues to lie. I do not love the Petersburg, my dream has ended.
Konstantin Vaginov (16 april 1899 26 april 1934)
De Nederlandse dichter en etser Jan Luyken werd geboren in Amsterdam op 16 april 1649. Zie ook mijn blog van 16 april 2007.
Uit: Des menschen begin, midden en einde
Het Kindje Gebooren.
Als 't Bloemetjen, is opgegaan,
Zo naderd zyn verwelking aan.
't Onnozel Schaapje, zonder gal,
Dat zonder zyn begryp gebooren,
Komt kyken, in het Jammerdal,
Weet weinig wat hem staat beschoren.
Brengt hy der 't zieltje Zalig af,
Zo vaard hy met geluk in 't graf.
De Wieg.
Het wiegen is voor 't Kind wel goed,
Maar niet voor die niet slaapen moet.
Die 't Kindje wiegden, tot geryven,
En liet het by het Kindje blyven,
Maar waakten, op zyn Eigen Hert;
Op dat het niet van 's Werelds Minne,
Door 't wiegen van verstrooide zinne,
In zonden slaap gehouden werd.
De Trommel.
Daar is wel veeltyds veel geluid,
Maar meest dat niet met al beduid.
Het Kindje speeld vast op de Trom,
En weet het zelver niet waarom;
Als om te raazen, en te roeren:
Zo raast het groote Algemeen,
En niemant komt 'er op de been,
Om tegen 't quaade kryg te voeren.
Jan Luyken (16 april 1649 5 april 1712)
Illustratie bij De Wieg
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