De Russische dichter Anton Delvig werd geboren op 17 augustus 1798 in Moskou. Zie ook mijn blog van 17 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 17 augustus 2009.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Romance
Don't say that love will come and go, Your friend suggests that you forget it, He thinks that it's eternal, so His happiness, he says he'll bet it.
Why should my soul suppress the will That flashed and seized me suddenly, Now let me give myself, and humbly, All to your tenderness and thrill.
Why should I suffer? What has love Donated me from up above? Except for wounds and bitter tear, Except for sorrow, pain and fear?
Though love is not a lasting thing I'll never see it kiss the ground, I'll die with it like the sad sound Of an abruptly broken string.
Love
Well, what is love? A rambling dream, The link of charm and admiration! And you, in reverie and aspiration, Now moan in agony, now seem
To doze, absorbed in golden slumbers, And stretch your hand to dreams ahead Forgetting all your drowsy rambles, Unwell, and with a heavy head.
Vertaald door Alec Vagapov
Anton Delvig (17 augustus 1798 26 januari 1831)
De Duitse dichter en schrijver Theodor Däubler werd geboren op 17 augustus 1876 in Triëst. Zie en ook mijn blog van 17 augustus 2009.
Regen
Die Sonne hat nur kurz das nasse Tal umschlungen,
Die Pappeln rauschen wieder, neckisch spielt der Wind
Des Baches Schwermut hat gar lang allein geklungen,
Der Wind ist pfiffiger als ein vergnügtes Kind.
Die Wolken wollen kommen. Alles wurde rauher,
Die blassen Pappeln rascheln wie bei einem Guß.
Die nassen Weiden faßt ein kalter Schauer,
Gewaltig saust die Luft, beinahe wie ein Fluß.
Nun soll der Regen kommen! Und es gieße wieder!
Der Sturm ist kraftbegabtes Lautgebraus,
Der Regen bringt die Rhythmen heller Silberlieder,
Die Pappeln wissen das und schlottern schon voraus.
Dem nassen Tal entwallen kalte Atlashüllen,
Und auch die Nebelhauche tauchen raschelnd auf.
Der Wind beginnt die Flur mit Wispern zu erfüllen,
Die Pappeln biegen sich, das Grau nimmt seinen Lauf.
Theodor Däubler (17 augustus 1876 13 juni 1934)
De Poolse dichter en schrijver Józef Wittlin werd geborern in Podolien op 17 augustus 1896 in het toenmalige Oostenrijk-Hongarije. Zie en ook mijn blog van 17 augustus 2009.
Hymn of Hatred (Fragment)
Oh no! I will not sing of love today, of what is sacred, angelic, and eternal, powerful like God, like the immortal He.--I will not sing a hymn of love. Oh yes! Oh yes! Hatred walks on our streets, snickers, hands on her hips, totters like a drunk, like that ultimate streetwalker and spits in the face of anyone who dares to live. Both you and me. And oh, how her blinkers blaze! She saw the cross on a shrine's golden cupola and a torrent poured down on it from her piercing eyes. And the cross rusted in shame and blackened in offense. Oh, how that once gold cross did turn black. She cast an abusive word into the church, through the wide open doors, and holy icons paled and heads turned in their halos, and the host was covered in mold and spoiled before it was brought before the people congregated in hunger for the miracle of love!... Oh terrible defiled host! Hatred walks on our streets...and when she spies a mother, a mother who carries the fetus of a child in her womb--the fetus has already turned to vermin.--And the vermin chew the maternal womb. Oh, how awfully the vermin chew the mother's womb!... And hatred bewitched an infant in its cradle, touching it's shoulders-- And when the mother presses her child to her breast. And when the mother kisses her infant's little mouth --vile leprosy descends on her maternal visage. Oh, how foully leprosy deformed the mother!
Józef Wittlin (17 augustus 1896 28 februari 1976)
Portret door Stefan Mrożewski
De Ierse dichter en schrijver Oliver St. John Gogarty 17 augustus 1878 in Dublin. Hij werkte ook als arts, piloot. Zie en ook mijn blog van 17 augustus 2009.
Ode of Welcome
The Gallant Irish yeoman Home from the war has come Each victory gained o'er foeman Why should our bards be dumb.
How shall we sing their praises Our glory in their deeds Renowned their worth amazes Empire their prowess needs.
So to Old Ireland's hearts and homes We welcome now our own brave boys In cot and Hall; neath lordly domes Love's heroes share once more our joys.
Love is the Lord of all just now Be he the husband, lover, son, Each dauntless soul recalls the vow By which not fame, but love was won.
United now in fond embrace Salute with joy each well-loved face Yeoman: in women's hearts you hold the place.
Oliver St. John Gogarty (17 augustus 1878 22 september 1957)
Portret door Gerald Leslie Brockhurst
De Zweedse schrijfster Fredrika Bremer werd geboren op 17 augustus 1801 in Tuorla bij Piikkiö. Zie en ook mijn blog van 17 augustus 2009.
Uit: Nina. Old Acquaintances
Are you now all assembled here t"Bellmix. We enter an apartment where soft sofas, handsome mats, clear mirrors, rich window drapery, and so forth, present that picture of comfort, which the great artist of the present ageUtility, pre-eminently strives to establish. With a somewhat over-heated head inclining over a chess hoard, sits on a sofa, the well- preserved President, his Excellency Von G. Before him we see his daughter Edla busily intent upon being check-mated by her father, partly because she has already won one game of him, partly because his Excellency was not in the very best humour. However, the game and the humour of the President now all at once begin to brighten up. "Edla," he observed," the queen is a precious piece ; without her there is no life in the game. You must excuse me now for taking yours to give check .... and check-mate you 1" "Check-mate? Yes, irretrievably!" exclaimed Edla. " That, upon my word, was an excellent move. How foolishly my bishops stand there." His Excellency turned up his nose, snuffed, and chapter{Section 4could not for the world suppress a hearty laugh at the astonished look of his daughter, then he very pleasantly said: " My good child, if you are not too weary with being check-mated, give me a cup of tea." " Directly," said Edla, with gladsome readir.'ess. The President stretched himself out very comfortably on the sofa. At a little distance from these, we behold another group near the window. A very handsome young lady is occupied in painting some fresh flowers, which stand before her in a glass. Another lady, not young, and still less handsome, but with a most elaborate toilette, sits next to her embroidering a shepherdess in tapestry.
Fredrika Bremer (17 augustus 1801 31 december 1865)
Portret door Olaf Johan Södermark
|