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De Canadese schrijver Yann Martel
werd op 25 juni 1963 geboren in Salamanca. Zie ook alle tags voor Yann Martel
op dit blog.
Uit: Life of Pi
The three-toed sloth lives a peaceful,
vegetarian life in perfect harmony with its environment. "A good-natured
smile is forever on its lips," reported Tirler (1966). I have seen that
smile with my own eyes. I am not one given to projecting human traits and
emotions onto animals, but many a time during that month in Brazil, looking up
at sloths in repose, I felt I was in the presence of upside-down yogis deep in
meditation or hermits deep in prayer, wise beings whose intense imaginative
lives were beyond the reach of my scientific probing.
Sometimes I got my majors mixed up. A number of
my fellow religious-studies students - muddled agnostics who didn't know which
way was up, who were in the thrall of reason, that fool's gold for the bright -
reminded me of the three-toed sloth; and the three-toed sloth, such a beautiful
example of the miracle of life, reminded me of God.
Scene uit de film
Life of Pi uit 2012
I never had problems with my fellow scientists.
Scientists are a friendly, atheistic, hard-working, beer-drinking lot whose
minds are preoccupied with sex, chess and baseball when they are not
preoccupied with science.
I was a very good student, if I may say so
myself. I was tops at St. Michael's College four years in a row. I got every
possible student award from the Department of Zoology. If I got none from the
Department of Religious Studies, it is simply because there are no student
awards in this department (the rewards of religious study are not in mortal
hands, we all know that). I would have received the Governor General's Academic
Medal, the University of Toronto's highest undergraduate award, of which no
small number of illustrious Canadians have been recipients, were it not for a
beef-eating pink boy with a neck like a tree trunk and a temperament of
unbearable good cheer.
Yann Martel
(Salamanca, 25 juni 1963)
De Canadese schrijver Michel
Tremblay werd geboren in Quebec op 25 juni 1942. Zie ook alle tags voor Michel
Tremblay op dit blog.
Uit: Les
belles-surs
« GERMAINE LAUZON Ma sur Pierrette, ça
fait longtemps que jlai reniée ! Après toute cqua nous a faite !
Esttait si fine, quand esttait ptite ! Pis belle ! Quand on dit,
une vraie catin ! Ah ! on la ben aimée, moé pis mes surs ! On
la gâtait sans bon sens ! Mais pour que cest faire
Jcomprends
pas ! Jcomprends pas ! Le pére, àmaison, lappelait sa ptite
pourrite ! Y lamait donc, sa Pierrette ! Quand ya prenait sur ses
genoux, là on sentait quyétait heureux ! Nous autres, on nétait pas jalouses
ROSE OUIMET On se disait : « Cest la
plus jeune. Cest toujours comme ça, cest les plus jeunes qui sont les
préférés
» Quand alla comencé à aller à lécole, on la habillée comme
une princesse ! Jétais déjà mariée, moé, jmen rappelle comme si cétait
hier ! Eh ! quallétait donc belle ! Une vraie Shirley
Temple ! Pis allapprenait donc vite, à lécole ! Ben plus vite que
moé ! moé, jai jamais été ben bonne à lécole
Jétais la grosse comique
dla classe, cétait toute cque jpouvais faire, de toute façon
Mais elle, la
ptite bougresse, a vous-en a-tu décroché, des prix ! Prix de français,
prix darithmétique, prix de religion
Oui, de religion ! Cétait pieux
comme une bonne sur, ctenfant-là.
Cest ben simple, les surs étaient folles delle ! Quand on la
voit, aujourdhui
Mon Dieu, au fond, jai un peu pitié delle. A doit avoir de
besoin daide, des fois
Pis a doit être ben tu-seule !
GABRIELLE JODOIN Quand alla fini ses études
primaires, on ya demandé cqua voulait faire. A voulait faire une maîtresse décole. Est-tait pour commencer ses études
Mais y
fallait qua rencontre son Johnny ! »
Michel Tremblay
(Quebec, 25 juni 1942)
De Engelse schrijver Nicholas
Mosley werd geboren op 25 juni 1923 geboren in Londen. Zie ook alle tags voor Nicholas
Mosley op dit blog.
Uit: Hopeful Monsters
But then there was a third image that my
father gave me, different in kind from the others: which is of gravity being
like the effect of two people sitting side by side on an old sofa so that the
springs sag and they are drawn together in the middle: and there were my father
and I sitting side by side on the sofa in his study.
I would say to my father But is this true?
My father said Mathematically, it seems to be
true.
But is it really?
Ah, what is really!
I would think But together, might not my
father and I get beyond the backs of our heads in our airship?
Sometimes when my father and I had our arms
around one another sitting like this my mother would put her head round the
door of his study and say Are you coming?
My father would say Coming where?
To supper.
Ah yes, supper.
Then my mother would perhaps advance into the
room and say What have you two been doing?
Talking.
It didnt sound like talking to me!
Thinking then.
Do you have to sit like that when you think?
And I would think Oh do let us get through,
yes, into some other dimension!
It was such conversations I had with my father
that seemed relevant to the evening when the group of people round Rosa
Luxemburg had been in our apartment (they being like the people on the vast and
lonely plain) and when the young man and the girl stayed for supper.
Nicholas Mosley
(Londen, 25 juni 1923)
De Oostenrijkse dichteres Ingeborg Bachmann
werd geboren op 25 juni 1926 in Klagenfurt. Zie ook mijn
blog van 25 juni 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Ingeborg
Bachmann op dit blog.
Böhmen
liegt am Meer
Sind hierorts Häuser grün, tret ich noch in ein
Haus.
Sind hier die Brücken heil, geh ich auf gutem Grund.
Ist Liebesmüh in alle Zeit verloren, verlier ich sie hier gern.
Bin ich's nicht, ist es einer, der ist so gut wie
ich.
Grenz hier ein Wort an mich, so laß ich's grenzen.
Liegt Böhmen am Meer, glaub ich den Meeren wieder.
Und glaub ich noch ans Meer, so hoffe ich auf Land.
Bin ich's, so ist's ein jeder, der ist soviel wie
ich.
Ich will nichts mehr für mich. Ich will zugrunde gehn.
Zugrund - das heißt zum Meer, dort find ich Böhmen
wieder.
Zugrund gerichtet, wach ich ruhig auf.
Von Grund auf weiß ich jetzt, und ich bin unverloren.
Kommt her, ihr Böhmen alle, Seefahrer, Hafenhuren
und Schiffe
unverankert. Wollt ihr nicht böhmisch ein, Illyrer, Veroneser,
und Venezianer alle. Spielt die Komödien, die lachen machen.
Und die zum Weinen sind. Und irrt euch hundertmal,
wie ich mich irrte und Proben nie bestand,
dich hab ich sie bestanden, ein um das andre Mal.
Wie Böhmen sie bestand und eines schönen Tags
ans Meer begandigt wurde und jetzt am Wasser liegt.
Ich grenz noch an ein Wort und an ein andres Land,
ich grenz, wie wenig auch, an alles immer mehr,
ein Böhme, ein Vagant, der nichts hat, den nichts
hält,
begabt nur noch, vom Meer, das strittig ist, Land meiner Wahl zu sehen.
Römisches
Nachtbild
Wenn das Schaukelbrett die sieben Hügel
nach oben entführt, gleitet es auch,
von uns beschwert und umschlungen,
ins finstere Wasser,
taucht in den Flußschlamm, bis in unsrem Schoß
die Fische sich sammeln.
Ist die Reihe an uns,
stoßen wir ab.
Es sinken die Hügel,
wir steigen und teilen
jeden Fisch mit der Nacht.
Keiner springt ab.
So gewiß ists, daß nur die Liebe
und einer den andern erhöht.
Ingeborg Bachmann (25 juni 1926 17 oktober 1973)
De Russische dichter en vertaler Arseny Alexandrovich Tarkovsky werd geboren op 25 juni 1907
in Elisavetgrad. Zie ook alle tags voor Arseny Tarkovsky op dit blog.
Ignatyevo Forest
The last leaves' embers in total immolation
Rise into the sky; this whole forest
Seethes with irritation, just as we did
That last year we lived together.
The path you take's reflected in our tear-filled eyes,
As bushes are reflected in the murky flood-lands.
Don't be difficult, don't touch, don't threaten,
Don't offend the forest silence by the Volga.
You can hear the old life breathing:
Clumps of mushrooms growing in damp grass -
Though gnawed to the very core by slugs,
They still inflame the skin.
All our past is like a threat -
Look, I'm coming, watch, I'll kill you!
The sky shivers and holds a maple, like a rose, -
May it burn still stronger - right into your eyes.
Vertaald door Virginia Rounding
Arseny Tarkovsky (25 juni 1907 27 mei 1989)
De Britse schrijver George Orwell
(pseudoniem van Eric Arthur Blair) werd op 25 juni 1903 geboren in Motihari,
India. Zie ook mijn
blog van 25 juni 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor George
Orwell op dit blog.
Uit:
1984
But actually, he thought as he re-adjusted the
Ministry of Plentys figures, it was not even forgery. It was merely the
substitution of one piece of nonsense for another. Most of the material that
you were dealing with had no connexion with anything in the real world, not
even the kind of connexion that is contained in a direct lie. Statistics were
just as much a fantasy in their original version as in their rectified version.
A great deal of the time you were expected to make them up out of your head. For
example, the Ministry of Plentys forecast had estimated the output of boots
for the quarter at 145 million pairs. The actual output was given as sixty-two
millions. Winston, however, in rewriting the forecast, marked the figure down
to fifty-seven millions, so as to allow for the usual claim that the quota had
been overfulfilled. In any case, sixty-two millions was no nearer the truth
than fifty-seven millions, or than 145 millions. Very likely no boots had been
produced at all. Likelier still, nobody knew how many had been produced, much
less cared. All one knew was that every quarter astronomical numbers of boots
were produced on paper, while perhaps half the population of Oceania went
barefoot. And so it was with every class of recorded fact, great or small.
Everything faded away into a shadow-world in which, finally, even the date of
the year had become uncertain.
George Orwell (25
juni 1903 21 januari 1950)
Zie voor nog meer
schrijvers van de 25e juni ook mijn blog van 25 juni 2012 deel 1 en eveneens deel 2 en ook ook mijn blog van 25 juni 2011 deel 2 en eveneens deel 3.
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