De Amerikaanse dichter en schrijver William Saroyan werd geboren op 31 augustus 1908 in Fresno, Californië. Zie ook mijn blog van 31 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor William Saroyan op dit blog.

Uit: The Human Comedy

“Dear Homer: First of all. everything of mine at home is yours – to give to Ulysses when you no longer want them : my books, my phonogram, my records, my clothes when you’re ready to fit into them, my bycicle, my microscope, my fishing tackle, my collection of rocks from Piedra, and all the other things of mine at home. They’re yours because you are now the man of the Macauley family of Ithaca. The money I made last year at the packing house I have given to Ma of course, to help out. It is not nearly enough, though. I don’t know how you are going to be able to keep our family together and go to high school at the same time, But I believe you will find a way. My army pay goes to Ma, except for a few dollars that I must have, but this money is not enough either. It isn’t easy for me to hope for so much from you, when I myself did not begin to work until I was 19, but somehow I believe that you will be able to do what I didn’t do.

I miss you of course and I think of you all the time. I am OK and even though I have never believed in wars – and know them foolish even when they are necessary – I am proud that I am involved, since so many others are and this is what’s happening. I do not recognize any enemy which is human, for no human being can be my enemy. Whoever he is, he is my friend. My quarrel is not with him, but with that unfortunate part of him which I seek to destroy in myself first.

I do not feel like a hero. I have no talent for such feelings. I hate no one. I do not feel patriotic either, for I have always loved my country, its people, its towns, my home, and my family. I would rather I were not in the Army. I would rather there were no War. I have no idea what is ahead, but whatever it is I am resigned and ready for it.

I’m terribly afraid – I must tell you this – but I believe that when the time comes I shall do what is right for me. I shall obey no command other than the command of my own heart.”

William Saroyan (31 augustus 1908 – 18 mei 1981)

Standbeeld in Jerevan

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Wolfgang Hilbig werd geboren in Meuselwitz op 31 augustus 1941. Zie ook mijn blog van 31 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Wolfgang Hilbich op dit blog.

Uit:  Ich

„Jetzt bewege ich mich wieder um meine kalten Ecken. Ich bin wieder auf dem Weg, doch ich werde darüber nicht berichten. Keine kurzen Bewegungen der unteren Gesichthälfte, diesmal nicht, denn es ist so weit, dass ich sagen müsste, es gehöre u meinem Wesen, auf dem Weg u sein. Das Wesen aber lässt man besser aus dem Spiel: wo ich mitspiele, bleibt jeder nur ein Zuträger von Bällen; und es soll auch von der Art des Spiels nur das unbedingt Dazugehörige ins Feld gebracht werden. Der Weg, straßauf, straßab ... unten entlang, oben entlang: zu meinem Wesen gehört eine Vorliebe für die so genannten kleinen Schritte, ich könnte sagen, ich bin nicht der Mensch, der sich auf Biegen und Brechen durchsetzt. Ich bin nicht eben das, was man als skrupulös diagnostiziert, doch ich wäge die Schritte ab, die ich unternehme, die meisten jedenfalls, aber dazu noch später.

(…)

“Wenn die Lebensmittelhandlungen um achtzehn Uhr geschlossen wurden, starb die Stadt aus; binnen einer halben Stunde fiel Schweigen zwischen die Häuser, die mit einem Mal, alle gleichzeitig, verriegelt und verschlossen erschienen, als sei die Stadt vor dem Eindringen feindlicher Kräfte gewarnt worden; die schweigenden, zusammengescharten Gebäude verharrten wie in Erwartung eines riesenhaften, alles zertrümmernden Schlags.”

Wolfgang Hilbig (31 augustus 1941 - 2 juni 2007)

De Amerikaanse dichter, criticus en tijdschriftredacteur Raymond  P. Hammond werd geboren op 31 augustus 1964 in Roanoke, Virginia. Zie ook mijn blog van 31 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Raymond P. Hammond op dit blog.

SNOWFALL

I love how the snow slightly
salts on shoulders, in hair
of the darkly draped women
whose sole earlier accent
of color was powder blue
pink, red, green, fuchsia scarves, hats
a contrast of dark to light
daguerreotype to color
old, young, ancient to modern
a colorized timelessness
of vision that I can pass
through and get chillingly wet

Raymond P. Hammond (Roanoke, 31 augustus 1964)

Roanoke, Market Street

De Engelse schrijfster Elizabeth von Arnim werd op 31 augustus 1866 geboren in Kirribilli Point in de buurt van Sydney. Zie ook mijn blog van 31 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Elizabeth von Arnim op dit blog.

 Uit:The Solitary Summer

“Everybody, it is true, would not like it, and I had some visitors here a fortnight ago who left after staying about a week and clearly not enjoying themselves. They found it dull, I know, but that of course was their own fault; how can you make a person happy against his will? You can knock a great deal into him in the way of learning and what the schools call extras, but if you try for ever you will not knock any happiness into a being who has not got it in him to be happy. The only result probably would be that you knock your own out of yourself. Obviously happiness must come from within, and not from without; and judging from my past experience and my present sensations, I should say that I have a store just now within me more than sufficient to fill five quiet months.

"I wonder," I remarked after a pause, during which I began to suspect that I too must belong to the serried ranks of the femmes incomprises, "why you think I shall be dull. The garden is always beautiful, and I am nearly always in the mood to enjoy it. Not quite always, I must confess, for when those Schmidts were here" (their name was not Schmidt, but what does that matter?) "I grew almost to hate it. Whenever I went into it there they were, dragging themselves about with faces full of indignant resignation. Do you suppose they saw one of those blue hepaticas overflowing the shrubberies? And when I drove with them into the woods, where the fairies were so busy just then hanging the branches with little green jewels, they talked about Berlin the whole time, and the good savouries their new chef makes."

Elizabethvon Arnim (31 augustus 1866 – 9 februari 1941)

De Franse dichter en schrijver Théophile Gautier werd op 31 augustus 1811 geboren in Tarbes (departement Hautes-Pyrénées. Zie ook mijn blog van 31 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Théophile Gautier op dit blog.

Au bord de la mer

La lune de ses mains distraites
A laissé choir, du haut de l'air,
Son grand éventail à paillettes
Sur le bleu tapis de la mer.

Pour le ravoir elle se penche
Et tend son beau bras argenté ;
Mais l'éventail fuit sa main blanche,
Par le flot qui passe emporté.

Au gouffre amer pour te le rendre,
Lune, j'irais bien me jeter,
Si tu voulais du ciel descendre,
Au ciel si je pouvais monter !

Le poète et la foule

La plaine un jour disait à la montagne oisive :
" Rien ne vient sur ton front des vents toujours battu ! "
Au poète, courbé sur sa lyre pensive,
La foule aussi disait : " Rêveur, à quoi sers-tu ? "

La montagne en courroux répondit à la plaine :
" C'est moi qui fais germer les moissons sur ton sol ;
Du midi dévorant je tempère l'haleine ;
J'arrête dans les cieux les nuages au vol !

Je pétris de mes doigts la neige en avalanches ;
Dans mon creuset je fonds les cristaux des glaciers,
Et je verse, du bout de mes mamelles blanches,
En longs filets d'argent, les fleuves nourriciers.

Le poète, à son tour, répondit à la foule :
" Laissez mon pâle front s'appuyer sur ma main.
N'ai-je pas de mon flanc, d'où mon âme s'écoule,
Fait jaillir une source où boit le genre humain ? "

Théophile Gautier (31 augustus 1811 – 23 oktober 1872)

Portret door  Auguste Clésinger, 1853