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De Engelse schrijfster Virginia Woolf werd geboren op 25 januari 1882 te Londen. Zie ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2008.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Uit: Mrs. Dalloway
MRS. DALLOWAY said she would buy the flowers herself.
For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer's men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning-fresh as if issued to children on a beach.
What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen; looking at the flowers, at the trees with the smoke winding off them and the rooks rising, falling; standing and looking until Peter Walsh said, "Musing among the vegetables?"-was that it?-"I prefer men to cauliflowers"-was that it? He must have said it at breakfast one morning when she had gone out on to the terrace-Peter Walsh. He would be back from India one o£ these days, June or July, she forgot which, for his letters were awfully dull; it was his sayings one remembered; his eyes, his pocket-knife, his smile, his grumpiness and, when millions of things had utterly vanished-how strange it was!-a few sayings like this about cabbages.
She stiffened a little on the kerb, waiting for Durtnall's van to pass. A charming woman, Scrope Purvis thought her (knowing her as one does know people who live next door to one in Westminster); a touch of the bird about her, of the jay, blue-green, light, vivacious, though she was over fifty, and grown very white since her illness. There she perched, never seeing him, waiting to cross, very upright.
Virginia Woolf (25 januari 1882 28 maart 1941)
Portret door Roger Fry
De Engelse schrijver William Somerset Maugham werd geboren in Parijs op 25 januari 1874. Zie ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2008.
Uit: The ant and the grasshopper
I suppose every family has a black sheep. Tom had been a sore trial to his for twenty years. He had begun life decently enough: he went into business, married, and had two children. The Ramsays were perfectly respectable people and there was every reason to suppose that Tom Ramsay would have a useful and honourable career. But one day, without warning, he announced that he didn't like work and that he wasn't suited for marriage. He wanted to enjoy himself. He would listen to no expostulations. He left his wife and his office. He had a little money and he spent two happy years in the various capitals of Europe. Rumours of his doings reached his relations from time to time and they were profoundly shocked. He certainly had a very good time. They shook their heads and asked what would happen when his money was spent. They soon found out: he borrowed. He was charming and unscrupulous. I have never met anyone to whom it was more difficult to refuse a loan. He made a steady income from his friends and he made friends easily. But he always said that the money you spent on necessities was boring; the money that was amusing to spend was the money you spent on luxuries. For this he depended on his brother George. He did not waste his charm on him. George was a serious man and insensible to such enticements. George was respectable. Once or twice he fell to Tom's promises of amendment and gave him considerable sums in order that he might make a fresh start. On these Tom bought a motor-car and some very nice jewellery. But when circumstances forced George to realize that his brother would never settle down and he washed his hands of him, Tom, without a qualm, began to blackmail him. It was not very nice for a respectable lawyer to find his brother shaking cocktails behind the bar of his favourite restaurant or to see him waiting on the box-seat of a taxi outside his club. Tom said that to serve in a bar or to drive a taxi was a perfectly decent occupation, but if George could oblige him with a couple of hundred pounds he didn't mind for the honour of the family giving it up. George paid.
William Somerset Maugham (25 januari 1874 16 december 1965)
De Nederlandse schrijfster Renate Dorrestein werd geboren in Amsterdam op 25 januari 1954. Zie ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2008.
Uit: Mijn zoon heeft een seksleven
Ik was net met mijn zusje aan het bellen op het moment dat het moet zijn gebeurd. Had me onder het praten een glas wijn ingeschonken, de gordijnen dichtgedaan, lampen aangestoken. Bij mij was het kwart over zes, mijn werk zat erop.
Voor Francien niet, bij haar was de dag pas half om. Zij fokt paarden in Saugatuck, Michigan, samen met haar vriendin Nell. Ze wonen in een trailer op de stoeterij, kijken s nachts naar heldere sterren aan een onvervuilde hemel, baden een groot deel van het jaar in ijskoud water en lopen op laarzen die ze kopen bij een oude indiaanse vrouw. Ma zegt altijd: Ik heb heus geen moeite met Franciens persoonlijke leven en Nell is een lieve schoondochter, maar waarom niet een beetje lippenstift. Ik zou zelf niet weten waarom wel, maar ma uiteraard des te meer.
We hadden het over niets bijzonders. Francien vertelde hoe ze s ochtends vroeg in haar pick-up op pad was gegaan om een bestelling prikkeldraad op te halen. Op de terugweg had ze bij een kraam appels gekocht om cider van te maken. Nu zat ze weer thuis, in haar keukentje
van golfplaat. Nell en zij hadden net warme broodjes gegeten. Ook bij haar was het dus een doodgewone dag, een zoals alle andere, alleen besef je pas hoe geweldig het alledaagse is als je rust wordt verstoord.
Renate Dorrestein (Amsterdam, 25 januari 1954)
De Schotse dichter Robert Burns werd geboren op 25 januari 1759 in Alloway, Ayrshire. Zie ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2008.
The Ploughman's Life
As I was a-wand'ring ae morning in spring,
I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing;
And as he was singin', thir words he did say, -
There's nae life like the ploughman's in the month o' sweet May.
The lav'rock in the morning she'll rise frae her nest,
And mount i' the air wi' the dew on her breast,
And wi' the merry ploughman she'll whistle and sing,
And at night she'll return to her nest back again.
I Murder Hate
I murder hate by flood or field,
Tho' glory's name may screen us;
In wars at home I'll spend my blood-
Life-giving wars of Venus.
The deities that I adore
Are social Peace and Plenty;
I'm better pleas'd to make one more,
Than be the death of twenty.
I would not die like Socrates,
For all the fuss of Plato;
Nor would I with Leonidas,
Nor yet would I with Cato:
The zealots of the Church and State
Shall ne'er my mortal foes be;
But let me have bold Zimri's fate,
Within the arms of Cozbi!
Robert Burns (25 januari 1759 21 juli 1796)
Standbeeld in Stanley Park, Vancouver
De Israëlische schrijver David Grossman werd geboren op 25 januari 1954 in Jeruzalem. Zie ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2008.
Uit: Writing in the Dark
Explaining the process of inspiration, for me, is like trying to explain what occurs in a dream. In both cases we must resort to using words to describe an experience that by nature resists definition. In both cases we can rationally analyze the events and consider, for example, the themes and characters that may have influenced the dreamer and the needs that led him to conjure up these particular influences rather than others in his dream. But we will always feel that the essence of the dream, its secret, the unique glimmer of contact between the dreamer and the dream, remains an impenetrable riddle.
I remember what I experienced when I felt I was under the rays of a vast and inspiring literary powerwhen I read Kafkas Metamorphosis, for example, or Yaakov Shabtais Past Continuous, or Thomas Manns Joseph and His Brothers. I have no doubt that some part of me, perhaps my innermost core, seemed to be in the realm of a dream. There was a similar intrinsic logic, and a direct dialogue conducted with the deepest and most veiled contents of my soul, almost without the mediation of consciousness.
When I talk, then, of this or the other author and how he or she touched my life and influenced my writing, I know that it is merely the story I tell myself today, in a waking state, under the spotlights, filtered through the natural sifting process of memory.
David Grossman (Jeruzalem, 25 januari 1954)
De Italiaanse schrijver Alessandro Baricco werd geboren op 25 januari 1958 in Turijn. Zie ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 25 januari 2008.
Uit: City (Vertaald door Ann Goldstein)
Larry! . . . Larry! . . . Larry Gorman is approaching our position . . . he's surrounded by his people . . . the ring is mobbed . . . LARRY! . . . it's not easy for the champion to make his way through . . . there's Mondini, his coach . . . a lightning-fast win tonight, here at the Sony Sports Club, let's recap, just 2 minutes 27 seconds is all . . . LARRY, here, Larry, we're on the air, live on radio . . . Larry . . . we're on the air, so, fast work . . ."
"Is this microphone working?"
"Yes, we're on the air."
"Nice microphone, where'd you buy it?"
"I don't buy them, Larry . . . listen . . . did you think it would be over so quickly or . . ."
"My sister would like that a lot . . . "
"I mean . . . "
"No, seriously. You know, she imitates Marilyn Monroe, she sings and she's the spitting image of Marilyn, the same voice, I swear, only she doesn't have a microphone . . . "
"Listen, Larry . . . "
"Usually she manages with a banana."
"Larry, you want to say something about your opponent?"
"Yes. I want to say something."
"Go ahead."
"I want to say something about my opponent. My opponent is called Larry Gorman. Why do they keep on setting me up with those zeroes wearing gloves and no clothes? They're always under my feet. So eventually I have to knock them down."
Alessandro Baricco (Turijn, 25 januari 1958)
De Surinaamse dichter en journalist Jozef Hubert Maria Slagveer werd geboren in Totness op 25 januari 1940. Slagveer volgde de Sint Antonius-school te Mary's Hope en de Algemene Middelbare School (AMS) te Paramaribo. Vervolgens vertrok Slagveer naar Nederland waar hij journalistiek studeerde aan de Vrije Universiteit te Amsterdam. In 1967 keerde hij naar Suriname terug. Slagveer werkte aanvankelijk op de afdeling voorlichting van het ministerie van onderwijs, maar begon in 1971 samen met Rudi Kross een eigen persbureau, Informa geheten, dat een dagelijks bulletin en een weekblad (Actueel) uitgaf. Hij was voorstander van de onafhankelijkheid van Suriname en wilde samen met Rudi Kross de NPS omvormen tot een socialistische beweging. Slagveer viel in 1975 in ongenade bij de regering-Arron. Na de onafhankelijkheid werd Slagveer spreekbuis van de ontevreden sergeants van het Nationale Leger van Suriname. Nadat zij op 25 februari 1980 een staatsgreep hadden gepleegd, werd hij aangesteld tot hun woordvoerder en propageerde hij hun bewind. Legerleider Bouterse zocht vanaf eind 1980 via Slagveer toenadering tot de leiders van de oude politieke partijen, onder wie Jaggernath Lachmon. Gaandeweg begon Slagveer het regime te bekritiseren. Waarschijnlijk wegens die kritiek werd Slagveer in de nacht van 7 op 8 december 1982 opgepakt. Op 8 december werd hij op 42-jarige leeftijd te Fort Zeelandia vermoord.Slagveer debuteerde in 1959 in de Dichtershoek van het Nederlandse Algemeen Handelsblad. Zijn proza en poëzie in het Sranan en Nederlands is traditioneel vormgebonden en fel nationalistisch-geëngageerd.
Plensregen
plensregen kom
en was ons lichaam
plensregen kom
bevrijd onze geest
laat ons nieuwe kleren dragen
plensregen kom
laat ons werken aan een nieuw Suriname
plensregen kom
laat ons onszelf zijn
plensregen kom
kom plensregen
was het slaafse denken ver van ons weg
was het weg plensregen
kom was Suriname schoon!
Vertaald door Michel Berchem
Jozef Slagveer (25 januari 1940 8 december 1982)
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