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De Duitse zanger, dichter en schrijver Wolf Biermann werd geboren op 15 november 1936 in Hamburg. Zie ook mijn blog van 15 november 2006 en ook mijn blog van 15 november 2007 en ook mijn blog van 15 november 2008.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Das 66. Sonett
Müd müd von all dem schrei ich nach dem Schlaf im Tod
Weil ich ja seh: Verdienst geht betteln hier im Staat
Seh Nichtigkeit getrimmt auf Frohsinn in der Not
Und reinster Glaube landet elend im Verrat
Und Ehre ist ein goldnes Wort, das nichts mehr gilt
Und einer Jungfrau Tugend wird verkauft wien Schwein
Und weil Vollkommenheit man einen Krüppel schilt
Und weil die Kraft dahinkriecht auf dem Humpelbein
Gelehrte Narrn bestimmen, was als Weisheit gilt
Und Kunst seh ich geknebelt von der Obrigkeit
Und simple Wahrheit, die man simpel Einfalt schilt
Und Güte, die in Ketten unterm Stiefel schreit
Von all dem müde, wär ich lieber tot, ließ ich
In dieser Welt dabei mein Liebchen nicht im Stich
Wolkenbilder über Hamburg
Die Wolken wildern weiß im Blau
Der Wind schiebt Bilder durch die Himmel
Der Wind malt mir 'ne Monsterschau
ein n a z igrüner Kohlenklau
ein Wolf im Schafgewimmel
Ein Phönix federwölket zart
schon fingert Licht durch die Kulissen
groß bellt ein Gott mir Zickenbart
ein Hundekopf auf blauer Fahrt
hat mir mein Herz zerbissen
Wenn bloß kein Regen runterfällt,
kein kein kernkraftwerkekranker Regen
der Tod fährt lustig um die Welt
im Wolkenschiff am Himmelszelt
und wirft in Hamburg Anker
Und weißt Du was, auf einmal sah
ich oben in den Wolkenfratzen
Dein liebes Bild so schrecklich klar
Dann weinte ich, ich weiß es ja
kein Tod kann mich noch kratzen.
Wolf Biermann (Hamburg, 15 november 1936)
De Duitse schrijver Gerhard Johann Robert (Gerhart) Hauptmann werd geboren in Obersalzbrunn (Neder-Silezië) op 15 november 1862. Zie ook mijn blog van 15 november 2008.
Uit: Before Daybreak (Vor Sonnenaufgang)
MRS. KRAUSE appears, dreadfully overdressed. Lost of shiny silk and expensive jewelry. Both bearing and garb betray callous arrogance, absurd vanity, and the pride born of stupidity.
HOFFMANN. Ah, there you are, Mother! Permit me to introduce my friend, Dr. Loth.
MRS. KRAUSE. (Improvises a grotesque curtsey.) Pleased-t'meetcha. (After a short pause.) Now first, Doctor, I gotta ask ya not to have no hard feelin's toward me, 'n I'm properly sorry, so 'scuse me, will ya? 'Scuse me on account o' the way I acted afore. (The longer she speaks, the faster she speaks.) Y'know, y'unnerstan', we got a whoppin' big bunch o' bums comes bummin' their way in 'n outa these parts. ... Ya wouldn' believe the kind o' trouble we got with them moochers. Bunch o' magpies'll swipe anythin' ain't nailed down. An' it ain't 'zackly 's if we was tight, ya know. A penny one way or t'other don't mean nothin' to us . . . or a Mark neither. Not on yer life! Now, you take Ludwig Krause's ol' lady, she's 's cheap 's they come; wouldn' give ya th' time o' day. Her ol' man dropped dead in a fit o' rage 'cause he lost a lousy two thousan' playin' cards. Well, we ain't that sort, ya know. See that buffet over there? Set me back two hunnert 'n that don't even include the shippin' costs. Baron Klinkow himself ain't got nothin' better.
MRS. SPILLER has also entered, shortly after Mrs. Krause. She is small, somewhat deformed, and decked out in Mrs. Krause's hand-me-downs. While Mrs. Krause speaks, she looks up at her with a kind of admiration. She is about fifty-five. Her breath is accompanied by a quiet little moan when she exhales; it is regularly audible, even when she speaks, as a soft "nnngg."
MRS. SPILLER. (In an obsequious, affectedly melancholic, minor-key tone. Very softly.) His Lordship the Baron has the exact same buffet nnngg .
HELEN. (To Mrs. Krause.) Mother, don't you think we should sit down before we . . .
MRS. KRAUSE. (With a lightning fast turn to Helen, and a scathing look; brusquely and imperiously.) Izzat fittin' 'n proper? (She is just about to sit down when she remembers that grace has not been said. Mechanically she folds her hands without, however, managing to suppress her meanness.)
MRS. SPILLER. (Intoning.) Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest. May thy bounty to us be blessed. A-men. They take their seats noisily. With all the passing and taking of the many dishes, which occupies no mean amount of time, they manage to get over the awkwardness of the previous interchange.
HOFFMANN. (To Loth.) Help yourself, Alfred. How about some oysters?
LOTH. I'll give them a try. First time for me.
MRS. KRAUSE. (Who has just slurped one down noisily and speaks with freshly restuffed mouth.) Ya mean this season?
LOTH. I mean ever. Mrs. Krause and Mrs. Spiller exchange glances.
HOFFMANN. (To Kahl, who is squeezing the juice from a lemon with his teeth.) Haven't seen you for two days, Mr. Kahl. Been busy shooting up the fieldmice?
KAHL. Aw, g-g-go on.
HOFFMANN. (To Loth.) You see, Mr. Kahl is passionately devoted to hunting.
KAHL. F-f-fieldmice is inf-f-famous amph-ph-phibians!
HELEN. (Bursts out laughing.) That's just too absurd. Wild or domestic, tame or game, he can't see anything that moves without shooting it!
KAHL. L-las' night, I g-g-gunned down our ol' s-s-sow.
LOTH. Seems that shooting is your primary occupation.
Gerhard Hauptmann (15 november 1862 - 6 juni 1946)
De Amerikaanse schrijfster Elizabeth Arthur werd geboren op 15 november 1953 in New York. In 1973 stopte zij met haar studie om te gaan doceren aan de National Outdoor Leadership School in Wyoming. Nadat zij in 1974 getrouwd was trokken zij en haar man naar Brits Columbia waar zij tot 1979 bleven. In 1978 studeerde Arthur alsnog af in Engels. In 1982 hertrouwde zij met de schrijver Steve Bauer en verhuisde zij uiteindelijk naar Indiana. Met een beurs kon zij in 1983 (Beyond the mountain) en in 1986 (Bad Guys) haar eerste twee romans schrijven.
Uit: Bring Deeps
That afternoon, we both stayed angry; we could not stop, although we wished to. Language had led us to a place from which we could not wake at will to fly from it. How could this be? I think perhaps because our bodies spoke so well we failed to notice that our mouths spoke different dialects. We failed to notice, then or after, that our words could turn to stones, or were like ropes we had drawn forth and then become entangled in. And though our conversation needed to be untied as much as any dream in Gilgamesh, it never was, and there's no magic which can change the evil consequence. We drove to Kirkwall, checked into the house where Bastian always roomed when he was there, and then, since it was three o'clock by then, had early tea, down in the parlor. We said few words until Sebastian said, I have to get my mail. I have to work today.
And I said, Fine. You do that. I'll take a walk and see this ugly town you've brought me to.
Go see St Magnus, said Sebastian. I've been there one too many times. I've had it up to here, in any case, with Viking savages. They went on the Crusades and slaughtered everyone in sight, then on their way back home, stopped by in Orkney to break in through the roof of the best Stone Age tomb in all of Europe. When that was not enough, they scrawled runes on its walls, claiming they had removed the chambers' 'treasures. Liars. There was no treasure.
I know, I said, as short with him as he had ever been with me. I know a lot that you don't think I know.
I'll see you later, then, he said, and he was gone, and I was left enraged and desolate.
I pulled myself together. I felt a total fool, but put on a down vest, canvas jacket, boots, a woolen hat, before I went out walking, and that was good, because that way I wasn't cut in half by the cold wind that gathered at each corner. Kirkwall wasn't ugly, as I'd said. But neither was it like the rest of what I'd seen of Orkney clear and cold and high and bright and welcoming. It was complex, with taut stone streets, and towered, tiered walls of stone, which seemed to have their windows peering darkly through them. Nor was it true, I noticed, that, as Bastian might imply, I felt the cold here more than other people. The day was August 4th, and from each chimney that I passed, smoke rose, although it was high summer in the Orkneys.
Elizabeth Arthur (New York, 15 november 1953)
Elizabeth Arthur met haar man Steven Bauer
De Duitse dichter en schrijver Heinz Piontek werd geboren op 15 november 1925 Kreuzburg (Opper-Silezië). Bekend werd hij verrassend snel met de dichtbundels Die Furt (1952) en Die Rauchfahne (1953). In 1955 verscheen zijn eerste bundel met proza Vor Augen. In 1967 publiceerde hij de met de Münchner Literaturpreis bekroonde roman Die mittleren Jahre. In 1984 verscheen zijn sterk autobiografische roman Zeit meines Lebens, waarin hij over zijn kinderjaren en zijn jeugd in Opper-Silezië vertelde, twee jaar later gevolgd door Stunde der Überlebenden. Piontek maakte zich ook verdienstelijk als schrijver van hoorspelen, bloemlezer, vertaler (John Keats) en uitgever. Piontek moest in 1943 zo van de schoolbanken het leger in. In 1945 werd hij Amerikaans krijgsgevangene in Beieren. Hij werd vrijgelaten, maakte het gymnasium af en studeerde germanistiek. Vanaf 1948 was hij zelfstandig schrijver.
Die Furt
Schlinggewächs legt sich um Wade und Knie,
Dort ist die seichteste Stelle.
Wolken im Wasser, wie nahe sind sie!
Zögernder lispelt die Welle.
Waten und spähen - die Strömung bespült
Höher hinauf mir den Schenkel.
Nie hab ich so meinen Herzschlag gefühlt.
Sirrendes Mückengeplänkel.
Kaulquappenrudel zerstieben erschreckt,
Grundgeröll unter den Zehen.
Wie hier die Luft nach Verwesendem schmeckt!
Flutlichter kommen und gehen.
Endlose Furt, durch die Fährnis gelegt -
Werd ich das Ufer gewinnen?
Strauchelnd und zaudernd, vom Springfisch erregt
Such ich der Angst zu entrinnen.
Fischerhütte
Harte, wetterfarbne Planken
und die Tür im Sommer offen.
Auf der Eschenschwelle steh ich,
von der Finsternis betroffen.
Netze, eine Bootslaterne,
Wasserstiefel, Angelhaken,
der Südwester hängt am Nagel,
Strohsackkoje ohne Laken.
Hinterm Herd der Kienholzstapel,
warm und dünstig ist die Enge
und im Dunkel die Geschichten
wunderbarer Fänge.
Heinz Piontek (15 november 1925 26 oktober 2003)
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 15e november ook mijn vorige 2 blogs van vandaag.
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