De Canadese dichter, schrijver, essayist en filmmaker  Jacques Godbout werd geboren op 27 november 1933 in Montreal, Quebec. Zie ook mijn blog van 27 november 2008.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Uit: Operation Rimbaud  (Vertaald door Patricia Claxton)

“Officially, I work for the Company of Jesus, which iswhy at times some people call me “Father Larochelle,” despitemy mere thirty-five years and my professional celibacy. ButI have a feeling this is not going to last. I’ve pushed thedoor of the fourth dimension rather hard. The Companyis a convenient cover for a certain number of clandestineactivities, the most important of which is, and has long been,exchange-rate speculation: the network is flawless. Also inour ranks we have conscientious missionaries preoccupiedwith heaven and hell. These have heard the call of the truevocation and do not sleep curled up, ears cocked, in big softbeds that once belonged to the Empress Eugénie, whoseinitials adorn the garden and the salmon pink wallpaper.Papa would have loved this place. He had only one bigregret when he died — not to have joined a religious orderin time to take off to Mexico with the coffers. “Just think,Michel,” he often said, tossing back a swig of beer, “of all theland the Sulpicians own, plumb in the middle of Montreal!”He had observed that these Gentlemen of Saint Sulpice werefewer and fewer in number, and more and more senile. Child’s play, a few accounting entries and light would have shoneupon our lives. My father was not a loser, but he never hadany luck. His prostate did him in.Georges Larochelle had three passions — the encyclopediashe sold door-to-door, women, and my future. His first passionfed the second, which justified the third. The encyclopedias werethe reason he found himself without my mother. He offered afree after-sale service that ruined his marriage.“Larochelle,” my mother said to him while scrambling themorning eggs, “I don’t know why you feel obliged to explainthe anatomy plates to all your lady customers.”She was exaggerating. My father did not offer the sameservice to all his customers, but if one of them bought allfourteen volumes of the Larousse Encyclopedia, he did feelan intellectual responsibility, as it were. Maman left. Papa,stuck in the house at night, read me pages out of his bigbooks, and even gave me a magnifying glass so I could get abetter look at the pictures. He worried about my education,signed me up with the good fathers, then found me broodingabout what I was going to be: an engineer, lawyer, doctor,sociologist, dentist, pharmacist, notary ... I was eighteen.“Join the Jesuits, Michel,” he said, “You’ll always get yourbed and board, and if you jump the fence, the Virgin Marywon’t ask for a divorce.”Maman went the distance. Legal proceedings, confronta-tions, witnesses, declaratory judgment, alimony collected byher lawyer, which bled our travelling salesman dry. Papa was finished. He didn’t survive long enough to see me completemy novitiate. In accordance with his last wishes, I scatteredhis ashes in a field of thistles, “Beautiful flowers that canprotect themselves.” I’ve painted them on my coat of arms.”

Jacques Godbout (Montreal, 27 november 1933)

De Amerikaanse dichter en prozaïst James Agee werd geboren in Knoxville, Tennessee.op 27 november 1909. Zie ook mijn blog van 27 november 2006 en ook mijn blog van 27 november 2008.

Lyrics for Lillian Hellman’s Candide

Reason, Magic, Skill and Love,

Frankly, I think poorly of.

Flesh and Figment, Brain and Breath.

All are parodies of Death.

Death alone cant paint it true;

Only Death can say for sure;

Who but Death can sing to you?

Death my dearest, sparse and pure.

Life is but a sorrowing haze

Through which we grope; and our five senses,

Trammeling snares. In all our way

Artists put their subtle fences:

Telling us that Life is All;

Cheating us with hints of glory;

Charming us. We fail, we fall

Stupefied, and buy their story.

Permit Me Voyage, Sonnet XXV

My sovereign souls, God grant my sometime brothers,

I must desert your ways now if I can.

I followed hard but now forsake all others,

And stand in hope to make myself a man.

This mouth that blabbed so loud with foreign song

I’ll shut awhile, or gargle if I sing.

Have patience, let me too, though it be long

Or never, till my throat shall truly ring.

These are confusing times and dazed with fate:

Fear, easy faith, or wrath’s on every voice:

Those toward the truth with brain are blind or hate:

The heart is cloven on a hidden choice:

In which respect I shall follow you.

And, when I fail, know where the fault is due.

James Agee (27 november 1909 - 16 mei 1955)

De Duitstalige, joodse, Oostenrijkse, Russische en Chinese schrijfster Klara Blum werd geboren op 27 november 1904 in Czernowitz in de Bukowina. Zie ook mijn blog van 27 november 2006 en ook mijn blog van 27 november 2008.

Uit: Wie aus Klara Blum Dhsu Bai-Lan wurde

Dshu Bai-lan

Dshu Bai-lan

Dshu Bai-lan

Ich bin stolz, Chinesin zu sein

ich

Klara

Klara Blum

Geboren auf Europas Hintertreppen,

Geneigt zu Pathos und Verstiegenheit,

Bereit, des Denkens schwerste Last zu schleppen,

Und unter dieser Last noch sprungbereit,

Wuchs ich heran als Kind des Pulverfasses,

Vom Zündstoff voll der Liebe und des Hasses.

Die Judengasse ist mein Ahnenschloss,

mein Vaterland ein bunter Völkertroß,

der rastlos wilde Eigensinn mein Erbe.

Die Mutter war ein unscheinbares Wesen,

Umglänzt von jähem Zauber, wenn sie sprach.

Der Vater sann: Profit ! und ächzte: Spesen!

Und rechnete im Traum den Zinsfuß nach.

Nach allseits üblichem Geschäftsgebahren

Beschloss man, Nachtigall und Fuchs zu paaren.

So hat in einer freudelosen Nacht

Die Ehepflicht zustande mich gebracht

Als durchaus legitim gezeugten Bastard.

Klara Blum (27 november 1904 - 4 mei 1971)