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De Tsjechische schrijver Jáchym Topol werd geboren op 4 augustus 1962 in Praag. Zie ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2009 en ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2009.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Uit: Nightwork Vertaald door Stacey Knecht)
They were always following her around, taking away her bottles. She started drinking in the afternoon, and by evening she had forgotten all her hiding places. She would take a bottle out of the linen cupboard, drink, put the bottle back, burying it under a pile of clothes, and walk on, trailing cigarette ash, leaving lit cigarettes on the table, on the linen cupboard. Sometimes she'd open the window and toss them into the street. Then she'd shut the window again, carefully. The furniture was studded with scorch marks, blackened whorls, there were even small, rust-colored stains on the carpet where she had dropped her cigarette butts. They followed her around, she bumped into tables and chairs, bruised her legs, elbows, ribs, she was black and blue all over. They followed her from room to room, now and again she stopped in the kitchen, she had bottles behind the stove and behind the sink, those were the hiding places they knew best. She kept one bottle in the hall behind the shoe cupboard, another one behind the mirror.
And then the mini bottles. In the bathroom there were so many cabinets with so many shelves, so many bundles of dirty laundry, piles of dirty towels and sheets, Papa's shirts, old rags, and their tracksuits and T-shirts, they could be hidden anywhere.
Ondra would find the little bottles by accident. Pinkie loved them. Especially the round metal caps. When they came home from school, Pinkie flung his bag into a corner and rushed into the bathroom to hunt for them. But he hardly ever found any on his own. He nagged and whined until Ondra helped him look. He had a whole collection of metal caps. He traded them at school for chewing gum wrappers.
Jáchym Topol (Praag, 4 augustus 1962)
De Amerikaans-Canadese dichteres Allison Hedge Coke werd geboren op 4 augustus 1958 in Texas. Zie ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2009.
#4 Southwest Chief/LA Central
FOR DERYA AND HEID
The sheen of incandescent lamppost light travels this rail,
up ahead the Conductor
reminds us, if theres anything
we can do to make your trip worthless just let us know
and no one cracks a smile.
This Amtrak car glides between
concrete pillars wrapped with steel for quake protection.
Projects plastered in graffiti by day now sink into 9: 00 p.m. comfortable-
this time of night youd think they were condos
if you rode this rail for the first time.
What I see is concertina riding chain link fence tops-
as if there is an escape attempt due any moment.
Then, somehow, I see myself in the window. Not a reflection
but an actual replica looking back at me and at the glare,
over further than a bounce of light could flash, where
planes coming in to land look like falling stars,
and Im taking my mother to the asylum in my memory.
I can still hear her saying, bad, bad girl and look
at the pretty stars and Christmas lights sometime late July.
L.A. River on my left, tonight theres water more than trickle down.
Along the concrete banks where someone wrote out: RECKLESS
a concrete mixer is parked right by the river and rail,
and one single truck has its lights on bright.
By morning, jump-starts will cardiac it back to life.
My gut aches. The whole worlds in a window at Fullerton and
through arches, past electric globes, it spins
high over a Pepsi machine on the floor far below.
Bad, bad girl. Look at the pretty stars and Christmas lights.
Allison Hedge Coke (Texas, 4 augustus 1958)
De Noorse schrijver Knut Hamsun (eig. Knut Pedersen) werd geboren in Lom, Fylke Oppland op 4 augustus 1859. Zie ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2007 en ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2009.
Uit: Hunger (Vertaald door Robert Bly)
"I had fallen asleep where I lay and was awakened by the policeman. There I was, mercilessly called back to life and my misery. My first feeling was a stupid amazement at finding myself out in the open, but this was soon replaced by a bitter despondency; I was on the verge of crying with grief at still being alive. It had rained while I slept, my clothes were soaking wet, and I felt a raw chill in my limbs. The darkness had become even thicker, I could barely make out the officers features in front of me.
Stand up now, will you! he said.
I got up immediately; if he had ordered me to lie down again, I would also have obeyed. I was very depressed and quite weak, and besides I started almost instantly to feel the pangs of hunger again.
Wait a minute, you dummy! the officer called after me. Youre walking off without your hat. There, now go on!
It seemed to me too there was something I had forgotten, I stammered absent-mindedly. Thanks. Good night.
And I shambled off.
If only one had a piece of bread! One of those delicious little loaves of rye bread that you could munch on as you walked the streets. And I kept picturing to myself just the sort of rye bread it would have been good to have. I was bitterly hungry, wished myself dead and gone, grew sentimental and cried. There would never be an end to my misery! Then I stopped suddenly in the street, stamped my feet on the cobblestones and swore aloud. What was it he had called me? Dummy? Id show that policeman what it meant to call me a dummy! With that I turned around and rushed back. I felt flaming hot with anger. Some way down the street I stumbled and fell, but I took no notice, jumped up again and ran on. On reaching Jærnbanetorvet Square, however, I was so tired that I didnt feel up to going all the way to the pier; besides, my anger had cooled off during the run. Finally I stopped to catch my breath. Who cared a hoot what such a policeman had said? - Sure, but I wasnt going to swallow everything! True enough! I interrupted myself, but he didnt know any better. I found this excuse to be satisfactory; I repeated to myself that he didnt know any better. And so I turned around once more.
Knut Hamsun (4 augustus 1859 19 februari 1952)
De Engelse dichter Percy Bysshe Shelley werd op 4 augustus 1792 geboren in Field Place, Sussex. Zie ook mijn blog van 21 april 2006 en mijn blog van 4 augustus 2006 en ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2007 en ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 4 augustus 2009.
Night
Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,--
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,--
Swift be thy flight!
Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,
Star-inwrought!
Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day;
Kiss her until she be wearied out.
Then wander o'er city and sea and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand--
Come, long sought!
When I arose and saw the dawn
I sigh'd for thee;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn'd to her rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sigh'd for thee.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
'Wouldst thou me?'
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noontide bee,
'Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me?'--and I replied,
'No, not thee!'
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon--
Sleep will come when thou art fled.
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, belovèd Night--
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon!
Percy Bysshe Shelley (4 augustus 1792 8 juli 1822)
Het graf van Shelley op de Cimitero Acattolico in Rome
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