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De Franse schrijver Patrick Modiano werd geboren in Boulogne-Billancourt op 30 juli 1945. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2007 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2008 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2009 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2010.xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
Uit: Die Kleine Bijou (Vertaald door Peter Handke)
An dem Abend, da ich in der Metro meine Mutter wiederzuerkennen glaubte, war es schon länger her, daß ich dem begegnet war, der sich entweder Moreau oder Badmaev nannte. Das war in der
Buchhandlung Mattei gewesen, am Boulevard de Clichy. Die hatte am Abend lange offen. Ich suchte einen Kriminalroman. Um Mitternacht waren wir die beiden einzigen Kunden, und er empfahl mir einen Titel der Série Noire. Wir gingen dann miteinander den Boulevard entlang und unterhielten uns. Momentweise betonte er die Worte eigentümlich, was mich auf den Gedanken brachte, er sei
Ausländer. Später erklärte er mir, der Name Badmaev stamme von seinem Vater, den er kaum gekannt habe, einem Russen. Doch seine Mutter sei Französin gewesen. Auf dem Stück Papier, auf das er mir an jenem ersten Tag seine Adresse notiert hatte, stand: Moreau-Badmaev.
Wir redeten über alles und nichts. In jener Nacht erzählte er mir nicht viel von sich, außer daß er in der Nähe der Porte dOrléans wohne, und er sei nur zufällig in die Gegend gekommen. Und das sei ein glücklicher Zufall gewesen, er habe mich getroffen. Er wollte wissen, ob ich noch andere Bücher läse, nicht bloß Kriminalromane. Ich habe ihn begleitet bis zur Metrostation Pigalle. Er hat mich gefragt, ob wir uns wiedersehen könnten. Und mit einem Lächeln hinzugefügt:
Auf diese Weise werden wir versuchen, klarer zu sehen.
Dieser Satz hatte mich sehr beeindruckt. Es war, als errate er meine Gedanken. Ja: ich befand mich in einer Periode meines Lebens, da ich klarer sehen wollte.
Alles erschien mir so verworren, von Anfang an, seit meinen frühesten Kindheitserinnerungen... Manchmal streiften sie mich gegen fünf Uhr früh, in der gefährlichen Stunde, da man nicht mehr
einschlafen kann. So wartete ich, bevor ich hinaus auf die Straße ging; ich wollte sicher sein, daß die ersten Cafés schon offen hätten. Denn ich wußte: mit dem Moment, da ich ins Freie träte,
würden diese Erinnerungen sich verflüchtigen wie die Fetzen eines bösen Traums. Und das zu gleichwelcher Jahreszeit.
Patrick Modiano (Boulogne-Billancourt, 30 juli 1945)
De Amerikaanse schrijfster Cherie Priest werd geboren in Tampa op 30 juli 1975. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2007 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2008 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2009 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2010.
Uit: Bloodshot
You wouldnt believe some of the weird shit people pay me to steal.
Old things, new things. Expensive things, rare things, gross things.
Lately its been naughty things.
Weve all heard stories about people who regret their tattoos. But Id rather spend eternity with Tweety
Bird inked on my ass than knowing theres a hide- thecucumber short film out there with my name on it, and my bank account tells me Im not alone. Ive done three pilfer- the- porno cases in the last eight months, and Ive got another one on deck.
But I think Im going to tell that fourth case to go to hell. Maybe Ill quit doing them altogether. They
make me feel like an ambulance chaser, or one of those private dicks who earns a living by spying on cheating spouses, and thats no fun. Profitable, yes, but theres no dignity in it, and I dont need the money that badly. In fact, I dont need the money at all. Ive been at this gig for nearly a century, and in that time Ive stored up quite a healthy little nest egg.
I suppose this begs the question of why Id even bother with loathsome cases, if all Im going to do is bitch about them. It cant be mere boredom, can it? Mere boredom cannot explain why I willingly
breached the bedroom of a fifty- year- old man with a penchant for stuffed animals in Star Trek uniforms.
But I say all that to simply say this: I was ready for a different kind of case. I would even go so far as to say I was eager for a different kind of case, but if you havent heard the old adage about being careful what you wish for, and youd like a cautionary fable based upon that finger- wagging premise, well then. Keep reading. Have I got a doozy for you.
Cherie Priest (Tampa, 30 juli 1975)
De Mexicaanse dichter, schrijver, vertaler, televisiepresentator en ondernemer Salvador Novo werd geboren op 30 juli 1904 in Mexico City. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2007 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2008 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2009 en ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2010.
Elegy
Those of us who have hands that dont belong to us,
too grotesque for a caress, useless for the workroom or the hoe,
long and flaccid like a flower bereaved of seed
or like a reptile that offers up its venom
because it has nothing else to give.
Those of us who have a guilty or embittered look
from which the unfinished death of the world peers out
and which glows a smile that freezes before the naked statues
because it will never close itself around gold rings
or give itself over like a torch over the horizons of time
on a night whose dawn is but this noon
that flagellates our skins at times ripped out forever.
Those of us who have rolled through the ages like a rock broken off from Genesis
over the grass or among the undergrowth in unbridled rush
to remain unstoppable and never go back to what we were
while men ascend with difficulty
and sprout other hands from their own to bend the direction of the winds
or to weave themselves tenderly.
Those of us who dress bodies with old suits,
for whom theft is enough or the alms of a crumb that is all bread and only Host,
we have arrived at the shores of the centuries that go by our anguished hearts
and we will never see with clean eyes
another day like this one when all the music in the universe
becomes a voice that doesnt listen to anyone among the empty words
and in the dream without water.
Vertaald door Rigoberto González
Salvador Novo (30 juli 1904 13 januari 1974)
Cover biografie door Carlos Monsiváis
De Engelse dichteres en schrijfster Emily Brontë werd geboren in Thornton in Yorkshire op 30 juli 1818. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 juli 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Emily Brontë op dit blog.
Uit: Wuthering Heights
One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, without any introductory lobby or passage: they call it here 'the house' pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily-painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.
The apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to advantage in knee-breeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in his arm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him, is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills, if you go at the right time after dinner.
Emily Brontë (30 juli 1818 - 19 december 1848)
Cover
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 30e juli ook mijn vorige blog van vandaag.
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