Berichten van 25 april 2012 tot 26 april 2012

De Amerikaanse schrijver Bernard Malamud werd op 26 april 1914 in Brooklyn, New York, geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2008 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2010 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2011. 

Uit: The assistant

 

“He found a penciled spot on the worn counter, near the cash register, and wrote a sum under “Drunk Woman.” The total now came to $2.03, which he never hoped to see. But Ida would nag if she noticed a new figure, so he reduced the amount to $1.61. His peace - the little he lived with - was worth forty-two cents.
Immediately I felt I was in safe hands; safer than Morris’s store anyway. He moved to the US for a new life, but “he had hoped for much in America and got little. And because of him Helen and Ida had less. He had defrauded them, he and the bloodsucking store.” Helen is his daughter, and the centre point of the triangle which The Assistant describes (and very much the centre point of the older cover above). Morris spends most of his time out the back of the store, waiting for custom that rarely comes - “Waiting he thought he did poorly. When times were bad time was bad” - and when Helen comes home to the store:
“Me,” she called, as she had done from childhood. It meant that whoever was sitting in the back should sit and not suddenly think he was going to get rich.
The third point is Frank Alpine, a drifter who volunteers to work in Morris’s store to make up for various misdemeanours which it would be inappropriate to reveal.
If he could root out what he had done, smash and destroy it; but it was done, beyond him to undo. It was where he could never lay his hands on it any more - in his stinking mind.
And “he was troubled by the thought of how easy it was for a man to wreck his whole life with a single wrong act.” Well, he has at least one more wrong act in him, but in the meantime Frank manages to turn around Morris’s grocery store, bringing its best turnover since the opening of the rival delicatessen around the corner. Morris suspects Frank’s success is due to goyish customers being more willing to deal with their own kind than with a Jew, though as is often the case in The Assistant, he is misinformed - or underinformed anyway.”

 

 

 

Bernard Malamud (26 april 1914 – 18 maart 1986)

 

 

 

 

De Spaanse dichter Vincente Aleixandre (eig. Vicente Pío Marcelino Cirilo Aleixandre y Merlo) werd geboren op 26 april 1898 in Sevilla. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 april 2008 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2010 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2011. 

 

The Old Man And The Sun

 

      He had lived a long time,

the old man.  In the evenings at sunset he used to rest there on the large,

      solid trunk of a fallen tree.

At the end of the day I’d pass that place and stop and look at him.

He was an old man with his face full of lines and his eyes dim, but not

      sad.

He rested on his log, and at first the sun drew close to him and gently

      nibbled at his feet—

then it seemed to curl up and rest for awhile.

Soon it rose slowly and went flowing over him, flooding him,

pulling him gently toward it, making him whole in its sweet light.

As the old man lived, as he waited, how the sun thinned him out!

How slowly it burned away the last wrinkles, his sad lined skin, the

      record of his misery,

how long it took, stripping and polishing everything!

In the silence the old man went slowly toward nothing, slowly

      surrendering himself,

the way a stone in a tumbling river gets sweetly abraded

and submits to the sound of punding love.

And I saw the powerful sun slowly bite at him with great love, putting

      him to sleep

so as to take him bit by bit, so as to dissolve him with light bit by tiny bit,

the way a mother might bring her child very softly back to her breast.

 

      I used to go there and see him.  But sometimes I could see nothing

      but a face made of air, just the lightest lacework of a person.

All that was left after the loving man, the kind old man had passed over

      into light

and was slowly, slowly pulled off in the last rays of the sun,

like so many other things we cannot see in this world.

 

 

 

Vicente Aleixandre (26 april 1898 – 14 december 1984)

 

 

 

 

  

De Nederlandse dichter Leo Stilma werd geboren op 26 april 1953 in Hilversum. Zie ook mijn blog van 17 mei 2009 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2010 en ook mijn blog van 26 april 2011. 

 

INZICHT 
 
 We reden een uur lang door

het doolhof van de Botlek, langs

kokende ketels, hoge hijskranen

en donkere sissende pijpen. 
 

En ergens, tussen al dat grauwe

grijs zagen we een kleine ronde buis

flonkeren die op ons netvlies bleef

branden en niet verdween. 
 

Opeens schoot het door me heen:

de Botlek is ons zenuwstelsel

en die rode buis de hersenstam

waardoor alles leeft en beweegt 
 

en ik werd bang want even een

piepklein scheurtje en ik ruik

de geur van jodium en het zweet

van de somber kijkende zuster. 
 

Zwijgend reden we naar huis

gevangen in een geheimzinnig web

wetend dat de spin lacht, gaapt

de tijd verteert en ons ook. 
 

  

Leo Stilma (Hilversum, 26 april 1953)

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 26^e april ook mijn blog van 26 april 2011 deel 1 en eveneens deel 2

De Engelse dichter Walter John de la Mare werd geboren op 25 april 1873 in Charlton, Kent. Zie ook alle tags voor Walter John de la Mare op dit blog.

 

 

John Mouldy

 

I spied John Mouldy in his celler,
Deep down twenty steps of stone;
In the dusk he sat a-smiling
Smiling there all alone.

He read no book, he snuffed no candle;
The rats ran in, the rats ran out,
And far and near, the drip of water
Went whisp'ring about.

The dusk was still, with dew a-falling,
I saw the Dog-star bleak and grim,
I saw a slim brown rat of Norway
Creep over him.

I spied John Mouldy in his celler,
Deep down twenty steps of stone;
In the dusk he sat a-smiling
Smiling there all alone.

 

 

 

Brueghel's Winter

 

Jagg'd mountain peaks and skies ice-green
Wall in the wild, cold scene below.
Churches, farms, bare copse, the sea
In freezing quiet of winter show;
Where ink-black shapes on fields in flood
Curling, skating, and sliding go.
To left, a gabled tavern; a blaze;
Peasants; a watching child; and lo,
Muffled, mute--beneath naked trees
In sharp perspective set a-row--
Trudge huntsmen, sinister spears aslant,
Dogs snuffling behind them in the snow;
And arrowlike, lean, athwart the air
Swoops into space a crow.

But flame, nor ice, nor piercing rock,
Nor silence, as of a frozen sea,
Nor that slant inward infinite line
Of signboard, bird, and hill, and tree,
Give more than subtle hint of him
Who squandered here life's mystery.

 

 

 

Walter John de la Mare (25 april 1873 – 22 juni 1956)

 

 

De Engelse dichter, schrijver, criticus en letterkundige James Fenton werd geboren op 25 april 1949 in  Lincoln. Zie ook alle tags voor James Fenton op dit blog.

 

 

A German Requiem (Fragment)

 

It is not what they built. It is what they knocked down.
It is not the houses. It is the spaces in between the houses.
It is not the streets that exist. It is the streets that no longer exist.
It is not your memories which haunt you.
It is not what you have written down.
It is what you have forgotten, what you must forget.
What you must go on forgetting all your life.
And with any luck oblivion should discover a ritual.
You will find out that you are not alone in the enterprise.
Yesterday the very furniture seemed to reproach you.
Today you take your place in the Widow's Shuttle.

*

The bus is waiting at the southern gate
To take you to the city of your ancestors
Which stands on the hill opposite, with gleaming pediments,
As vivid as this charming square, your home.
Are you shy? You should be. It is almost like a wedding,
The way you clasp your flowers and give a little tug at your veil. Oh,
The hideous bridesmaids, it is natural that you should resent them
Just a little, on this first day.
But that will pass, and the cemetery is not far.
Here comes the driver, flicking a toothpick into the gutter,
His tongue still searching between his teeth.
See, he has not noticed you. No one has noticed you.
It will pass, young lady, it will pass.

*

How comforting it is, once or twice a year,
To get together and forget the old times.
As on those special days, ladies and gentlemen,
When the boiled shirts gather at the graveside
And a leering waistcoast approaches the rostrum.
It is like a solemn pact between the survivors.
They mayor has signed it on behalf of the freemasonry.
The priest has sealed it on behalf of all the rest.
Nothing more need be said, and it is better that way-

 

 

 

James Fenton (Lincoln, 25 april 1949)

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Ted Kooser werd geboren op 25 april 1939 in Ames, Iowa. Zie ook alle tags voor Ted Kooser op dit blog.

 

 

Porch Swing in September

 

The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun

that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion

whose flowers have faded, like those of summer,

and a small brown spider has hung out her web

on a line between porch post and chain

so that no one may swing without breaking it.

She is saying it’s time that the swinging were done with,

time that the creaking and pinging and popping

that sang through the ceiling were past,

time now for the soft vibrations of moths,

the wasp tapping each board for an entrance,

the cool dewdrops to brush from her work

every morning, one world at a time.

 

 

 

Dishwater

 

 

 

 

Ted Kooser (Ames, 25 april 1939)

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Ross Franklin Lockridge Jr. werd geboren op 25 april 1914 in Bloomington, Indiana. Zie ook alle tags voor Ross Franklin Lockridge Jr. op dit blog.

 

Uit: Raintree County

 

„The death of fathers is a common theme, but the suicide on Saturday evening, March 6, 1948, of Ross Lockridge, Jr., author of the novel Raintree County, was improbable enough to be the subject of many editorials. At his death his novel was first on the New York Herald Tribune's best-seller list, had won the enormous MGM Novel Award, had been excerpted in Life, and had recently been the Main Selection of Book-of-the-Month Club. He left a wife and four children.

"The death, apparently by suicide, of Ross Lockridge, Jr., author of Raintree County, has stirred a wave of shocked speculation among his countrymen," noted the Washington Evening Star. "What more, they wonder, could a man ask of life than had been granted this 33-year-old writer, whose first book, an unabashed attempt at the great American novel, brought him wealth and fame and recognition.... Curiously enough, one of the book's most notable aspects was its staunch repudiation, through its hero, of materialism, its repeated affirmation of faith in the American dream and the American destiny. How did the author lose the hope and optimism expressed by the hero who was presumably his spokesman? . . . We shall never know, since evidently the only testament he left is his questing, vital, sprawling book. He seems to have gained the whole world and then to have wondered what it profited a man. We can only pity the desolation and confusion of his going."

 

 

 

Ross Franklin Lockridge Jr. (25 april 1914 – 6 maart 1948)

Vader en zoon 

 

 

 

 

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Richard Anders werd geboren op 25 april 1928 in Ortelsburg, tegenwoordig Szczytno, Polen. Zie ook alle tags voor Richard Anders op dit blog.

 

 

Sacre du printemps

für Fred Apke

 

Kurz wie ein Rock ist der Rausch
eine Zunge ohne Gesicht
ein Rätsel das sein Gedächtnis sucht
die Mitternacht zwischen zwei Engeln

 

wo man Rosen jagt
im Hinterkopf
und lange Blicke
geworfen werden

 

Du bist hinuntergesprungen
zwischen die Augen
und dein schwarzer Anzug
folgt dir auf dem Fuß

 

Die Laternen schielen
mit großen Ohren
zu den bewimperten Perlen
die aus der Haut fahren

 

wie ein Schrei der lautlos
über die Lippen kommt
wenn es im Hitzkopf
von Einfällen hagelt

 

die im buttrigen Körper
stecken bleiben
der auf flacher
Pfanne schmilzt

 

Die Spitze einer Flamme
berührt dein Herz
das bis zum zerspringen
in lauter Blutstropfen hämmert

 

So viel du auch kochst
es wird Spitze sein
landläufig jedenfalls
wie die Esser behaupten

 

denen die Zungen
auf den Strich gehen
wie geschürte Mädchen
die es in sich haben

 

Im Frühling wenn Liebe stinkt

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Anders (Ortelsburg, 25 april 1928)



Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 25e april ook mijn vorige blog van vandaag.

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Julius Waldemar Grosse werd geboren op 25 april 1828 in Erfurt  Zie ook alle tags voor Julius Grosse op dit blog.

 

 

Begegnung

Du holde Traumgestalt,
Wie aus verschwundnen Zeiten,
Wie kommt's, daß du so kalt
Mir kannst vorüberschreiten?
Und doch - dein Aug', das klare,
Nachleuchtet gnadenmild,
Als blickte vom Altare
Ein sanft Madonnenbild.

Und kommt ein andrer Tag,
Am selben öden Orte
Zähl' ich der Stunden Schlag
Und harr' an dunkler Pforte,
Und zähl' des Herzens Schläge,
Das dein, du Liebste, denkt,
Ob heut auch auf dem Wege
Dein Auge scheu sich senkt.

Doch flammt ein innres Glühn
Auf Wangen dir, den blassen,
Wer fände Muth, sich kühn
Ein ganzes Herz zu fassen!
Du gehst, und wieder nüchtern
Und öde ist der Ort -
Wer lehrt die Lippen schüchtern
Das erste Liebeswort!

 

 

 

Julius Grosse (25 april 1828 – 9 mei 1902)

 

 

 

 

De Spaanse schrijver Leopoldo Alas  (wereldwijd bekend als ‘Clarín’) werd geboren op 25 april 1852 in Zamora. Zie ook alle tags voor Leopoldo Alas op dit blog.

 

Uit: Socrates' Rooster (El gallo de Sócrates, vertaald door Lydia Davis)

 

„The rooster ran and the philosopher followed within reach. When he was about to grab with his hand the rooster flapped his wings and by way of a flight (or hop) and extreme exertion , brought on by panic, he managed to get on top of the head of a statue representing none other than the goddess Athena.

“Oh irreverent rooster,” the philosopher yelled, making himself a fanatical inquisitor, pardon the anachronism. He quieted down the shouting of his honest conscience, which said: Don’t steal that rooster, with a pseudo-pious sophism and thought: Now you surely deserve death on account of your sacrilege. You’ll be mine. You’ll be sacrificed.

The philosopher got on his tip toes, stretching himself as much as possible, and made short pathetic hops. But to no avail.“

 

 

 

Leopoldo Alas (25 april 1852 – 13 juni 1901)

 

 

 

 

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Sigmund von Birken werd geboren op 25 april 1626 in Wildstein nabij Eger. Zie ook alle tags voor Sigmund von Birken op dit blog.

 

 

Um Weißheit und Verstand, das Gute zu erwählen

 

Nach der Singweise: Auf, auf! mein Hertz, und du mein ganzer Sinn, usw.

 

1.

Auf Erden hier wohnt lauter Unverstand,

Der Himmel ist der Weißheit Vatterland:

Dahin will ich mich jetzt im Geiste schwingen,

Witz und Verstand mit mir zurücke bringen.

 

2.

Zum Sionsberg heb ich die Augen auf

Und mit Gebet mir Raht und Hülfe kauff:

Dort quellen auf die rechten Musenbrunnen,

Aus welchen kommt Witz und Verstand gerunnen.

 

3.

Laß deinen Geist, O Gott, mich feuren an,

Der nur allein mich geistig machen kan:

Ohn dich ist nichts mein Dichten und mein Wachen,

Es kan ohn dich mein Machen wenig machen.

 

4.

Gib ihn mir zu als einen treuen Raht,

Wann meine Wahl wankt zwischen Nutz und Schad,

Daß mein Verstand nit mög deß Guten fehlen,

Und daß der Will das Bäste mög erwählen.

 

 

 

Sigmund von Birken (25 april 1626 – 21 juni 1681)

 

 

 

 

 

De Tsjechische dichter en vertaler Jindřich Hořejší werd geboren op 25 april 1886 in Praag. Zie ook alle tags voor Jindřich Hořejší op dit blog.

 

Uit: Le Brave soldat ChvéÏk (Vertaling door Jindřich Hořejší)

 

„C’est du propre ! M’sieur le patron, prononça la logeuse de M. Chvéïk qui, après avoir été déclaré « complètement idiot » par la commission médicale, avait renoncé au service militaire et vivait maintenant en vendant des chiens bâtards, monstres immondes, pour lesquels il fabriquait des pedigrees de circonstance.

Dans ses loisirs, il soignait aussi ses rhumatismes, et, au moment où la logeuse l’interpella, il était justement en train de se frictionner les genoux au baume d’opodeldoch.

— Quoi donc ? fit-il.

— Eh ! bien, notre Ferdinand… il n’y en a plus !

— De quel Ferdinand parlez-vous, M’ame Muller ? questionna Chvéïk tout en continuant sa friction. J’en connais deux, moi. Il y a d’abord Ferdinand qui est garçon chez le droguiste Proucha et qui lui a bu une fois, par erreur, une bouteille de lotion pour les cheveux. Après, il y a Ferdinand Kokochka, celui qui ramasse les crottes de chiens. Si c’est l’un de ces deux-là, ce n’est pas grand dommage ni pour l’un, ni pour l’autre.“

 

 

Jindřich Hořejší (25 april 1886 – 30 mei 1941)

De Engelse essayist en diplomaat Sir William Temple werd geboren in Londen op 25 april 1628. Zie ook alle tags voor Willam Temple op dit blog.

 

Uit: Observations upon the United Provinces of the Netherlands

 

„In the first constitution of this government, after the revolt from Spain, all the power and rights of Prince William of Orange, as Governor of the Provinces, seem to have been carefully reserved. But those which remained inherent in the Sovereign, were devolved upon the assembly of the States-General, so as in them remained the power of making peace and war, and all foreign alliances, and of raising and coining of monies: in the Prince, the command of all land and sea forces, as Captain-general and Admiral, and thereby the disposition of all military commands, the power of pardoning the penalty of crimes, the chusing of magistrates upon the nomination of the towns; for they presented three to the Prince, who elected one out of that number. Originally the States-General were convoked by the council of State, where the Prince had the greatest influence: nor, since that change, have the States used to resolve any important matter without his advice. Besides all this, as the States-General represented the sovereignty, so did the Prince of Orange the dignity, of this State, by public guards, and the attendance of all military officers; by the application of all foreign ministers, and all pretenders at home; by the splendor of his court and magnificence of his expence; supported not only by the pensions and rights of his several charges and commands, but by a mighty patrimonial revenue in lands and sovereign principalities and lordships, as well in France, Germany, and Burgundy, as in thy several parts of the Seventeen Provinces; so as Prince Henry was used to answer some that would have flattered him into the designs of a more arbitrary power, that he had as much as any wise Prince would desire in that State; since he wanted none indeed, besides that of punishing men, and raising money; whereas he had rather the envy of the first should lie upon the forms of the government, and he knew the other could never be supported, without the consent of the people, to that degree which was necessary for the defence of so small a State against so mighty Princes as their neighbours.“

 

 

William Temple (25 april  1628  –  27 januari 1699)

Portret door Sir Peter Lely