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Bij Sint
Maarten
Sint Maarten
verdeelt de mantel door Anthony van Dyck, rond 1618
St. Martin's Day
In damp dark, we
parents and children
line up in groups behind teachers
in the Pausenhof of the Grundschule
to walk in procession to the park
behind the baroque palace. As we
move forward in
unison, we sing songs
to celebrate the
legend of a knight on horseback
who cut his cloak
in half with his sword
to comfort a beggar
on foot. The children
carry tiny flames
through the dark
in lanterns they
have made in school
and hooked to the
end of sticks.
"Laterne, Laterne, Sonne, Mond und
Sterne,"
they sing. In Elizabeth's blue box burns
a candle illuminating a paper angel, an apple,
a moon, and a star cut out in construction
paper she glued together. Before the arched
Orangerie in the park, the children stand
in semicircles to sing. Some play recorders,
some play violins, some tap rhythm
on tambourines. Behind them, facing
us parents, is a big illuminated sheet,
before which
silhouetted children
actors mime the
action of Martin
and his beggar as classmates narrate their
lines. At the end, all sing the round
"Hebet die Laterne / Lift the lanterns,"
repeat the refrain "Licht zu bringen
in dieser Welt / To bring light into this
world," and follow a rider on horseback
into the dark. As they wind along geometric
walkways in the Schlosspark, stringing
beads of light through the dark with their
handmade lanterns, I remember the first question
Elizabeth asked
after we arrived in Erlangen:
"Daddy, do they
celebrate Chanukah here?"
Fifty years after
the Kristallnacht, I see
burning beads of
light along looping walkways
merge into the
menorah held in uplifted hands.
Norbert Krapf
(Jasper, 14 november 1943)
De Duitse dichter en schrijver Hans
Magnus Enzensberger werd geboren op 11 november 1929 in Kaufbeuren. Zie ook
mijn
blog van 11 november 2010 en eveneens alle tags
voor Hans Magnus Enzensberger op dit blog.
Die
Seife
Wie stolz sie war, wie üppig sie anfangs
geduftet hat! Durch wie viele Hände
sie gegangen ist, wie entsagungsvoll
sie gedient hat, und immer von neuem
war da der Dreck. Unbefleckt
ist sie geblieben. Klaglos
hat sie sich selber verzehrt. So ist sie immer kleiner und kleiner
geworden, unmerklich, dünn
beinahe durchsichtig, bis sie eines Morgens
vollkommen verschwunden war.
verteidigung
der wölfe gegen die lämmer
soll der geier vergißmeinnicht fressen?
was verlangt ihr vom schakal,
daß er sich häute; vom wolf? soll
er sich selber ziehen die zähne?
was gefällt euch nicht
an politruks und an päpsten,
was guckt ihr blöd aus der wäsche
auf den verlogenen bildschirm?
wer näht denn dem general
den blutstreif an seine hosen? wer
zerlegt vor dem wucherer den kapaun?
wer hängt sich stolz das blechkreuz
vor den knurrenden nabel? wer
nimmt das trinkgeld, den silberling,
den schweigepfennig? es gibt
viel bestohlene, wenig diebe; wer
applaudiert ihnen denn, wer
lechzt denn nach lüge?
seht in den spiegel: feig,
scheuend die mühsal der wahrheit,
dem lernen abgeneigt, das denken
überantwortend den wölfen,
der nasenring euer teuerster schmuck,
keine täuschung zu dumm, kein trost
zu billig, jede erpressung
ist für euch noch zu milde.
ihr lämmer, schwestern sind,
mit euch verglichen, die krähen:
ihr blendet einer den andern.
brüderlichkeit herrscht
unter den wölfen:
sie gehen in rudeln.
gelobt sei´n die räuber; ihr,
einladend zur vergewaltigung,
werft euch aufs faule bett
des gehorsams, winselnd noch
lügt ihr, zerrissen
wollt ihr werden, ihr
ändert die welt nicht mehr.
Hans Magnus Enzensberger (Kaufbeuren,11 november
1929)
Eind jaren
vijftig
De Roemeense dichter en schrijver Mircea
Dinescu werd geboren op 11 november 1950 in Slobozia. Zie ook mijn
blog van 11 november 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Mircea Dinescu op dit
blog.
Token Ceremony
at the Burial of a Submarine from between the Two Wars
From the day I was born
I've been putting my whimpers
in the service of artists destroyed through starvation.
Had I been preserved in an alcohol cylinder
I could have turned my back on you for evermore,
yet I don't know by what occult means
doubt has been limping right behind me
and here I am today like a fool in a ship
praying, "Lord, give me a ship,"
or like some extraordinary midwife
ready to deliver the porter out of the priest without pain.
The thread of Arianne's stocking in hand,
off I go dressed in a heavy army coat
watching the world through my top boots
as if they were two periscopes turned the other way round.
Mircea Dinescu (Slobozia, 11 november 1950)
De Mexicaanse dichter en schrijver Carlos Fuentes
Macías werd geboren op 11 november 1928 in Panama-Stad. Carlos Fuentes
overleed op de 15e mei van dit jaar. Zie ook mijn
blog van 11 november 2010 en eveneens alle tags
voor Carlos Fuentes op dit blog.
Uit:Destiny and
Desire (Vertaald door Edith Grossman)
This is the organ
of touch that covers my whole body and extends inside it with acts of anal
mischief both modest and permissible if I compare them to the female gender's
major jokes, the incessant entering and leaving of foreign bodies (notoriously
the male's penis and sacredly the body of a child, while from my masculine
wrappings only semen and urine come out in front and in back, just like chez la
femme, shit and in cases of constipation, the deep communion of the
suppository). Now I hum: "The bullock shits, so does the
bird, and the best-looking babe will drop her turd." Broad, generous
entrances and exits in the woman. Narrow, mean ones in the man: the urethra,
the anus, urine, shit. The names are clear and brutal, the nicknames obscure
and laughable: Bellini's duct, Henle's loop, Bowman's capsule, Malpighi's
glomerulus. Dangers: anuria and uremia. No urine. Urine in the blood. I avoided
them. In the end, everything in life is avoidable except death.
I used to sweat. In life my entire body would sweat except for my eyelids and
the edge of my lips. My sweat was clean, salty, with no bad odor, though
sweating and urinating were human products distinguishable by the different
quality of their smell. I never needed deodorants. I had noble, clean
armpits. My urine did smell bad, of abandoned hovels and lightless caves. My
shit varied according to circumstances, depending especially on diet. Mexican
food brings us dangerously close to diarrhea, North American to stomach cramps,
British to constipation. Only Mediterranean cuisine assures us of a healthy
balance between what comes in...
Carlos Fuentes (11 november 1928 15 mei 2012)
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 11e
november ook mijn blog van 11 november 2012.
11-11-2013 om 18:09
geschreven door Romenu 
Tags:Norbert Krapf, Sint Maarten, Hans Magnus Enzensberger, Mircea Dinescu, Carlos Fuentes, Romenu
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