Berichten van 30 november 2008

De Nederlandse dichter en schrijver Jan G. Elburg werd geboren op 30 november 1919 te Wemeldinge. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 november 2006 en ook mijn blog van 30 november 2007.

 

Uit: Geen Letterheren

 

“Lucebert vond dat hij niet aldoor op de gastvrijheid van Fried en Bert Schierbeek kon teren en trok al vroeg dat jaar - het ijs lag 's morgens nog in de sloten - naar Zuid-Frankrijk, waar de schilderende tandarts Max Reneman, die een villa in Monte-Carlo had gehuurd, hem had uitgenodigd.

 

Hij reisde met zijn oude, nog altijd even berooide makker Martineau, overnachtend in berijpte greppels. In zuidelijker streken beliepen ze, met kapotte voeten, de lange stijgende weg over de Col du Grand Bois (reusachtige sparren als in sprookjes, rotsblokken en watervalletjes: ik ken de omgeving van scootertochten, een paar jaar nadien) om, afgedaald, opeens in de zoele briesjes tussen de bloeiende mimosa te staan. De romantische jonge dichter voor het eerst in de Provence. In Roquebrune ontmoette Lucebert de schrijfster Margje Toonder, vrouw van auteur Jan Gerhard Toonder die voor langere tijd afwezig bleek, en het klikte op slag tussen de vrijgevochten Margje en de zwervende poëet. Samen reisden zij naar Rome en dat werd, dank zij Margjes zakelijke talenten, geen voettocht: zij pretendeerde een boek te schrijven over restaurants en hotels, bestemd voor het betere publiek in Nederland. Dit leverde legio uitstekende maaltijden op en even zovele gerieflijke overnachtingen. Lucebert had heel wat smakelijke verhalen te vertellen na zijn terugkeer. Ik herinner mij er een met betrekking tot een grote verzilverde stolp waaronder het gebraad werd opgediend: de aanblik zou hem hebben doen uitroepen dat hij geen permanent hoefde, ondanks alle deftigheid, zó deed het stuk tafelgerief hem aan een nikkelen droogkap bij dameskappers denken.”

 

 

 

Jan G. Elburg (30 november 1919 – 13 augustus 1992)

 

 

 

 

De Britse staatsman en schrijver Sir Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill werd geboren in Woodstock op 30 november 1874. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 november 2007.

 

Uit: Rupert Brooke's Obituary in The Times (26 april 1915)

 

“Rupert Brooke is dead. A telegram from the Admiral at Lemnos tells us that this life has closed at the moment when it seemed to have reached its springtime. A voice had become audible, a note had been struck, more true, more thrilling, more able to do justice to the nobility of our youth in arms engaged in this present war, than any other more able to express their thoughts of self-surrender, and with a power to carry comfort to those who watch them so intently from afar. The voice has been swiftly stilled. Only the echoes and the memory remain; but they will linger.

During the last few months of his life, months of preparation in gallant comradeship and open air, the poet-soldier told with all the simple force of genius the sorrow of youth about to die, and the sure triumphant consolations of a sincere and valiant spirit. He expected to die: he was willing to die for the dear England whose beauty and majesty he knew: and he advanced towards the brink in perfect serenity, with absolute conviction of the rightness of his country's cause and a heart devoid of hate for fellow-men.

The thoughts to which he gave expression in the very few incomparable war sonnets which he has left behind will be shared by many thousands of young men moving resolutely and blithely forward in this, the hardest, the cruelest, and the least-rewarded of all the wars that men have fought. They are a whole history and revelation of Rupert Brooke himself. Joyous, fearless, versatile, deeply instructed, with classic symmetry of mind and body, ruled by high undoubting purpose, he was all that one would wish England's noblest sons to be in the days when no sacrifice but the most precious is acceptable, and the most precious is that which is most freely proffered.“

 

 

 

Winston Churchill (30 november 1874 - 24 januari 1965)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Mark Twain (pseudoniem van Samuel Langhorne Clemens) werd geboren op 30 november 1835 te Florida. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 november 2006.

 

Uit: OLD TIMES ON THE MISSISSIPPI

 

„Once a day a cheap, gaudy packet arrived upward from St. Louis, and another downward from Keokuk. Before these events had transpired, the day was glorious with expectancy; after they had transpired, the day was a dead and empty thing. Not only the boys, but the whole village, felt this. After all these years I can picture that old time to myself now, just as it was then: the white town drowsing in the sunshine of a summer's morning; the streets empty, or pretty nearly so; one or two clerks sitting in front of the Water Street stores, with their splint-bottomed chairs tilted back against the wall, chins on breasts, hats slouched over their faces, asleep—with shingle-shavings enough around to show what broke them down; a sow and a litter of pigs loafing along the sidewalk, doing a good business in water-melon rinds and seeds; two or three lonely little freight piles scattered about the "levee;" a pile of "skids" on the slope of the stone-paved wharf, and the fragrant town drunkard asleep in the shadow of them; two or three wood flats at the head of the wharf, but nobody to listen to the peaceful lapping of the wavelets against them; the great Mississippi, the majestic, the magnificent Mississippi, rolling its mile-wide tide along, shining in the sun; the dense forest away on the other side; the "point" above the town, and the "point" below, bounding the river-glimpse and turning it into a sort of sea, and withal a very still and brilliant and lonely one. Presently a film of dark smoke appears above one of those remote "points;" instantly a negro drayman, famous for his quick eye and prodigious voice, lifts up the cry, "S-t-e-a-m-boat a-comin!'" and the scene changes!“

 

 

 

Mark Twain (30 november 1835 – 21 april 1910)

 

 

 

 

De Canadese schrijfster Lucy Maud Montgomery werd geboren in Clifton op 30 november 1874.. Haar moeder overleed toen de kleine Lucy twee jaar was en haar vader stuurde haar toen naar haar grootouders. Haar leven op de boerderij van haar opa en oma beschrijft ze in haar eerste en meest bekende kinderboek, Anne of Green Gables (1908) dat in Nederland verscheen als Annie van het groene huis. Het boek is ook verfilmd. Montgomery begon jong met schrijven; haar eerste gedicht werd gepubliceerd toen ze 15 jaar was. Ze werkte als journaliste en lerares, maar stopte met werken om voor haar zieke grootmoeder te zorgen. In 1911 trouwde ze met dominee Ewan Macdonald en verhuisde ze naar Ontario, waar ze de rest van haar leven woonde. Ze ontving voor haar boeken diverse internationale bekroningen.

 

Uit: Anne Of Green Gables

 

“With this Mrs. Rachel stepped out of the lane into the backyard of Green Gables.  Very green and neat and precise was that yard, set about on one side with great patriarchal willows and the other with prim Lombardies.  Not a stray stick nor stone was to be seen, for Mrs. Rachel would have seen it if there had been.  Privately she was of the opinion that Marilla Cuthbert swept that yard over as often as she swept her house.  One could have eaten a meal off the ground without overbrimming the proverbial peck of dirt.

Mrs. Rachel rapped smartly at the kitchen door and stepped in when bidden to do so.  The kitchen at Green Gables was a cheerful apartment--or would have been cheerful if it had not been so painfully clean as to give it something of the appearance of an unused parlor.  Its windows looked east and west; through the west one, looking out on the back yard, came a flood of mellow June sunlight; but the east one, whence you got a glimpse of the bloom white cherry-trees in the left orchard and nodding, slender birches down in the hollow by the brook, was greened over by a tangle of vines.  Here sat Marilla Cuthbert, when she sat at all, always slightly distrustful of sunshine, which seemed to her too dancing and irresponsible a thing for a world which was meant to be taken seriously; and here she sat now, knitting, and the table behind her was laid for supper.”

 

 

 

Lucy Maud Montgomery (30 november 1874 – 24 april 1942)

 

 

 

 

De Engelse schrijver Jonathan Swift werd op 30 november 1667 in Dublin geboren uit Engelse ouders. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 november 2006.

 

Uit: Gulliver's Travels

 

„MY FATHER had a small Estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the Third of five Sons. He sent me to Emanuel-College in Cambridge, at Fourteen Years old, where I resided three Years, and applyed my self close to my Studies: But the Charge of maintaining me (although I had a very scanty Allowance) being too great for a narrow Fortune; I was bound Apprentice to Mr. James Bates, an eminent Surgeon in London, with whom I continued four Years; and my Father now and then sending me small Sums of Money, I laid them out in learning Navigation, and other parts of the Mathematicks, useful to those who intend to travel, as I always believed it would be some time or other my Fortune to do. When I left Mr. Bates, I went down to my Father; where, by the Assistance of him and my Uncle John, and some other Relations, I got Forty Pounds, and a Promise of Thirty Pounds a Year to maintain me at Leyden: There I studied Physick two Years and seven Months, knowing it would be useful in long Voyages.“

 

 

 

Jonathan Swift (30 november 1667 – 19 oktober 1745)

Portret door Charles Jervas

 

 

De Engelse schrijver Sir Philip Sidney werd geboren op 30 november 1554 in het  kasteel van Penshurst in het graafschap Kent. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 november 2006.

 

Astrophel and Stella: LXIV

  

 No more, my dear, no more these counsels try;

Oh, give my passions leave to run their race;

Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace;

Let folk o'ercharg'd with brain against me cry;

Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye;

Let me no steps but of lost labour trace;

Let all the earth with scorn recount my case,

But do not will me from my love to fly.

I do not envy Aristotle's wit,

Nor do aspire to Caesar's bleeding fame;

Nor aught do care though some above me sit;

Nor hope nor wish another course to frame,

But that which once may win thy cruel heart:

Thou art my wit, and thou my virtue art.

 

 

 

 

Sir Philip Sidney (30 november 1554 – 17 oktober 1586)

A spirit without spot’. Standbeeld in Zutphen

 

 

 

 

 

De Engelse dichter en schrijver John Bunyan werd geboren op 30 november 1628 in Harrowden bij Bedford. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 november 2006.

 

 

The Necessity Of A New Heart

  

Now wouldst thou have a heart that tender is,

A heart that forward is to close with bliss;

 

A heart that will impressions freely take

Of the new covenant, and that will make

 

The best improvement of the word of grace,

And that to wickedness will not give place;

 

All this is in the promise, and it may

Obtained be of them that humbly pray.

 

Wouldst thou enjoy that spirit that is free,

And looseth those that in their spirits be

 

Oppressed with guilt, or filth, or unbelief;

That spirit that will, where it dwells, be chief;

 

Which breaketh Samson's cord as rotten thread,

And raiseth up the spirit that is dead;

 

That sets the will at liberty to choose

Those things that God hath promis'd to infuse

 

Into the humble heart? All this, I say,

The promise holdeth out to them that pray.

 

 

 

 

John Bunyan  (30 november 1628 - 31 augustus 1688)

 

 

 

 

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Rudolf Lavant (eig. Richard Cramer) werd geboren op 30 november 1844 in Leipzig. Hij werkte als koopman en procuratiehouder en leidde daarnaast een leven als dichter en schrijver voor het proletariaat. Ook werkte hij als leraar en lector voor de Leipziger Arbeiterverein.

 

 

In Reih und Glied

 

1890

 

Als ihr in eurem finstern Hasse
Das drohende Gesetz erdacht,
Das uns zu Deutschen zweiter Klasse
Mit einem Federstrich gemacht,
Da ward gefühlt und eingesehen
Von allen ohne Unterschied:
„Wir können hier nur widerstehen
In Reih und Glied."

 

Wir ließen schweigend uns verdammen,
Verstoßen uns vom Vaterland,
Und schweigend rückten wir zusammen,
Bis Schulter man an Schulter stand.
An Spree und Belt, am Rhein, in Sachsen
Erklang der Gegner Unkenlied;
Wir fühlten allem uns gewachsen
In Reih und Glied.

 

(...)

 

 

 

Rudolf Lavant (30 november 1844 – 6 december 1915)

 

De Chileense dichter en schrijver Sergio Badilla Castillo werd geboren in Valparaíso op 30 november 1947. Hij studeerde journalistiek in Chili en studeerde af in 1972. Daarna studeerde hij antropologie aan de universiteit van Stockholm. Men beschouwt hem als een dichter die wordt beïnvloed door het werk van Scandinavische schrijvers, zoals Edith Södergran, Elmer Diktonius, Paavo Haavikko, Pentti Saarikoski, Gunnar Ekelöf, Tomas Tranströmer en Lars Gustavsson. Sergio Badilla Castillo schrijft in het Spaans en in het Engels. Zijn eerste gedichtenbundel, Entre el cemento y el pasto , werd gepubliceerd in 1971. In 1980 bracht hij Más abajo de mi rama uit, en in 1997 publiceerde hij Saga Nórdica, (Noordse Saga) een van zijn bekendste werken. Castillo is de grondlegger van het transrealisme in de hedendaagse poëzie.

 

Sweet Young Lady

A last-chance love has ended.
Such storming—no shelter reached.
Such inclemency—no refuge had.
Night wears its darkest face tonight
In the small hours agony itself becomes a whirlwind
            Sorrowful young lady
so doleful, most sad
her heart beats, yielding rough splinters
with its sudden throbbings
In the depths of her silence she is damaged
and her eyelids cede to the force of her tears:
    perverse    unlucky    shameless
The celebration has ended for now and perhaps forever
biting are the fractured writings of the scoundrel
who torments her soul.
She is blind.    The light of the timid courtesan
is out
after the repeated false faces
of her sullen lover
the feigned charms of a bachelor passionate
and trapped among the beggars with a look of penitence
he remains to ask forgiveness for his audacity
        Off the mast last trip’s dirty sails still hang
The wind hisses
radiance cannot pass through the sea of hanging sails
the prayer repeats itself like a crystal voice in a familiar tongue
and is lost in the squall
Our maid
frail and old      a hurricane crosses her face
cracking her careful manners    her pleasant gestures
The estuary is distant    opposite the reef
Nevertheless it is she who succumbs while the ship stays afloat
and the ocean rises up portside to her thoughts    Rimbaud and
maybe only Rimbaud starboard to her
struggling in his drunken boat
Motherhood never knotted her womb
never pressed upon it the legitimacy of the sapling
not in deepest love or idle chance
    there sensation stayed untouched
        the seed of marble and the progenitor, sterile

 

Vertaald door Deborah Moore

 

 

 

Sergio Badilla Castillo (Valparaíso, 30 november 1947)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse toneelschrijver en filmregisseur David Mamet werd geboren op 30 november 1947 in Chicago, Hij studeerde aan het Goddard College in Vermont en de Neighorhood Playhouse School of Theater in New York. In 1976 maakte hij zijn Newyorkse debuut met een dubbelvoorstelling van 'The duck variations', met twee oude mannen pratend op een bank in het park en 'Sexual perversity in Chicago', over twee jongemannen op vrouwenjacht (in 1986 verfilmd als 'About Last Night'). Verder schreef hij 'American Buffalo' (1975), over de gangstermentaliteit van de zakenwereld, 'Glengarry Glen Ross' (1983), zijn met de Pulitzer Prize bekroonde nachtmerrie uit de Onroerend Goed Makelaardij, 'Speed-the-Plow' (1987), over de verschrikkingen van Hollywood, en 'Oleanna' (1993). Mamet wordt vaak vergeleken met Samuel Becket en Harold Pinter. In 1994 debuteerde hij als romanschrijver met 'The Village', over de zwarte achterkant van het hedendaagse Amerikaans dorpsleven. Vanaf 1981 schreef Mamet ook filmscenario's, beginnend met de nieuwe versie van Cain's 'The Postman Always Rings Twice', 'The Untouchables' (1987) en 'House of Games' (1987), een film die hij ook regisseerde. Recent schreef en regisseerde hij 'Homicide' (1991).

Mamet staat bekend om zij Mametspeak, een halfrealistische straattaal die zijn stukken over de machistische mannenwereld (American Buffalo, Speed the plow) een bijzonder realisme verleende, terwijl hij vaak een kritische noot liet horen bij recente ontwikkeingen in de Amerikaanse maatschappij.

 

Uit: Why I Am No Longer a 'Brain-Dead Liberal'

 

“I wrote a play about politics (November, Barrymore Theater, Broadway, some seats still available). And as part of the "writing process," as I believe it's called, I started thinking about politics. This comment is not actually as jejune as it might seem. Porgy and Bess is a buncha good songs but has nothing to do with race relations, which is the flag of convenience under which it sailed.

But my play, it turned out, was actually about politics, which is to say, about the polemic between persons of two opposing views. The argument in my play is between a president who is self-interested, corrupt, suborned, and realistic, and his leftish, lesbian, utopian-socialist speechwriter.

The play, while being a laugh a minute, is, when it's at home, a disputation between reason and faith, or perhaps between the conservative (or tragic) view and the liberal (or perfectionist) view. The conservative president in the piece holds that people are each out to make a living, and the best way for government to facilitate that is to stay out of the way, as the inevitable abuses and failures of this system (free-market economics) are less than those of government intervention.

I took the liberal view for many decades, but I believe I have changed my mind.

As a child of the '60s, I accepted as an article of faith that government is corrupt, that business is exploitative, and that people are generally good at heart.”

 

 

 

David Mamet (Chicago, 30 november 1947)

 

 

 

 

 

De Canadese dichter, arts, auteur, kunstenaar, militair John Alexander McCrae werd geboren in Guelph (Ontario) op 30 november 1872. Hij had zich onderscheiden in de Boerenoorlog (1899-1902) waaraan hij als arts-vrijwilliger had deelgenomen. In 1901 nam hij ontslag uit militaire dienst en wijdde zich aan een medische carrière tot op 4 augustus 1914 de Eerste Wereldoorlog uitbrak en hij zich opnieuw meldde als vrijwilliger. Hij werd benoemd tot arts bij de First Brigade van de Canadian Field Artillery. McCrae schreef met een zekere regelmaat gedichten waarvan ook een aantal in literaire bladen werd geplaatst. Op 22 april 1915 werden de eerste aanvallen met  chloorgas ingezet te Boezinge, de plaats waar McCrae als arts frontdienst verrichtte tijdens de gevechten. Diep onder de indruk van de gebeurtenissen schreef hij op 3 mei het gedicht In Flanders Field, misschien wel het meest bekende gedicht uit deze oorlog:

 

 

In Flanders Field

  

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

 

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

 

 

 

 

The Anxious Dead

  

O guns, fall silent till the dead men hear

Above their heads the legions pressing on:

(These fought their fight in time of bitter fear,

And died not knowing how the day had gone.)

 

O flashing muzzles, pause, and let them see

The coming dawn that streaks the sky afar;

Then let your mighty chorus witness be

To them, and Caesar, that we still make war.

 

Tell them, O guns, that we have heard their call,

That we have sworn, and will not turn aside,

That we will onward till we win or fall,

That we will keep the faith for which they died.

 

Bid them be patient, and some day, anon,

They shall feel earth enwrapt in silence deep;

Shall greet, in wonderment, the quiet dawn,

And in content may turn them to their sleep.

 

 

 

 

John McCrae (30 november 1872 - 28 januari 1918)

 

 

 

 

 

De Engelse schrijver David Nicholls werd geboren op 30 november 1966 in Hampshire. Hij werd opgeleid tot acteur en heeft ook als zodanig gewerkt. Hij trad o.a. op in het West Yorkshire Playhouse en het Royal National Theatre, daarbij gebruik makend van het pseudoniem David Holdaway. Als romanschrijver debuteerde hij in 2003 met Starter for Ten.

 

Uit: A Question of Attraction

 

„QUESTION: Stepson to Robert Dudley and onetime favorite of Elizabeth I, which nobleman led a poorly planned and unsuccessful revolt against the queen, and was subsequently executed in 1601?
ANSWER: Essex. All young people worry about things, it’s a natural and inevitable part of growing up, and at the age of sixteen my greatest anxiety in life was that I’d never again achieve anything as good, or pure, or noble, or true, as my O-level exam results.
I didn’t make a big deal about them at the time, of course; I didn’t frame the certificates or anything weird like that, and I won’t go into the actual grades here, because then it just gets competitive, but I definitely liked having them: qualifications. Sixteen years old, and the first time I’d ever felt qualified for anything.
Of course, all that was a long, long time ago. I’m eighteen now, and I like to think I’m a lot wiser and cooler about these things. So my A-levels are, comparatively, no big deal. Besides, the notion that you can somehow quantify intelligence by some ridiculous, antiquated system of written examinations is obviously specious. Having said that, they were Langley Street Comprehensive School’s best A-level results of 1985, the best for fifteen years in fact, three As and a B, that’s nineteen points—there, I’ve said it now—but I really, honestly don’t believe that’s particularly relevant, I just mention them in passing. And, anyway, compared to other qualities, like physical courage, or popularity, or good looks, or clear skin, or an active sex life, just knowing a whole load of stuff isn’t actually that important.““

 

 

 

David Nicholls (Hampshire, 30 november 1966)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Wil Mara werd geboren op 30 november 1966 in de buurt van Long Beach Island, New Jersey. Hij schrijft zowel fictie als non-fictie. Hij won de 2005 New Jersey Notable Book Award voor Wave, waarin de reactie van een eilandbevolking op een tsunami wordt beschreven. Hij voltooide het boek al in 2004. De uitgave werd uitgesteld toen Zuidoost-Azië in december 2004 door een echte tsunami werd getroffen.

 

Uit: Blown Away!

„The train stopped at Islamorada right on time, and Dad was there with the truck to meet us. I'll never forget the look on his face when we paraded Jewel and Rudy down the ramp and onto the dirt road.

"Am I seeing right?" Dad asked.

"You're seeing right, Dad!" I yelled, pushing the tipsy wheelbarrow, with the dog trotting along behind me. "Sharkey bought a mule and a dog in Key West!" Sharkey led Jewel nicely this time. The mule was probably tired of the train ride and eager to keep Rudy in her sights.

"She's a pretty thing, isn't she?" Sharkey said proudly as Jewel nuzzled his arm.

"Her name's Jewel," I told Dad. "The dog came with her. His name's Rudy."

"My game leg's been bothering me, and I thought the mule could help pull the boats in when they need work -- that kind of thing," Sharkey explained.

"I suppose a mule could come in handy," Dad agreed.

"Mules have put this whole country together," Sharkey went on, somewhat defensively, as if he had to explain that he wasn't totally crazy to have come home with Jewel. "They took the pioneers out West, they built the Erie Canal..."

"They work in the coal mines," an unfamiliar girl's voice piped up. "I've seen them down there hauling the coal cars. Some of them have never seen the light of day." The girl was sitting on the steps of the train station. Beside her was a battered cardboard suitcase that looked as though it might fall apart at any moment. I wondered if she was traveling by herself.“

 

 

 

Wil Mara (Long Beach Island, 30 november 1966)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichter, schrijver en essayist Lee Klein werd geboren op 30 november 1965 in New York. Hij is o.a de schrijver van "World's Biggest Shopping Mall Poem"dat in 1997 verscheen, gevolgd door "Financial Surrealists Take the Train" in 1999. Hij schrijft o.a voor Performing Arts Journal (formerly Johns Hopkins now MIT Press). 

 

Uit: Incidents of Egotourism in the Temporary World

 

„She walks out of the airport terminal bathroom, her posture worthy of balancing sacks of grain on her head. She looks around where she last saw me. I’ve hidden myself behind a soda machine. I just barely catch a glance of her. She doesn’t seem abandoned. She stops, stands still. I have her half-packed duffel tucked out of sight. She’s alone in the Philadelphia airport with only what she has in her pockets. She stands there, a solid figure just a few strides in front of the women’s bathroom. A barely perceptible glow on the side of her cheek. I’d jump out if I sensed the least distress. But she just stands there, not moving, probably expecting me to emerge from the men’s room any second. She reaches into her well-worn jeans, pulls out a dollar, tries to smooth it on her thigh. Then she uses the edge of a pay-phone encasement, working over the creases in Washington’s portrait until he looks much younger, more amendable to the soda machine’s discerning dollar-bill mechanism. She starts moving toward me. I duck back against the wall. Then I realize it’d be better if I continued observing her from point-blank range. I position myself so a sliver of my eye can just see the least outline of her jacket. I hear the dollar-bill mechanism inhale her bill. A moment of choice. She presses one of the rectangular glowing logos. I feel the soda machine’s internal mechanisms process her order. There’s a second between her pressing and the drop of the can, a hesitancy, and in that second I wonder if the machine’s considering whether it should honor its side of the bargain (since it already has the money), or maybe there’s something else going on: like it’s thinking how can I give this one a can of my precious soda? I feel a glass-hanging moment of potential rejection that shatters when the can drops.“

 

 

 

Lee Klein (New York,.30 november 1965)

 

 

 

 

 

De Chinese schrijfster Adeline Yen Mah werd geboren op 30 november 1937 in Tianjin. Zij groeide op in Tianjin, Shanghai en Hong Kong met een oudere zus, drie jongere broers en een jongere halfbroer en half zuster. Toen zij zeven was stierf haar moeder en haar vader verweet haar dit overlijden zijn leven lang.Tegen de achtergrond van de Chinese geschiedenis beschreef zij in Falling Leaves het familieverhaal.

 

Uit: Falling Leaves

 

“My own memories of Tianjin are nebulous. Early photographs show a solemn little girl with clenched fists, pressed lips and serious eyes, dressed in pretty western frocks decorated with ribbons and bows. I enjoyed school and looked forward to going there. Lydia and I were pulled there and back daily in Grandmother's black, shiny rickshaw. It had a brass lamp on each side and a bell operable by foot. When I revisited Tianjin in 1987, I was surprised to find that it took only seven minutes to walk from our house to St Joseph's.

I remember Lydia as an imposing, rather intimidating figure. Between us there were three brothers and a gap of six and a half years. We were a world apart.

Lydia liked to exercise her authority and flex her muscles by quizzing me on my homework, especially catechism. Her favourite question was, 'Who made you?'To this, I always knew the answer. Like a parrot I would trot out the well worn phrase, 'God made me.' Then came the twister. A gleam came into her eyes. 'Why did God make you?' I never could answer because teacher never taught us beyond the first question. Lydia would then give me a resounding slap with her powerful right hand, and call me stupid. During our daily rickshaw rides, she liked to keep me waiting and was invariably late. On the rare occasions when I was delayed in class she simply rode the rickshaw home alone but would send the puller back to get me. She tended to be stocky, even as a child. Her physical deformity gave her a characteristic posture, with her semi-paralysed left arm hanging limply by her side and her face perpetually tilted slightly forwards and to the left. From my four-year-old perspective, she was a fearsome figure of authority.”

 

 

 

Adeline Yen Mah (Tianjin, 30 november 1937)

 

 

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 30^e november ook mijn vorige bericht.