Berichten van 18 april 2011

De Nederlandse dichter Bas Belleman werd in Alkmaar geboren “op een heldere ochtend in april” (Rottend Staal) van het jaar 1978. Zie ook mijn blog van 31 maart 2006 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2008 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2010.

 

 

Toneelschoolmeisje

 

spotlight in de zon
stapt ze uit de supermarkt
de jodenbreestraat in; uit de coulissen.

zoals een emmer oogverblindend
in de weg kan staan
zonder sop en

toch die zweem van
schoon, hygiënisch, zo'n
aandachtaantrekkelijk meisje.

zo'n opgemaakt deelbaar
spiegelbeeldig doorkliefbaar
meisje in druppelkleren.

mannen staren als kersen.

 

 

 

Oven

onderschatting als zakken meel op mijn rug
'ns kijken wat ik bakken kan

ik slaag er niet meer in mijn oven te ontsteken
zonder stemmen als heksen te verbranden

ik plaag mijn vijand met de geur
van brood één hap en hij valt dood

 

 

 

Bas Belleman (Alkmaar, april 1978)

 

 

 

 

De Nederlands dichteres en schrijfster Clara Eggink werd geboren in Utrecht op 18 april 1906. Zie ook mijn blog van 16 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 16 april 2010.

 

 

De regenboog

 

"Liefste kom bij mij, ik ben ontwaakt,
Kijk, de zon schijnt op de huizen.
Toch heeft de regen mij wakker gemaakt,
Zacht spettend op de plavuizen
In onzen tuin. - Hoor toch, hoor!
Men schiet! Het ronken van motoren!
't Eskader breekt de wolken door,
Er spatten vonken in het ochtendgloren!
Daar voor ons raam ontbrandt de strijd.
Lief, laat ons vluchten, het is nu tijd -
Mijn God! Dit teeken! Waarom dat!"
Een regenboog hield het al omvat.

 

 

 

 

Clara Eggink (18 april 1906 - 3 maart 1991)

V.l.n.r. Clara Eggink, A.Roland Holst, J.C.Bloem, Menno ter Braak en E. du Perron, 1939

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse schrijfster, essayiste en feministe Kathy Acker werd op 18 april 1947 in New York geboren als Karen Alexander. Zie ook mijn blog van 18 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2010.

 

Uit: Rip-off Red, Girl Detective and The Burning Bombing of America

 

„I'm five foot three inches brown hair curling all over my face, bright green eyes, I'm 26 but my body's tough from dancing if you know what I mean—well I got bored doing a strip, well first, I got bored doing that Ph.D. shit and being frustrated professors' straight-A pet, especially being faithful to a husband who spent all his time in bed dealing out poker hands; I left school, descended to the more interesting depths and ­became a stripper, even that finally bored me, so I decided, on my 26th birthday, to become the toughest detective alive.
This is the story about how I have kept myself from being bored.
I was lying in bed with Peter; he had on his leather jacket and wrist bands; I woke up as the noon sun hit my face through the window; a cat started howling. I put my hands around his hips, I could see the thick whiteness and the dark hairs in the insides of my eyes; my nose burrowed in his neck, then inside his ear as far as I could get. He turned slightly toward me so I could caress him better, and moaned I had fallen for him first because he loved to be loved and showed it. Most men act cagey and think they shouldn't show any feelings. Peter rubbed his blond beard against my cheek, moved his body against mine. Our legs entwined; I felt his breath against my ear, then his lips on the skin of the ear, his tongue darted back and forth. Shivers ran through my spine, I felt his hand on my left breast squeeze slowly squeeze, my lower muscles started moving. With my teeth I pulled at the hairs on his chin, moved my mouth up to his lips slowly pressed my lips against his, moving back and forth until I felt his mouth open.“

 

 

 

Kathy Acker (18 april 1947 – 30 november 1997)

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichteres en schrijfster Joy Davidman werd geboren op 18 april 1915 in New York. Zie ook mijn blog van 18 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2010.
 

Uit: Interview met Lyle Dorsett, de biograaf van Joy Davidman Gresham en C.S. Lewis

 

„Let's talk about Lewis and Joy Gresham. What were her motivations behind wanting to meet Lewis?

 

Joy like many people who lived in the 20th century, was searching for something. And in her search, she encountered Lewis, the writings of CS Lewis. Lewis' writings lead her to the New Testament. The New Testament pointed her to Jesus Christ and she became a Christian. And she was markedly influenced by a couple of Lewis' books. She was so influenced by them that she wanted to engage him in some question and answer. … So she wrote to CS Lewis, and it's very interesting that Warren Lewis, who opened a lot of Jack's mail … said, today we had a very interesting letter from an American woman named Mrs. Gresham. Now, hundreds of letters come in all the time, but yet … this letter was so striking that he singles it out. So Lewis responds to her. And to make a long story short, she took a trip to England, she met Lewis. … And she sought Lewis out first as a spiritual advisor, she fell in love with him.…

So that relationship began, she's seeking a spiritual advisor, it goes to friendship, and it ends up going to love.

 

When did she fall in love with Lewis?

 

Well, Chad Walsh told me that she was in love with Lewis before she'd ever met him, she was in love with his mind. Well that could be, let's face it, Lewis wrote a book called The Four Loves. And they were all types and stages of loves. I mean, I think she might have been infatuated, she was attracted, but love, my goodness. There's no way she could have loved him if she hadn't met him, not really. Because love grows from sharing sufferings and joys and washing one another's feet. And their love grew in that environment.“

 

 

 

Joy Davidman (18 april 1915 – 13 juli 1960)

Boekcover

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse journalist en schrijver Richard Harding Davis werd geboren op 18 april 1864 in Philadelphia. Zie ook mijn blog van 18 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2010.

 

Uit: Real Soldiers of Fortune

 

„ANY sunny afternoon, on Fifth Avenue, or at night in the table d'hote restaurants of University Place, you may meet the soldier of fortune who of all his brothers in arms now living is the most remarkable. You may have noticed him; a stiffly erect, distinguished–looking man, with gray hair, an imperial of the fashion of Louis Napoleon, fierce blue eyes, and across his forehead a sabre cut.

This is Henry Ronald Douglas MacIver, for some time in India an ensign in the Sepoy mutiny; in Italy, lieutenant under Garibaldi; in Spain, captain under Don Carlos; in our Civil War, major in the Confederate army; in Mexico, lieutenant–colonel under the Emperor Maximilian; colonel under Napoleon III, inspector of cavalry for the Khedive of Egypt, and chief of cavalry and general of brigade of the army of King Milan of Servia. These are only a few of his military titles. In 1884 was published a book giving the story of his life up to that year. It was called "Under Fourteen Flags." If to–day General MacIver were to reprint the book, it would be called "Under Eighteen Flags."

MacIver was born on Christmas Day, 1841, at sea, a league off the shore of Virginia. His mother was Miss Anna Douglas of that State; Ronald MacIver, his father, was a Scot, a Rossshire gentleman, a younger son of the chief of the Clan MacIver. Until he was ten years old young MacIver played in Virginia at the home of his father.“

 

 

Richard Harding Davis (18 april 1864—11 april 1916)



Zie voor nog meer schrijvers ook mijn vorige blog van vandaag.

De Australische dichter Henry Kendall werd geboren op 18 april 1839 in Milton. Zie ook mijn blog van 18 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2008 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2010.

 

 

A Birthday Trifle 

 

Here in this gold-green evening end,

While air is soft and sky is clear,

What tender message shall I send

To her I hold so dear?

What rose of song with breath like myrrh,

And leaf of dew and fair pure beams

Shall I select and give to her—

The lady of my dreams?

Alas! the blossom I would take,

The song as sweet as Persian speech,

And carry for my lady’s sake,

Is not within my reach.

I have no perfect gift of words,

Or I would hasten now to send

A ballad full of tunes of birds

To please my lovely friend.

 

But this pure pleasure is my own,

That I have power to waft away

A hope as bright as heaven’s zone

On this her natal day.

May all her life be like the light

That softens down in spheres divine,

“As lovely as a Lapland night,”

All grace and chastened shine!

 

 

 

Stanzas 

 

The sunsets fall and the sunsets fade,

But still I walk this shadowy land;

And grapple the dark and only the dark

In my search for a loving hand.

 

For it's here a still, deep woodland lies,

With spurs of pine and sheaves of fern;

But I wander wild, and wail like a child

For a face that will never return!

 

And it's here a mighty water flows,

With drifts of wind and wimpled waves;

But the darling head of a dear one dead

Is hidden beneath its caves.

 

 

 

Henry Kendall (18 april 1839 – 1 augustus 1882)

Op 31-jarige leeftijd

 

 

 

 

De Engelse dichter en schrijver Thomas Middleton werd in Londen geboren en daar gedoopt op 18 april 1580. Zie ook mijn blog van 18 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2008 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 18 april 2010. 

 

Uit: The Family of Love

 

„[A gallery in Glister's house.]

Enter Glister, his wife, and Maria.

 

GLISTER

Tricks and shows: protestations with men are like tears with women, forgot ere the cheek be dry. Gerardine is a gentleman; his lands be in statutes: 'a is not for thee, nor thou for him; 'a is a gallant, and young thoughts be most unconstant.

MARIA

Yet young vines yield most wine.

MISTRESS GLISTER

But old vines the best. Believe not these great-breeched gallants; they love for profit, not for affection; if 'a brings thee to a fool's paradise, 'a will forsake thee.

GLISTER

Which fortune God send my enemy. Love is a cold heat, a bitter sweet, a pleasure full of pain, a huge loss, and no gain. Why shouldst thou love him only ?

MARIA

Words cannot force what destiny hath seal'd.

Who can resist the influence of his stars,

Or give a reason why 'a loves or hates,

Since our affections are not rul'd by will,

But will by our affections? 'Tis blasphemy

'Gainst love's most sacred deity, to axe

Why we do love, since 'tis his only power

That sways all our affections; all things which be,

Beasts, birds, men, gods, pay him their fealty.

GLISTER

Tut, love is an idle fantasy, bred by desire, nursed by delight, an humour that begins his dominion in Leo the Lion, the sign of the heart, and ends in Aries the Ram, the sign of the head; his power is to stir the blood, pricks up the flesh, fills all the body with a libidinous humour, and is indeed the overture of all ladies. Which to prevent, I have banished Gerardine, your dearly beloved, my house; and as for you, since I am your guardian by my brother's last will, I will sequester you from all other rooms in my house, save this gallery and your upper chamber, till in discretion I shall find it convenient to enlarge you.“

 

 

Thomas Middleton (18 april 1580 – 4 juli 1627)

 

 

 

 

Onafhankelijk van geboortedata:

 

 

De Duitse schrijfster Katharina Schwanbeck werd geboren in 1979 in Rostock. Zij groeide op in een klein stadje in Mecklenburg Vorpommern. Na de middelbare school verhuisde zij naar Berlijn, woonde er zeven jaar en studeerde er ook (filosofie, kunstgeschiedenis, NDL). Vanaf 2005 studeerde zij aan het Deutsche Literaturinstitut Leipzig. Zij is lid van het Berlijnse podium „Die Lautmalerei“. In 2006 won zij de 14.open mike.

 

Uit: Der Krebs in den Köpfen

 

“Es ist Sommer in der Stadt, seit Wochen regnet es nicht und du sitzt in Cafés rum und guckst den Frauen zwischen die Beine. Sie hocken da, in ihren Röcken und verrenken sich umständlich auf ihren Stühlen, sie ekeln sich vor schwarzen Käfern und kleinen Ameisen, sie verscheuchen Fliegen von ihrer nassen Haut, immer wieder fahren sie sich durch ihr Haar, setzen die Sonnenbrillen auf und ab, sie reden laut und lachen laut, sie stellen mal das linke, mal das rechte Bein auf ihren Stuhl und dann siehst du ihnen zwischen die Beine, auf ein Stück Schlüpfer. Ihre Schenkel sind mal weiß, mal braun, mal mit blauen Flecken übersäht oder mit Krampfadern. Du schaust dazwischen wie auf einen Fehler. Du schaust und gleichzeitig fragst du dich, warum du immer gerade in dem Moment hinsiehst, wenn dieses kleine Stück Stoff zwischen ihren Beinen aufblitzt. Du schaust und wünschtest du wärst ein Junge. So macht das keinen Sinn, denkst du.”

 

 

 

Katharina Schwanbeck (Rostock, 1979)

 

 

 

 

Zie voor onderstaande schrijver ook mijn blog van 18 april 2010.

 

De Deense schrijver Leif Thormod Panduro werd geboren op 18 april 1923 in Frederiksberg. Zie ook mijn blog van 18 april 2009.

 

Zie voor onderstaande schrijver ook mijn blog van 18 april 2007

De Duitse schrijver Udo Werner Steinberg werd geboren op 18 april 1913 in Neurode.