23-08-15

Ephraïm Kishon, William Henley, Edgar Lee Masters, Theobald Hock, Andrei Pleşu, Aleksander Grin

 

De Hongaars/Israëlische schrijver Ephraïm Kishon werd op 23 augustus 1924 in Boedapest geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2010 en ook alle tags voor Ephraïm Kishon op dit blog.

Uit:The Silver Frenzy

“I reconnoitered the flat and silver-painted two worn-down door handles, a dripping kitchen tap, and three aluminum saucepans (after the treatment they looked like new), plus the cactus pot and the cactus spines, a few trifles like a shoehorn, an ash tray, two footstools, and the kitchen table.
By then I really wanted to stop, because I felt I was falling from one extreme to the other, but when I saw the paint flaking off my faithful old motorcycle, the least I could do was drag it out onto the porch and highlight its streamlined form. But my tackling the rear chain as well points to a certain deterioration of my mental balance, no doubt brought about by the inhu­man weather. By then I had completely lost control over myself, and as the floor tiles had anyway become covered with a pattern of silver polka dots, it occurred' to me to relieve the monotony of the floor with a checkerboard effect.
After the checkerboard I said, "Now, enough!" But down on my knees in front of the stove, I gave it another coat. Then it occurred to me that it was in bad' taste to paint only two door handles silver, therefore I silver-plated all door and window handles, then devoted a few minutes to the picture frames and made a few changes in the reproduction of the Mona Lisa, dressing her in a silver lame evening gown, which fitted her imbecile smirk much better.
But while painting the sides of the radio set, I realized that my shoes had become covered with silver freckles, which I made disappear under an even layer. The shoes were literally shining, and I am really surprised that nobody has yet thought of making aluminum shoes, especially for wear with dark suits. After silvering the covers of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, I really decided to stop after rejuvenating the lamps, which I did while standing on a ladder. (Funny ladder: I could have sworn it was aluminum, though I knew it was wood!) I painted the light bulbs as well, and as I stood there on top of the. ladder, some paint spilled on the Persian rug, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that the rug had an amazing ability for absorbing silver paint, which proves what gratifying progress kibbutz industry has made".

 

 
Ephraïm Kishon (23 augustus 1924 – 29 januari 2005)

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23-08-14

Ephraïm Kishon, William Henley, Edgar Lee Masters, Theobald Hock, Andrei Pleşu, Aleksander Grin

 

De Hongaars/Israëlische schrijver Ephraïm Kishon werd op 23 augustus 1924 in Boedapest geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2010 en ook alle tags voor Ephraïm Kishon op dit blog.

Uit: Picassos süße Rache (Vertaald door Ephraim Kishon en Brigitte Sinhuber)

„Nach so vielen sarkastischen Seiten, kommt meine Behauptung vermutlich überraschend, daß ich eigentlich gar nichts gegen moderne Kunst habe. Ich plädiere nur dafür, die Schmier- und Schrott-Produktionen neu zu definieren. Wenn die geschätzten Handwerker dieser Branche zugäben, lediglich recht nette Muster für Tapeten, Vorhänge und Krawatten zu entwerfen, oder die Müllhaufen als Witz gemeint wären, dann könnten sie von mir aus ruhig so weitermachen. Leider gibt es aber einen Berufsstand, der dann seine Existenzberechtigung verlieren würde.
Ich spreche natürlich von den Päpsten der modernen Kunst, den ehrenwerten Kritikern, die alles tun, damit die Sache nicht auffliegt. Keiner der Päpste würde jemals zugeben, daß seine Religion ein Irrglaube ist. So behaupten auch die Jungs der Moderne nach dem Beuys'schen Dogma steif und fest, daß alles und jedes auf der Welt Kunst sei. Außer dieses Buch, natürlich. Von mir aus kann also jeder schmieren und basteln, was er will, wenn nur der Bürgermeister dafür nicht in mein Portemonnaie greifen muß. Und mir selbst sollen die hochgeschätzten Herren Kritiker mit dem Zeug vom Leibe bleiben. Vor allem aus gesundheitlichen Gründen.
Das Hauptwerk des wichtigsten Vertreters des abstrakten Expressionismus, Franz Kline, kann ich zum Beispiel noch verhältnismäßig ruhig betrachten (Blutdruck 85 zu 140). Dann aber lese ich leichtsinnigerweise nachfolgende Kritik aus berufener Feder darüber, und mein Blut gerät in Wallung (105 zu 170): »Fünf breite schwarze Pinselstriche schwimmen auf einem reich strukturierten roséfarbenen Grund. Kline ließ sich von technischen Zeichnungen anregen, vor allem von halbfertigen oder zerstörten Bauträgern, Eisenbahnen, Gerüsten und Brücken.“

 

 
Ephraïm Kishon (23 augustus 1924 – 29 januari 2005)
Hier geïnterviewd door Klaus Urban(l) in 2001

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24-08-11

William Henley, Edgar Lee Masters, Albert Alberts, Charles Busch, Gustav Ernst, Aleksander Grin, Theobald Hock, Andrei Pleşiu

 

De Engelse dichter en schrijver William Ernest Henley werd geboren op 23 augustus 1849 in Gloucester. Zie ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2007 en ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2009 en ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2010.

 

 

A New Song to an Old Tune

 

SONS of Shannon, Tamar, Trent,

Men of the Lothians, Men of Kent,

Essex, Wessex, shore and shire,

Mates of the net, the mine, the fire,

Lads of the wheel and desk and loom,

Noble and trader, squire and groom,

Come where the bugles of England play,

'Over the hills and far away!'

 

Southern Cross and Polar Star --

Here are the Britons bred afar;

Serry, O serry them, fierce and keen,

Under the flag of the Empress-Queen;

Shoulder to shoulder down the track,

Where, to the unretreating Jack,

The victor bugles of England play,

'Over the hills and far away!'

 

What if the best of our wages be

An empty sleeve, a stiff-set knee,

A crutch for the rest of life -- who cares,

So long as the One Flag floats and dares?

So long as the One Race dares and grows?

Death -- what is death but God's own rose?

Let but the bugles of England play,

'Over the hills and far away!'

 

 

 

A Child

 

A child,

Curious and innocent,

Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing

Loses himself in the Fair.

 

Thro' the jostle and din

Wandering, he revels,

Dreaming, desiring, possessing;

Till, of a sudden

Tired and afraid, he beholds

The sordid assemblage

Just as it is; and he runs

With a sob to his Nurse

(Lighting at last on him),

And in her motherly bosom

Cries him to sleep.

 

Thus thro' the World,

Seeing and feeling and knowing,

Goes Man: till at last,

Tired of experience, he turns

To the friendly and comforting breast

Of the old nurse, Death.

 

 


William Henley (23 augustus 1849 – 11 juli 1903)

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23-08-09

Ephraïm Kishon, William Henley, Edgar Lee Masters, Aleksander Grin, Andrei Pleşu, Theobald Hock


De Hongaars/Israëlische schrijver Ephraïm Kishon werd op 23 augustus 1924 in Boedapest geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2006.

 

Uit: Hausapotheke für Gesunde

 

Viele Plätze sind schön, am schönsten aber ist es zu Hause, sagte einer der altgedienten Galeerensträflinge. Und tatsächlich, eine geräumige, sonnendurchflutete Behausung kann ohne weiteres gegen einen noch so langen Seeurlaub aufgewogen werden.

Die Schwierigkeiten jedoch, eine alle Bedürfnisse befriedigende Wohnmöglichkeit zu finden, sind bereits seit Erschaffung der Erde nicht zu unterschätzen.

Schon im Garten Eden wurde, kurz nach der Ausweisung des ersten Ehepaares, folgende Tafel am Eingang angebracht:

"Infolge Abreise der bisherigen Mieter: ein Paradies zu vermieten".

Es meldeten sich nur wenige Bewerber. Einer, mit einem dicken Weib im Schlepptau, erklärte nach oberflächlicher Besichtigung der Örtlichkeit, daß sich bei jedem Regen unpasierbare Kotpfützen bilden würden. Und im Winter würde man sich erkälten; er sehe keinerlei Heizvorrichtung.

"Wie lange dauert es denn noch bis zur Erfindung des Feuers?" fragte er.

"Eine Million Jahre", antwortete der Erzengel Gabriel bedauernd.

Der Mietvergtrag kam nicht zustande.

Er wäre sowieso nicht zustande gekommen, weil das dicke Weib allergisch gegen Vögel war:

"Dieses ewig Gezwitscher vertrage ich nicht. Außerdem reagiere ich allergisch auf jede Art von Gefieder."

Damit zog sie ihren Mann zum Ausgang.

"Wir könnten es ja mit Cortison versuchen," rief Gabriel hinter den beiden her.

Aber da waren sie schon verschwunden.

Als nächster kam Ingenieur Glick. Er inspizierte das Objekt mit gewohnter Gründlichkeit und schüttelte immer wieder den Kopf:

"Kein Kühlschrank ... keine Klimaanlage ... ...wir werden im Sommer einen Hitzschlag kriegen!".

Der Erzengel machte sich erbötig, mit Gott dem Herrn über eine mögliche Neugestaltung der Jahreszeiten zu sprechen, aber Glick vermochte diesem Vorschlag nichts abzugewinnen, schon deshalb nicht, weil mittlerweile alles, was da kreuchet, an seinen Beinen hinaufzukreuchen begann. Ob man denn hier noch nichts von Hygiene gehört hätte, fragte er.

Doch, aber Desinfektionssprays könne man nicht verwenden, antwortete Gabriel entschuldigend. Wegen der Äpfel.”

 

 

 

 

 

Kishon
Ephraïm Kishon (23 augustus 1924 – 29 januari 2005)

 

 

 

 

 

De Engelse dichter en schrijver William Ernest Henley werd geboren op 23 augustus 1849 in Gloucester.

 

 

 

Ballade of Dead Actors 

 

Where are the passions they essayed,

And where the tears they made to flow?

Where the wild humours they portrayed

For laughing worlds to see and know?

Othello's wrath and Juliet's woe?

Sir Peter's whims and Timon's gall?

And Millamant and Romeo?

Into the night go one and all.

Where are the braveries, fresh or frayed?

The plumes, the armours -- friend and foe?

The cloth of gold, the rare brocade,

The mantles glittering to and fro?

The pomp, the pride, the royal show?

The cries of war and festival?

The youth, the grace, the charm, the glow?

Into the night go one and all.

The curtain falls, the play is played:

The Beggar packs beside the Beau;

The Monarch troops, and troops the Maid;

The Thunder huddles with the Snow.

Where are the revellers high and low?

The clashing swords? The lover's call?

The dancers gleaming row on row?

Into the night go one and all.

 

 

 

 

Barmaid 

 

Though, if you ask her name, she says Elise,

Being plain Elizabeth, e'en let it pass,

And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,

She ever makes a point, in washing glass,

Handling the engine, turning taps for tots,

And countering change, and scorning what men say,

Of posing as a dove among the pots,

Nor often gives her dignity away.

Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes

Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist;

Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries

From penny novels to amend her taste;

And, having mopped the zinc for certain years,

And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.

 

 

 

 

 

henley
William Henley (23 augustus 1849 – 11 juli 1903)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Edgar Lee Masters werd geboren op 23 augustus 1868 in Garnett, Kansas.

 

 

A.D. Blood 

 

If you in the village think that my work was a good one,

Who closed the saloons and stopped all playing at cards,

And haled old Daisy Fraser before Justice Arnett,

In many a crusade to purge the people of sin;

Why do you let the milliner's daughter Dora,

And the worthless son of Benjamin Pantier,

Nightly make my grave their unholy pillow?

 

 

 

 

Aaron Hatfield 

 

Better than granite, Spoon River,

Is the memory-picture you keep of me

Standing before the pioneer men and women

There at Concord Church on Communion day.

Speaking in broken voice of the peasant youth

Of Galilee who went to the city

And was killed by bankers and lawyers;

My voice mingling with the June wind

That blew over wheat fields from Atterbury;

While the white stones in the burying ground

Around the Church shimmered in the summer sun.

And there, though my own memories

Were too great to bear, were you, O pioneers,

With bowed heads breathing forth your sorrow

For the sons killed in battle and the daughters

And little children who vanished in life's morning,

Or at the intolerable hour of noon.

But in those moments of tragic silence,

When the wine and bread were passed,

Came the reconciliation for us --

Us the ploughmen and the hewers of wood,

Us the peasants, brothers of the peasant of Galilee --

To us came the Comforter

And the consolation of tongues of flame!

 

 

 

 

 

masters
Edgar Lee Masters (23 augustus 1868 – 5 maart 1950)

 

 

 

 

 

Zie voor bovenstaande schrijvers ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2007 en ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2008.

 

 

 

 

De Russische schrijver Aleksander Grin (eig. Aleksandr Stepanovitsj Grinevski) werd geboren in Vjatka op 23 augustus 1880. Zijn moeder overleed toen Grin 13 was. Na het voltooien van zijn opleiding, ging Grin naar Odessa, waar hij vele dienstbetrekkingen had, zoals matroos, mijnwerker of bouwvakker. Vaak had hij echter geen betrekking en moest hij zijn toevlucht nemen tot bedelen. Nadat hij het leger in was gegaan, sloot hij zich aan bij de Sociaal-Revolutionaire Partij, en deserteerde. Dit leidde tot zijn arrestatie en gevangenisstraf wegens het bedrijven van revolutionaire propaganda. In 1906 publiceerde hij zijn eerste novelle, maar in hetzelfde jaar werd hij opnieuw gearresteerd in Sint-Petersburg. Hij werd veroordeeld tot 4 jaar verbanning naar Tobolsk in Siberië. Grin ontsnapte echter kort na aankomst in Tobolsk en keerde terug naar Sint-Petersburg. In 1910 werd hij opnieuw opgepakt en verbannen naar Archangelsk. Daar leefde hij samen met zijn vrouw van 1910 tot 1912. Na terugkeer in Sint-Petersburg scheidde hij van zijn vrouw. Hij had tot dan slechts korte verhalen geschreven, maar na de Russische Revolutie zou Grin ook langere verhalen schrijven. In 1921 trouwde hij opnieuw, en in 1924 verhuisde het gezin naar Feodosija op de Krim, zodat Grin dicht bij zijn geliefde zee kon leven. Grin's romantische schrijfstijl was niet geliefd bij de Sovjet uitgeverijen, en het gezin leefde in grote armoede. Grin overleed aan tuberculose in Stari Krim.

 

Uit: A Trip (Vertaald door Barry Scherr)

 

The traveller  Ammon Root returned to his  native land after an absence of several  years. He stayed with Tonar, an  old friend of  his, who was the director of a  joint-stock company and a person with a shady past-but also a fanatic  for decorum  and probity. On  the  very  day  of his  arrival Ammon quarrelled with Tonar over a newspaper editorial, called his friend a minion of the minister, and stepped outside for a walk.

     Ammon  Root was one of those  people  who  are  more  serious than they appear at first  glance.  His  travels were not mentioned by the newspapers, nor  did  they  cause  a single  map to  make  the slightest change  in  its depiction of the  continents, but they were still  absolutely necessary  for him. "To  live means to travel," he  would say  to  those  people  who  were attached to life just on the side of it that is most warm and steamy, like a hot  pie.  Ammon's  eyes-two eternally greedy  abysses-ransacked heaven  and earth in  their  search  for new  spoils;  abysses-everything he saw plunged

headlong into them and was packed away once and for all in the fearful crush at the bottom  of  his memory,  to be kept  for his own  use. In contrast to tourists Ammon saw far more than the museums and churches where the viewers, pretending to be experts, seek ethereal beauty in poorly-executed paintings.

     Out  of curiosity  Ammon Root  stopped  in  at a cafeteria  that served vegetarian  food.  About a  hundred people  were sitting in the large rooms, which  smelled of varnish,  paint, freshly-dried  wall-paper, and some other particularly abstinent  odour. Ammon noticed the  absence of any old people.

An  extraordinary silence, which was out of keeping with even the concept of food, inspired the appetite  of anyone  coming in to be prayerfully delicate and bodiless, like the very  idea of herbivority. The pious  but ruddy faces of the health fanatics cast  indifferent glances at  Ammon. He sat down. The dinner, served to him with  a ceremonial and somewhat accentuated solemnity, consisted of a repulsive gruel called "Hercules", fried potatoes, cucumbers, and  some  insipid  cabbage.  Ammon  poked  around with  his  fork  in  this gastronomical paltriness, ate  a  piece of bread and a cucumber, and drank a glass  of water; then  he snapped open his cigarette case, but he remembered that smoking was prohibited and looked around gloomily. At the tables mouths were  chewing sedately and  delicately in  a death-like  silence.“

 

 

 

 

Grin
Aleksander Grin (23 augustus 1880 - 8 juli 1932)

 

 

 

 

 

Zie voor onderstaande schrijvers ook mijn blog van 23 augustus 2007.

 

De Roemeense essayist, filosoof, kunsthistoricus en politicus Andrei Gabriel Pleşu werd geboren op 23 augustus 1948 in Boekarest.


De Duitse dichter Theobald Hock werd geboren op 23 augustus 1573 in Limbach/Pfalz-Zweibrücken.