05-10-17

Václav Havel, Roberto Juarroz, Stig Dagerman, K.L. Poll, Flann O’,Brien, Denis Diderot, Charlotte Link, José Donoso, Sven Cooremans

 

De Tsjechische schrijver en politicus Václav Havel werd op 5 oktober 1936 in Praag geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Václav Havel op dit blog.

Uit:The Power of the Powerless (Vertaald door Paul Wilson)

A specter is haunting Eastern Europe: the specter of what in the West is called "dissent." This specter has not appeared out of thin air. It is a natural and inevitable consequence of the present historical phase of the system it is haunting. It was born at a time when this system, for a thousand reasons, can no longer base itself on the unadulterated, brutal, and arbitrary application of power, eliminating all expressions of nonconformity. What is more, the system has become so ossified politically that there is practically no way for such nonconformity to be implemented within its official structures.
Who are these so-called dissidents? Where does their point of view come from, and what importance does it have? What is the significance of the "independent initiatives" in which "dissidents" collaborate, and what real chances do such initiatives have of success? Is it appropriate to refer to "dissidents" as an opposition? If so, what exactly is such an opposition within the framework of this system? What does it do? What role does it play in society? What are its hopes and on what are they based? Is it within the power of the "dissidents"—as a category of subcitizen outside the power establishment—to have any influence at all on society and the social system? Can they actually change anything?
I think that an examination of these questions—an examination of the potential of the "powerless"—can only begin with an examination of the nature of power in the circumstances in which these powerless people operate.
Our system is most frequently characterized as a dictatorship or, more precisely, as the dictatorship of a political bureaucracy over a society which has undergone economic and social leveling. I am afraid that the term "dictatorship," regardless of how intelligible it may otherwise be, tends to obscure rather than clarify the real nature of power in this system. We usually associate the term with the notion of a small group of people who take over the government of a given country by force; their power is wielded openly, using the direct instruments of power at their disposal, and they are easily distinguished socially from the majority over whom they rule. One of the essential aspects of this traditional or classical notion of dictatorship is the assumption that it is temporary, ephemeral, lacking historical roots. Its existence seems to be bound up with the lives of those who established it. It is usually local in extent and significance, and regardless of the ideology it utilizes to grant itself legitimacy, its power derives ultimately from the numbers and the armed might of its soldiers and police. The principal threat to its existence is felt to be the possibility that someone better equipped in this sense might appear and overthrow it.”

 

 
Václav Havel (5 oktober 1936 – 18 december 2011)

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05-10-16

Václav Havel, Roberto Juarroz, Stig Dagerman, K.L. Poll, Flann O’Brien, Denis Diderot, Charlotte Link, Sven Cooremans

 

De Tsjechische schrijver en politicus Václav Havel werd op 5 oktober 1936 in Praag geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Václav Havel op dit blog.

Uit: To the Castle and Back (Vertaald door Paul Wilson)

“I've run away. I've run away to America. I've run away for two months, with the whole family; that is, with Dasa and our two boxers, Sugar and her daughter Madlenka. I've run away in the hope that I will find more time and focus to write something. I haven't been president now for two years, and I'm starting to worry about not having been able to write anything that holds together. When people ask me, as they do all the time, if I'm writing something and what I'm writing, I get mildly annoyed and I say that I've already written enough in my life, certainly more than most of my fellow citizens, and that writing isn't a duty one can perform on demand. I'm here as a guest of the Library of Congress, which has given me a very quiet and pleasant room where I can come whenever I want, to do whatever I want. They ask nothing from me in return. It's wonderful. Among other things, I would like to respond to Mr. HvÌzdala's questions.
I'd like to start the conversation with a question that touches on the second half of the 1980s, when you became the most famous dissident in Central Europe, or-as John Keane wrote-"a star in the theater of opposition." Do you remember the moment when it first occurred to you that you would have to enter into politics, that your role as a playwright, essayist, and thinker would no longer suffice?
In the first place I'd take issue with the designation "star in the theater of opposition." We did everything we could not to separate ourselves into the "stars" and the others. The better known someone among us became, and thus the better protected from arbitrary repression, the more he tried to come out in defense of those who were less known and therefore more vulnerable. The regime, after all, held to the principle of "divide and conquer." To some they said: "How can you, sir, an educated man respected by everyone, demean yourself by associating with such losers?" To others they said: "Don't get mixed up with those guys; they're a protected species. They're always going to lie their way out of trouble, and they'll go scot-free and leave you to pay the price." It's understandable that in such circumstances we placed a special emphasis on the principle of the equality of everyone who somehow expressed opposition to the regime.”

 

 
Václav Havel (5 oktober 1936 – 18 december 2011)

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05-10-15

Roberto Juarroz, Václav Havel, Stig Dagerman, K.L. Poll, Flann O’Brien, Denis Diderot

 

De Argentijnse dichter, essayist en literatuurwetenschapper Roberto Juarroz werd geboren in Coronel Dorrego op 5 oktober 1925. Zie ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Roberto Juarroz op dit blog.

 

The most beautiful day

The most beautiful day
lacks something:
its dark side.
Only to a near-sighted god
could light by itself
appear beautiful.

Beside any Let there be light!,
Let there be darkness!
should also be said.

We don't arrive
at necessary night by omission only.

 


Night shuts down sometimes

Night shuts down sometimes
like blocks of stone
and leaves us without space.
My hand then can no longer touch you
to defend us from death
and I can't even touch myself
to defend us from absence.
A vein that springs up in that same stone
separates me from my own thought too.
Thus night is converted
into our first tomb.

 

Now I can only wear old shoes

Now I can only wear old shoes.
The road I follow
wears shoes out from the first step.

But only old shoes
don't despise my road
and only they can arrive
where my road arrives.

After that,
you have to continue barefoot.

 

Vertaald door Mary Crow

 

 
Roberto Juarroz (5 oktober 1925 – 31 maart 1995)

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05-10-14

Flann O’Brien, Denis Diderot, Charlotte Link, José Donoso, Ervin Sinko

 

De Ierse schrijver Flann O’Brien werd geboren op 5 oktober 1911 in Strabane, County Tyrone. Zie ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Flann O’Brien op dit blog.

Uit: Drink and Time in Dublin

“If you take one now and take another when you get home, you’ll get a very good sleep but don’t take any more till to-morrow night because that stuff’s very dangerous. So I take one. But I know the doctor doesn’t know how bad I am. I didn’t tell him the whole story, no damn fear. So out with me to the jax where I take another one. Then back for a drink, still as wide-awake as a lark. You’ll have to go home now, the doctor says, we can’t have you passing out here, that stuff acts very quickly. Well, I have one more drink and off with me, in a bus, mind you, to the flat. I’m very surprised on the bus to find meself so wide-awake, looking out at people and reading the signs on shops. Then I begin to get afraid that the stuff is too weak and that I’ll be lying awake for the rest of the evening and all night. To hell with it, I say to meself, we’ll chance two more and let that be the end of it. Down went two more in the bus. I get there and into the flat. I’m still wide-awake and nothing will do me only one more pill for luck. I get into bed. I don’t remember putting the head on the pillow. I wouldn’t go out quicker if you hit me over the head with a crow-bar.
—You probably took a dangerous over-dose.
—Next thing I know I’m awake. It’s dark.
I sit up. There’s matches there and I strike one. I look at the watch. The watch is stopped. I get up and look at the clock. Of course the clock is stopped, hasn’t been wound for days. I don’t know what time it is. I’m a bit upset about this. I turn on the wireless. It takes about a year to heat up and would you believe me I try a dozen stations all over the place and not one of them is telling what the time is. Of course I knew there was no point in trying American stations. I’m very disappointed because I sort of expected a voice to say “It is now seven thirty p.m.” or whatever the time was.”

 

 
Flann O’Brien (5 oktober 1911 – 1 april 1966)
Cover

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05-10-13

Denis Diderot, Charlotte Link, José Donoso, Ervin Sinko

 

De Franse schrijver, filosoof en kunstcriticus Denis Diderot werd geboren in Langres op 5 oktober 1713. Zie ook alle tags voor Denis Diderot op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010.

Uit: Jacques le Fataliste

 

Jacques ne connaissait ni le nom de vice, ni le nom de vertu ; il prétendait qu'on était heureusement ou malheureusement né. Quand il entendait prononcer les mots récompenses ou châtiments, il haussait les épaules. Selon lui la récompense était l'encouragement des bons ; le châtiment, l'effroi des méchants. Qu'est-ce autre chose, disait-il, s'il n'y a point de liberté, et que notre destinée soit écrite là-haut ? Il croyait qu'un homme s'acheminait aussi nécessairement  à la gloire ou à l'ignominie, qu'une boule qui aurait la conscience d'elle-même suit la pente d'une montagne ; et que, si l'enchaînement des causes et des effets qui forment la vie d'un homme depuis le premier instant de sa naissance jusqu'à son dernier soupir nous était connu, nous resterions convaincus qu'il n'a fait que ce qu'il était nécessaire de faire. [...] D'après ce système, on pourrait imaginer que Jacques ne se réjouissait, ne s'affligeait de rien ; cela n'était pourtant pas vrai. Il se conduisait à peu près comme vous et moi. Il remerciait son bienfaiteur, pour qu'il fît encore du bien. Il se mettait en colère contre l'homme injuste ; et quand on lui objectait qu'il ressemblait alors au chien qui mord la pierre qui l'a frappé : "Nenni, disait-il, la pierre mordue par le chien ne se corrige pas ; l'homme injuste est corrigé par le bâton". Souvent il était inconséquent comme vous et moi, et sujet à oublier ses principes, excepté dans quelques circonstances où sa philosophie le dominait évidemment ; c'était alors qu'il disait : "Il fallait que cela fût, car cela était écrit là-haut."

 

 

 

Denis Diderot (5 oktober 1713 - 31 juli 1784)

Standbeeld in Langres

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05-10-11

Roberto Juarroz, Stig Dagerman, Denis Diderot, Ervin Sinko

 

De Argentijnse dichter, essayist en literatuurwetenschapper Roberto Juarroz werd geboren in Coronel Dorrego op 5 oktober 1925. Zie ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2008 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010.

 

 

Woorden zijn kleine hefbomen...

 

Woorden zijn kleine hefbomen,
maar wij hebben hun steunpunt nog niet gevonden.

 

Wij laten ze op elkaar steunen
en het bouwwerk geeft mee.
Wij laten ze steunen op het gezicht van de gedachte
en zijn masker slokt ze op.
Wij laten ze steunen op de rivier van de liefde
en ze gaan ervandoor met de rivier.

 

En wij blijven hun som zoeken
op één enkele hefboom,
maar we weten niet wat we willen optillen,
het leven of de dood,
de handeling van het spreken
of de gesloten cirkel van het mens-zijn.

 

 

 

Vertaald door Mariolein Sabarte Belacortu

 

 

 

Il pleut sur la pensée

 

Il pleut sur la pensée.

 

Et la pensée pleut sur le monde

comme les restes d'un filet décimé

dont les mailles ne parviennent pas à s'assembler.

 

Il pleut dans la pensée.

 

Et la pensée déborde et pleut dans le monde,

comblant depuis le centre tous les récipients,

même les mieux gardés et scellés.

 

Il pleut sous la pensée.

 

Et la pensée pleut sous le monde,

diluant le soubassement des choses

pour fonder à nouveau l'habitation de l'homme et de la vie.

 

Il pleut sans la pensée.

 

Et la pensée

continue de pleuvoir sans le monde,

continue de pleuvoir sans la pluie,

continue de pleuvoir.

 

 

 

Vertaald door Martine Broda



 

Roberto Juarroz (5 oktober 1925 – 31 maart 1995)

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05-10-10

Flann O’Brien, Charlotte Link, José Donoso, Václav Havel, Roberto Juarroz, Stig Dagerman, Ervin Sinko, Denis Diderot

 

Zie voor de volgende schrijvers van de 5e oktober mijn blog bij seniorennet.be

 

Flann O’Brien, Charlotte Link, José Donoso, Václav Havel

 

Zie voor de volgende schrijvers van de 5e oktober ook bij seniorennet.be mijn vorige blog van vandaag.

 

Roberto Juarroz, Stig Dagerman, Ervin Sinko, Denis Diderot