30-10-16

Dolce far niente, Robert Frost, Jan Van Loy, Ezra Pound, Paul Valéry, Andrew Solomon

 

Dolce far niente

 

 
October door George Inness, 1886

 

October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if the were all,
Whose elaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes' sake along the all.

 

 
Robert Frost (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)
Herfst in het Presidio park, San Francisco. Robert Frost werd geboren in San Francisco.

Lees meer...

26-03-16

Tennessee Williams, Gregory Corso, Hwang Sun-won, Martin McDonagh, Robert Frost, Patrick Süskind

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Tennessee Williams (eigenlijk Thomas Lanier Williams) werd geboren in Columbus, Mississippi, op 26 maart 1911. Zie ook alle tags voor Tennessee Williams op dit blog.

Uit: A Streetcar Named Desire

“STANLEY: Sure, I can see how you would be upset by this. She pulled the wool over your
eyes as much as Mitch’s!
STELLA: It’s pure invention! There’s not a word of truth in it and if I were a man and this
creature had dared to
invent such things in my presence —
BLANCHE [singing] :“Without your love, It’s a honky-tonk parade! Without your love, It’s a
melody played, In a penny arcade...”
STANLEY: Honey, I told you I thoroughly checked on these stories! Now wait till I finish. The trouble with Dame Blanche was that she couldn’t put on her act any more in Laurel! They got wised up after two or three dates with her and then they quit, and she goes on to another, the same old line, same old act, same old hooey! But the town was too small for this to go on forever! And as time went by she became a town character. Regarded as not just different but downright loco — nuts.
[Stella draws back.]
And for the last year or two she has been washed up like poison. That’s why she’s here this
summer, visiting royalty, putting on all this act — because she’s practically told by the mayor to get out of town! Yes, did you know there was an army camp near Laurel and your sister’s was one of the places called “Out-of-Bounds”?
BLANCHE: “It’s only a paper moon. Just as phony as it can be — But it wouldn’t be make-believe, If you believed in me!”
STANLEY: Well, so much for her being such a refined and particular type of girl. Which brings us to Lie Number Two.“

 

 
Tennessee Williams (26 maart 1911 – 25 februari 1983)
Marlon Brando als Stanley Kowalski in de film uit 1951

Lees meer...

28-07-15

Dolce far niente, Robert Frost, Remco Campert, Malcolm Lowry, Gerard Manley Hopkins

 

Dolce far niente

 

 
Evening After a Storm door Frederic Edwin Church, 1849

 

 

A Line-Storm Song

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift,
The road is forlorn all day,
Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift,
And the hoof-prints vanish away.
The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,
Expend their bloom in vain.
Come over the hills and far with me,
And be my love in the rain.

The birds have less to say for themselves
In the wood-world’s torn despair
Than now these numberless years the elves,
Although they are no less there:
All song of the woods is crushed like some
Wild, easily shattered rose.
Come, be my love in the wet woods; come,
Where the boughs rain when it blows.

There is the gale to urge behind
And bruit our singing down,
And the shallow waters aflutter with wind
From which to gather your gown.
What matter if we go clear to the west,
And come not through dry-shod?
For wilding brooch shall wet your breast
The rain-fresh goldenrod.

Oh, never this whelming east wind swells
But it seems like the sea’s return
To the ancient lands where it left the shells
Before the age of the fern;
And it seems like the time when after doubt
Our love came back amain.
Oh, come forth into the storm and rout
And be my love in the rain.

 

 
Robert Frost (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)
San Francisco, Market Street door Thomas Kinkade, z.j.
Robert Frost werd geboren in San Francisco.

Lees meer...

26-03-15

Tennessee Williams, Gregory Corso, Hwang Sun-won, Martin McDonagh, Robert Frost, Patrick Süskind

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Tennessee Williams (eigenlijk Thomas Lanier Williams) werd geboren in Columbus, Mississippi, op 26 maart 1911. Zie ook alle tags voor Tennessee Williams op dit blog.

Uit: A Streetcar Named Desire

« STELLA: Now please tell me quietly what you think you've found out about my sister.
STANLEY: Lie Number One: All this squeamishness she puts on! You should just know the line she's been feeding to Mitch -- He thought she had never been more than kissed by a fellow! But Sister Blanche is no lily! Ha-ha! Some lily she is!
STELLA: What have you heard and who from?
STANLEY: Our supply-man down at the plant has been going through Laurel for years and he knows all about her and everybody else in the town of Laurel knows all about her. She is as famous in Laurel as if she was the President of the United States, only she is not respected by any party! This supply-man stops at a hotel called the Flamingo.
BLANCHE [singing blithely]: "Say, it's only a paper moon, Sailing over a cardboard sea -- But it wouldn't be make-believe If you believed in me!"
STELLA: What about the -- Flamingo?
STANLEY: She stayed there, too.
STELLA: My sister lived at Belle Reve.
STANLEY: This is after the home-place had slipped through her lily white fingers! She moved to the Flamingo! A second class hotel which has the advantage of not interfering in the private social life of the personalities there! The Flamingo is used to all kinds of goings-on. But even the management of the Flamingo was impressed by Dame Blanche! In fact they were so impressed by Dame Blanche that they requested her to turn in her roomkey -- for permanently! This happened a couple of weeks before she showed here.
BLANCHE [singing]: "It's a Barnum and Bailey world. Just as phony as it can be -- But it wouldn't be make-believe if you believed in me!"
STELLA: What – contemptible – lies."

 

 
Tennessee Williams (26 maart 1911 – 25 februari 1983)
Cover dvd

Lees meer...

26-03-14

Tennessee Williams, Gregory Corso, Hwang Sun-won, Martin McDonagh, Robert Frost, Patrick Süskind

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Tennessee Williams (eigenlijk Thomas Lanier Williams) werd geboren in Columbus, Mississippi, op 26 maart 1911. Zie ook alle tags voor Tennessee Williams op dit blog.

Uit: Something Cloudy, Something Clear

“KIP. [extending his hand through the window] Oh. Yes, we met last night. Do you have any drinking water in here?
AUGUST. A bottle of tepid soda.
KIP. Fine. Anything wet but not salty.
CLARE. [to Kip] I’m about to deliver a lecture to him on making concessions in art.
KIP. For or against?
CLARE. I think any kind of artist — a painter like Van Gogh, a dancer like Nijinsky –
AUGUST. Both of them went mad.
CLARE. But others didn’t, refused to make concessions to bad taste and yet managed survival without losing their minds. That’s purity. You’ve got to respect it or not.

 

 
Kayal Khanna als Kip in een uitvoering in het Theatre Rhinoceros, San Francisco, 2013

 

AUGUST. I do, I will. But it will be years before I’ve mastered the craft of my work. I’ll try to survive the time till then.
CLARE. You’re young and strong and healthy. I don’t know your talent, but if you do and it’s good — forget concessions.
AUGUST. You have a rather precocious — knowledge of such things.
CLARE. Had to have that, exigency of –
AUGUST. — Survival?
CLARE. Had to have that early.
AUGUST. Why so early?
CLARE. My family in Newport, Rhode Island, were shocked by my lack of the conventions they valued too much.
KIP. Wow! I’ll continue my exercises. [He returns to the platform. Over the following he begins a series of slow, lyrical warmup exercises which will blend gracefully, later, into the pavane]".

 

 
Tennessee Williams (26 maart 1911 – 25 februari 1983)
Portret door Juan Fernando Bastos, 2005

Lees meer...

26-03-13

Gregory Corso, Tennessee Williams, Hwang Sun-won, Martin McDonagh, Robert Frost, Erica Jong

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Gregory Corso werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1930. Zie ook alle tags voor Gregory Corso op dit blog.

 

 

To a downfallen rose

 

When I laid aside the verses of Mimnermus,
I lived a life of canned heat and raw hands,
alone, not far from my body did I wander,
walked with a hope of a sudden dreamy forest of gold.
O rose, downfallen, bend your huge vegetic back;
eye down the imposter sun...in winter dream
sulk your rosefamed head into the bile of golden giant,
ah, rose, augment the rose further still!
whence upon that self-created dive in Eden
you blossomed where the Watchmaker of Nothingness
lulled,
your birth did cause bits of smashed night to pop,
causing my dreamy forest to unfold.
Yes, and the Watchmaker, his wheely-flesh
and jewelled-bones spoiled as he awoke,
and in the face of your Somethingness, he fled
waving oblivious monks in his unwinded hands.
The sun cannot see upheaved spatics, the tennis of Venus
and the court of Mars sing the big lie of the sun,
ah, faraway ball of fur, sponge up the elements;
make clear the trees and the mountains of the earth,
arise and turn away from the vast fixedness.

Rose! Rose! my tinhorneared rose!
Rose is my visionic eyehand of all Mysticdom
Rose is my wise chair of bombed houses
Rose is my patient electric eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes,
Rose is my festive jowl,
Dali Lama Grand Vicar Glorious Caesar rose!

When I hear the rose scream
I gather all the failure experiments of an anatomical empire
and, with some chemical dream, discover
the hateful law of the earth and sun, and the screaming
rose between.

 

 

Gregory Corso (26 maart 1930 – 17 januari 2001)

Lees meer...

26-03-12

Robert Frost, Erica Jong, Patrick Süskind, A. E. Housman, Artur Landsberger

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Robert Lee Frost werd geboren op 26 maart 1874 in San Francisco. Zie ook alle tags voor Robert Frost op dit blog.

 

A Brook In The City

 

The farmhouse lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear
A number in. But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was thrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run --
And all for nothing it had ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under,
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.

 

 

 


Robert Frost (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)

Portret door John McCormick

 

Lees meer...

26-03-11

Robert Frost, Erica Jong, Patrick Süskind, A. E. Housman, Artur Landsberger

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Robert Lee Frost werd geboren op 26 maart 1874 in San Francisco. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2009 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2010.

 

 

A Prayer in Spring

 

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;

And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here

All simply in the springing of the year.

 

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,

Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;

And make us happy in the happy bees,

The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

 

And make us happy in the darting bird

That suddenly above the bees is heard,

The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,

And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

 

For this is love and nothing else is love,

To which it is reserved for God above

To sanctify to what far ends he will,

But which it only needs that we fulfill.

 

 

 

 

Putting in the seed

 

You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper's on the table, and we'll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea);
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a Springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

 

 

 

 

Robert Frost  (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)

Hier met zijn zoon Carol in 1916 of 1917

 

 

Lees meer...

26-03-10

Robert Frost, Erica Jong, A. E. Housman, Tennessee Williams, Artur Landsberger


De Amerikaanse dichter Robert Lee Frost werd geboren op 26 maart 1874 in San Francisco. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2009.

 

 

To The Thawing Wind

 

Come with rain. O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do tonight,
bath my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.

 

 

 

 

Acceptance

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night bee too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'

 

 

 

 

robert-frost
Robert Frost  (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichteres en schrijfster Erica Jong werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1942. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2009.

 

 

After the Earthquake

 

After the first astounding rush,
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .

 

After the tangos in the kitchen,
& our eyes fixed on each other at dinner,
as if we would eat with our lids,
as if we would swallow each other. . .

 

I find you still
here beside me in bed,
(while my pen scratches the pad
& your skin glows as you read)
& my whole life so mellowed & changed

 

that at times I cannot remember
the crimp in my heart that brought me to you,
the pain of a marriage like an old ache,
a husband like an arthritic knuckle.

 

Here, living with you,
love is still the only subject that matters.
I open to you like a flowering wound,
or a trough in the sea filled with dreaming fish,
or a steaming chasm of earth
split by a major quake.

 

You changed the topography.
Where valleys were,
there are now mountains.
Where deserts were,
there now are seas.

 

We rub each other,
but we do not wear away.

 

 

 

 

Erica_Jong
Erica Jong (New York, 26 maart 1942)

 

 

 

 

De Engelse dichter Alfred Edward Housman werd geboren op 26 maart 1859 in  Fockbury, Worcestershire. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2009.

 

 

When I was one-and-twenty

 

When I was one-and-twenty

I heard a wise man say,

`Give crowns and pounds and guineas

But not your heart away;

Give pearls away and rubies

But keep your fancy free.'

But I was one-and-twenty

No use to talk to me.

 

When I was one-and-twenty

I heard him say again,

`The heart out of the bosom

Was never given in vain;

'Tis paid with sighs a plenty

And sold for endless rue.'

And I am two-and-twenty

And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

 

 

 

 

If truth in hearts that perish

 

If truth in hearts that perish

Could move the powers on high,

I think the love I bear you

Should make you not to die.

 

Sure, sure, if stedfast meaning,

If single thought could save,

The world might end to-morrow,

You should not see the grave.

 

This long and sure-set liking,

This boundless will to please,

-- Oh, you should live for ever,

If there were help in these.

 

But now, since all is idle,

To this lost heart be kind,

Ere to a town you journey

Where friends are ill to find.

 

 

 

 

Houseman
A. E. Housman (26 maart 1859 – 30 april 1936)

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Tennessee Williams (eigenlijk Thomas Lanier Williams) werd geboren in Columbus (Mississippi op 26 maart 1911. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2009.

 

Uit: A Streetcar Named Desire

 

[BLANCHE.] „Afterward we pretended that nothing had been discovered. Yes, the three of us drove out to Moon Lake Casino, very drunk and laughing all the way.

[Polka music sounds, in a minor key faint with distance]

We danced the Varsouviana! Suddenly, in the middle of the dance the boy I had married broke away from me and ran out of the casino. A few moments later -- a shot!

[The polka stops abruptly. Blanche rises stiffly. Then, the polka resumes in a major key]

I ran out -- all did! -- all ran and gathered about the terrible thing at the edge of the lake! I couldn't get near for the crowding. Then somebody caught my arm. "Don't go any closer! Come back! You don't want to see!" See? See what! Then I heard voices say -- Allan! Allan! The Grey boy! He'd stuck the revolver into his mouth, and fired -- so that the back of his head had been -- blown away!

[She sways and covers her face]

It was because -- on the dance floor -- unable to stop myself -- I'd suddenly said -- "I saw! I know! You disgust me ..." And then the searchlight which had been turned on the world was turned off again and never for one moment since has there been any light that's stronger than this -- kitchen -- candle ...

[Mitch gets up awkwardly and moves toward her a little. The polka music increases. Mitch stands beside her]

MITCH. [drawing her slowly into his arms] You need somebody. And I need somebody, too. Could it be -- you and me, Blanche?

[She stares at him vacantly for a moment. Then with a soft cry huddles in his embrace. She makes a sobbing effort to speak but the words won't come. He kisses her forehead and her eyes and finally her lips. The polka tune fades out. Her breath is drawn and released in long, grateful sobs]

BLANCHE. Sometimes -- there's God -- so quickly!“

 

 

 

tennessee_williams_stamp
Tennessee Williams (26 maart 1911 – 25 februari 1983)

 

 

 

 

De Duitse schrijver en criticus Artur Hermann Landsberger werd geboren op 26 maart 1876 in Berlijn. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2009.

 

Uit: Liebe und Bananen

 

„Es lebte lange nach Kaiser Karl einmal ein großer Dichter, Dr. h. c. Johann Wolfgang Gerhart, das Haupt einer schlesischen Familie, der dem deutschen Volke unvergängliche Dichtungen geschenkt, im Alter aber der Metaphysik und dem Snobismus verfallen war. Metaphysik und Snobismus vertragen sich schlecht miteinander. Also geschah es, daß der große Dichter im Klub der deutschen Filmindustrie am 28. August, dem Geburtstage Goethes – was seine metaphysischen und snobistischen Gründe hatte – einen Vortrag über den deutschen Film zu halten gedachte. Goethe hätte das vielleicht auch getan. – Was war näher liegend, als daß man ihm zu ehren eins seiner eigenen Werke verfilmte? Das scheiterte an dem hohen Preise, den der Dichter für das Verfilmungsrecht forderte. Also mußte man etwas Neues schaffen.
»Wenn schon !« sagte der deutschamerikanische Impresario S. Rachitis, der überall, wo er etwas zu verdienen schnupperte, seine schmutzigen Hände im Spiel hatte. Er trommelte, indem er Berge versprach, ein Dutzend der prominentesten Schauspieler in einem teuren Weinlokale  am Zoo zusammen und erklärte:
»Der Gerhart ist ein Dichter, der sich hat den Kopf serbrochen für euch dutzende von Malen, damit ihr habt gute Rollen. Serbrecht ihr euch den Kopf für ihn einmal. ich sahle alles.«
Und da Künstler Kinder sind, so saßen sie da und zerbrachen sich den Kopf, während S. Rachitis sich entfernte und zu zahlen vergaß.
»Gerhart ist Metaphysiker«, erklärte Albert Stein-brück. »Was also liegt näher, als daß wir ihm zu Ehren ein Stück von Aristophanes verfilmen.«
Den Zusammenhang verstand – obschon manch einer wußte, wer Aristophanes war – niemand. Aber den Mut, das zu bekennen, fand nur die schwarze Pola, genannt  Djojo, die mit viel Temperament Aristophanes für überlebt erklärte und sich leidenschaftlich für Hanns Heinz Ewers und die Verfilmung der Alraune einsetzte.“

 

 

 

Landsberger

Artur Landsberger ( 26 maart 1876 – 4 oktober 1933)

 

26-03-09

Patrick Süskind, Martin McDonagh, Gregory Corso, Bettina Galvagni, Erica Jong, Robert Frost, A. E. Housman, Tennessee Williams, Artur Landsberger


De Duitse schrijver Patrick Süskind werd geboren in Ambach op 26 maart 1949. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.

 

Uit: Drei Geschichten

 

Wie war die Frage? Achsoja: Welches Buch mich beeindruckt, geprägt, gestempelt, gebeutelt, gar 'auf ein Gleis' gesetzt oder 'aus der Bahn geworfen' hätte. Aber das klingt ja nach Schockerlebnis oder traumatischer Erfahrung, und diese pflegt der Geschädigte sich allenfalls in Angstträumen zu vergegenwärtigen, nicht aber bei wachem Bewußtsein, geschweige denn schriftlich und vor aller Öffentlichkeit, worauf, so scheint mir, bereits ein österreichischer Psychologe, dessen Name mir momentan entfallen ist, in einem sehr lesenswerten Aufsatz, an dessen Titel ich mich nicht mehr mit Bestimmtheit erinnern kann, der aber in einem Bändchen unter der Sammelüberschrift "Ich und Du" oder "Es und Wir" oder "Selbst Ich" oder so ähnlich erschienen ist (ob neuerdings bei Rowohlt, Fischer, dtv oder Suhrkamp wiederaufgelegt, wüßte ich nicht mehr zu sagen, wohl aber, daß der Umschlag grün-weiß oder hellblau- gelblich, wenn nicht gar grau-blau-grünlich war), zu Recht hingewiesen hat. Nun, vielleicht ist die Frage ja gar nicht nach neurotraumatischen Leseerfahrungen gerichtet, sondern meint eher jenes aufrüttelnde Kunsterlebnis, wie es in dem berühmten Gedicht "Schöner Apollo" ... nein, es hieß, glaube ich, nicht "Schöner Apollo", es hieß irgendwie anders, der Titel hatte etwas Archaisches, "Junger Torso" oder "Uralter schöner Apoll" oder so ähnlich hieß es, aber das tut nichts zur Sache... - wie es also in diesem berühmten Gedicht von ... von ... - ich kann mich im Augenblick nicht auf seinen Namen besinnen, aber es war wirklich ein sehr berühmter Dichter mit Kuhaugen und einem Schnauzbart, und er hat diesem dicken französischen Bildhauer (wie hieß er doch gleich?) eine Wohnung in der Rue de Varenne besorgt - Wohnung ist kein Ausdruck, ein Palazzo ist das, mit einem Park, den man in zehn Minuten nicht durchmessen kann! (Man fragt sich beiläufig, wovon die Leute das damals alles bezahlt haben) - wie es jedenfalls seinen Ausdruck in diesem herrlichen Gedicht findet, das ich in seiner Gänze nicht mehr zitieren könnte, dessen letzte Zeile mir jedoch unauslöschlich im Gedächtnis eingegraben steht, sie lautet nämlich: "Du mußt dein Leben ändern."

 

 

 

 

sueskind3
Patrick Süskind (Ambach, 26 maart 1949)

 

 

 

 

 

De Engels-Ierse schrijver en regisseur Martin McDonagh werd geborenop 26 maart 1970 in Camberwell, Londen, Engeland in een Iers gezin.  Tijdens zijn zomervakanties in Galway, raakte McDonagh bekend met het dialect dat in deze streek van Ierland gesproken werd, hetgeen een inspiratie werd voor de toneelstukken die hij zou schrijven. Van zijn zestiende tot vierentwintigste schreef McDonagh hoorspelen en screenplays zonder succes, tot hij zich uiteindelijk waagde aan het schrijven voor theater. Hij schreef twee trilogieën in ongeveer negen maanden in 1994, alle zes toneelstukken speelden zich af in County Galway. De eerste trilogie is de Leenane trilogie, bestaande uit The Beauty Queen of Leenane (1996), A Skull in Connemara (1997) en The Lonesome West (1997). De tweede trilogie bestaat uit The Cripple of Inishmaan (1997), The Lieutenant of Inishmore (2001) en The Banshees of Inisheer  - de trilogie speelt zich af op de Aran Islands aan de kust van Galway. In 2003 kwam The Pillowman uit, het eerste toneelstuk dat zich niet afspeelde in Ierland. Zijn toneelstukken hebben meerdere Tony nominaties ontvangen en zijn over de hele wereld geproduceerd. In 2006 kwam zijn eerste cinematografische werk uit, de korte film Six Shooter. In 2007 begon het filmen van In Bruges, waarvan hij zowel de schrijver als regisseur was. De hoofdrollen werden vertolkt door Colin Farrell, Brendan Gleeson en Ralph Fiennes.

 

Uit: The Beauty Queen of Leenane

 

„MAUREEN: I'll do you some of your Complan.

MAG. Have I not had me Complan already, Maureen? I have.

MAUREEN: Sure, another one won't hurt.

MAG. (wary) No, I suppose.

Maureen tops the drink up with tap water to cool it, stirs it just twice to keep it lumpy, takes the spoon out, hands the drink to Mag, then leans back against the table to watch her drink it. Mag looks at it in distaste.

MAG. A bit lumpy, Maureen.

MAUREEN. Never mind lumpy, Mam. The lumps will do you good. That's the best part of Complan is the lumps. Drink ahead.

MAG. A little spoon, do you have?

MAUREEN. No, I have no little spoon. There's no little spoons for liars in this house. No little spoons at all. Be drinking ahead.

Mag takes the smallest of sickly sips

MAUREEN. The whole of it now!

MAG. I do have a funny tummy, Maureen, and I do have no room.

MAUREEN. Drink ahead, I said! You had room enough to be spouting your lies about Ray Dooley had no message! Did I not meet him on the road beyond as he was going? The lies of you. The whole of that Complan you'll drink now, and suck the lumps down too, and whatever's left you haven't drank, it is over your head I will be emptying it, and you know well enough I mean it!

Mag slowly drinks the rest of the sickly brew

MAUREEN. Arsing me around, eh? Interfering with my life again? Isn't it enough I've had to be on beck and call for you every day for the past twenty year? Is it one evening out you begrudge me?“

 

 

 

 

 

McDonagh
Martin McDonagh (Camberwell, 26 maart 1970)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Gregory Corso werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1930. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.

 

 

Birthplace Revisited

(from Gasoline)

 

I stand in the dark light in the dark street

and look up at my window, I was born there.

The lights are on; other people are moving about.

I am with raincoat; cigarette in mouth,

hat over eye, hand on gat.

I cross the street and enter the building.

The garbage cans haven't stopped smelling.

I walk up the first flight; Dirty Ears

aims a knife at me...

I pump him full of lost watches.

 

 

 

 

 

Poets Hitchiking on the Highway

 

Of course I tried to tell him

but he cranked his head

without an excuse.

I told him the sky chases

the sun

And he smiled and said:

'What's the use.'

I was feeling like a demon

again

So I said: 'But the ocean chases

the fish.'

This time he laughed

and said: 'Suppose the

strawberry were

pushed into a mountain.'

After that I knew the

war was on--

So we fought:

He said: 'The apple-cart like a

broomstick-angel

snaps & splinters

old dutch shoes.'

I said: 'Lightning will strike the old oak

and free the fumes!'

He said: 'Mad street with no name.'

I said: 'Bald killer! Bald killer! Bald killer!'

He said, getting real mad,

'Firestoves! Gas! Couch!'

I said, only smiling,

'I know God would turn back his head

if I sat quietly and thought.'

We ended by melting away,

hating the air!

 

 

 

 

 

Corso
Gregory Corso
(26 maart 1930 – 17 januari 2001)

 

 

 

 

 

De Italiaanse, Duitstalige, schrijfster Bettina Galvagni werd geboren op 26 maart 1976 in Neumarkt. Zij bezocht het gymnasium in Bozen en studeerde medicijnen in Wenen. In 1997 verscheen haar eerste roman Melancholia, waarvoor zij in 1998 de Rauriser Literaturpreis ontving. In 2002 verscheen haar tweede roman Persona. Tegenwoordig werkt zij als arts in Parijs.

 

Uit: Persona

 

“Kleine, durchsichtige Schneeflocken fielen auf die Scheiben des Taxis, das langsam den Hügel hinauffuhr. Lori spürte die eisige Kälte, die durch irgendwelche Ritze zu kommen schien. Andererseits war ihr warm; sie war gekleidet wie nach hohem Fieber. Und so würden ihre ersten Schritte sein, die sie vom Taxi aus imaginierte: wie nach hohem Fieber.

Der Taxifahrer hielt an, fragte, ob er sie ganz hineinfahren solle, und sie verneinte.

Ohne sich noch einmal umzudrehen, ging sie am Portier im weißen Mantel vorbei, der eine Bewegung mit den Armen machte, als ob er Tauben fütterte.

Eine dünne Schneeschicht bedeckte die Spitze der kleinen Jugendstilkirche und die großen Pavillons aus Backstein. Die Vorderseite der Pavillons war hell und glasig, und durch ihren unregelmäßigen Farbton wirkte sie zerbrechlich und verschlissen wie ausgetanzte Spitzenschuhe. Ihre Hinterseiten leuchteten wie das Fell einer roten Katze.

Lori öffnete die Tür eines Pavillons und setzte sich auf die Stufen des Treppenaufgangs. Sie hörte zu, wie aus dem Inneren der Station Stimmen, Radiomusik und das Scheppern von Geschirr drangen, und betrachtete die Flügeltür, deren obere Hälfte aus eingefaßtem Glas bestand. Darin war ein grün schimmernder stilisierter Baum durch ein zartes schmückendes ebenfalls grünes Band mit weiteren Bäumen verbunden, deren Stämme alle die Farbe trüber, abgestandener Milch hatten und dahinter konnte man schemenhaft die Köpfe von Alten sehen, die über Tassen gebeugt waren, und braune Tische und etwas, das sich wie ein Triangelstab bewegte.”

 

 

 

 

Galvagni
Bettina Galvagni (Neumarkt, 26 maart 1976)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichteres en schrijfster Erica Jong werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1942. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.

 

 

The Poetry Suit

 

I put on my poetry suit.

The prose falls away

like a dream I cannot remember,

the images unraveling like threads

in a cheap dress, sewn in Hong Kong

to feed the hungry mouths

of sweet-faced Chinese children.

 

Now I am in my poetry suit.

I zip myself into it,

pink as flesh, tight as the suit

I was born it, & looking

seamless as a perfect poem,

gleaming as the golden fleece,

slim as a stripper at the Crazy Horse Saloon,

transparent as silk stockings,

& smelling of jasmine & tea rose.

 

But what was that old perfume

I left in the pocket,

that cotton ball soaked

in Bal a Versailles,

that yellowing glace glove

that lacks a mate,

that fine cambric handkerchief

brown with dried blood

from an old nosebleed?

 

Even poetry, pure as nothing

but snow or music,

drags life along

in its hidden pockets.

 

Oh for an art

that is not made of words

with all their odors

& indiscretions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

erica_jong
Erica Jong (New York, 26 maart 1942)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Robert Lee Frost werd geboren op 26 maart 1874 in San Francisco. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.

 

 

Good Hours

I had for my winter evening walk--
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.
I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street
Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o'clock of a winter eve

 

 

 

 

 

Spring Pools

 

These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,

And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods --

Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.

 

 

 

 

Frost
Robert Frost  (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)

Robert Frost in New Hampshire door James Chapin

 

 

 

 

 

De Engelse dichter Alfred Edward Housman werd geboren op 26 maart 1859 in  Fockbury, Worcestershire. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.

 

 

ILLIC JACET

 

Oh hard is the bed they have made him,

  And common the blanket and cheap;

But there he will lie as they laid him:

  Where else could you trust him to sleep?

 

To sleep when the bugle is crying

  And cravens have heard and are brave,

When mothers and sweethearts are sighing

  And lads are in love with the grave.

 

Oh dark is the chamber and lonely,

  And lights and companions depart;

But lief will he lose them and only

  Behold the desire of his heart.

 

And low is the roof, but it covers

  A sleeper content to repose;

And far from his friends and his lovers

  He lies with the sweetheart he chose.

 

 

 

 

 

When I would muse in boyhood

 

When I would muse in boyhood

  The wild green woods among,

And nurse resolves and fancies

  Because the world was young,

It was not foes to conquer,

  Nor sweethearts to be kind,

But it was friends to die for

  That I would seek and find.

 

I sought them and I found them,

  The sure, the straight, the brave,

The hearts I lost my own to,

  The souls I could not save.

They braced their belts around them,

  They crossed in ships the sea,

They sought and found six feet of ground,

  And there they died for me.

 

 

 

 

 

Housman
A. E. Housman (26 maart 1859 – 30 april 1936)

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Tennessee Williams (eigenlijk Thomas Lanier Williams) werd geboren in Columbus (Mississippi op 26 maart 1911. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007 en ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2008.

 

Uit: A Streetcar Named Desire


” MITCH. She wants me to be settled down before the -- [His voice is hoarse and he clears his throat twice, shuffling nervously around with his hands in and out of his pockets]

BLANCHE. You love her very much, don't you?

MITCH. Yes.

BLANCHE. I think you have a great capacity for devotion. You will be lonely when she passes on, won't you? [Mitch clears his throat and nods] I understand what that is.

MITCH. To be lonely?

BLANCHE. I loved someone, too, and the person I loved I lost.

MITCH. Dead? [She crosses to the window and sits on the sill, looking out. She pours herself another drink] A man?

BLANCHE. He was a boy, just a boy, when I was a very young girl. When I was sixteen, I made the discovery -- love. All at once and much, much too completely. It was like you suddenly turned a blinding light on something that had always been half in shadow, that's how it struck the world for me. But I was unlucky. Deluded. There was something different about the boy, a nervousness, a softness and tenderness which wasn't like a man's, although he wasn't the least bit effeminate looking -- still -- that thing was there ... He came to me for help. I didn't know that. I didn't find out anything till after our marriage when we'd run away and come back and all I knew was I'd failed him in some mysterious way and wasn't able to give the help he needed but couldn't speak of! He was in the quicksands and clutching at me -- but I wasn't holding him out, I was slipping in with him! I didn't know that. I didn't know anything except I loved him unendurably but without being able to help him or help myself. Then I found out. In the worst of all possible ways. By coming suddenly into a room that I thought was empty -- which wasn't empty, but had two people in it ... the boy I had married and an older man who had been his friend for years ...

[A locomotive is heard approaching outside. She claps her hands to her ears and crouches over. The headlight of the locomotive glares into the room as it thunders past. As the noise recedes she straightens slowly and continues speaking.]

Afterward we pretended that nothing had been discovered. Yes, the three of us drove out to Moon Lake Casino, very drunk and laughing all the way.”

 

 

 

 

Tennessee-Williams
Tennessee Williams (26 maart 1911 – 25 februari 1983)

 

 

 

 

De Duitse schrijver en criticus Artur Hermann Landsberger werd geboren op 26 maart 1876 in Berlijn. Hij promoveerde weliswaar in de rechten, maar was vooral een succesvolle schrijver van romans. In de jaren twintig verscherpte hij zijn toon. In werken als Wie Satan starb (1919), Das Blut (1920), en vooral in zijn als reactie op Hugo Bettauers publicatie Stadt ohne Juden (1922) geschreven Berlin ohne Juden (1925) hield hij de maatschappij een bepaald niet vleiende spiegel voor. De laatse roman was eigenlijk bedoeld als satire op de antisemitische agitatie, maar kwam de latere realiteit op een griezelige wijze nabij. Als maatschappijcriticus werd Landsberger door de Nazi’s vervolgd. Om daaraan te ontkomen pleegde hij in 1933 zelfmoord.

 

Uit: Berlin ohne Juden

 

Die jüdische Bevölkerung entwickelte jetzt eine fieberhafte Tätigkeit. Verständlich, daß alles in Berlin zusammenströmte. Die Zeitungen mit Verkaufsinseraten aus dem ganzen Reich erschienen im Umfang von dreißig bis fünfzig Seiten. Man konnte alles, was schwer mitzunehmen war, vor allem also Häuser, Möbel, Gardinen, Teppiche, Kronen, Porzellane, Bilder, Bücher, Wagen, Geräte, Pferde, Haustiere, Weine, Konserven und anderes mehr zu lächerlichen Preisen kaufen. Die christliche Bevölkerung kaufte sich satt. Die Leute verkauften ihre Papiere und hoben von den städtischen Kassen ihre Ersparnisse ab. Die Billigkeit reizte und die Freude, den Juden, von denen sie sich sonst übervorteilt glaubten, nun ihrerseits für das, was sie ihnen abkauften, Preise vorzuschreiben, die bis zur Hälfte, oft bis zu einem Zehntel hinter dem wirklichen Wert zurückblieben. Natürlich, sie überkauften sich, und als die Juden raus waren, fehlte ihnen das Geld für das Nötigste. Meist wußten sie gar nichts mit dem Geramschten anzufangen. Was sollte man mit einer Villa vor den Toren Berlins anfangen, wenn man Mühe hatte, seine teuere Wohnung in der Stadt zu halten, was mit einem Auto, wenn man sich das Geld für Chauffeur und Benzin vom Munde absparte, was mit echten Persern in Größen von 6 x 5 und 5 x 4, wenn die Zimmer nur 4 x 3 und 3 x 2 groß waren, was mit Handfiletgardinen für 24 Fenster, wenn man nebbich - ach, man brauchte jetzt so gern die jüdischen Worte! - nur fünf Fenster Front hatte. Die Kronen paßten nicht zu den Möbeln, die Bilder nicht zu den Tapeten, und in den bei der Eile natürlich im ganzen gekauften Bibliotheken fand man statt der gesuchten Rudolfe (Herzog und Stratz) Juden, wie Wassermann, Hirschfeld und Georg Hermann, ja, manchmal stieß man sogar auf Bücher in hebräischer Sprache, vor denen man sich bekreuzigte, sofern man nicht in Krämpfe fiel.
Alles das aber bemerkte man leider erst, als der große Taumel sich legte und die Juden schon draußen waren. Sonst hätte man sie gewiß des Wuchers bezichtigt und sie gezwungen, die Geschäfte rückgängig zu machen.“

 

 

 

landsberger
Artur Landsberger ( 26 maart 1876 – 4 oktober 1933)

 

 

26-03-08

Patrick Süskind, Erica Jong, Gregory Corso, Robert Frost, A. E. Housman, Tennessee Williams


De Duitser schrijver Patrick Süskind werd geboren in Ambach op 26 maart 1949. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007.

 

Uit: Die Geschichte von Herrn Sommer

 

“Ein Jahr später lernte ich Rad fahren. Das war nicht eben früh, denn ich maß schon einen Meter fünfunddreißig, wog zweiunddreißig Kilo und hatte Schuhgröße zweiunddreißigeinhalb. Aber das Radfahren hat mich nie besonders interessiert. Diese schwankende Fortbewegungsweise auf nichts als zwei dünnen Rädern kam mir zutiefst unsolide, ja unheimlich vor, denn es konnte mir niemand erklären, weshalb ein Fahrrad im Ruhezustand sofort umfiel, wofern es nicht gestützt, angelehnt oder von jemandem festgehalten wurde - NICHT aber umfallen sollte, wenn sich ein zweiunddreißig Kilogramm schwerer Mensch darauf setzte und ohne jede Stütze oder Anlehnung damit herumfuhr. Die diesem wundersamen Phänomen zugrunde liegenden Naturgesetze, nämlich die Kreiselgesetze und insbesondere der sogenannte mechanische Drehimpulserhaltungssatz, waren mir damals völlig unbekannt, und selbst heute begreife ich sie noch nicht ganz, und allein das Wort „mechanischer Drehimpulserhaltungssatz“ ist mir nicht geheuer und verwirrt mich derart, dass die bewusste Stelle an meinem Hinterkopf zu kribbeln und zu klopfen anfängt.“

 

 

 

 
sueskind2
Patrick Süskind (Ambach, 26 maart 1949)

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichteres en schrijfster Erica Jong werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1942. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007.

 

Another Language

The whole world is flat
& I am round.
Even women avert their eyes,
& men, embarrassed
by the messy way
that life turns into life,
look away,
forgetting they themselves
were once this roundness
underneath the heart,
this helpless fish
swimming in eternity.

The sound of O,
not the sound of I
embarrasses the world.
My friends, who voluntarily have made
their bodies flat,
their writings flat as grief,
look at me in disbelief.
What is this large unseemly thing--
a pregnant poet?
an enormous walking O?
Oh take all the letters of the alphabet but that!
We speak the Esperanto of the flat!

Condemned to sign
language & silence, pregnant poems
for men to snicker at,
for women to denounce,
I live alone.
My world is round
& bounded by the mountain of my fear;
while all the great geographers agree
the world is flat
& roundness cannot be.

 

 

 

His Silence

He still wears the glass skin of childhood.
Under his hands, the stones turn mirrors.
His eyes are knives.

Who froze the ground to his feet?
Who locked his mouth into an horizon?
Why does the sun set when we touch?

I look for the lines between the silences.
He looks only for the silences.

Cram this page under his tongue.
Open him as if for surgery.
Let the red knife love slide in.

 

 

 

 

Jong
Erica Jong (New York, 26 maart 1942)

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Gregory Corso werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1930. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007.

 

Destiny

 

They deliver the edicts of God
without delay
And are exempt from apprehension
from detention
And with their God-given
Petasus, Caduceus, and Talaria
ferry like bolts of lightning
unhindered between the tribunals
of Space & Time

The Messenger-Spirit
in human flesh
is assigned a dependable,
self-reliant, versatile,
thoroughly poet existence
upon its sojourn in life

It does not knock
or ring the bell
or telephone
When the Messenger-Spirit
comes to your door
though locked
It'll enter like an electric midwife
and deliver the message

There is no tell
throughout the ages

that a Messenger-Spirit
ever stumbled into darkness.

 

 

 

 

I am 25

 

With a love a madness for Shelley
Chatterton Rimbaud
and the needy-yap of my youth
has gone from ear to ear:
I HATE OLD POETMEN!
Especially old poetmen who retract
who consult other old poetmen
who speak their youth in whispers,
saying:--I did those then
but that was then
that was then--
O I would quiet old men
say to them:--I am your friend
what you once were, thru me
you'll be again--
Then at night in the confidence of their homes
rip out their apology-tongues
and steal their poems.

 

 

 

Corso[1]
Gregory Corso
(26 maart 1930 – 17 januari 2001)

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Robert Lee Frost werd geboren op 26 maart 1874 in San Francisco. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007.

 

 

A Patch of Old Snow

 

There's a patch of old snow in a corner
That I should have guessed
Was a blow-away paper the rain
Had brought to rest.

It is speckled with grime as if
Small print overspread it,
The news of a day I've forgotten--
If I ever read it.

 

 

 

 

Tree at my Window

 

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.

But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.

 

 

 

 

robert_frost
Robert Frost  (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)

 

 

 

 

De Engelse dichter Alfred Edward Housman werd geboren op 26 maart 1859 in  Fockbury, Worcestershire. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007.

 

 

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

 

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

Is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

 

Now, of my three score years and ten,

Twenty will not come again,

And take from seventy springs a score,

It only leaves me fifty more.

 

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,

About the woodlands I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

 

 

 

 

You smile upon your friend to-day

 

You smile upon your friend to-day,

  To-day his ills are over;

You hearken to the lover's say,

  And happy is the lover.

 

'Tis late to hearken, late to smile,

  But better late than never;

I shall have lived a little while

  Before I die for ever.

 

 

 

Easter hymn

If in that Syrian garden, ages slain,

You sleep, and know not you are dead in vain,

Nor even in dreams behold how dark and bright

Ascends in smoke and fire by day and night

The hate you died to quench and could but fan,

Sleep well and see no morning, son of man.

 

But if, the grave rent and the stone rolled by,

At the right hand of majesty on high

You sit, and sitting so remember yet

Your tears, your agony and bloody sweat,

Your cross and passion and the life you gave,

Bow hither out of heaven and see and save.

 

 

 

houseman
A. E. Housman (26 maart 1859 – 30 april 1936)

 

 

 

 

 

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Tennessee Williams (eigenlijk Thomas Lanier Williams) werd geboren in Columbus (Mississippi op 26 maart 1911. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 maart 2007.

 

 

Blue Song

 

I am tired

I am tired of speech and of action

If you should meet me upon a

street do not question me for

I can tell you only my name

and the name of the town I was

born in — But that is enough

It does not matter whether tomorrow

arrives anymore. If there is

only this night and after it is

morning it will not matter now.

I am tired. I am tired of speech

and of action. In the heart of me

you will find a tiny handful of

dust. Take it and blow it out

upon the wind. Let the wind have

it and it will find its way home.

 

 

 

 

My litle one

My little one whose tongue is dumb,
whose fingers cannot hold to things,
who is so mercilessly young,
he leaps upon the instant things,

I hold him not. Indeed, who could?
He runs into the burning wood.
Follow, follow if you can!
He will come out grown to a man

and not remember whom he kissed,
who caught him by the slender wrist
and bound him by a tender yoke
which, understanding not, he broke.

 

 

 

 

tennessee_williams
Tennessee Williams (26 maart 1911 – 25 februari 1983)

 

 

26-03-07

Patrick Süskind, Erica Jong, Gregory Corso, Robert Frost, A. E. Housman, Tennessee Williams


De Duitser schrijver Patrick Süskind werd geboren in Ambach op 26 maart 1949. Süskind studeerde geschiedenis in München en Aix-en-Provence van 1968 tot 1974. In de jaren 80 werkte hij als scriptschrijver, onder meer voor de televisieseries Kir Royal en Monaco Franze. Zijn eenakter Der Kontrabaß uit 1981 had in vijf jaar meer dan 500 opvoeringen in Duitsland en had ook internationaal succes. Zijn bekendste boek is Het parfum (Das Parfum, 1985), dat één van de meest gelezen boeken uit Duitsland is, en wereldwijd een absolute bestseller. Het boek werd in 2006 verfilmd door regisseur Tom Tykwer. Süskind woont in de Languedoc, Frankrijk als kluizenaar. Hij geeft weinig interviews en mijdt de publiciteit. Ook heeft hij verschillende literaire prijzen geweigerd.

 

Uit: Das Parfum

 

„ Im achtzehnten Jahrhundert lebte in Frankreich ein Mann, der zu den genialsten und abscheulichsten Gestalten dieser an genialen und abscheulichen Gestalten nicht armen Epoche gehörte. Seine Geschichte soll hier erzählt werden. Er hieß Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, und wenn sein Name im Gegensatz zu den Namen anderer genialer Scheusale, wie etwa de Sades, Saint-Justs, Fouchés, Bonapartes usw., heute in Vergessenheit geraten ist, so sicher nicht deshalb, weil Grenouille diesen berühmteren Finstermännern an Selbstüberhebung, Menschenverachtung, Immoralität, kurz an Gottlosigkeit nachgestanden hätte, sondern weil sich sein Genie und sein einziger Ehrgeiz auf ein Gebiet beschränkte, welches in der Geschichte keine Spuren hinterläßt: auf das flüchtige Reich der Gerüche.

 

 

Sueskind
Patrick Süskind  (Ambach, 26 maart 1949)

 

De Amerikaanse schrijfster Erica Jong werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1942. Jong is de auteur van acht romans, zes dichtbundels en diverse non-fictie-boeken. Haar boeken verschijnen wereldwijd in vertaling en belanden onverminderd op de bestsellerlijsten. Ze woont afwisselend in New York en Connecticut. Erica jong brak door in 1973 met haar roman Fear of Flying. Het boek verscheen in 27 talen en ging minstens 15 miljoen keer over de toonbank.

 

Uit: SAPPHO’S SPRONG

 

“Proloog
Waar zal ik mijn verhaal laten beginnen? De minstrelen raden ons aan om middenin te beginnen, als de opwinding het grootst is. Goed dan, stel je mij maar voor terwijl ik voort zwoeg in een striemende koude wind boven op het Leucadische klif waar nog steeds het heiligdom van Apollo staat. Ze zeggen dat hier in het verre verleden mensenoffers werden gebracht. Die sfeer hangt er nog steeds, de oude geur van bloed. Alle magische plaatsen ter wereld hebben die geur.
Langs mijn pad staan groepjes gedrongen pijnbomen en de gouden sandalen die ik draag zijn niet opgewassen tegen de stenen die bij het klimmen onder mijn voeten vandaan rollen en wegschieten. Meer dan eens heb ik mijn enkel verstuikt en ben ik gevallen. Mijn knieën zijn net zo geschaafd als toen ik als meisje vaak klom.
Ik ben vele dagen op zee geweest en als ik naar de top van het witte klif klim, voel ik nog steeds het schip onder mijn voeten deinen.
Ik ben onvoorstelbaar oud – vijftig. Alleen heksen halen de vijftig! Goede vrouwen sterven in het kraambed als ze zeventien zijn, zoals mij bijna overkwam. Tegen mijn vijftigste zou ik dood of een oud wijf moeten zijn, met mijn donkere uiterlijk en mijn lichtgekromde rug – die ik altijd met mantels van veelkleurige zijde heb verhuld. Mijn jeugd is verdwenen, maar mijn ijdelheid niet.
Hoe kan ik op mijn vijftigste nog steeds over de liefde dromen? Ik lijk wel gek!”

 

 

Jong
Erica Jong (New York, 26 maart 1942)

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Gregory Corso werd geboren in New York op 26 maart 1930. Hij was één van de meest invloedrijke dichters van de Beat Generation. Zijn moeder, die 16 was toen Corso geboren werd, verliet het gezin een jaar na zijn geboorte en dit luidde een periode in waarin Corso veelal onderdak vond bij pleeggezinnen en in weeshuizen. Hij liep voortdurend weg en zijn carrière als kleine crimineel leidde uiteindelijk tot een veroordeling van drie jaar wegens diefstal. In de Clinton State Prison vond er een belangrijke omwenteling plaats in Corso’s leven. Hij leerde de literatuur kennen en ontwikkelde een voorkeur voor de dichtkunst. Hij werd in 1950 vrijgelaten en kwam in contact met Allen Ginsberg, William S. Burroughs en Jack Kerouac. Hij begon te schrijven voor de Los Angeles Examiner maar was ook handwerksman en werkte voor de Noorse koopvaart. Hij acteerde en speelde in Andy Warhol’s Couch. In 1954 verscheen The Vestal Lady on Brattle and Other Poems, zijn eerste dichtbundel. Dit werd het begin van een reeks voordrachten van Corso waarvoor hij stad en land afreisde. In1956 verhuisde hij naar San Francisco en werd het boegbeeld van de Beat Generation. Het hoogtepunt van zijn dichtersbestaan lag in de jaren vijftig en jaren zestig. Zijn invloed op de Amerikaanse literatuur bestaat echter nog steeds.

 

Last Night I Drove a Car  

Last night I drove a car
not knowing how to drive
not owning a car
I drove and knocked down
people I loved
...went 120 through one town.

I stopped at Hedgeville
and slept in the back seat
...excited about my new life.

 

 

I Held a Shelley Manuscript   

My hands did numb to beauty
as they reached into Death and tightened!

O sovereign was my touch
upon the tan-inks's fragile page!

Quickly, my eyes moved quickly,
sought for smell for dust for lace
for dry hair!

I would have taken the page
breathing in the crime!
For no evidence have I wrung from dreams--
yet what triumph is there in private credence?

Often, in some steep ancestral book,
when I find myself entangled with leopard-apples
and torched-skin mushrooms,
my cypressean skein outreaches the recorded age
and I, as though tipping a pitcher of milk,
pour secrecy upon the dying page.

 

 

 

 

CORSO
26 maart 1930 – Minneapolis, 17 januari 2001)

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Robert Lee Frost werd geboren op 26 maart 1874 in San Francisco. Hij studeerde klassieke talen aan Harvard. Frost debuteerde in Engeland met de dichtbundel 'A Boy's Will' (1913) en doceerde aan Amherst, Harvard, en de Universiteit van Michigan. Hij ontving in 1923 voor de eerste keer de Pulitzer Prize voor de bundel New Hampshire. Hij ontving deze prijs in totaal zelfs vier keer. Werk o.a.: 'Collected Poems' (1930), 'A Further Range' (1936) en 'A Witness Tree' (1942).

 

MOWING

 

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound--
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labour knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.

 

 

 

Blue-Butterfly Day

It is blue-butterfly day here in spring,
And with these sky-flakes down in flurry on flurry
There is more unmixed color on the wing
Than flowers will show for days unless they hurry.

But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.

 

 

 

 

Frost
Robert Frost  (26 maart 1874 – 29 januari 1963)

 

De Engelse dichter Alfred Edward Housman werd geboren op 26 maart 1859 in  Fockbury, Worcestershire. Hij was het prototype van een uit een burgerlijk milieu afkomstige intellectueel, die in de Griekse en Latijnse letterkunde compensatie zocht voor zijn homosexualiteit. Dat Housman zijn emoties onderdrukte is teveel gezegd. Zijn academische vorming had echter wel iets van een ivoren toren van waaruit de afstandelijke professor de omringende wereld scherp in de gaten hield. De tijden waren er dan ook naar. Housman was nog maar een paar jaar professor aan het University College van Londen, toen Oscar Wilde werd veroordeeld wegens een “Zedenmisdrijf”. Housmans bundel A Shropshire Lad werd tot zijn eigen verbazing een klassieker, die menig Brits soldaat bij zich droeg in de loopgraven van WO I.

 

 

On the idle hill of summer

 

On the idle hill of summer,

Sleepy with the flow of streams,

Far I hear the steady drummer

Drumming like a noise in dreams.

 

Far and near and low and louder

On the roads of earth go by,

Dear to friends and food for powder,

Soldiers marching, all to die.

 

East and west on fields forgotten

Bleach the bones of comrades slain,

Lovely lads and dead and rotten;

None that go return again.

 

Far the calling bugles hollo,

High the screaming fife replies,

Gay the files of scarlet follow:

Woman bore me, I will rise.

 

 

 

THE RECRUIT

 

Leave your home behind, lad,

 And reach your friends your hand,

And go, and luck go with you

 While Ludlow tower shall stand.

 

Oh, come you home of Sunday

 When Ludlow streets are still

And Ludlow bells are calling

 To farm and lane and mill,

 

Or come you home of Monday

 When Ludlow market hums

And Ludlow chimes are playing

 "The conquering hero comes,"

 

Come you home a hero,

 Or come not home at all,

The lads you leave will mind you

 Till Ludlow tower shall fall.

 

And you will list the bugle

 That blows in lands of morn,

And make the foes of England

 Be sorry you were born.

 

And you till trump of doomsday

 On lands of morn may lie,

And make the hearts of comrades

 Be heavy where you die.

 

Leave your home behind you,

 Your friends by field and town

Oh, town and field will mind you

 Till Ludlow tower is down.

 

 

 

HOUSMAN
A. E. Housman (26 maart 1859 – 30 april 1936)

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver Tennessee Williams (eigenlijk Thomas Lanier Williams) werd geboren in Columbus (Mississippi op 26 maart 1911. Hij is vooral bekend geworden door zijn toneelstukken, maar hij schreef ook romans, gedichten en essays. Zijn bijnaam, die ook zijn schrijversnaam werd, kreeg hij van zijn klasgenoten vanwege zijn zuidelijke accent.

Zijn eerste grote succes was The Glass Menagerie (Glazen speelgoed, 1945). In dit stuk komt al een van zijn hoofdthema's naar voren: het conflict tussen illusie en realiteit. Met A Streetcar Named Desire (Tramlijn Begeerte, 1947) werd hij een van de belangrijkste naoorlogse Amerikaanse toneelschrijvers. Dit stuk werd in 1951 verfilmd, met in de hoofdrol Marlon Brando. Ook Cat on a Hot Tin Roof werd verfilmd, met Paul Newman en Elizabeth Taylor in de hoofdrollen.

 

 

The Wine-Drinkers

 

The wine-drinkers sit on the porte cochère in the sun.
Their lack of success in love has made them torpid.
They move their fans with a motion that stirs no feather,
the glare of the sun has darkened their complexions.

Let us commend them on their conversations.
One says "oh" and the other says "indeed."

The afternoon must be prolonged forever, because the night
will be impossible for them.
They know that the bright and very delicate needles
inserted beneath the surfaces of their skins
will work after dark--at present are drugged, are dormant.

Nobody dares to make any sudden disturbance.

One says "no," the other one murmurs "why?"
The cousins pause: tumescent.
What do they dream of? Murder?
They dream of lust and they long for violent action
but none occurs.
Their quarrels perpetually die from a lack of momentum
The light is empty: the sun forestalls reflection

 

 

Heavenly Grass

My feet took a walk in heavenly grass.
All day while the sky shone clear as glass.
My feet took a walk in heavenly grass,
All night while the lonesome stars rolled past.
Then my feet come down to walk on earth,
And my mother cried when she give me birth.
Now my feet walk far and my feet walk fast,
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.
But they still got an itch for heavenly grass.

 

 

Williams
Tennessee Williams (26 maart 1911 – 25 februari 1983)