Antje Rávic Strubel, Scott Turow, Tom Clancy, Alan Ayckbourn, Agnes Sapper

De Duitse schrijfster Antje Rávic Strubel werd geboren op 12 april 1974 in Potsdam. Zie ook mijn blog van 12 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 12 april 2008 en ook mijn blog van 12 april 2009 en ook mijn blog van 12 april 2010.

 

Uit: Colder Layers of Air (Vertaald door Zaia Alexander)

 

„About light they knew everything.

They knew it in every shade. They had seen how it made the sky appear brittle and torn, or waxed blue-black. They knew how the light looked under foaming clouds; how it fell diagonally over the Fjell; how it struck the rocks over the forest and the thick underbrush. They knew how fleeting, how illusive it was. If the lake had just shone turquoise to the bottom, the next moment it lay leaden and sealed like asphalt. They had seen how the light made the pines and blackberry bushes appear matt in the rain; they had seen how the roads looked at four in the morning, devastated by falling rocks, and at noon on neatly mown Swedish front lawns. They knew it in the shimmering yellow from the heat, in the greenish glow of the evening; they could say how it looked above the roof of the tool-shed on overcast days.

They knew how faces change when glaring light falls upon them. Every morning, when they left their tents and went to the wash area, they had to cross the grassy field that had been cleared from the forest. There the faces became stable. They changed from milky-gray, the color of night, into a harsh, polished tan. They knew it. They saw it every morning.

And later, when only a few clouds were left in the sky, this tan had a certain sharpness, as faces only here have, on this peninsula. It was brutal how the sun shone.

Nobody spoke about the light.

There were other things to discuss. They had to take care of the tent walls that had torn in the storm and were lying on the field like shed skins in need of mending. They had to replenish the supplies and food that came every Saturday from Berlin; they telephoned often. They reordered potatoes and coffee, charcoal and sausages and rice, and they never forgot fruit, because fruit was particularly expensive this summer in Sweden. They sent the newly arrived youth groups to the lakes, first to the small Stora Le and then to the wind-whipped Foxen; they gave the crew photocopies of outdoor cookbooks so they knew how many cans of chili to empty into the pans at night. In the kitchen tents, they packed weekly supplies in waterproofed plastic barrels.“

 

 

Antje Rávic Strubel (Potsdam,  12 april 1974)

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José Gautier Benítez, Alexander Ostrovski, Guillaume-Thomas Raynal, Edward de Vere, Constantin Göttfert

De Puertoricaanse dichterJosé Gautier Benítez werd geboren op 12 april 1848 in Caguas. Zie ook mijn blog van 12 april 2007 en ook mijn blog van 12 april 2009en ook mijn blog van 12 april 2010.

 

Uit: Puerto Rico (Fragment)

 

Above the waters of the sea, which you rule;

A vase of flowers, swaying

Among foam and coral, perfumes and pearls;

You, that at evening pour over the sea,

With the colors that your sunset put on,

Another ocean of floating flames;

You, that give me the air I breathe,

And life, and the song that breaks forth of its own accord! . . .

of this (American) world, you are the most beautiful fragment,

 

O my fatherland! broken off and flung into the sea

By a violent cataclysm.

But you brought only the beauty of the vast continent.

Without copying its pomp, or the terrors of its greatness.

Upon your mountains, neither the tiger, the lion, nor the jaguar

Utters its fierce and terrifying cry,

Nor does the boa constrictor coil upon the plains,

Nor does the untamed and savage alligator

Disturb the pure, transparent water

Of your gentle rivers . . .

Nor do your mountains, shaken upon their foundations,

Sound with sudden tumult.

When, with hoarse, titanic breathing,

Orizaba and Cotopaxi roar.

 

No Niagara makes your soil tremble

With the fall of its immense cataract.

Where Iris, painter of heaven,

Joins to its borders of shining silver,

Gold and crimson, purple and topaz.

While the condor, monarch of space,

Mirrors himself proudly in its crystal;

 

 

José Gautier Benítez (12 april 1848 – 24 januari 1880)

Standbeeld in Caguas, Puerto Rico

 

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