Chloe Aridjis, Astrid Lindgren, Jonathan van het Reve

De Engels-Mexicaanse schrijfster Chloe Aridjis werd geboren in New York op 6 november 1971 (en dus niet op 14 november zoals eerder vermeld). Zie ook alle tags voor Chloe Aridjis op dit blog.

 

Uit: Book of Clouds

“When we arrived at the demonstration there were already thousands of people gathered on the west side of the Brandenburg Gate, young couples, old couples, scampering children, punks with dogs, Goths, women with buzz cuts, men in blue overalls — a cross section, looking back, of what West Berlin had been in those days. Most people remained standing but there were also large groups spread out on the pavement, singing and chanting and passing around bottles of beer. Two nights before, we’d heard, a human chain had started to form along the Wall with an aim to cover all 155 kilometers.

On the east side, meanwhile, men in grey uniforms and steel helmets were marching up and down Karl-Marx-Allee. I envisioned dramatic clashes between metal and flesh, order and chaos, homogeny and diversity, but I knew that in real life these clashes were far more abstract. My parents had wanted to take us across the border to show us “a true portrait of Communism” but there had been a mysterious problem with our visas so we’d stayed in the West all week, left to imagine as best we could what life was like on the other side, ever more intrigued by notions of “this side” and “beyond.”

People continued to arrive. The singing and chanting grew louder and I could hardly hear when anyone in my family leaned over to say something, as though on that night our language had been put on hold and German was the only means of communication. But there were other ways of having a voice, and before long we had joined the lengthy chain following the Wall and I found myself clasping the hand of a man with a ponytail and a black leather jacket until one of my brothers insisted on changing places with me. I tried to imagine the thousands of people across West Berlin to whom we would be connected through this gesture of solidarity but the thought was dizzying so I focused instead on the punks playing nearby with their dogs, as they threw what looked like battered tennis shoes, which the dogs would race to retrieve. The punks would then throw the bait in another direction, every now and then missing and hitting someone on the head or shoulder, the sight of which triggered boisterous rounds of laughter.

Twilight came on. Some of the organizers walked through the crowd passing out white candles. A number of people declined and flicked on their lighters instead. Against the sea of lights the Reichstag looked even gloomier and more forsaken and the Brandenburg Gate, with its goddess of Victory and twelve Doric columns, doubly silenced by dusk. Not far from us an old punk with a torch jumped onto the Wall and screamed some words into the East, rabid words, though we couldn’t understand what he was saying. On the other side, my mother told us, invisible eyes would be following his every movement. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the watchtowers across the way yet we imagined men in round caps with cat slit eyes surveying the whole spectacle, ready to pounce should any of us trespass one inch into their territory.”

 

Chloe Aridjis (New York, 6 november 1971)

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Norbert Krapf

De Amerikaanse dichter, schrijver en vertaler Norbert Krapf werd geboren op 14 november1943 in Jasper, Indiana, een Duitse gemeenschap. Hij studeerde af aan Jasper High School en behaalde een BA in Engels aan St. Joseph ’s College, Rensselaer. Hij behaalde zijn MA Engels aan de Universiteit van Notre Dame en ook zijn Ph.D. in Engelse en Amerikaanse literatuur, met bijzondere aandacht voor de Amerikaanse poëzie. Hij doceerde van 1970 tot 2004 aan de CW Post Campus van de Long Island University, waar hij nu emeritus hoogleraar Engels is. Hij was Poet Laureate van 2003 tot 2007, en gaf leiding aan het CW Post Poëziecentrum. Hij werkte tweemaal in Duitsland als Senior Fulbright professor voor Amerikaanse poëzie, aan de universiteiten van Freiburg en Erlangen-Nürnberg.   Sinds 1976 heeft Norbert Krapf 24 boeken geschreven of bewerkt, waaronder twee vertalingen uit het Duits. Achttien van deze boeken zijn verzamelingen van zijn eigen gedichten, waaronder Somewhere in Southern Indiana: Poems of Midwestern Origins (1993) , Blue-Eyed Grass: Poems of Germany (1997), and Looking for God’s Country (2005) en Bittersweet Along the Expressway : Poems of Long Island (2000) en The Land I Come From (2002).

Southern Indiana

And the hills roll
as they always have
and somewhere in the woods
that bend and wrap around
those hills the bark splits
from the trunk of a shagbark
hickory and a fox squirrel
drops a patter of cuttings
through crisp oversized leaves
as a boy with a shotgun
on his shoulder cocks ears
and trains eyes for a glimpse
of red fur between the parting
of green and at the edge
of the woods where dried
corn rustles in the breeze
Queen Anne’s Lace stands
in jagged profusion
and over these hills
that will always roll
a black chicken hawk
with eyes sharp for
the subtlest gradations
glides in a circle
that will never end

 

Morning Glories

First thing
summer mornings

I would come out
to the porch,
tiptoe down the steps,
pad barefoot
across the grass

stand behind the trellis
and look up to see
how many of her
morning glories
had opened.

They were so blue
and pure, beaded
with dew

as if miniature
gateways to the skies
had swayed open

allowing me
to ramble
into infinity.

 


Norbert Krapf (Jasper, 14 november1943)