Martinus Nijhoff, Jan Cremer, Jean Pierre Rawie, Sebastian Faulks, Jozef Deleu, Steve Erickson

De Nederlandse dichter, toneelschrijver en essayist Martinus Nijhoff werd geboren in Den Haag op 20 april 1894. Zie ook alle tags voor Martinus Nijhoff op dit blog.

 

Het uur U (Fragment)

 

Het was zomerdag.

De doodstille straat lag

te blakeren in de zon.

Een man kwam de hoek om.

Er speelde in de verte op de stoep

een groep kinderen, maar die groep

betekende niet veel,

maakte, integendeel,

dat de straat nog verlatener scheen.

De zon had het rijk alleen.

Zelfs zij, wier tweede natuur

hen bestemde, hier, op dit uur,

te wandelen: de student,

de dame die niemand kent,

de leraar met pensioen,

waren van hun gewone doen

afgeweken vandaag;

men miste, miste hen vaag.

Sterker: de werkman die

nog tot een uur of drie

voor bomen in ’t middenpad

de kuilen gegraven had,

had zijn schop laten staan

en was elders heen gegaan.

Maar vreemder, ja inderdaad

veel vreemder dan dat de straat

leeg was, was het feit

der volstrekte geluidloosheid,

en dat de stap van de man

die zojuist de hoek om kwam

de stilte liet als zij was,

ja, dat zijn gestrekte pas

naarmate hij verder liep

steeds dieper stilte schiep.

 

 

De jongen

 

Hij zat in nachtgoed voor het raam en liet
Willoos het hoofd hangen op het kozijn –
Hij zag den landweg langs de heuvels zijn
Kronkel wegtrekken naar het blauw verschiet.

 

Hij dacht weer aan den ouden vreemdeling
Die ‘s middags in het herbergtuintje sliep –
Zij stoeiden om hem heen, en iemand riep
Hem wakker, en hij zat dwaas in hun kring.

 

Zijn verre blik zwierf langs hun ogen weg.
Hij zei: – (zijn baard was om den glimlach grijs)
‘Jongens, het leven is een vreemde reis,
maar wellicht leert een mens wat onderweg.’

 

Toen was het of een deur hem open woei
En hij de verten van een landschap zag,
Hij zag zichzelf daar wand’len in een dag
Zwellend van zomer en van groenen groei.

 

De weg buigt om en men keert nooit terug –
Hij kon zijn hart als voor ‘t eerst horen slaan,
Hij heeft zijn schoenen zacht weer aangedaan
En sloop door ‘t tuinhek naar de kleine brug.

 

 

Martinus Nijhoff (20 april 1894 – 26 januari 1953)

Lees verder “Martinus Nijhoff, Jan Cremer, Jean Pierre Rawie, Sebastian Faulks, Jozef Deleu, Steve Erickson”

Arto Paasilinna, Michel Leiris, Emmanuel Bove, Henry de Montherlant, Charles Maurras

De Finse schrijver Arto Paasilinna werd geboren op 20 april 1942 in Kittilä in Lapland. Zie ook alle tags voor Arto Paasilinna op dit blog.

 

Uit: The Year of the Hare (Vertaald door Herbert Lomas)

 

“The journalist sat on the edge of the ditch, holding the hare in his lap, like an old woman with her knitting on her knees, lost in thought. The sound of the car engine faded away. The sun set.

The journalist put down the hare on the grass. For a moment he was afraid it would try to escape; but it huddled in the grass, and when he picked it up again, it showed no sign of fear at all. ‘So here we are,’ he said to the hare. ‘Left.’

That was the situation: he was sitting alone in the forest, in his jacket, on a summer evening. No disputing it—he’d been abandoned.

What does one usually do in such a situation? Perhaps he should have responded to the photographer’s shouts, he thought. Now maybe he ought to find his way back to the road, wait for the next car, hitch a ride, and think about getting to Heinola, or Helsinki, under his own steam. The idea was immensely unappealing. The journalist looked in his briefcase. There were a few banknotes, his press card, his health insurance card, a photograph of his wife, a few coins, a couple of condoms, a bunch of keys, an old May Day celebration badge. 

And also some pens, a notepad, a ring. The management had printed on the pad Kaarlo Vatanen, journalist. His health insurance card indicated that Kaarlo Vatanen had been born in 1942.

Vatanen got to his feet, gazed at the sunset’s last redness through the trees, nodded to the hare. He looked toward the road but made no move that way. He picked up the hare off the grass, put it tenderly in the side pocket of his jacket, and left the clearing for the darkening forest.”

 

 

Arto Paasilinna (Kittilä, 20 april 1942)

Lees verder “Arto Paasilinna, Michel Leiris, Emmanuel Bove, Henry de Montherlant, Charles Maurras”

Herman Bang, Henry Tuckerman, Aloysius Bertrand, Pietro Aretino, Dinah Craik

De Deense schrijver Herman Bang werd geboren op 20 april 1857 in Asserballe. Zie ook alle tags voor Herman Bang op dit blog.

 

Uit: Katinka (Vertaald door Tiina Nunnally)

 

“She stepped out of the train car, down onto the platform, and she allowed herself to be kissed by Bai, and Marie took her things, and she had only one thought: to get inside the house – inside.
It seemed to her that Huus had to be inside, waiting.
And she went on ahead and opened the door to the parlor whicb was waiting, clean and nice; to the bedroom; to the kitchen where everything shone; clean and – empty.
“My God, how thin the mistress has become,” began Marie, who was lugging the bags.
And then she really got started, while Katinka, pale and tired, collapsed into a chair – about the whole area. About  what had been happening and what was being said. Over at the inn thev had had summer guests who came with bedsteads and everything, and at the parsonage there were visitors right up to the rafters.
And Huus, who had left … all of a sudden…
“Well, I thought so … Because he was down here on that last evening and it seemed to me just like he was going around saying goodbye to everything – he sat in the parlor alone – and out in the garden … and out here on the steps with the doves.”
“When did he leave?” asked Katinka.
“It must be about two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks …
Katinka carmly got up and went out into the garden. She walked along the pathway, over to the roses, down to the elder tree. He had been here to say goodbye to her – at every spot, in every place. She had no tears. She felt almost a quiet solemnity.
There was a happy shout out on the road. She heard Agnes’s voice in the midst of a great chorus. She practically jumped up. She didn’t want to see them there just now, Agnes rushed at her like a big dog to welcome her, so that she almost fell over; and the entire party from the parsonage came in for hot chocolate, and a table was set in the garden beneath the elder, and they all stayed untill the 8 o’clock train.
The train reared off, and they were gone again – you could hear them talking noisily along the road. Peter, the station hand, had taken the milk cans away, and Katinka was sitting alone on the platform.”

 

 

Herman Bang (20 april 1857 – 19 januari 1912)

Lees verder “Herman Bang, Henry Tuckerman, Aloysius Bertrand, Pietro Aretino, Dinah Craik”