De Congolese dichter en schrijver Alain Mabanckou werd geboren op 24 februari 1966 in Congo-Brazzaville (Frans Congo). Zie ook alle tags voor Alain Mabanckou op dit blog.

Uit: The Lights of Pointe-Noire (Vertaald door Helen Stevenson)

“My father was a small man, two heads shorter than my mother. It was almost comic, seeing them walking together, him in front, her behind, or kissing, with him standing up on tiptoe to reach. To me he seemed like a giant, just like the characters I admired in comic strips, and my secret ambition was one day to be as tall as him, convinced that there was no way I could overtake him, since he had reached the upper limit of all possible human growth. I realised he wasn’t very tall only when I reached his height, around the time I started at the Trois Glorieuses secondary school. I could look him straight in the eye now, without raising my head and waiting for him to stoop down towards me. Around this time I stopped making fun of dwarves and other people afflicted by growth deficiency. Sniggering at them would have meant offending my father. Thanks to Papa Roger’s size I learned to accept that the world was made of all sorts: small people, big people, fat people, thin people.
He was often dressed in a light brown suit, even when it was boiling hot, no doubt because of his position as receptionist at the Victory Palace Hotel, which required him to turn out in his Sunday best. He always carried his briefcase tucked into his armpit, making him look like the ticket collectors on the railways, the ones we dreaded meeting on the way to school when we rode the little ‘workers’ train’, without a ticket. They would slap you a couple of times about the head to teach you a lesson, then throw you off the moving train. The workers’ train was generally reserved for railway employees, or those who worked at the maritime port. But to make it more profitable, the Chemin de fer Congo-Océan (CFCO) had opened it to the public, in particular to the pupils of the Trois Glorieuses and the Karl Marx Lycée, on condition they carried a valid ticket. As a result they became seasoned fare dodgers, riding on the train top, in peril of their lives. It was quite spectacular, like watching Fear in the City at the Cinema Rex, to see an inspector pursuing a pupil between the cars, then across the top of the train…
Papa Roger walked with a lively step, his eyes glued to his watch – which made my mother say he was the most punctual man on earth. With him everything was timed to the exact minute. He left the house at six in the morning, took the bus on the Avenue of Independence, opposite the Photo Studio Vicky, and arrived in the centre of town half an hour later.”

 

 

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Hermann Lenz werd op 26 februari 1913 in Stuttgart geboren. Zie ook alle tags voor Hermann Lenz op dit blog.

 

Wat hetzelfde blijft

De zwarte mest van de herten,
Bleek gras als een blonde haarsliert
Of het hoge gras, het verdorde, dat goud glanst,
Bewogen door de wind, her en der:
Onveranderlijk zoals het altijd is.

Buiten de hoge bergen:
Dichtbij het groen, maar ver weg
Slechts een vleugje lichtblauw licht.

Of de rustende, dus jijzelf,
Verder komt dan de gehaaste?
Qua gedachte zou dat mogelijk zijn
Terwijl de kleine den naast je
Altijd op dezelfde plek blijft

 

Vertaald door Frans Roumen

 

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 26e februari ook mijn blog van 26 februari 2019 en eveneens mijn blog van 26 februari 2017 deel 2.