Ben Okri, Kurt Drawert

De Nigeriaanse dichter en schrijver Ben Okri werd geboren op 15 maart 1959 in Minna, Nigeria. Zie ook alle tags voor Ben Okri op dit blog.

Uit: Prayer for the Living

“I was searching for my family and my lover. I wanted to know if they had died or not. If I didn’t find out, I intended to hang on to life by its last tattered thread. If I knew that they, too, were dead and no longer needed me, I would die at peace. All my information led me to this town. If my lover, my brothers, my family are anywhere, they are here. This is the last town in the world. Beyond its rusted gate lies the desert. The desert stretches all the way into the past, into history, to the Western world, and to the source of drought and famine — the mighty mountain of lovelessness. From its peaks, at night, the grim spirits of negation chant their awesome soul-shrinking songs. Their songs steal hope from us and make us yield to the air our energies. Their songs are cool and make us submit to the clarity of dying. Behind us, in the past, before all this came to be, there were all the possibilities in the world. There were all the opportunities for starting from small things to create a sweet new history and future, if only we had seen them. But now, ahead, there lie only the songs of the mountain of death. We search for our loved ones mechanically and with a dryness in our eyes. Our stomachs no longer exist. Nothing exists except the search. We turn the bodies over, looking for familiar faces. All the faces are familiar; death made them all my kin. I search on. I come across an unfamiliar face; it is my brother. I nod. I pour dust on his flesh. Hours later, near a dry well, I come across the other members of my family. My mother holds on tightly to a bone so dry it wouldn’t even nourish the flies. I nod twice. I pour dust on their bodies. I search on. There is one more face whose beautiful unfamiliarity will console me. When I have found the face then I will submit myself to the mountain songs. Sunset was approaching when, from an unfinished school building, I heard singing. It was the most magical sound I had ever heard and I thought only those who know how sweet life is can sing like that, can sing as if breathing were a prayer. The singing was like the joyous beginning of all creation, the holy yes to the breath and light infusing all things, which makes the water shimmer, the plants sprout, the animals jump and play in the fields, and which makes the men and women look out into the first radiance of colors, the green of plants, the blue of sea, the gold of the air, the silver of the stars. It was the true end of my quest, the music to crown this treacherous life of mine, the end I couldn’t have hoped for, or imagined. It seemed to take an infinity of time to get to the school building. I had no strength left, and it was only the song’s last echo, resounding through the vast spaces of my hunger, that sustained me. After maybe a century, when history had repeated itself and brought about exactly the same circumstances, because none of us ever learned our lesson, or loved enough to learn from our pain, finally made it to the school-room door.”

 

Ben Okri (Minna, 15 maart 1959)

 

De Duitse dichter en schrijver Kurt Drawert werd geboren op 15 maart 1956 in Henningsdorf. Zie ook alle tags voor Kurt Drawert op dit blog.

 

Over weggaan en achterblijven

Er is veel dat ik
niet begrijp .
Kunstbloemen in het water,
of het verlangen van de een

aan een zijden draad,
die de ander
achteloos doorsnijdt.
Ik kuste haar en verloor

mijn lichaam
aan haar gesloten mond
vol kersen.
De beelden lijken op elkaar,

alleen was ik vroeger
de uitvinding van het wachten
liep in haar liefde te wandelen
of telde hardop

de knopen aan mijn hemd.
Wat waarheid is,
verandert elk uur
zoals de samenhang

tussen stilte
en plotselinge stappen
in de hal. Onbegrijpelijk,
op het eind, het knappen

van een zijden draad
als monoloog.
Maar toen was ze al
in andere dromen,

en ik stond nog altijd
treurend bij het raam
en wuifde
mijzelf in haar na.

 

Vertaald door Frans Roumen

 

Kurt Drawert (Henningsdorf, 15 maart 1956)g: Kurt Drawert

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 15e maart ook mijn blog van 15 maart 2020 en eveneens mijn blog van 15 maart 2019 en ook mijn blog van 15 maart 2015 deel 2.