Martin Amis, Charles Wright

De Engelse schrijver Martin Amis werd geboren op 25 augustus 1949 in Cardiff, South Wales. Zie ook alle tags voor Martin Amis op dit blog.

Uit: Inside Story

“The time was the summer of 1983, and the place was West London.
‘Durrants?’ said the hotel telephonist.
I cleared my throat—not the work of a moment—and said, ‘Sorry about that. Uh, hi. Could you put me through to Saul Bellow, please?’
‘Of course. Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Martin Amis,’ I said. ‘That’s eh em eye ess.’
A long pause, a brief return to the switchboard, and then the unmistakable ‘Hello?’
‘Saul, good afternoon, it’s me, Martin. Have you got a moment?’
‘Oh, hello, Marr-tin.’
Martin, in very early middle age, would for some reason try his hand at a polemical work entitled The Crap Generation. It would be non-fiction, and arranged in short segments, including ‘Crap Music’, ‘Crap Slang’, ‘Crap TV’, ‘Crap Ideology’, ‘Crap Critics’, ‘Crap Historians’, ‘Crap Sociologists’, ‘Crap Clothes’, ‘Crap Scarifications’—including crap body piercings and crap tattoos—and ‘Crap Names’. Well, Martin thought that ‘Martin’ was a crap name if ever there was one. It couldn’t even get itself across the Atlantic in one piece. Nowadays, true, most Americans naturally and relaxingly called him Marrtn. But those of Saul’s age, perhaps feeling the need to acknowledge his Englishness, came up with a hesitant spondee: Marr-tin. In Uruguay (where ‘Martin’ was MarrrTEEN, a resonant and manly iamb), Martin had an attractive friend called Cecil (mellifluously pronounced SayCEEL). And ‘Cecil’, similarly, was unable to ford the Rio Grande intact, and became a ridiculous trochee. ‘In America, man,’ said Cecil, ‘they call me CEEsel. Fuck that.’ Martin, on the phone, wasn’t going to say ‘Marr-tin? Fuck that’ to Saul Bellow. For the record we should additionally concede the following: ‘Martin’, in plain old English, wasn’t any good either. It was just a crap name.
I said to Saul, ‘Uh, you know the Sunday paper I wrote about you for last year?’ This was the Observer. ‘They generously said I could take you out to dinner anywhere I liked. Would you be able to fit that in?’
‘Oh, I think so.’
Bellow’s voice: he gave it to the dreamy, prosperous, but somewhat blocked and inward narrator of the spectacular fifty-page short story, ‘Cousins’. [M]y voice had deepened as I grew older. Yes. My basso profundo served no purpose except to add depth to small gallantries. When I offer a chair to a lady at a dinner party, she is enveloped in a deep syllable. Thus enveloped, I said,
‘Now I happen to know you like a nice piece of fish.’
‘That’s true. It would be idle to deny it. I am partial to a nice piece of fish.’

 

Martin Amis (Cardiff, 25 augustus 1949)

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Wright werd geboren op 25 augustus 1935 in Pickwick Dam, Tennessee. Zie ook alle tags voor Charles Wright op dit blog.

 

Na het lezen van Du Fu ga ik naar buiten naar de dwergboomgaard

Ten oosten van mij, ten westen van mij, volop zomer.
Hoe dieper dan elders is de schemering in je eigen tuin.
Vogels vliegen heen en weer over het gazon
op zoek naar thuis
Terwijl de nacht komt aandrijven als een kleine boot.

Dag na dag word ik van minder nut voor mezelf.
Zoals deze spotlijster
Vlieg ik van het een naar het ander.
Waar moet ik naar uitkijken op mijn vierenvijftigste?
Morgen is het donker.
Overmorgen is het nog donkerder.

De luchthonden janken.
Vuurvliegjes slepen de stilte van de avond mee
omhoog uit het vochtige gras.
In het tumult van de wereld, in de chaos van elke dag,
Ga in stilte, in stilte.

 

Vertaald door Frans Roumen

 

Charles Wright (Pickwick Dam, 25 augustus 1935)

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 25e augustus ook mijn blog van 25 augustus 2020 en eveneens mijn blog van 25 augustus 2018 deel 1 en eveneens deel 2.