De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010.en alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog.
Meditations on the Fall and Winter Holidays
I
New Year’s
The solid houses in the mist
are thin as tissue paper;
the water laps slowly at the rocks;
and the ducks from the north are here
at rest on the grey ripples.
The company in which we went
so free of care, so carelessly,
has scattered. Good-bye,
to you who lie behind in graves,
to you who galloped proudly off!
Pockets and heart are empty.
This is the autumn and our harvest–
such as it is, such as it is–
the beginnings of the end, bare trees and barren ground;
but for us only the beginning:
let the wild goat’s horn and the silver trumpet sound!
Reason upon reason
to be thankful:
for the fruit of the earth,
for the fruit of the tree,
for the light of the fire,
and to have come to this season.
The work of our hearts is dust
to be blown about in the winds
by the God of our dead in the dust
but our Lord delighting in life
(let the wild goat’s horn
and the silver trumpet sound!)
our God Who imprisons in coffin and grave
and unbinds the bound.
You have loved us greatly and given us
Your laws
for an inheritance,
Your sabbaths, holidays, and seasons of gladness,
distinguishing Israel
from other nations–
distinguishing us
above the shoals of men.
And yet why should we be remembered–
if at all–only for peace, if grief
is also for all? Our hopes,
if they blossom, if they blossom at all, the petals
and fruit fall.
You have given us the strength
to serve You,
but we may serve or not
as we please;
not for peace nor for prosperity,
not even for length of life, have we merited
remembrance; remember us
as the servants
You have inherited.
Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)
De Chinees-Franse dichter, schrijver en vertaler François Cheng werd geboren op 30 augustus 1929 in Nanchang in China. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010 en eveens alle tags voor François Cheng op dit blog.
Une prière à la Transcendance
Nous voici dans l’abîme,
Tu en restes l’énigme.
Si Tu dis un seul mot,
Et nous serons sauvés.
Tu restes muet encore,
Jusqu’au bout sembles sourd
Nos cœurs ont trop durci,
En nous l’horreur sans fond.
Viendrait-elle de nous
Une lueur de douceur ?
Si nous disons un mot,
Et Tu seras sauvé.
Nous restons muets encore,
Jusqu’au bout restons sourds
Te voici dans l’abîme,
Nous en sommes l’énigme.
François Cheng (Nanchang, 30 augustus 1929)
De Tsjechische dichter Jiří Orten (eig. Jiří Ohrenstein) werd geboren op 30 augustus 1919 bij Kutná Hora. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Jiří Orten op dit blog.
Goodbye Letter
Oh, pain will die, I swear, when I succeed
in making a Myshkin of these tears
to master agony, quietly, there
where I burn with beautiful helpless need,
where voices go mute, and feelings wake late,
before finally disbanding.
To smile (to reach understanding)
just as He said. And not to wait.
So far. At a higher elevation
than the rise and fall of simple speech.
Who can’t write his way to conciliation
lived for the coffin. He should be betrayed.
And that’s me, woman, that’s me,
fullness rotting and being dispersed
and all that was suffered for will go
there where you wounded me the worst
where the air is fragrant with kisses
and fate forces those who’ve been tried
to love what so terribly isn’t,
about which I endlessly know.
Vertaald door Lyn Coffin en Leda Pugh
Jiří Orten (30 augustus 1919 – 1 september 1941)
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 30e augustus ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2011 deel 1 en eveneens deel 2.