De Amerikaanse schrijver en essayist Edmund White werd geboren op 13 januari 1940 in Cincinnati. Zie ook alle tags voor Edmund White op dit blog.
Uit: The Humble Lover
“He said to his very pale, very young companion, “It must be such a thrill to be a ballet dancer and have hundreds, thousands, of fans applauding you.”
The young man, whose name was August Dupond, said dryly, “Yeah, I guess it is nice. A dream come true.”
“Did you ever think you’d be a soloist in the greatest company in New York?”
The boy smiled weakly. “Well, that was the idea. Three classes every day for years, except for performance days, when I have only one afternoon class. Now or never, I guess.” He smiled and took a sip of water. “Do you think they’d have Gatorade here?”
“What’s that?”
“Gatorade. Oh, gosh, athletes drink it. Electrolytes.”
“Gaston!”
“Yes, Monsieur West?”
“Monsieur Dupond would like a Gatra-Aid. I’ll have a champagne cocktail. And the usual hors d’oeuvres.”
August said hopefully, “A Gatorade?”
“I’m sorry, jeune homme, but I’ve never—”
“Is there a deli near here?”
“Not open, I fear.”
“Skip it,” August said with a tarnished smile. “Bring me a decaffeinated tea, please.”
“Tout de suite!” the waiter said. He’d known Mr. West for nine or ten years and felt sorry that he was always accompanied by these underdressed youths who invariably ordered a hamburger or spaghetti, had strange food dislikes like mushrooms, and seldom would eat fish. One boy had asked him if the Dover sole was chicken.
“I’m so embarrassed they didn’t have your health drink,” Aldwych West said. He pulled out his agenda with its own gold pencil. “Here, if you’ll just scribble the name of the drink I’ll have a case delivered tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“We might come back here some day. It’s so close to the theater.”
“Le thé décaféiné pour le jeune monsieur. Et le champagne pour Monsieur West!’
“Merci.”
“What language are you guys speaking?”
“French. Sorry. It must be very rude—
“I thought it might be French. Real French. I’m French Canadian.”
“Then you must understand—”
“No. Not really. We speak a funny French.”
“They say that Canadian French is seventeenth-century French, the purest.”
De Duitse dichter en schrijver Adrian Kasnitz werd geboren op 10 januari 1974 in Orneta, Polen. Zie ook alle tags voor Adrian Kasnitz op dit blog.
In de zomer had ik een omhelzing
ik waarschuw je, het voelde als wind aan
het smaakte licht, wat ik in mijn mond stopte
ik veegde kleine dingen weg, half droog, half nat
de rivier was meer kruimels, meer haar
snel trok ik mijn enkel er weer uit
stak mijn vinger er weer in
de wind bleef even hangen in mijn haar, even op de huid
een en ander smaakt bitter, ik waarschuw je
een en ander is ijs dat langs vingers en enkel druipt
Vertaald door Frans Roumen
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 13e januari ook mijn blog van 13 januari 2019 deel 1 en eveneens deel 2.