De Nederlandse dichter Hubert Kornelisz. Poot werd geboren in Abtswoude op 29 januari 1689. Zie ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2010.
Klagt
Een abel Nimfelyn, dat d’eêlsteschoonheit tart,
(Als dragende in een lyf, waerop natuur magh bogen,
De fierheit van Diane en Venus minvermogen)
Houdt in den doolhof van haer schoonheit my verwart.
Zoekt iemant ’t Godendom, of waer het woont en mart;
Welsprekende Merkuur is in haer’ mont gevlogen:
Minerva in haer brein: Kupido in haere oogen:
De strafheit in haer borst, tot myn verdriet en smart.
Wat schept myn zuchten dies aen doove rotsen, steenen,
Al ooren! welk een tal van monden, die myn weenen
Nabauwen, daer zy bet versteent blyft dan een rots!
‘k Zou zelf de dartle Min myn schreien naer zien rechten,
Omdat noit schichten op haer hart hart kunnen hechten,
Waer ’t onverboôn door ’t lot en in de magt eens Godts.
Hubert K. Poot (29 januari 1689 – 31 december 1733)
De Duitse schrijver en dichter Johann Gottfried Seume werd geboren op 29 januari 1763 in Posema, Sachsen-Anhalt. Zie ook mijn blog van 28 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2010.
Morgenlied
Gott, unter deiner Vaterhut
Hab’ ich die Nacht so sanft geruht,
Daß ich erquickt nun in die Höh
Der Morgensonn’ entgegen seh.
Wohin ich blicke, redest du
Mit Wohlthat mir und Güte zu;
Mein erster Hauch sey Lobgesang,
Mein letzter Athemzug sey Dank.
Du gießest Freuden, wie ein Meer,
Um alle deine Kinder her;
Und nur allein der Thor vergißt,
Daß er ein Mensch mit Menschen ist.
Gib, daß ich diesen ganzen Tag
Mich deiner Güte freuen mag;
Wend’ Unglück ab nach deiner Huld,
Und wenn es kommt, gib mir Geduld.
Nur deine Hand theilt Segen aus,
Gib Segen in mein kleines Haus;
Laß gern mich nutzen jedermann,
Und willig helfen, wo ich kann.
Der Erde köstlichster Gewinn
Ist frohes Herz und reiner Sinn;
Und diesen, Vater, schenke mir,
So wall’ ich ruhig hin zu dir.
Du hast mir wieder neue Kraft
Zu meinem Tagewerk geschafft;
Verjüngt sind wieder Fuß und Hand
Zu ihrer Arbeit leicht gespannt.
Wenn einst nach meines Todes Nacht
Zu deinem Licht mein Aug’ erwacht,
Dann eil’ ich, himmlischer erfreut,
In jenes Lebens Ewigkeit.
Johann Gottfried Seume (29 januari 1763 – 13 juni 1810)
Monument in Bremen
De Amerikaanse dichteres en schrijfster Muna Lee werd geboren op 29 januari 1895 in Raymond, Mississippi. Zie ook mijn blog van 28 januari 2007 en ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2010.
Pan American Day in the Park
Washington on a bronze horse called across the park,
“Ho, Bolívar, are you listening?” and the Liberator heard,
Lifted up a brazen sword and answered through the dark,
“Listening, my comrade! What will be your word?”
Lincoln in a marble chair propped his elbow on his knees,
San Martín in a marble cloak attentively gave ear,
Washington spoke boldly so that all of them might hear,
And his speech flamed like a comet through the April trees:
“Yorktown and Ayacucho were one victory,” he said;
“At Aconcagua and at Valley Forge we prayed one prayer;
The eagle and the condor the same symbol overhead,
Our conquering banners made a single rainbow in the air!
“Yet the twenty-one republics for whose liberty we died
I fear become forgetful of the oneness of their goal —
Each is proud and rich and mighty; but the greatness of the whole
Will come only when they dwell as sisters side by side.”
“You may be right,” Bolívar said, and the sternness of his thought
Made the sternness of the bronze a deeper shadow on his brow:
“I fear they grow apart,” said Lincoln, “they seem sometimes strangers now.”
Then a wailing cry of anguish to their startled ears was brought.
“It is Nicaragua weeping!” San Martín said, “In that cry
The stricken land, the valiant land, is keening for her dead!”
“Listen!” said Bolívar. Lincoln lifted up his head.
“Help comes! Hope comes!” said Washington. “See them hurry by!”
Muna Lee (29 januari 1895 – 3 april 1965)
De Spaanse schrijver Vicente Blasco Ibáñez werd geboren op 29 januari 1867 in Valencia. Zie ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 29 januari 2010.
Uit: The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (Vertaald door Charlotte Brewster Jordan)
„Then Julio had made his trip to Buenos Aires, encountering in the other hemisphere the last smile of Autumn and the first icy winds from the pampas. And just as his mind was becoming reconciled to the fact that for him Winter was an eternal season–since it always came to meet him in his change of domicile from one extreme of the planet to the other–lo, Summer was unexpectedly confronting him in this dreary garden!
A swarm of children was racing and screaming through the short avenues around the monument. On entering the place, the first thing that Julio encountered was a hoop which came rolling toward his legs, trundled by a childish hand. Then he stumbled over a ball. Around the chestnut trees was gathering the usual warm-weather crowd, seeking the blue shade perforated with points of light. Many nurse-maids from the neighboring houses were working and chattering here, following with indifferent
glances the rough games of the children confided to their care. Near them were the men who had brought their papers down into the garden under the impression that they could read them in the midst of peaceful groves. All of the benches were full. A few women were occupying camp stools with that feeling of superiority which ownership always confers.
The iron chairs, “pay-seats,” were serving as resting places for various suburban dames, loaded down with packages, who were waiting for straggling members of their families in order to take the train in the Gare Saint Lazare. . . .“
Vicente Blasco Ibáñez (29 januari 1867 – 28 januari 1928)