De Iers-Britse schrijfster en filosofe Iris Murdoch werd geboren in Dublin op 15 juli 1919. Zie ook alle tags voor Iris Murdoch op dit blog.
Uit: Living on Paper: Letters from Iris Murdoch 1934-1995
“To David Hicks. Waller Avenue Bispham Blackpool, March 21st,1941
Dear David,
You will hardly believe, after this long interval of silence, how many times I have been on the point of writing to you. However between the what’s its name & the thingummybob falls the shadow as TS Eliot says, & to that shadow I have invariably succumbed — not in this matter only. I liked your letter (your letter alas my conscience of May 22nd 1940) very much. Your gift of words has not deserted you, whatever other noble qualities are being blown away in the sandstorm. It seems an arid noonday world you’re living in — but you still very much alive in the middle of it with the dew not quite dry on your hair — twisted satyr of Palmer’s Green. Seriously though, you seem to be pretty good at making the best of what I can well imagine is a hellish bad job. How go the prospects of becoming a great man? Does Hicks pasha hold the Middle Eastern fortunes in the palm of his hand? Young Alcibiades, according to Grote,22 had all the qualities of greatness except character. By which he means some sort of moral code. I’m not quite sure what the relevance of that is. I’m not sure whether or not you have a moral code. You sometimes remind me of Alcibiades. You will be successful I have no doubt — good luck to you. Myself, I continue my work in a faded, disintegrating, war- minded, uneasy, evacuee-haunted Oxford that likes me not. Everyone is younger & far more hysterical. Youthful dons & adult male undergraduates are as rare as butterflies in March. The halt the lame & the blind are left to us. However, I’m enjoying Greats very much —my strengthening mind takes fearlessly to its wings now & learns to scorn the dull earth. (Too much German philosophy, that’s what it is.) Ancient history too — not so ancient either if one approaches it rightly — Athenian imperialism in the ascendant — long long talks in the Agora23 — strange new philosophies in Ionia — insolent Athenian penteconters ranging the Aegean,24 where now the Royal Hellenic Navy (underfeared since the battle of Salamis) chases the miscreant Italians (non sunt quales errant25) off the sea. But indeed I don’t spend all my time battening on this manna —(though, fainthearted, I sometime wish I could.) You may be amused to hear that I am chairman of the OULC. Fuit Ilium.26 How has our glory departed when such as I have greatness thrust upon them. England now (you wish you were home?) though by no means in all respects a pleasant land, is certainly a very interesting one. I wouldn’t like to have missed this last year in England — It’s certainly possible, as you may imagine, to feel very melancholy at the things that are happening. I’ve seen a lot — in London, Liverpool, Bristol —that has made me very bitter & unhappy at the time & afterwards. I’ve also seen a lot that surprised & encouraged me. The people of England (who according to Chesterton have not spoken yet27) are not such a bad crew. It’s platitudinous now to say they’re brave — but they have other qualities too. They could build something very fine if they set their minds to it. I get moods when I want to rush out of Oxford, much as I love the place, & never look back. Oxford is a gentle civilised city full of elderly German Jews with faun-eyes & Central European scholars with long hair & longer sentences. But I am homesick for a world more bitter & beautiful & human than Oxford could ever be. Well, I shall hardly avoid the bitterness, whatever happens. Most times though I’m glad enough to take my fair hour — I may be filling shells soon enough anyway — & I may find later on that fighting for a good cause is a full time job. Heigh ho. Heydiddlediddle the cat & the fiddle. I met Alastine the other day. She told me you were in Cyprus.”
De Duitse dichter en schrijver Rainer Kirsch werd geboren op 17 juli 1934 in Döbeln. Zie ook alle tags voor Rainer Kirsch op dit blog
Zwemmen bij Pizunda
Groen is de zee bij Pizunda, soms
Blauw, zwart van schepen, zwem erin
Zo ver als hij je draagt en draai je op je rug: Zo
Zie je de Kaukasus met witte toppen
En rust in de zee; en dit is rust. Nauwelijks
Wiegend, en door het doorzichtige
Dat om je heen is, grenst duidelijk aan je huid;
Vooraan op het stenen strand glijden de gezichten
Af van de bazen, die met de ogen knipperen, om hen heen betaalde
Natuur, op de buik spetterend in het water:
Ze kunnen het niet. Groot is de Kaukasus. Met weinig inspanning
Lig je in balans, maak je armen los en
Voel jezelf of de zee, zoals meisjes meestal doen voordat ze opengaan
(Dan komt, die in elkaar stort, de lust);
Hier echter is het midden. Tussen zee, rots, sneeuw, lucht,
Zwartgroene bossen. Dit
Was het ogenblik, nu glijd, drijf, licht
In boven de zee – hier
Is de triomf van het lichaam: ik, niet vermoord
In deze eeuw! Zwem
Niet snel, niet langzaam door wat er om me heen stroomt
Aan een stenen oever bij Pizunda.
Ik heb nog veertig jaar, of meer.
Vertaald door Frans Roumen
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 15e juli ook mijn blog van 15 juli 2020 en eveneens mijn blog van 15 juli 2019 en ook mijn blog van 15 juli 2017 deel 2.