De Schotse schrijver Irvine Welsh werd geboren op 27 september 1958 in Leith, Edinburgh. Zie ook alle tags voor Irvine Welsh op dit blog.
Uit: Trainspotting
“The taxi did a u-turn and sped up the Walk.
–See whit yuv done now, ya big-moothed cunt. Next time one ay us ur walkin hame oan oor Jack Jones, wi git hassle fi these wee radges. Ah wisnae chuffed at Sick Boy.–Yir no feart ay they wee fuckin saps ur ye?
This cunt’s really gittin ma fuckin goat. –Aye! Aye ah fuckin am, if ah’m oan ma tod n ah git set oan by a fuckin squad ay shell- suits! Ye think ah’m Jean-Claude Van Fuckin Damme? Fuckin doss cunt, so ye are Simon. Ah called him ‘Simon’ rather than ‘Si’ or ‘Sick Boy’ tae emphasise the seriousness ay what ah wis sayin.
–Ah want tae see Mother Superior n ah dinnae gie a fuck aboot any cunt or anything else. Goat that? He pokes his lips wi his forefinger, his eyes bulging oot at us. –Simone wants tae see Mother Superior. Watch ma fuchn lips. He then turns and stares intae the back ay the taxi driver, willing the cunt tae go faster while nervously beating oot a rhythm oan his thighs.
–One ay they cunts wis a McLean. Dandy n Chancey’s wee brar, ah sais.
–Wis it fuck, he sais, but he couldnae keep the anxiety oot ay his voice. –Ah ken the McLeans.
Chancey’s awright.
–No if ye take the pish oot ay his brar, ah sais.
He wis tahn nae mair notice though. Ah stoaped harassing him, knowing thit ah wis jist wastin ma energy. His silent suffering through withdrawal now seemed so intense that thir wis nae wey that ah could add, even incrementally, tae his misery.
‘Mother Superior’ wis Johnny Swan; also kent as the White Swan, a dealer whae wis based in Tollcross and covered the Sighthill and Wester Hailes schemes. Ah preferred tae score fi Swanney, or his sidekick Raymie, rather than Seeker n the Muirhoose-Leith mob, if ah could.
Better gear, usually. Johnny Swan hud once been a really good mate ay mines, back in the auld days. We played fitba thegither fir Porty Thistle. Now he wis a dealer. Ah remember um saying tae us once: Nae friends in this game. Jist associates.
Ah thought he wis being harsh, flippant and show-oafy, until ah got sae far in. Now ah ken precisely what the cunt meant. Johnny wis a junky as well as a dealer. Ye hud tae go a wee bit further up the ladder before ye found a dealer whae didnae use. We called Johnny ‘Mother Superior’ because ay the length ay time he’d hud his habit.
Ah soon started tae feel fuchng shan n aw. Bad cramps wir beginning tae hit us as we mounted the stairs tae Johnny’s gaff. Ah wis dripping like a saturated sponge, every step bringing another gush fae ma pores. Sick Boy wis probably even worse, but the cunt was beginning no tae exist fir us. Ah wis only aware ay him slouching tae a halt oan the banister in front ay us, because he wis blocking ma route tae Johnny’s and the skag. He wis struggling fir breath, haudin grimly oantay the railing, looking as If he wis gaunnae spew intae the stairwell.
–Awright Si? ah sais irritably, pissed off at the cunt fir haudin us up.
He waved us away, shaking his heid and screwing his eyes up. Ah sais nae mair. Whin ye feel like he did, ye dinnae want tae talk or be talked at. Ye dinnae want any fuckin fuss at aw. Ah didnae either. Sometimes ah think that people become junkies just because they subconsciously crave a wee bit ay silence.´
De Amerikaanse dichteres Kay Ryan werd geboren op 27 september 1945 in San Jose, California. Zie ook alle tags voor Kay Ryan op dit blog.
Album
Death has a life
of its own. See
how its album
has grown in
a year and how
the sharp blot of it
has softened
till those could
almost be shadows
behind the
cherry blossoms
in this shot.
In fact you
couldn’t prove
they’re not.
All Your Horses
Say when rain
cannot make
you more wet
or a certain
thought can’t
deepen and yet
you think it again:
you have lost
count. A larger
amount is
no longer a
larger amount.
There has been
a collapse; perhaps
in the night.
Like a rupture
in water (which
can’t rupture
of course). All
your horses
broken out with
all your horses.
De Niagara River
Alsof
de rivier
een vloer is, plaatsen we
er onze tafel en stoelen
op, eten, en
voeren een gesprek.
Terwijl hij langstrekt,
merken we – zo
kalm alsof
eetkamer schilderijen
worden vervangen –
de veranderende scènes op
langs de kust. Wij
weten het, wij
weten dat dit de
Niagara River is, maar
het is moeilijk te onthouden
wat dat betekent.
Vertaald door Frans Roumen
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 27e september ook mijn blog van 27 september 2018 en eveneens mijn blog van 27 september 2015 deel 2 en eveneens deel 3.