De Zwitserse schrijver Martin Suter werd geboren op 29 februari 1948 in Zürich. Zie ook alle tags voor Martin Suter op dit blog.
Uit: Ein perfekter Freund
“Das wollte ich Sie fragen.”
“Keine Ahnung?”
Fabio schüttelte vorsichtig den Kopf. Die Frau liess sein Handgelenk los, nahm das Krankenblatt vom Bettgestell und notierte etwas. “Sie sind in der Neurochirurgie der Uniklinik.”
“Weshalb?”
“Sie haben eine Kopfverletzung.” Sie überprüfte die Infusionsflasche.
“Was für eine?”
“Ein Schädel-Hirn-Trauma. Sie haben einen Schlag auf den Kopf erhalten.”
“Wie das?”
Sie lächelte: “Das wollte ich Sie fragen.”
Fabio schloss die Augen. “Seit wann bin ich hier?”
“Seit fünf Tagen.”
Fabio schlug die Augen auf. “Ich war fünf Tage im Koma?”
“Nein, Sie sind seit drei Tagen wach.”
“Ich erinnere mich nicht.”
“Das hängt mit Ihrer Kopfverletzung zusammen.”
“Ist sie so schlimm?”
“Es geht. Kein Schädelbruch und keine Blutung.”
“Und der Verband?”
“Auf der Intensivstation hatte man Ihnen eine Hirndrucksonde eingesetzt.”
Martin Suter (Zürich 29 februari 1948)
De Griekse dichter Yórgos Seféris werd geboren in Smyrna (nu Izmir, in Turkije) op 29 februari 1900. Zie ook alle tags voor Yórgos Seféris op dit blog.
Erotikos Logos
I
Rose of fate, you looked for ways to wound us
yet you bent like the secret about to be released
and the command you chose to give us was beautiful
and your smile was like a ready sword.
The ascent of your cycle livened creation
from your thorn emerged the way’s thought
our impulse dawned naked to possess you
the world was easy: a simple pulsation.
II
The secrets of the sea are forgotten on the shores
the darkness of the depths is forgotten in the surf;
the corals of memory suddenly shine purple. . .
O do not stir. . . listen to hear its light
motion. . . you touched the tree with the apples
the hand reached out, the thread points the way and guides you. . .
O dark shivering in the roots and the leaves
if it were but you who would bring the forgotten dawn!
May lilies blossom again on the meadow of separation
may days open mature, the embrace of the heavens,
may those eyes alone shine in the glare
the pure soul be outlined like the song of a flute.
Was it night that shut its eyes? Ashes remain,
as from the string of a bow a choked hum remains,
ash and dizziness on the black shore
and dense fluttering imprisoned in surmise.
Rose of the wind, you knew but took us unknowing
at a time when thought was building bridges
so that fingers would knit and two fates pass by
and spill into the low and rested light.
Vertaald door Edmund Keeley en Phillip Sherrar
Yórgos Seféris (29 februari 1900 – 20 september 1971)
De Roemeense dichter Marin Sorescu werd geboren op 29 februari 1936 in Bulzeşti. Zie ook alle tags voor Marin Sorescu op dit blog.
Ladder To Heaven
A silk thread spun by a spider
Is hanging from the ceiling
Just above my bed.
Every day I notice it
Descending lower.
Now I am even offered
The ladder to Heaven – I say
It comes from ‘up there’.
Although I had lost weight to the point
Where I am only the spectre of my former self
I believe that my body
May be too heavy
For this delicate ladder.
You, soul of mine, I think that you ought to go first.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter!.
Vertaald door Constantin Roman
With Only One Life
Hold with both hands
The tray of every day
And pass in turn
Along this counter.
There is enough sun
For everybody.
There is enough sky,
And there is moon enough.
The earth gives off the smell
Of luck, of happiness, of glory,
Which tickles your nostrils
Temptingly.
So don’t be miserly,
Live after your own heart.
The prices are derisory.
For instance, with only one life
You can acquire
The most beautiful woman,
Plus a biscuit.
Vertaald door Joana Russell-Gebbett en D.J. Enright
Marin Sorescu (29 februari 1936 – 8 december 1996)
De Amerikaanse dichter en literatuurdocent Howard Nemerov werd geboren op 29 februari 1920 in New York. Zie ook alle tags voor Howard Nemerov op dit blog.
Walking The Dog
Two universes mosey down the street
Connected by love and a leash and nothing else.
Mostly I look at lamplight through the leaves
While he mooches along with tail up and snout down,
Getting a secret knowledge through the nose
Almost entirely hidden from my sight.
We stand while he’s enraptured by a bush
Till I can’t stand our standing any more
And haul him off; for our relationship
Is patience balancing to this side tug
And that side drag; a pair of symbionts
Contented not to think each other’s thoughts.
What else we have in common’s what he taught,
Our interest in shit. We know its every state
From steaming fresh through stink to nature’s way
Of sluicing it downstreet dissolved in rain
Or drying it to dust that blows away.
We move along the street inspecting shit.
His sense of it is keener far than mine,
And only when he finds the place precise
He signifies by sniffing urgently
And circles thrice about, and squats, and shits,
Whereon we both with dignity walk home
And just to show who’s master I write the poem.
Kicks
The fishermen on Lake Michigan, sometimes,
For kicks, they spit two hunks of bait on hooks
At either end of a single length of line
And toss that up among the scavenging gulls,
Who go for it so fast that often two of them
Make the connection before it hits the water.
Hooked and hung up like that, they do a dance
That lasts only so long. The fishermen
Do that for kicks, on Lake Michigan, sometimes.
Howard Nemerov (29 februari 1920 – 5 juli 1991)
De Amerikaanse dichter, schrijver, acteur, rapper en musicus Saul Stacey Williams werd geboren in Newburgh, New York op 29 februari 1972. Zie ook alle tags voor Saul Williams op dit blog.
1987
CHAPTER 1
Acid wash Guess with the leather patches,
sportin the white Diadoras with the hoodie
that matches. I’m wearing two Swatches and
a small Gucci pouch. I could have worn the
Louis but I left it in the house.
My NGHs Duce and Wayne got gold plates
with their name, with the skyline on it and the
box link chain. I’m wearing my frames they
match my gear with their tint. And you know
Lagerfield is the scent.
My NGH Rafael just got his jeep out the shop.
Mint green sidekick. Custom made ragtop. Strictly
Business is the album that we play. “You’re a
Customer,” the pick of the day.
Saul Williams (Newburgh, 29 februari 1972)
De Engelse dichter John Byrom werd geboren op 29 februari 1692 in Manchester. Zie ook alle tags voor John Byrom op dit blog.
Epigram V.
Prayer and thanksgiving is the vital breath
That keeps the spirit of a man from death;
For pray’r attracts into the living soul
The life, that fills the universal whole.
Epigram VI.
To own a God, who does not speak to men,
Is first to own, and then disown again;
Of all idolatry the total sum
Is having gods, that are both deaf and dumb.
John Byrom (29 februari 1692 – 26 september 1763)
Old Market Street, Manchester door Paul Brandonm 1820
Zie voor de schrijvers van de 28e februari ook mijn vorige twee blogs van vandaag.