De Amerikaanse schrijver Nick McDonell werd geboren op 18 februari 1984 in New York. Zie ook alle tags voor Nick McDonell op dit blog.
Uit: The Council of Animals
“The animals decided to vote. They chose a location more convenient to some than others. It was a vast superyacht, grounded upon a cliff, high above the sea. A bulldog arrived first. He was grizzled, mostly grey, and arthritic. His undershot jaw, however, retained much of its fierce, stubborn strength. He was a determined-looking sort of dog. Limping into the shade of a smashed helicopter—fallen from its place on the yacht’s deck—he sniffed the wind for creatures. He smelled none and so lay down, snout upon paws, to wait. Anticipating the difficulty of the journey, he had left his pack before dawn and was, in fact, early.
Next came a horse, trotting—idiotically, thought the dog—in zigzags, toward the yacht. His almond coat was glossy and his mane was streaked blond from sunshine. A brilliant white stripe ran down his muzzle. He slowed to a panting rest. Catching his breath, he nosed for some-thing to eat in the weeds beside the dog.
“Good afternoon,” said the dog.
“Where are the sugar cubes?”
“Sugar cubes?”
“Sometimes they have sugar cubes.”
“None of them are here.”
The horse appeared to think about this.
“That’s the point,” added the dog.
“Carrots?”
Dog and horse regarded each other for a long moment.
“No carrots either.”
. . . You bloody fool, added the dog, internally.
The horse continued nosing in the weeds. “The cat told me to tell you she’ll be late,” he said, through a mouthful of dandelions.
Before the dog had time to complain about this, the horse snapped his head up in alarm and looked down the promontory. Though it had been agreed no animal should harm another for the duration of the meeting, he could not banish instinct. He smelled the bear before he saw her.
The dog, too. Together they watched her pad along, ropey muscles rolling beneath her fur.
“I thought it would be a snow bear,” whispered the horse.
“Polar bear,” corrected the dog.
This bear was a grizzly, and though certainly fear-some from afar she was not, really, a very strong or well-fed bear. She looked rather scruffy, in fact. Harried.
“Good afternoon,” said the dog, as the bear joined them in the shade.
“Have the others arrived?” asked the bear.
“Not yet,” said the dog.
“The cat told me to tell you she’ll be late,” repeated the horse.
“No surprises there, eh?” said the dog, hoping to befriend the bear.”
De Duitse dichter en schrijver Björn Kuhligk werd geboren op 19 februari 1975 in Berlijn. Zie ook alle tags voor Björn Kuhligk op dit blog.
In de landschappen
(voor Peter Wawerzinek)
Men staat aan de kust, onderkoeld
op kliffen, in valleien
overtroefd door pieken
Men heeft twee kamerplanten
ze krijgen water en
deze cactus, die standhoudt
men hoeft niet te wapperen, de was
droogt vanzelf, de twee levens
die men had, daar past een derde op
men staat onder bomen, onder wat
ook anders, daar zit maretak in
dat ziet er verontrustend uit
men wordt getolereerd, een levende gast
met schoenen aan zijn enkel, men is
een domme kluwen, die iets groters wil
Vertaald door Frans Roumen
Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 18e februari ook mijn blog van 18 februari 2019 en eveneens mijn blog van 18 februari 2018 deel 2.