De Amerikaanse dichter en schrijver Percy MacKaye werd geboren op 16 maart 1876 in New York. Zie ook alle tags voor Percy MacKaye op dit blog.
Hymn Of The New World
A star a star in the west!
Out of the wave it rose:
And it led us forth on a world-far quest;
Where the mesas scorched and the moorlands froze.
It lured us without rest:
With yearning, yearning—ah!
It sang (as it beckoned us)
A music vast, adventurous-
America!
A star a star in the night!
Out of our hearts it dawned !
And it poured within its wonderful light;
Where our hovels gloomed and our hunger spawned
It healed our passionate blight:
And burning, burning—ah!
It clanged (as it kindled us)
Of a freedom proud and perilous-
America!
A star—a star in the dawn!
Bright from God s brow it gleams!
Like a morning star in ages gone
With hallowed song its holy beams
Urge us forever on:
For chanting, chanting—ah!
It builds (as it blesses us)
A union strong, harmonious-
America !
De Franse dichter Patrice de la Tour du Pin werd geboren op 16 maart 1911 in Parijs. Zie ook alle tags voor Patrice de la Tour du Pin op dit blog.
Psaume 32
Nai-je pas droit, Seigneur, à des saisons?
nas-tu pas fait erreur en ce trop long hiver?
mon âme cherche en vain òu saccoupler.
Je nanime plus rien et tout me désanime,
ma voix me revient morte au moindre appel vers toi!
peut-être en veux-tu à ma voix.
Sans elle je ne suis quun cavalier sans ma monture,
un poète perdu pour ta benediction:
jai dû vouloir forcer ta grace.
Plus sommaire est mon cri que celui de tes bêtes,
la moindre pierre est plus musicienne que moi,
ma gorge désolée sencrasse . . .
Descelle-moi, mon Dieu, je me meurs dêtre atone:
depuis trois ans, je me défonce, je me fore,
je mentends gémir . . . Mentends-tu?
Jai quitté pour toi des terres profanes
et ton silence me condamne!
non, je ne réclame pas mon dû!
Mais au moins penche-toi, ne laisse pas sétendre
sur ma quête un ciel dindifférence,
ne me laisse pas égorgé . . .
De Turkse schrijver Haldun Taner werd geboren op 16 maart 1915 in Istanboel. Zie ook alle tags voor Haldun Taner op dit blog.
Uit: The Ballad Of Ali Of Keshan (Vertaald door Nüvit Özdoğru)
“First Citizen: You said there would be an end to bullying.
Chorus: Well, you can’t have everything.
Ali: I’ve appointed Mr. Thirty Percent Temel as my financial advisor and the Letter-Writer Dervish as my legal advisor.
Voices: Congratulations! (TEMEL and DERVISH are congratulated.)
Ali: In all games played in all coffee houses I shall have my cut. If anyone fails to pay up, I’ll make him wear the coast of a porcupine. I want no killjoy around here.
Drunken Rasih: You said there would be no more such things.TEMEL takes a bottle of raki and puts it before DRUNKEN RASİH.Chorus: Well, you can’t have everything.
Ali: I’ve set up in my coffeehouse an organization of servants and taxi-starters. From now on, no one will make business deals with the city without first consulting my office. Anyone wishing to go for washing, housecleaning, wet nurse or labor in the tobacco company must register with Hafize right now.
Second Citizen: He’s filling all the jobs with his relatives.
TEMEL places a bottle of raki before the SECOND CITIZEN.
Chorus: Well, you can’t have everything.
Ali: The first month’s salaries of the servants registered here will go to me – that is, the aid fund. In return, all their legal rights and privileges will be guarded by Dervish the Letter-Writer. We’ll get them good salaries, conditions, and in the case of matrons who are pretty well off, compensation and retirement benefits.”
De Duitse dichter Jakob Haringer werd als Johann Franz Albert geboren op 16 maart 1898 in Dresden. Zie ook alle tags voor Jakob Haringer op dit blog.
Fahr ich wieder in mein altes Städtchen
Fahr ich wieder in mein altes Städtchen,
flattert ins Kupee der letzte Mohn
Es sind immer noch dieselben Mädchen,
es ist immer noch derselbe Mond.
Hab an Fraun und Tand mein Herz verloren,
blieb mir nichts als dieses alte Nest!
Kinder spielen lieb vor Gartentoren,
morgen ist das letzte Sommerfest.
Werd ich traurig an den Hügeln sitzen,
denk an all die längst verlorne Zeit;
Droben schon die ersten Sternlein glitzern,
glänzt kein Stern an meine Traurigkeit …
Einst hing rotes Laub an deinen Locken,
und bald wird es wieder lustig schnein,
an mein schlaflos Bett wehn Friedhofsglocken
und ich werd so ganz verlassen sein.
Fahr ich wieder in mein altes Städtchen,
flattert ins Café der letzte Mohn …
Es sind immer noch dieselben Mädchen
es ist immer noch derselbe Mond.
Jakob Haringer (16 maart 1898 – 3 april 1948)
De Australische dichteres en schrijfster Ethel Anderson werd geboren op 16 maart 1883 in Leamington, in Warwickshire, Engeland. Zie ook alle tags voor Ethel Anderson op dit blog.
Waking, Child, While You Slept (Fragment)
Waking, child, while you slept your mother took
Down from its wooden peg her reaping-hook,
Rustless with use, to cut (her task when dawn
With nervous light would bead the dusky leaves)
From the cold wheat-paddocks shivering fringe, two sheaves;
Against a block shed trash the golden grain,
Then winnow corn and husk, and toss again
With bustling care, in genial haste, not late
Her cows shed milk, het butter churn, and set
Fresh cream in scalded pans. Her hens shed feed
With hot scraps, stirred in pollard from the bin;
Then give her dribbling calves what drink they need;
Or drive with flowery staff
Meek stragglers trough the gate;
On her youngest born
Impose the fret,
The letterd tyranny, of the alphabet.