De Amerikaanse schrijver William Gibson werd geboren op 13 november 1914 in New York. Zie ook mijn blog van 13 november 2010.
Uit: A Cry Of Players
„Ned: “Listen to them. Today they guffawed at the death scene.”
Will: “Oafs, yes, I agree with …”
Heming: “Ned thinks we’d have a glorious stage if we’d only get rid of the damned audience.”
Pope: “Wasn’t the scene, Willie (Kemp) was ogling a wench in the front.”
Ned: “Ogling a…”
Kemp (Willie): “I wasn’t ogling a wench.”
Ned: “What were you doing?”
Kemp (Willie): “Humoring the scene.”
Ned (shocked): “Humoring a death scene? Willie …”
Kemp (Willie): “Well, don’t draw it out so.”
(…)
Ned: “Why can’t he watch?”
Kemp (chortling): “He can, he can! Watch, act, rule the realm, he’ll talk his way into anything. Midnight?”
Will: “Midnight.” (They are setting the time to go poaching for deer)
Ned: “It’s exactly that, and the issue is are we to compromise it to entertain the vulgar, or…” Pope: “For God’s sake, what’s wrong with entertaining the folk? It’s what we’re for.”
Ned: “It’s not what I am for.”
Kemp: “It’s what he’s against. Ned, there’s your throne.”
Ned: “No, we’re either practitioners of an art going back to the ancients or a pack of clowning beggars, and I won’t be bound to the level of a herd of dolts.”
William Gibson (13 november 1914 – 25 november 2008)
De Frans-Canadese dichter en politicus Gérald Godin werd geboren op 13 november 1938 in Trois-Rivières, Quebec. Zie ook mijn blog van 13 november 2008 en ook mijn blog van 13 november 2009 en ook mijn blog van 13 november 2010.
CantouqueS” – Cantouque sans recours
Comment pourrais-je coucher avec toi
m’allonger du long de ton flanc doux
t’embrasser les seins te mordiller les tétins
si je n’étais indépendantiste ô mon amour
comment pourrais-je porter mes chnolles
et m’en servir au besoin quand le désir me vient
être un homme et me tenir debout et droit
si je n’étais indépendantiste ô mon amour
comment pourrais-je parler français
comme mes voisins mes pareils
fouler la boue du pays l’appeler mienne
la traîner à mes semelles m’en targuer m’en vanter
m’en mettre plein la vue m’en ennuyer
me sentir chez moi sinon aujourd’hui du moins demain
si je n’étais indépendantiste ô mon amour
comment pourrais-je vivre oser respirer encore
l’air pollué de mon pays vaincu
l’avenir bouché de mon pays anglichié
supporter la brûlure des Plaines l’incendie des drapeaux
le bris des épées l’exil de trente-sept
comment pourrais-je oser t’aimer te toucher
même lever les yeux vers toi
connaître ne serait-ce que ton nom
si je n’avais à coeur qu’un jour sinon nous du moins nos fils
soient ici chez eux sur la terre que d’aïeul à petit-fils
nous aimons
Gérald Godin (13 november 1938 – 12 okrober 1994)
Hier met zijn vrouwPauline Julien
De Duitse schrijver en kunstenaar Karl Jakob Hirsch werd op 13. November 1892 in Hannover geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 13 november 2010.
Karl Jakob Hursch: Madonna
Uit: Revolutinäre Kunst
Karl Jakob Hirsch (13. November 1892 – 8. Juli 1952)
De Schotse schrijver Robert Louis Stevenson werd geboren in het Schotse Edinburgh op 13 november 1850. Zie ook alle tags voor Robert Louis Stevenson op dit blog.
As from the house your mother sees
As from the house your mother sees
You playing round the garden trees,
So you may see, if you will look
Through the windows of this book,
Another child, far, far away,
And in another garden, play.
But do not think you can at all,
By knocking on the window, call
That child to hear you. He intent
Is all on his play-business bent.
He does not hear, he will not look,
Nor yet be lured out of this book.
For, long ago, the truth to say,
He has grown up and gone away,
And it is but a child of air
That lingers in the garden there.
Now when the number of my years
Now when the number of my years
Is all fulfilled, and I
From sedentary life
Shall rouse me up to die,
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.
Clear was my soul, my deeds were free,
Honour was called my name,
I fell not back from fear
Nor followed after fame.
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.
Bury me low in valleys green
And where the milder breeze
Blows fresh along the stream,
Sings roundly in the trees –
Bury me low and let me lie
Under the wide and starry sky.
Joying to live, I joyed to die,
Bury me low and let me lie.
Robert Louis Stevenson (13 november 1850 – 3 december 1894)
Beeld in Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. Glasgow
De Zweedse dichter Esaias Tegnér werd geboren op 13 november 1782 in Kyrkerud. Zie ook mijn blog van 13 november 2008 en ook mijn blog van 13 november 2010.
Uit: Fridthjof’s Saga
Fridthjof and Ingeborg. (Fragment)
How joyful ’twas, how lovely too,
When firs[ he learned his futhorc through;
No kings had e’er such honor brought them
As when to Ingeborg he taught them.
How joyously his boat would glide
With those two o’er the dark blue tide:
While he the driving sail was veering,
Her small white hands gave hearty cheering.
No bird’s nest found so high a spot,
That he for her could find it not;
The eagle’s nest from clouds he sundered,
And eggs and young he deftly plundered.
However swift, there ran no brook,
But o’er it Ingeborg he took;
How sweet when roaring torrents frighten,
To feel her soft arms round him tighten.
The first; spring flowers by sunshine fed,
The earliest berries turning red,
The first of autumn’s golden treasure,
He proffered her with eager pleasure.
********************
But quickly sped are childhood’s days,–
There stands a youth whose ardent gaze
With pleading and with hope is laden,
And there, with budding charms, a maiden.
Young Fridthjof followed oft the chase,
Which led to many a fearful place;
With neither spear nor lance defended,
The wild bear’s life he quickly ended.
Esaias Tegnér (13 november 1782 – 2 november 1846)
Standbeeld in Lund