William Rose Benét, Gostan Zarian, Ludwig Eichrodt, Johann Ch. Gottsched, Michael Öchsner

De Amerikaanse dichter en uitgever William Rose Benét werd geboren op 2 febrari 1886 in Fort Hamilton, Brooklyn, New York. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2010.


The Horse Thief (Fragment)

There he moved, cropping the grass at the purple canyon’s lip.
His mane was mixed with the moonlight that silvered his snow-white side,
For the moon sailed out of a cloud with the wake of a spectral ship.
I crouched and I crawled on my belly, my lariat coil looped wide.


Dimly and dark the mesas broke on the starry sky.
A pall covered every color of their gorgeous glory at noon.
I smelt the yucca and mesquite, and stifled my heart’s quick cry,
And wormed and crawled on my belly to where he moved against the moon!


Some Moorish barb was that mustang’s sire. His lines were beyond all wonder.
From the prick of his ears to the flow of his tail he ached in my throat and eyes.
Steel and velvet grace! As the prophet says, God had “clothed his neck with thunder.”
Oh, marvelous with the drifting cloud he drifted across the skies!


And then I was near at hand—crouched, and balanced, and cast the coil;
And the moon was smothered in cloud, and the rope through my hands with a rip!
But somehow I gripped and clung, with the blood in my brain aboil,—
With a turn round the rugged tree-stump there on the purple canyon’s lip.


Right into the stars he reared aloft, his red eye rolling and raging.
He whirled and sunfished and lashed, and rocked the earth to thunder and flame.
He squealed like a regular devil horse. I was haggard and spent and aging—
Roped clean, but almost storming clear, his fury too fierce to tame.



William Rose Benét (2 februari 1886 – 4 mei 1950)

Portret door Luis Quintanilla



De Armeense schrijver Gostan Zarian werd geboren op 2 februari 1885 in Shemakha, voormalige hoofdstad van Azerbeidzjan. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2010.


Uit: The Ship On The Mountain (Vertaald door Shant Norashkharian)


„The hall was becoming full with the newly arriving crowd. The newcomers were squeezing around the already-occupied tables, forming large groups, and blocking the walkways.

Smoke. Noise.

Herian was watching carefully.

“This is a strange scene”, he said, “it seems, that these people have been in some danger. Confused looks, cringed mouths…”

“Russia is passing through an enormous screen. The heavy particles remain, but the rest surrenders to the winds…”


“If one thinks well”, exclaimed Sultanian, “he will see that escaping is a dishonorable thing. One should never leave his homeland, even if one’s life is threatened. The refugee, after all, is a half-person…”

“They have escaped from famine, persecutions, deprivations.”

“Precisely. They are afraid of deprivation. Although, watch, they already look like dead leaves blown away by the winds. And I do not understand one thing. If millions of people are suffering, why should artists escape these sufferings?”

“I am in total agreement”, said Gara, “I am in total agreement. One must have the courage to face reality as it comes and to transform that reality, as cruel as it may be, to art. The song can be the basis for everything.”

“That is undeniable”, agreed Herian, “One must stay, insist, and persevere. We are all responsible for these events and we must have the courage to face their consequences”.



Gostan Zarian (2 februari 1885 – 11 december 1969)

Shemakha, graftombes van de koninklijke familie Shirvan Kahn



De Duitse dichter Ludwig Eichrodt werd geboren op 2 februari 1827 in Durlach bij Karlsruhe. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2010.

Holde Nacht

Ich weiß in grünem Garten
Den allerschönsten Ort,
Die stillen Sterne warten
Auf liebende Herzen dort.

Es spielen durch die Lauben
Die Lichter des Mondenscheins,
Es flüstern durch die Trauben
Die Geister süßen Weins.

Es wispern leis und linde
Die Abendwinde, die laun,
Und durch die schlanken Gewinde
Verliebte Blumen schaun.

Vom Hügel rauschet nieder
Der dunkle Kastanienwald,
Du hörset Schlummerlieder
Voll zaubrischer Gewalt.

Die Sterne des Himmels erwarten
Zwei liebende Herzen dort,
Ich weiß in grünem Garten
Den allerschönsten Ort.

Ludwig Eichrodt (2 februari 1827 – 2 februari 1892)




De Duitse schrijver Johann Christoph Gottsched werd geboren in Juditten (bij Koningsbergen) op 2 februari 1700. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2009 en ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2010.


Der Donaustrom

In währender Reise auf demselben, im September des 1749 Jahres beschrieben.


So sey mir nun gegrüßt, du deutscher Tyberstrom!

Empfange mich, auf deinem breiten Rücken!

Und führe mich mit dir, und laß mich bald erblicken

Der neuen Zeit erhabnes Rom!

Ich strebte längst, die Kaiserstadt zu sehen,

Die aller Deutschen Haupt, der Fremden Wunder ist:

Itzt soll mein Wunsch, mein alter Wunsch geschehen,

Wo du der Absicht günstig bist;

Wo deine Silberfluth mich nur in wenig Tagen

Aus Bayerland nach Wien will tragen.


Laß ein verführtes Herz, das nur nach Frankreich lechzt,

Bloß nach Paris, als seinem Himmel stöhnen.

Laß sich der Stutzer Schaar nach Modeschneidern sehnen,

Wie der nach deutschen Thalern ächzt!

Schleppt immerhin die ungrischen Ducaten,

Den Feinden Ungarlands, und aller Deutschen zu:

Laßt Deutschlands Mark in fremde Faust gerathen,

Zu Störung unsrer künftgen Ruh:

Mich soll der Kaisersitz, den so viel Thoren fliehen,

In die berühmten Mauren ziehen.



Johann Ch. Gottsched (2 februari 1700 – 12 december 1766)



Zie voor onderstaande dichter ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2010.


De Duitse dichter en leraar Michael Öchsner werd geboren op 2 februari 1816 in München. Zie ook mijn blog van 2 februari 2009.