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
“But the bear only grunted. Perhaps it would be a long wait. She pawed her way into the broken helicopter’s cockpit. Rummaging about, she was pleased to discover a spiral-bound flight manual. She hooked it with a claw and carried it out to the grass.
The bear looked at helicopter diagrams, the horse ate, and soon the dog dozed off.
He hadn’t been asleep long when a striped cat arrived. Purring, she rubbed along the horse’s great hooves, then nodded respectfully at the bear and found herself a perch in the crashed helicopter, upon one of its soft, upholstered seats.
The cat had just begun grooming a leg when, with a sharp caaw!, a crow announced himself. He descended in spirals and landed on one of the propeller blades.
“Bird blessings on you,” said the crow, by way of greeting.
And then, almost as soon as the crow had landed, the ringing of a bell cut the seaside air.
As one, the animals looked up to the source of the sound. It was a yellow-eyed baboon, peering at them from a hatch in the yacht’s deck, high above. In one pink hand this baboon held a brass bell, which he shook again with great vigor before stowing it in a small bag he wore over his shoulder.
“Order!” shouted the baboon. “We’ll begin! For victory!”
The bear closed the flight manual and the horse stopped chewing dandelions. This baboon seemed very excited. He clambered down the deck and landed neatly beside the dog.
“I’m up, I’m up,” insisted the dog, though he’d been fast asleep.
“But, baboon,” said the bear, “we can’t begin. We’re not all here.”
“Yes, the cats are late as usual,” added the dog. “Very disrespectful.”
“This dog must still be sleeping,” said the cat in the cockpit, and the horse whinnied with laughter.
A look of great frustration darkened the dog’s square face. “I was just… thinking!”
“We are all here—” said the baboon.
“Bird blessings,” interrupted the crow, “on all creatures!”
“Bird Gods are important! Very important,” agreed the baboon, before turning to the bear. “All of us are here. Anyone who is not here is not us. That’s we. So we can begin.”
“But if the others aren’t here,” said the bear, slowly, focusing on one bit of the problem, “how will they decide how to vote?”
“They vote as we tell them,” said the baboon. “Animals like that.”
Nick McDonell (New York, 18 februari 1984)
De Duitse dichteres en schrijfster Elke Erb werd geboren op 18 februari 1938 in Scherbach in de Eifel. Zie ook alle tags voor Elke Erb op dit blog.
Korenbloem, moederkoren, klaproos
Lief, je hoorde, je hoort
hen, je broers, gebroeders, de zeven
zwanen, je hoorde, hoort de veren –
stemmen aan de hemel –
Handwortels gonsden
gezegend de herderin.
Lief, ik dacht, voor mij groeien er geen
broers in de akker, broers in de akker.
Waarom groette ik niet het koren naar behoren?
Stokstijf.
Stenen, opgewekt, ogen,
ridders, gezondgehekst, spelen
nog viool op de gebroken eden.
Vertaald door Peter Wessels
Elke Erb (18 februari 1938 – 22 januari 2024)
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.
