Endre Ady, William Kotzwinkle, George Robert Gissing, Elisabeth Maria Post

De Hongaarse dichter Endre Ady werd geboren op 22 november 1877 in het huidige Adyfalva. Zie ook mijn blog van 22 november 2008 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2009 en ook mijn blog van 22november 2010.

 

Autumn Passed Through Paris

Autumn sliped into Paris yesterday,

came silently down Boulevard St Michel,

In sultry heat, past boughs sullen and still,

and met me on its way.

As I walked on to where the Seine flows by,

little twig songs burned softly in my heart,

smoky, odd, sombre, purple songs. I thought

they sighed that I shall die.

Autumn drew abreast and whispered to me,

Boulevard St Michel that moment shivered.

Rustling, the dusty, playful leaves quivered,

whirled forth along the way.

One moment: summer took no heed: whereon,

laughing, autumn sped away from Paris.

That it was here, I alone bear witness,

under the trees that moan.

 

Endre Ady (22 november 1877 – 27 januari 1919)

 

De Amerikaanse schrijver William Kotzwinkle werd geboren op 22 november 1943 in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Zie ook mijn blog van 22 november 2008 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2009 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2010.

 

Uit:The Amphora Project

„A voice came from the flight deck radio. ?Welcome to the Paper Lantern. Please don?t mind our little maze. It?s to discourage unwanted visitors. You?ve been cleared for landing.? The sky mines parted, al­lowing them to pass.

The moon was marked with ridges that resembled the ribs of a lantern, but, as descent continued, the ribs spaced themselves far­ther apart until the illusion of a lantern was dispelled. A carpet of lights rolled up from the night horizon, gained definition, and be­came the protective dome of a controlled environment?a pink trans­lucent shell glowing from within.

?Let?s try not to dent anything too badly,? said Jockey. The burly pirate turned the ship nose up, and the Temperance, like an inverted candle whose flame was dying, settled onto a landing pad. When the engines quieted down, he walked back to the salon to join his pas­senger. ?Your higher education continues, dear boy,? he said to Adrian Link. Link was Chief of Soil, Plant, and Insect Control of the Agri­cultural Department of Planet Immortal, a weighty position for one so young. Link?s utility robot, Upquark, sat beside him, concern in his artificial eyes. His robotic analysis of the situation was that jour­neys with Jockey were likely to put Adrian at risk; the pirate always had some ulterior motive when he invited Adrian on a trip. I have much to contend with, thought the little robot.

Lizardo stepped past them and opened the hatch. He stretched his neck, gazing suspiciously left and right. A ring of white scales around his neck gave him the look of a priest, but any confessions he heard came with his claws wrapped around someone?s throat.

The others followed him out through the hatch, and a pneu­matic bus shot them to the dome. As they entered the nightclub, Link stared up into the rosy dome and caught his breath. What at first looked like a moving tapestry proved to be the fluttering of wings. Rare butterflies were circling there.

?Did I lie?? asked Jockey.“

 

William Kotzwinkle (Scranton 22 november 1943)

 

De Engelse schrijver George Robert Gissing werd geboren op 22 november 1857 in Wakefield, Yorkshire. Zie ook mijn blog van 22 november 2008 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2009 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2010.

 

Uit: Workers In The Dawn

„f we look up, we perceive that strong beams are fixed across between the fronts of the houses — sure sign of the rottenness which everywhere prevails. Listen! That was the shrill screaming of an infant which came from one of the nearest dens. Yes, children are born here, and men and women die. Let us devoutly hope that the deaths exceed the births.

Now back into the street, for already we have become the observed of a little group of evil-looking fellows gathered round the entrance. Let us press once more through the noisy crowd, and inspect the shops and stalls. Here is exposed for sale an astounding variety of goods. Loudest in their cries, and not the least successful in attracting customers, are the butchers, who, with knife and chopper in hand, stand bellowing in stentorian tones the virtues of their meat; now inviting purchasers with their — “Lovely, love-ly, l-ove-ly! Buy! buy buy buy — buy!” now turning to abuse each other with a foul-mouthed virulence surpassing description. See how the foolish artisan’s wife, whose face bears the evident signs of want and whose limbs shiver under her insufficient rags, lays down a little heap of shillings in return for a lump, half gristle, half bone, of questionable meat-ignorant that with half the money she might buy four times the quantity of far more healthy and sustaining food.

But now we come to luxuries. Here is a stall where lie oysters and whelks, ready stripped of their shells, offering an irresistible temptation to the miserable-looking wretches who stand around, sucking in the vinegared and peppered dainties till their stomachs are appeased, or their pockets empty. Next is a larger booth, where all manner of old linen, torn muslin, stained and faded ribbons, draggled trimming, and the like, is exposed for sale, piled up in foul and clammy heaps, which, as the slippery-tongued rogue, with a yard in his hand turns and tumbles it for the benefit of a circle of squalid and shivering women, sends forth a reek stronger than that from the basket of rotten cabbage on the next stall. How the poor wretches ogle the paltry rags, feverishly turn their money in their hands, discuss with each other in greedy whispers the cheapness or otherwise of the wares!“

 

George Robert Gissing (22 november 1857 – 28 december 1903)

 

De Nederlands dichteres en schrijfster Elisabeth Maria Post werd geboren in Utrecht op 22 november 1755. Zie ook mijn blog van 22 november 2006.en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2008 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2009 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2010.

 

Uit: Het land, in brieven

„De weenende afscheidsgroet bij de veege sponde, is slegts voor weinige oogenblikken – en zal door eeuwen van zaligheid, in dien oord, waar volmaakte liefde en vriendschap wonen, achtervolgd worden. Daar rollen nimmer tranen. Daar scheiden geen trouwe vrienden. Daar zal de naauwste vereeniging een altijdvloeiende bron van hemelwellust wezen!

Daar smaak ik eerst een vriendschap zonder smetten,

En, bij ’t geluk van ze eindloos voord te zetten,

Zal ik verhoogd haar recht verstaan.

‘k Zal eeuwig daar haar heil geheel ervaaren,

Verheugd zijn, dat wij zoo gelukkig waaren,

Van vroom te saamen om te gaan.

Geeft de korte duur van eenig genoegen altijd kwelling, die het gevoel van deszelfs waarde vermindert: het verwondere u dan niet, mijne vriendin! dat ik, in de bestendigheid van een geluk, wiens kragt ik levendig gevoel, – ook mijne blijdschap zoo duurzaam als haar oorzaak zoek te maken.

En is het edel oogmerk der vriendschap – elkander gelukkiger te maken; is dat geluk gelegen in de verbetering van onzen geest; die niet geschapen is, om eenen kleinen kring van vlugtige jaren, op dit toneel der onvolmaaktheid, te schitteren; maar alleen om hier die gesteldheid te verkrijgen, die hem vatbaar maakt voor de eeuwen van geluk: o hoe groot is dan de taak, die de vriendschap ons oplegt! „

 

Elisabeth Maria Post (22 november 1755 – 3 juli 1812)