J. H. Leopold, Ida Gerhardt, Andre Rudolph, Rubem Fonseca, Henning Boëtius, Camilo José Cela

 

De Nederlandse dichter en classicus Jan Hendrik Leopold werd geboren in ’s-Hertogenbosch op 11 mei 1865. Zie ook alle tags voor J. H. Leopold op dit blog.

De lucht was als een perzik

De lucht was als een perzik,
de maan een diamant,
zwellende lentenevels
bloeiden aan alle kant.

Over de donzen heuvels
lokte een ver verschiet;
wij wilden zwervend worden,
zwervend en anders niet.

De voeten gingen samen,
de hand lag in de hand,
de harten opgedragen;
aarde, waar is uw band?

In dreven en valleien
geklommen en gedaald
in schaduwen geloken
in open licht bestraald

En onze zielen togen
naar nieuwe zaligheid
in het voorbij voorbije
wankelend ingeleid

Waar lillend lichtaanbreken
en ochtendhelderte is
met parelende vreugde
en met ontsteltenis…

 

 

De dauw hangt parelen

De dauw hangt parelen aan takken en aan blaren
in kettingen en snoeren;
de kusmond van de wind, als hij ze aan wil roeren,
doet ze ontstellen, sidderen zonder bedaren
en stort ze allen neer, de wankelbaren.

 

 

 

God heeft een huis gebouwd en dak

God heeft een huis gebouwd en dak
en zoldering bespannen strak
met kommer, druk en droefenis,
weedom er de bevloering is
en alle wanden zijn bekleed
met zorgen en met harteleed
en in betreuren ingehuld;
Hij heeft de goeden er in weggeloken
en toegesproken:
de sleutel van uw deur is het geduld.

 

J. H. Leopold (11 mei 1865 – 21 juni 1925)

Leopold op reis met leerlingen, 1890

Doorgaan met het lezen van “J. H. Leopold, Ida Gerhardt, Andre Rudolph, Rubem Fonseca, Henning Boëtius, Camilo José Cela”

Rachel Billington, Rose Ausländer, Carl Hauptmann, Ethel Lilian Voynich, Latīf Nāzemī, Leopoldo de Luis

De Britse schrijfster Rachel Billington werd geboren op 11 mei 1942 in Londen. Zie ook mijn blog van 11 mei 2009.

 

Uit: Emma & Knightley

 

“Emma Knightley, handsome, clever and rich, with a husband whose affection for her was only equalled by her affection for him, had passed upward of a year of marriage in what may be described as perfect happiness; certainly this is how she described it to herself as she sat at her writing desk from which she had an excellent view of her father, Mr Woodhouse, taking a turn round the shrubbery on the arm of her beloved Mr Knightley.
Emma smiled as she watched them, smiled and repressed a sigh as she saw the tender way in which Mr Knightley – she would never bring herself to call him George – put his upright, manly self between the cool autumnal breeze and the frail figure of her father. Since she, herself, usually performed this daily office for her father – Mr Knightley often being occu¬pied in the mornings when her father felt the air most conducive to good health – seldom did she have the opportunity of seeing her parent as he appeared at a distance to the objective eye.
His walking was tentative, it could not be denied, but then he had never been quick, or never since she could remember him. It was possible – Emma considered the idea from the heights of her still new stature as a wife – that his sense of himself as an invalid had stemmed from the early death of Mrs Woodhouse, causing him to distrust health. If that were the cause – and, by his affectionate accounts of his wife, she had possessed all the vivacity, intellectual vigour and good health that any woman could wish for – then it was understandable that her adoring husband’s tempera¬ment should receive a severe shock at her unexpected death; that he would never be the same, but always fearful, not just for himself, but for his daughters (Emma had an elder sister, Isabella), their husbands, Isabella’s five children (soon to be six), his friends, acquaintances and, in short, the whole world, small as it was, that he inhabited.”

 

 

Rachel Billington (Londen, 11 mei 1942)

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Rachel Billington, Rose Ausländer, Carl Hauptmann, Ethel Lilian Voynich, Latīf Nāzemī, Leopoldo de Luis”