De Argentijnse dichter, essayist en literatuurwetenschapper Roberto Juarroz werd geboren in Coronel Dorrego op 5 oktober 1925. Zie ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Roberto Juarroz op dit blog.
Eleventh. I. 13
The craziness of the world must be changed.
To begin this work,
we could, for example,
take all the proper nouns
and write them again with lower case letters,
beginning with the one you love
of the biggest absence,
the proper noun for death.
By making names progressively smaller,
we will be gradually recovering the emptiness they contain
and perhaps we can find an extra,
the proper name of nothingness.
And to name nothingness
could be precisely
the foundation we lack:
the foundation of a craziness
we won’t need to change.
Vertaald door Mary Crow
Uit: Vertical Poetry
The roads leading upward
never get there.
The roads leading downward
always get there.
Then there are the roads in between.
But sooner or later every road
leads up or down.
vague litanies for someone who died
leaving all the doors open.
A gray cloak over another cloak of no color.
Even the wind casts a shadow.
Mockery of the landscape.
Nothing left to call to
but a flat dark sun
or an endless rain.
Or wipe out the landscape
with the wind and its shadow.
And there is one further resort:
drive the desert mad
until it turns into water
and drinks itself.
It it better to madden the desert
than to live there.
Vertaald door W.S. Merwin
Roberto Juarroz (5 oktober 1925 – 31 maart 1995)
Doorgaan met het lezen van “Roberto Juarroz, Václav Havel, Stig Dagerman, K.L. Poll”
De Ierse schrijver Flann O’Brien werd geboren op 5 oktober 1911 in Strabane, County Tyrone. Zie ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2009 en ook mijn blog van 5 oktober 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Flann O’Brien op dit blog.
Uit: Drink and Time in Dublin
“If you take one now and take another when you get home, you’ll get a very good sleep but don’t take any more till to-morrow night because that stuff’s very dangerous. So I take one. But I know the doctor doesn’t know how bad I am. I didn’t tell him the whole story, no damn fear. So out with me to the jax where I take another one. Then back for a drink, still as wide-awake as a lark. You’ll have to go home now, the doctor says, we can’t have you passing out here, that stuff acts very quickly. Well, I have one more drink and off with me, in a bus, mind you, to the flat. I’m very surprised on the bus to find meself so wide-awake, looking out at people and reading the signs on shops. Then I begin to get afraid that the stuff is too weak and that I’ll be lying awake for the rest of the evening and all night. To hell with it, I say to meself, we’ll chance two more and let that be the end of it. Down went two more in the bus. I get there and into the flat. I’m still wide-awake and nothing will do me only one more pill for luck. I get into bed. I don’t remember putting the head on the pillow. I wouldn’t go out quicker if you hit me over the head with a crow-bar.
—You probably took a dangerous over-dose.
—Next thing I know I’m awake. It’s dark. I sit up. There’s matches there and I strike one. I look at the watch. The watch is stopped. I get up and look at the clock. Of course the clock is stopped, hasn’t been wound for days. I don’t know what time it is. I’m a bit upset about this. I turn on the wireless. It takes about a year to heat up and would you believe me I try a dozen stations all over the place and not one of them is telling what the time is. Of course I knew there was no point in trying American stations. I’m very disappointed because I sort of expected a voice to say “It is now seven thirty p.m.” or whatever the time was.”
Flann O’Brien (5 oktober 1911 – 1 april 1966)
Doorgaan met het lezen van “Flann O’Brien, Denis Diderot, Charlotte Link, José Donoso, Ervin Sinko”