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 alle tags voor Endre Ady op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 22november 2010.

I Should Love To Be Loved

I am neither infant nor happy grandfather
Nor parent, nor lover
Of anyone, of anyone.
I am, as every man is, Majesty,
The North Pole, the Secret, the Stranger,
The will-o’-the-wisp in the distance, the will-o’-the-wisp in the distance.
But alas! I cannot remain this way.
I should like to show myself to the world,
So that someone sees me, so that someone sees me.

This is why I sing and I torment myself.
I should love to be loved.
I wish to be of someone, I wish to be of someone.


The Magyar Messiahs

More bitter is our weeping,
different the griefs that try us.
A thousand times Messiahs
are the Magyar Messiahs.
A thousand times they perish,
unblest their crucifixition,
for vain was their affliction,
oh, vain was their affliction.

Endre Ady (22 november 1877 – 27 januari 1919)
Hier met zijn vrouw Csinszka (Berta Boncza)


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

Uit:The Fan Man

“I am all alone in my pad, man, my piled-up-to-the-ceiling-with-junk pad. Piled with sheet music, piled with. garbage bags bursting with rubbish, piled with unnameable flecks of putrified wretchedness in grease. My pad, my own little Lower East Side Horse Badorties pad.
I just woke up, man. Horse Badorties just woke up and is crawling around in the sea of abominated filth, man, which he calls home. Walking through the rooms of my pad. man, from which. I shall select my wardrobe for the day. Here, stuffed in a trash basket, is a pair of incredibly wrinkled-up muck-pants. And here, man, beneath a pile of wet newspapers is a shirt, man, with one sleeve. All I need now, man, is a tie, and here is a perfectly good rubber Japanese toy snake, man, which I can easily form into an acceptable knot.
SPAGHETTI! MAN! Now I remember. That is why I have arisen from my cesspool bed, man, because of the growlings of my stomach. It is time for breakfast, man. But first I rnust make a telephone call to Alaska,
Must find telephone. Important deal in the making. Looking around for telephone, man. And here is án electric extension cord, man, which will serve perfectly as a belt to hold up my falling-down Horse Badorties pants, simply by running the cord through the belt loops and plugging it together.”

William Kotzwinkle (Scranton 22 november 1943)


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

Uit: By The Ionian Sea (From Naples)

“The harbour, whence one used to start for Capri, is filled up; the sea has been driven to a hopeless distance beyond a wilderness of dust-heaps. They are going to make a long, straight embankment from the Castel dell’Ovo to the Great Port, and before long the Santa Lucia will be an ordinary street, shut in among huge houses, with no view at all. Ah, the nights that one lingered here, watching the crimson glow upon Vesuvius, tracing the dark line of the Sorrento promontory, or waiting for moonlight to cast its magic upon floating Capri! The odours remain; the stalls of sea-fruit are as yet undisturbed, and the jars of the water-sellers; women still comb and bind each other’s hair by the wayside, and meals are cooked and eaten al fresco as of old. But one can see these things elsewhere, and Santa Lucia was unique. It has become squalid. In the grey light of this sad billowy sky, only its ancient foulness is manifest; there needs the golden sunlight to bring out a suggestion of its ancient charm.
Has Naples grown less noisy, or does it only seem so to me? The men with bullock carts are strangely quiet; their shouts have nothing like the frequency and spirit of former days. In the narrow and thronged Strada di Chiaia I find little tumult; it used to be deafening. Ten years ago a foreigner could not walk here without being assailed by the clamour of cocchieri; nay, he was pursued from street to street, until the driver had spent every phrase of importunate invitation; now, one may saunter as one will, with little disturbance. Down on the Piliero, whither I have been to take my passage for Paola, I catch but an echo of the jubilant uproar which used to amaze me. Is Naples really so much quieter? If I had time I would go out to Fuorigrotta, once, it seemed to me, the noisiest village on earth, and see if there also I observed a change. It would not be surprising if the modernization of the city, together with the state of things throughout Italy, had a subduing effect upon Neapolitan manners. In one respect the streets are assuredly less gay.”

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 alle tags voor Elisabeth Maria Post op dit blog en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2009 en ook mijn blog van 22 november 2010.

Uit: Het land, in brieven

“Ontijdige beschroomdheid – kwalijk geplaatste tederheid, – schoonschijnende hoogmoed, – zal ons dan niet moeten hinderen in het mededeelen en ontfangen van vermaningen, afkeuringen, of raadgevingen, waar toe het hart zig verbonden voelt. – Laat ons in onze vriendschap deze grondregelen altijd volgen! – Laat derzelver tederheid en vastigheid de dwaling vernietigen, dat de vriendschap onder onze sex geene duurzaamheid kent.
Maar, lieve Emilia! daar ik thans van u afgescheiden leef, en nochtans mijn geest met u werkzaam wil houden – verwagt ik telkens brieven van u, die mij zoo wel uwe gedagten mededeelen, – als ze mij verzekeren, dat gij in de vriendschap van Eufrozyne, gelukkiger zijt dan te voren.
Och Emilia! dat gij ook het Landleven in dit akelig saizoen verkiest, daar ge, onder de schaduw van het vriendendak, zulk een gerust leven, naar uwe verkiezing kont leiden! – Mijn moeder zou zig gelukkig rekenen met zulk eene huisgenote! – Ik heb medelijden met uwen smaak; niet om dat ik dien laag vind, maar om dat die u, naar mijn oordeel, ongenoegens oplegt, die ik u ontnemen wilde. Of heeft de winter op het Land aangenaamheid? Verveelt u die doodelijke stilte niet? Behoeft gij geen menschen tot uw geluk? Hoe slijt gij de winterdagen? Door de beantwoording dezer vragen zult gij het hart verligten van uwe

Elisabeth Maria Post (22 november 1755 – 3 juli 1812)
Illustratie uit “Het land, in brieven”