Carnival Evening (Linda Pastan)

Bij Carnaval


Carnival Evening door Henri Rousseau, 1886


Carnival Evening

Despite the enormous evening sky
spreading over most of the canvas,
its moon no more
than a tarnished coin, dull and flat,

in a devalued currency;
despite the trees so dark themselves,
stretching upward like supplicants,
utterly leafless; despite what could be
a face, rinsed of feeling, aimed
in their direction,

the two small figures
at the bottom of this picture glow
bravely in their carnival clothes,
as if the whole darkening world
were dimming its lights for a party.


Linda Pastan (New York, 27 mei 1932)
Een Mardi Gras penthouse party op Fifth Avenue, New York


Zie voor de schrijvers van de 27e februari ook mijn vorige blog van vandaag.

Cynan Jones, John Steinbeck, Lawrence Durrell, André Roy, Henry Longfellow, Elisabeth Borchers, James T. Farrell, Irwin Shaw

De Welshe schrijver Cynan Jones werd geboren op 27 februari 1975 in Aberystwyth, Wales. Zie ook alle tags voor Cynan Jones op dit blog.

Uit: The Dig

“The policeman opened the door, looked at the deep mud of the yard, and got deliberately out.
Set back from the window, the man watched him through the gap in the curtains. He watched him scan the place. The policeman was young and he was not a policeman the big man had seen before.
The policeman bent through the car door and pushed the horn twice.
What do I do here? thought the man. He wished he’d left one of the big dogs off but knew even through the coal it would scent the badger and bother it. If I stay in the house, he’ll start looking round, thought the man. Ag.
The policeman had started to walk toward the house from the car and the big man came out.
Afternoon, sir. It’s clearing up, the policeman said. The policeman looked at the man and looked out as if at the weather over the valley.
The big man just nodded.
Few questions, really, sir. The policeman was light and inoffensive the way they are and the man moved to bring him away from the house.
Can you tell me what you were doing last night, or early this morning?
The big man didn’t reply.
The policeman looked around at the yard and privately noticed the two sets of tire tracks that were cut into the mud and that were not filled with overnight rain. He saw the old red van and guessed one set belonged to that. The policeman took in the many dumped engines and tires and the wastage of vehicles and machines about.
We’ve had a report of fly-tipping. He waited. I just wanted to ask whether you would know anything about that.
What did they tip? asked the man.
The policeman didn’t respond. He was looking at the junk and the big man saw and said, Does it look like I throw things away?”

Cynan Jones (Aberystwyth, 27 februari 1975)


Continue reading “Cynan Jones, John Steinbeck, Lawrence Durrell, André Roy, Henry Longfellow, Elisabeth Borchers, James T. Farrell, Irwin Shaw”

Ruy Belo

De Portugese dichter, vertaler en essayist Ruy de Moura Belo werd geboren op 27 februari 1933 in São João da Ribeira, nabij Rio Maior. Hij begon aan de Universiteit van Coimbra rechten te studeren in 1952 en voltooide deze studie in 1956 aan de Universiteit van Lissabon. Daarna studeerde hij canoniek recht aan de Gregoriaanse Universiteit van Thomas van Aquino in Rome. Kort daarna promoveerde hij op het onderwerp literaire fictie en kerkelijke censuur. Tijdens zijn verblijf in Rome was Ruy Belo ook lid van de katholieke organisatie Opus Dei. Na zijn terugkeer in Portugal werkte Belo als adjunct-afdelingshoofd bij het toenmalige Ministerie van Onderwijs. Door zijn deelname aan de academische algemene staking in 1962, en zijn plaatsvervangende kandidatuur voor de Comissão Eleitural de Unidade Democrática (verkiezingscommissie van democratische eenheid) moest hij het ministerie, op dat moment nog steeds onder het fascistische Salazar regime, verlaten. In 1961 ontving Belo een beurs voor literair onderzoek. In de loop van zijn onderzoek verliet hij de organisatie Opus Dei. In 1967 studeerde hij Latijnse filologie aan de Universiteit van Lissabon. In de jaren 1971 tot 1977 werkte hij als docent Portugees in Madrid. Na zijn terugkeer in 1978 nam Belo een baan als leraar aan aan de technische school in Cacém. In juni 2003 werd een standbeeld van Belo, evenals twintig andere belangrijke Portugese schrijvers, in de Parque dos Poetas in Oeiras geplaatst. Ruy Belo schreef in de jaren zestig en zeventig en wordt beschouwd als een van de grote existentialistische schrijvers in de Portugees sprekende wereld, Terwijl Belos eerste werk “Aquele Grande Rio Eufrates” en in het bijzonder “O Problema da Habitação – Alguns aspectos” zich met het vraagstuk van de innerlijke mens en de confrontatie met de buitenwereld bezighouden, behandelen zijn latere werken, in het bijzonder “Boca Bilingue” en “Homem de Palavra (s)” meer religieuze en metafysische vraagstukken. Ruy Belo publiceerde in totaal acht poëziebundels en twee essaybundels. Verder vertaalde hij werken uit het Frans en het Spaans in de Portugese taal.

On The Hill Of This Moment

A hint of absinthe fills the air when the beetles
emerging from the rotten bark of the old oaks
begin their flight in the month of june
Picking hazelnuts we walk through the garden
where the lindens’ aroma wafts in the breeze
The coolness of the fruit defeats the declining sun
We are who we used to be walking so softly
with so much childlike dignity
that here not even death would remember us
nor would the monstrous flower of other destinies
or any other of the republics of hatred
stir up the calm sea of this late afternoon
It is to the sacred celebration of chance
to the feast of the world’s mineral essence
that the sun is proceeding in this temple’s inner sanctum
The afternoon is everything and everything is pathways
We are the chosen assistants to this hour
Here summer’s insanity doesn’t arrive
and I quit loathing my ancestors
and I rise as the last light flickers
For a moment I am I and here no one died
O my life that process I left behind


And Everything Was Possible

When I was still young before I left home
ready to travel around in the world
I already knew about the waves’ breaking
from the pages of all the books I’d read

When may rolled around everything was flowers
the morning turtledove flew here flew there
and to hear the dreamer just speak of life
was like it having actually happened

Everything took place in another life
and there was always a way out when needed
When was all this? Not even I can say

I know only that I had a child’s power
all things were close to me and everything
was possible I only had to want it


Vertaald door Richard Zenith


Ruy Belo (27 februari 1933 – 8 augustus 1978)