Erik Menkveld, Ted Kooser, James Fenton, Walter de la Mare, Richard Anders, William Temple, John Keble


De Nederlandse dichter Erik Menkveld werd geboren op 25 april 1959 in Eindhoven. Zie ook alle tags voor Erik Menkveld op dit blog.



Zie ons hier succesvol staan: door alle netten
gevlogen draagster van petrolblauwe rok
en lila lijfje dat haar borsten als een openstaande
bloemenkelk omhult, schijnkindermondig
in gesprek met sprankelend scherp stuk
in deux-pièce, cape’je van changéant roze-oranje organza,
verantwoord geile zijsplit, trots op haar tong –
twee kakelgrage, fraai op de kwetsbare buikzijde
uitgelichte braniekarkassen, onzelfinzichtig klaar
om tor-achtig danwel voormalig jumbolog
door te taxiën naar het gemoedelijk gekraak
van openbrekende oesterschelpen of ander gepraat.
O zelden geherbergde hartegrond! O langvervlogen
carrièrebegin met zelfverkozen damescolbert
over bureaustoel en uitzicht op kleine
door glas omgeven binnenplaats, Japanse
naaldbomen, witte keien, fonteintje…



Goede tips voor dieper zwijgen

Nuttig een maaltijd samen aan zee.
Leg de Tractatus gesloten op tafel.

Laat de intieme ovalen van jullie
longen zich enkele malen vullen

met avond en onverrichterzake
leeglopen door keel en mond.

Overdenk uitvoerig kwesties als
waarom zijn wij niet vierkant

of stom? Of: wat is, op dit
moment, de langzaamste vis?

En: moet je water dat hem bevat
maar niet kan tonen beklagen?

Beantwoord dan alle door de ander
niet gestelde vragen.


Erik Menkveld (25 april 1959 – 30 maart 2014)


De Amerikaanse dichter Ted Kooser werd geboren op 25 april 1939 in Ames, Iowa. Zie ook alle tags voor Ted Kooser op dit blog.


The China Painters

They have set aside their black tin boxes,
scratched and dented,
spattered with drops of pink and blue;
and their dried-up, rolled-up tubes
of alizarin crimson, chrome green,
zinc white, and ultramarine;
their vials half full of gold powder;
stubs of wax pencils;
frayed brushes with tooth-bitten shafts;
and have gone in fashion and with grace
into the clouds of loose, lush roses,
narcissus, pansies, columbine,
on teapots, chocolate pots,
saucers and cups, the good Haviland dishes
spread like a garden
on the white lace Sunday cloth,
as if their souls were bees
and the world had been nothing but flowers.



Turkey Vultures

Circling above us, their wingtips fanned
like fingers, it is as if they were smoothing

one of those tissue-paper sewing patterns
over the pale blue fabric of the air,

touching the heavens with leisurely pleasure,
just a word or two called back and forth,

taking all the time in the world, even though
the sun is low and red in the west, and they

have fallen behind with the making of shrouds.


Ted Kooser (Ames, 25 april 1939)



De Engelse dichter, schrijver, criticus en letterkundige James Fenton werd geboren op 25 april 1949 in Lincoln. Zie ook alle tags voor James Fenton op dit blog.



Stay near to me and I’ll stay near to you –
As near as you are dear to me will do,
    Near as the rainbow to the rain,
    The west wind to the windowpane,
As fire to the hearth, as dawn to dew.

Stay true to me and I’ll stay true to you –
As true as you are new to me will do,
    New as the rainbow in the spray,
    Utterly new in every way,
New in the way that what you say is true.

Stay near to me, stay true to me. I’ll stay
As near, as true to you as heart could pray.
    Heart never hoped that one might be
    Half of the things you are to me –
The dawn, the fire, the rainbow and the day.



The Alibi

My mind was racing.
It was some years from now.
We were together again in our old flat.
You were admiring yourself adjusting your hat.
‘Oh of course I was mad then,’ you said with a forgiving smile,
‘Something snapped in me and I was mad for a while.’

But this madness of yours disgusted me,
This alibi,
This gorgeous madness like a tinkling sleigh,
It carried you away
Snug in your fur, snug in your muff and cape.
You made your escape
Through the night, over the dry powdery snow.
I watched you go.

Truly the mad deserve our sympathy.
And you were driven mad you said by me.

And then you drove away,
The cushions and the furs piled high,
Snug with your madness alibi,
Injured and forgiven on your loaded sleigh.


James Fenton (Lincoln, 25 april 1949)



De Engelse dichter Walter John de la Mare werd geboren op 25 april 1873 in Charlton, Kent. Zie ook alle tags voor Walter John de la Mare op dit blog.


The Seas Of England

The seas of England are our old delight:
Let the loud billow of the shingly shore
Sing freedom on her breezes evermore
To all earth’s ships that sailing heave in sight!

The gaunt sea-nettle be our fortitude,
Sturdily blowing where the clear wave sips;
O, be the glory of our men and ships
Rapturous, woe unheeding hardihood!

There is great courage in a land that hath
Liberty guarded by the unearthly seas;
And ev’n to find peace at the last in these
How many a sailor hath sailed down to death!

Their names are like a splendour in an old song;
Their record shines like bays along the years;
Their jubilation is the cry man hears
Sailing sun-fronted the vast deeps among.

The seas of England are our old delight:
Let the loud billow of the shingly shore
Sing freedom on her breezes evermore
To all earth’s ships that sailing heave in sight!



The Three Strangers

Far are those tranquil hills,
Dyed with fair evening’s rose;
On urgent, secret errand bent,
A traveller goes.

Approach him strangers three,
Barefooted, cowled; their eyes
Scan the lone, hastening solitary
With dumb surmise.

One instant in close speech
With them he doth confer:
God-sped, he hasteneth on,
That anxious traveller….

I was that man — in a dream:
And each world’s night in vain
I patient wait on sleep to unveil
Those vivid hills again.

Would that they three could know
How yet burns on in me
Love — from one lost in Paradise —
For their grave courtesy.


Walter John de la Mare (25 april 1873 – 22 juni 1956)


De Duitse dichter en schrijver Richard Anders werd geboren op 25 april 1928 in Ortelsburg, tegenwoordig Szczytno, Polen. Zie ook alle tags voor Richard Anders op dit blog.



Ikarus hob ab
0hne einen Blick zurück auf den in die Tiefe stürzenden Palast des Minos
zu werfen
Er fixierte die Sonne
Von der verschiedenartige Strahlen ausgingen
Auf deren hellsten sein Körper wie auf Schienen nach oben raste
Ein nadeldünner fuhr ihm durchs Herz das Feuer fing ohne ernsthaft zu
Andere spießten sein Gehirn auf das unter dieser plötzlichen
elektrischen Aufladung
             hemmungslos zu assoziieren begann
Die Neuuonen trieben es promiskuitiv wie Karnickel
Mal formierten sich himmlische Objekte zu Truppen von Würfeln
Oktaedern Rhomboedern
Mal suppte alles ins Grenzenlose
Sein Gehirn verdaute die Wirklichkeit unter Beimengungen pränataler
Aus dem Sonnenloch über ihm sprang eine Feuerfrau deren
Peitschenhaar seinen Kopf
           Auf dem Hals wie ein Kreisel rotieren ließ
Während sie ihm aus dem tropfenden Wachs die Federn rupfte
Dampf endlich ab knallte das Haar ihm in die Ohren ohne daß er
daraus Konsequenzen zog
           und seinen Kurs korrigierte
Im Gegenteil
Seine durchgeknallten Ohren schwollen zu riesigen Trichtern an um
besser die Musik der
           Sphären zu hören
Seine Extase ließ ihn nicht merken daß er nach dem Wegschmelzen
der Flügel wie ein
          Sack voller Steine nach unten stürzte
Als sein Schädel schließlich bei Samos aufs harte Wasser prallte
glaubte sein Hirn
         In die Sonne zu tauchen


Richard Anders (25 april 1928 – 24 juni 2014)



De Engelse essayist en diplomaat Sir William Temple werd geboren in Londen op 25 april 1628. Zie ook alle tags voor Willam Temple op dit blog.

Uit: Observations upon the United Provinces of the Netherland

“HOLLAND, Zealand, Friezland, and Groninguen, are seated upon the Sea, and make the Strength and Greatness of this State: The other three, with the Conquered Towns in Brabant, Flanders, and Cleve, make only the Out-works or Frontiers, ser∣ving chiefly for safety and defence of these. No man can tell the strange and mighty Changes that may have been made in the face and bounds of Maritime Countreys, at one time or other, by furious Inundations, upon the unusual concurrence of Land-Floods, Winds and Tides; And therefore no man knows whether the Province of Holland may not have been in some past Ages, all Wood and rough une∣qual ground, as some old Traditions go; And level’d to what we see, by the Sea’s breaking in and continuing long upon the Land; since recovered by its recess, and with the help of In∣dustry. For it is evident, that the Sea for some space of years, advances con∣tinually upon one Coast, retiring from the opposite; and in another Age, quite changes this course, yeilding up what it had seized, and seizing what it had yeilded up, without any reason to be given of such contrary motions. But I suppose this great change was made in Holland, when the Sea first parted England from the Continent, breaking through a neck of Land be∣tween Dover and Calais; Which may be a Tale, but I am sure is no Re∣cord. It is certain, on the contrary, that Sixteen hundred years ago, there was no usual mention or memory of any such Changes; and that the face of all these Coasts, and nature of the Soil, especially that of Holland, was much as it is now, allowing only the Improvements of Riches, Time, and In∣dustry; Which appears by the descripti∣on made in Tacitus both of the limits of the Isle of Batavia, and the nature of the Soil as well as the Climate, and the very names of Rivers still remaining.”


William Temple (25 april 1628 – 27 januari 1699)
Portret door Sir Peter Lely, voor 1680



De Engelse dichter en predikant John Keble werd geboren op geboren 25 april 1792 in Fairford, Gloucestershire. Zie ook alle tags voor John Keble op dit blog.

Blest Are The Pure In Heart

Blest are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God;
The secret of the Lord is theirs;
Their soul is Christ’s abode.

The Lord, Who left the heavens
Our life and peace to bring,
To dwell in lowliness with men
Their Pattern and their King.

Still to the lowly soul
He doth Himself impart;
And for His dwelling and His throne
Chooseth the pure in heart.

Lord, we Thy presence seek;
May ours this blessing be;
Give us a pure and lowly heart,
A temple meet for Thee.


John Keble (25 april 1792 – 29 maart 1866)
Portret door George Richmond, 1845



Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 25e april ook mijn blog van 25 april 2016 en ook mijn blog van 25 april 2015 deel 2.