Christopher Isherwood, Laura van der Haar, C. B. Vaandrager, Paula Hawkins, Joachim Helfer, Guillaume Apollinaire, Rashid Al-Daif

De Brits-Amerikaanse schrijver Christopher Isherwood werd geboren op 26 augustus 1904 in Disley in het graafschap Cheshire in Engeland. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Christopher Isherwood op dit blog.

Uit: Christopher and His Kind

« The train moved on again. For the first time in his life, he found himself entering a foreign country without official permission. If Heinz had been with him, what could the lawyer have done but accept the accomplished fact and somehow arrange for Heinz to remain in Belgium?
Next morning, the lawyer left Brussels by car for Trier, as he had promised. That night he returned, alone. He told Christopher that he had duly met Heinz at the hotel. Heinz had assured him that he hadn’t been questioned, hadn’t aroused anybody’s curiosity. They had gone to the consulate and got the visa. Then, just as they were about to start on their return journey, some Gestapo agents had appeared. They had asked to see Heinz’s papers and had then taken him away with them. They had told the lawyer that Heinz was under arrest as a draft evader. Before leaving Trier, the lawyer had consulted a German lawyer and engaged him to defend Heinz at his forthcoming trial.
A day or two after the arrest, the German lawyer came from Trier to Brussels to discuss the tactics of Heinz’s defense. He was a Nazi Party member in good standing and had the boundless cynicism of one who is determined to survive under any conceivable political conditions. Christopher, in his present hyper-emotional state, found a strange relief in talking to him, because he seemed utterly incapable of sympathy. Heinz was now in four kinds of potential trouble: He had attempted to change his nationality. (This could almost certainly be concealed from the prosecution.) He had consorted with a number of prominent anti-Nazis, most of them Jews. (This could probably be concealed or, at worst, excused as having been Christopher’s fault.) He had been guilty of homosexual acts. (This couldn’t be co-directors that what they need is the spirit of the merchant-adventurers. He hates the banks. He hates public companies, because they aren’t allowed to take risks. He particularly enjoys ragging the pompous U.S.A. businessmen. Somebody once cabled him from New York: ‘Believe market has touched bottom.’ Potter cabled back: `Whose?’ At board meetings he lies on a sofa—ostensibly because he once had a bad leg; actually because this position gives him a moral advantage. He and his colleagues tell each other dirty limericks and the very serious-minded secretary takes them all down in shorthand—because, as he once explained, he thought they might be in code.
Much less willingly, Wystan and Christopher also became the captive audience of a young man with whom they had to share their table in the second-class dining room. He was a rubber planter, returning from leave in England to a plantation near Singapore. I will call him White.“

 
Christopher Isherwood (26 augustus 1904 – 4 januari 1986)
Scene uit de gelijknamige tv-film uit 2011

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Christopher Isherwood, Laura van der Haar, C. B. Vaandrager, Paula Hawkins, Joachim Helfer, Guillaume Apollinaire, Rashid Al-Daif”

Jules Romains, Julio Cortázar, Walter Helmut Fritz, Joachim Zelter, Jürgen Kross, Ludwig Aurbacher, Boris Pahor

De Franse schrijver Jules Romains, pseudoniem van Louis Henri Farigoule, werd geboren op 26 augustus 1885 in La Chapuze in het kanton Saint-Julien-Chapteuil. Zie ook mijn blog van 26 augustus 2010 en eveneens alle tags voor Jules Romain op dit blog.

Une vapeur d’égout

 Je suis très triste. Moi qui ne pleure jamais,
Une larme s’épuise à sortir de mes yeux ;
Et penché sur mon cœur comme sur une cuve
D’où montent lentement des gaz irrespirables,
J’ai besoin que la mort me pince les narines.

Puis je rage. Mes dents grincent. Je voudrais tordre
Du fer, casser un meuble ou fendre des mâchoires.
Je souffre ; on me torture. À quoi me sert d’avoir
Des poings et d’être fort ?

Il y a des sanglots dans le fond de ma gorge ;
Afin que je consente à leur livrer passage
Ils se déguisent en hurlements de fureur.

Le passé me fait mal ; l’avenir me fait peur.
Oh ! les sales fourmis, les minutes futures
Me grimpent à la jambe et me piquent la peau ;
Je voudrais les écrabouiller sous mes chaussures !

Le camion traîné par les chevaux tranquilles,
Les bicyclettes glissant commes des aiguilles
Dans de l’étoffe,
les grelots,
Les coups de fouet, les cris des marchands de journaux
Ont vite anéanti mon âme douloureuse.

Je m’abandonne tout au rythme des passants,
L’unanime frémit autour de ma cervelle.
Comment savoir si j’ai un cœur qui a aimé.
Quand la foule remue et que je suis en elle ?

Ardent comme un vivant, mais serein comme un mort,
Je n’ai plus de passé, d’avenir ni de sort,
J’ai de la joie et du bon néant dans la gorge.

 

L’essieu d’un tombereau

L’essieu d’un tombereau grince et le cheval bute.
Au coin du mur un enfant pleure. Il s’est perdu.
Il croit que c’est fini pour toujours ; que son père
Meurt englué parmi les grouillements épais
De la foule.
Beaucoup de femmes ont des crêpes.
Le ciel est du charbon broyé sur de la craie.

L’entonnoir de la rue est mousseux de bruits âcres.
L’univers marche ayant la tête dans un sac.

Je cherche.
L’enfant pleure.
Le tombereau grince.

 
Jules Romains (26 augustus 1885 – 14 augustus 1972)

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Jules Romains, Julio Cortázar, Walter Helmut Fritz, Joachim Zelter, Jürgen Kross, Ludwig Aurbacher, Boris Pahor”