De Iraanse schrijfster Shahrnush Parsipur werd geboren op 17 februari 1946 in Teheran. Zie ook alle tags voor Shahrnush Parsipur op dit blog.
Uit: Touba and the Meaning of Night (Vertaald door Kamran Talattof and Havva Houshmand)
“Haji Adib thought, “I am old.” His heart sank. There was not much time left to spend on the subject of becoming and metamorphosis, or the spirit of dust in part and whole, or to contemplate the trees as a whole or the minute parts making up the whole. He thought that probably each in its own minute society had a few Haji Adibs and Moshir O’Dolehs and Englishmen who fought each other. He laughed and imagined that probably Asdolah their local butcher chopped their meat for them. And then he laughed loudly again.
Suddenly the rhythmic sound of the shuttle comb stopped in the basement. Haji Adib could no longer hear the soft conversations of the women. The sun had not yet reached the middle of the sky. Haji Adib still sat on the edge of the octagonal pool, his fist under his chin. He turned his head around and, through the sharp angle that formed between his head and his arm, looked in the direction of the basement. The women had gathered by the basement window staring in his direction and were whispering. He had a feeling that they were talking about him. He remembered that just a few seconds ago he had laughed, loud and without inhibition, in a manner that was not appropriate to his position, and that the women had never seen such behavior in him. As he slowly tapped his foot on the ground, he thought, “They think. Unfortunately, they think. Not like the ants nor like the minute parts of the tree, nor like the particles of dust, but more or less as I do.” But, he was certain that they would never have thoughts about Mullah Sadra.
Suddenly he was shaken again, for of course they could think about Mullah Sadra as well. Had that not been the case with that rebellious and audacious woman who lived in their town when he was a child, who created all that uproar and sensation? People said that she was a prostitute, but they also said that she was learned. How much talking there was about her! He remembered someone telling his father that she was the messiah. The women were laughing behind the basement window. Haji thought disparagingly that they were behaving with typical women’s foolishness. One pushed and the others burst out laughing; one was tickled while the other tried to get away. If there had not been a man in the house, their laughter would probably have been heard all over. Undoubtedly some of them were going crazy for not having a husband, but it was not possible to find husbands for them. They were dependent on Haji Adib, and there was not a man available at the moment who was rich enough to take one of them. Besides, if they did get married who would then weave the carpets? For that, he couldn’t bring strange women into the house. They might then participate in some perverse activities with one another.”
Shahrnush Parsipur (Teheran, 17 februari 1946)
Doorgaan met het lezen van “Shahrnush Parsipur, Willem Thies, Sadegh Hedayat, Yevgeni Grishkovetz, Albert Kuyle, Jaroslav Vrchlický, Chaim Potok, Mo Yan, Frederik Hetmann”
De Duitse dichteres, schrijfster en caberetiere Emmy Hennings werd geboren op 17 februari 1885 in Flensburg. Zie ook alle tags voor Emmy Hennings op dit blog.
After the Cabaret
I see the early morning sun
At five a.m. I homeward stroll.
The lights still burn in my hotel.
The cabaret is finally done.
In shadows children hunker down.
The farmers bring their goods to town.
You go to church, silent and old
grave sound of church-bells in the air,
and then a girl with untamed hair
wanders up all blear and cold:
“Love me, free of every sin.
Look, I’ve kept watch many nights .”
And nighttime when there is no light
and pictures fall right off the walls,
then someone laughs so big and bright
Someone’s long hands grab for me
And then a lady with green hair
who looks at me so very sad —
she was once a mother she swears.
She cannot bear the weight of pain
(I press the thorns into my heart
and then stop full of peace,
and I will suffer every hurt
it’s what is asked of me.)
Vertaald door Howard A. Landman
Emmy Hennings (17 februari 1885 – 10 augustus 1948)
Portret door Alexander Graf, 1951
Doorgaan met het lezen van “Emmy Hennings, Mori Ōgai, Gustavo Bécquer, Georg Britting, Andrew Paterson, Margaret Truman, Ruth Rendell, Fjodor Sologoeb”
De Franse dichter, schrijver en acteur Pêr-Jakez Helias werd geboren op 17 februari 1914 in Pouldreuzig, Penn-ar-Bed. Zie ook alle tags voor Pêr-Jakez Helias op dit blog.
Uit: Le cheval d’orguei
« Un jour, Alain Le Goff me demande : “Seriez-vous capable de me trouver avant ce soir deux bâtons qui n’ont qu’un seul bout chacun ? J’en ai grand besoin et le temps me manque pour les chercher moi-même. Vous aurez une pièce de deux sous pour votre peine.”
Je ne réponds pas tout de suite. […]. Avec ses deux bâtons à un seul bout chacun il me prend de si court que je suis sur le point de me tirer d’affaire en inventant quelque prétexte sur le chaud. Si je ne le fais pas, c’est parce que j’appréhende de voir les yeux bleus du grand-père se détourner de moi pendant qu’il dira en soupirant : “Alors, il faudra que je donne mes deux sous à quelqu’un d’autre.”
Jamais de la vie ! Les deux sous, je m’en moque, mais le quelqu’un d’autre je ne veux pas en entendre parler. […].
– Alors, dit Alain Le Goff en tirant sur sa pipe, je ne peux pas vous faire confiance ?
– Deux bâtons à un seul bout chacun, c’est difficile à trouver. Mais peut-être, si vous pouviez vous contenter d’un seul …
– Ils vont toujours deux par deux, c’est tout ce que je sais. Si vous mettez la main sur l’un, vous tenez l’autre en même temps.
– Et de quel côté sont-ils les plus nombreux ?
De tous les côtés, dit Alain Le Goff.
– Mais comment reconnaît-on qu’un bâton n’a qu’un seul bout ?
– Comment ? Vous ne savez pas ? C’est quand l’autre bout n’est pas là ! »
Pêr-Jakez Helias (17 februari 1914 – 13 augustus 1995)
Doorgaan met het lezen van “Pêr-Jakez Helias, Georg Weerth, Friedrich Klinger, Louisa Lawson, Max Schneckenburger, Maria Rossetti”