Dolce far niente, Wilhelm Busch, Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Mary Shelley

Dolce far niente

 

Summer Hills door Steven Guy Bilodeau, 2012

 

Der Winter ging

Der Winter ging, der Sommer kam,
er bringt aufs Neue wieder
den viel beliebten Wunderkram
der Blumen und der Lieder.

Wie das so wechselt Jahr um Jahr,
betracht ich fast mit Sorgen.
Was lebte, starb, was ist, es war,
und heute wird zu morgen.

Stets muss die Bildnerin Natur
den alten Ton benutzen
im Haus und Garten, Wald und Flur
zu ihren neuen Skizzen.

Wilhelm Busch (15 april 1832 – 9 januari 1908)
De Wilhelm-Busch-Apotheke in Wiedensahl, de geboorteplaats van Wilhelm Busch

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog

‘The lamps are burning in the synagogue…’

“The lamps are burning in the synagogue,
in the houses of study, in dark alleys. . .”
This should be the place.
This is the way
the guide-book describes it. Excuse me, sir,
can you tell me
where Eli lives, Eli the katzev—
slaughterer of cattle and poultry?
One of my ancestors.
Reb Haskel? Reb Shimin? My grandfathers.

This is the discipline that withstood the siege
of every Jew;
these are the prayer-shawls that have proved
stronger than armor.

Let us begin then humbly. Not by asking:
Who is This you pray to? Name Him;
define Him. For the answer is:
we do not name Him.
Once out of a savage fear, perhaps;
now out of knowledge—of our ignorance.

Begin then humbly. Not by asking:
shall I live forever?
Hear again the dear dead greeting me gladly
as they used to
when we were all among the living?
For the answer is:
if you think we differ from all His other creatures,
say only if you like with the Pharisees, our teachers,
those who do not believe in an eternal life
will not have it.

In the morning I arise and match again
my plans against my cash.
I wonder now if the long morning-prayers
were an utter waste of an hour
weighing, as they do, hopes and anguish,
and sending the believer out into the street
with the sweet taste of the prayers on his lips.

Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)


De Chinees-Franse dichter, schrijver en vertaler François Cheng werd geboren op 30 augustus 1929 in Nanchang in China. Zie ook alle tags voor François Cheng op dit blog.

Uit:Cinq méditations sur la beauté

La cosmologie chinoise est fondée sur l’idée du Souffle, à la fois matière et esprit. À partir de cette idée du Souffle, les premiers penseurs ont avancé une conception unitaire et organique de l’univers vivant où tout se relie et se tient. Le Souffle primordial assurant l’unité originelle continue à animer tous les êtres, les reliant en un gigantesque réseau d’entrecroisements et d’engendrement appelé le Tao, la Voie. Au sein de la Voie, la nature du Souffle et son rythme sont ternaires, en ce sens que le Souffle primordial se divise en trois types de souffles qui agissent concomitamment : le souffle Yin, le souffle Yang et le souffle du Vide médian. Entre le Yang, puissance active, et le Yin, douceur réceptive, le souffle du Vide médian — qui tire son pouvoir du Vide originel — a le don de les entraîner dans l’interaction positive, cela en vue d’une transformation mutuelle, bénéfique pour l’un et pour l’autre. Dans cette optique, ce qui se passe entre les entités vivantes est aussi important que les entités mêmes. (Cette intuition si ancienne rejoint la pensée d’un philosophe du xxe siècle : Martin Buber.) Le Vide prend ici un sens positif, parce qu’il est lié au Souffle ; le Vide est le lieu où circule et se régénère le Souffle. Tous les vivants sont habités par ces Souffles ; chacun est cependant marqué par un pôle plus déterminant du Yin ou du Yang. Citons, comme exemples, les grandes entités formant couples : Soleil-Lune, Ciel-Terre, Montagne-Eau, Masculin-Féminin, etc. En correspondance avec cette vision taoïste, la pensée confucéenne, comme nous l’avons vu plus haut, est elle aussi ternaire. La triade Ciel-Terre-Homme affirme le rôle spirituel que l’homme doit jouer au sein du cosmos. Cette conception cosmologique fondée sur le Souffle-Esprit entraîne notamment trois conséquences concernant notre manière d’appréhender le mouvement de la vie. Première conséquence : à cause de la nature dynamique du Tao, et surtout de l’action du Souffle qui assure, depuis l’origine, et de façon continue, le processus qui va du non-être vers l’être — ou plus précisément, en chinois, du wu « il n’y a pas » vers le you « il y a » le mouvement de la vie et notre participation à ce mouvement sont toujours un permanent et mutuel jaillissement, comme au commencement. Autrement dit, le mouvement de la vie est perçu à chaque instant plutôt comme un avènement ou un « rebondissement » que comme une plate répétition du même. Pour illustrer cette forme de compréhension, nous pouvons citer comme exemples deux pratiques qui ont traversé le temps et qui demeurent vivaces : le taijiquan et la calligraphie. »

François Cheng (Nanchang, 30 augustus 1929)
Cover Engelse uitgave

 

De Engelse schrijfster Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley werd geboren op 30 augustus 1797 in Somers Town, London. Zie ook alle tags voor Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley op dit blog.

Uit: Frankenstein

« La cosmologie chinoise est fondée sur l’idée du Souffle, à la fois matière et esprit. À partir de cette idée du Souffle, les premiers penseurs ont avancé une conception unitaire et organique de l’univers vivant où tout se relie et se tient. Le Souffle primordial assurant l’unité originelle continue à animer tous les êtres, les reliant en un gigantesque réseau d’entrecroisements et d’engendrement appelé le Tao, la Voie. Au sein de la Voie, la nature du Souffle et son rythme sont ternaires, en ce sens que le Souffle primordial se divise en trois types de souffles qui agissent concomitamment : le souffle Yin, le souffle Yang et le souffle du Vide médian. Entre le Yang, puissance active, et le Yin, douceur réceptive, le souffle du Vide médian — qui tire son pouvoir du Vide originel — a le don de les entraîner dans l’interaction positive, cela en vue d’une transformation mutuelle, bénéfique pour l’un et pour l’autre. Dans cette optique, ce qui se passe entre les entités vivantes est aussi important que les entités mêmes. (Cette intuition si ancienne rejoint la pensée d’un philosophe du xxe siècle : Martin Buber.) Le Vide prend ici un sens positif, parce qu’il est lié au Souffle ; le Vide est le lieu où circule et se régénère le Souffle. Tous les vivants sont habités par ces Souffles ; chacun est cependant marqué par un pôle plus déterminant du Yin ou du Yang. Citons, comme exemples, les grandes entités formant couples : Soleil-Lune, Ciel-Terre, Montagne-Eau, Masculin-Féminin, etc. En correspondance avec cette vision taoïste, la pensée confucéenne, comme nous l’avons vu plus haut, est elle aussi ternaire. La triade Ciel-Terre-Homme affirme le rôle spirituel que l’homme doit jouer au sein du cosmos. Cette conception cosmologique fondée sur le Souffle-Esprit entraîne notamment trois conséquences concernant notre manière d’appréhender le mouvement de la vie. Première conséquence : à cause de la nature dynamique du Tao, et surtout de l’action du Souffle qui assure, depuis l’origine, et de façon continue, le processus qui va du non-être vers l’être — ou plus précisément, en chinois, du wu « il n’y a pas » vers le you « il y a » le mouvement de la vie et notre participation à ce mouvement sont toujours un permanent et mutuel jaillissement, comme au commencement. Autrement dit, le mouvement de la vie est perçu à chaque instant plutôt comme un avènement ou un « rebondissement » que comme une plate répétition du même. Pour illustrer cette forme de compréhension, nous pouvons citer comme exemples deux pratiques qui ont traversé le temps et qui demeurent vivaces : le taijiquan et la calligraphie. »

Mary Shelley (30 augustus 1797 – 1 februari 1851)
Cover

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 30e augustus ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2017 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2016.

Dolce far niente, Jan Wolkers, Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Dolce far niente

 

 
Laat augustus licht door Tom Chistopher, z.j.

 

Na de zomer

I
De kreukels van het loof,
Vermoeid gesteente
Met flinterdunne nerven
Dat zijn bladeren ontvouwt
En neer laat dalen
Tot geel geschuifel.
Het lila van de herfst
Op bleke stelen
Zakt rottend weg
In drassigheid.
Het besef: Wij waren
Er even bij –
Een voetstap
Die geen echo achterlaat.

II
De onverschrokkenheid
Van zonlicht op de stammen,
Luchtige helderheid
Tussen de kruinen.
De dode damp stijgt op
Als lispelen.
De eenvoud van de
Directe waarneming.
We sluiten de deur,
En verdwijnen geruisloos.
Wat is sterven toch mooi
Als het grind zijn tol betaalt –
De bevrijdende schreeuw
Blijft onhoorbaar.

 

 
Jan Wolkers (26 oktober 1925 – 19 oktober 2007)
Prentbriefkaart uit 1903 met het Groene Kerkje in Oegstgeest, de geboorteplaats van Jan Wolkers. In 1954 werd de klimop verwijderd voor een grote restauratie.

 

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog.

His father carved umbrella handles

His father carved umbrella handles, but when umbrella
handles were made by machinery, there was only one
man for whom his father could work.
The pay was small, though it had once been a good trade.
They lived in the poorest part of the ghetto, near the lots
where people dump ashes.
His father was anxious that his son should stay at school and
get out of the mess he himself was in. “Learning is the
best merchandise,” he would say.
His father died; there was his mother to be taken care of. He
taught in a school in the ghetto.
Some pupils came at nine and stayed until three; others came
after public school and stayed until evening; most of the
pupils came in the evening.
The courses were crammed, lasting a few months, pupils and
teachers anxious to be rid of the matter as soon as
possible.
So he worked day and night, week-days and Sunday.

His mother was dead. It was cold in the street and windy. A
dry snow had fallen and the feet of the walkers were
turning it into brown sand.
He was forty.
Now he was free. To do what? He knew no one whom he
cared to marry. And who would go into his poverty?
If he were to give up this work he knew so well, to what else
could he turn?
He would just keep on. He had lost this world and knew there
was no other.

 

A Group Of Verse

I
All day the pavement has been black
With rain, but in our warm brightly-lit
Room, praise God, I kept saying to myself,
And saying not a word,
Amen, you answered.

II
From my window I could not see the moon,
And yet it was shining:
The yard among the houses—
Snow upon it—
An oblong in the darkness.

III
Among the heaps of brick and plaster lies
A girder, itself among the rubbish.

IV
Rooted among roofs, their smoke among the clouds,
Factory chimneys—our cedars of Lebanon.

V
What are you doing in our street among the automobiles,
Horse?

 

 
Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)

 

De Chinees-Franse dichter, schrijver en vertaler François Cheng werd geboren op 30 augustus 1929 in Nanchang in China. Zie ook alle tags voor François Cheng op dit blog.

La vraie gloire est ici

La vraie gloire est ici,
Nous passons à c8té.
Quelques jades croqués,
Et maints lotus mâchés,
Au travers des ténèbres
Un jour nous périrons !

La vraie voie est ici,
Nous passons à c8té.
Mousse ou limon mâché,
Lave ou glace croquée,
Mourant de nostalgie,
Périrons-nous un jour ?

La vraie vie dès ici,
Par ici nous passons.
Nous aurons toujours soif,
Et toujours aurons faim,
Au travers des ténèbres,
Jamais ne périrons.

Ici la gloire ? Oui, c’est ici
Quc, damnés, nous avons appris
À nous sauver par le chant —Aron
Qui nous conduit au vrai royaume.

 

À la source du Long Fleuve

Austères glaciers,
tendre filet d’eau,

Voici que le fleuve retourne à sa source,
Que nous terminons notre grand périple.

Tant de jours à longer le fleuve millénaire,
Toujours à contre-courant, à contretemps,
À sillonner l’aride haut plateau,
Creusé de ravins, menacé de vautours,

À traquer chairs crues et fruits sauvages,
À dormir à marne les herbes virginales,

À traverser le lac aux étoiles, poussant plus loin
Nos corps tatoués de gelures, de brûlures,

Minuscule caravane à bout d’endurance,
En ce point de l’ultime rendez-vous,

Où toute fin est commencement.
Austères glaciers, Tendre filet d’eau…

 
François Cheng (Nanchang, 30 augustus 1929)

 

De Engelse schrijfster Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley werd geboren op 30 augustus 1797 in Somers Town, London. Zie ook alle tags voor Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley op dit blog.

Uit: Frankenstein

“Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can conceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am wavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage is only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. The winter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it is considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sail sooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly: you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the safety of others is committed to my care.
I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my undertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to “the land of mist and snow,” but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not be alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and woeful as the “Ancient Mariner.” You will smile at my allusion, but I will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that production of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically industrious–painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and labour–but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.
But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when I need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.
Your affectionate brother, Robert Walton »

 
Mary Shelley (30 augustus 1797 – 1 februari 1851)
Poster voor de gelijknamige film met Boris Karloff uit 1931

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 30e augustus ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2017 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2016.

Dolce far niente, James Whitcomb Riley, Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiří Orten, Libuše Moníková, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

Dolce far niente

 

 
Streets in Late August door Daniel Robbins, 2013

 

August

A day of torpor in the sullen heat
Of Summer’s passion: In the sluggish stream
The panting cattle lave their lazy feet,
With drowsy eyes, and dream.

Long since the winds have died, and in the sky
There lives no cloud to hint of Nature’s grief;
The sun glares ever like an evil eye,
And withers flower and leaf.

Upon the gleaming harvest-field remote
The thresher lies deserted, like some old
Dismantled galleon that hangs afloat
Upon a sea of gold.

The yearning cry of some bewildered bird
Above an empty nest, and truant boys
Along the river’s shady margin heard–
A harmony of noise–

A melody of wrangling voices blent
With liquid laughter, and with rippling calls
Of piping lips and thrilling echoes sent
To mimic waterfalls.

And through the hazy veil the atmosphere
Has draped about the gleaming face of Day,
The sifted glances of the sun appear
In splinterings of spray.

The dusty highway, like a cloud of dawn,
Trails o’er the hillside, and the passer-by,
A tired ghost in misty shroud, toils on
His journey to the sky.

And down across the valley’s drooping sweep,
Withdrawn to farthest limit of the glade,
The forest stands in silence, drinking deep
Its purple wine of shade.

The gossamer floats up on phantom wing;
The sailor-vision voyages the skies
And carries into chaos everything
That freights the weary eyes:

Till, throbbing on and on, the pulse of heat
Increases–reaches–passes fever’s height,
And Day sinks into slumber, cool and sweet,
Within the arms of Night.

 

 
James Whitcomb Riley (7 oktober 1849 – 22 juli 1916)
Greenfield, Indiana, de geboorteplaats van James Whitcomb Riley

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Dolce far niente, James Whitcomb Riley, Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiří Orten, Libuše Moníková, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley”

Charles Reznikoff, Jiři Orten, François Cheng, Libuše Moníková, Gisela von Arnim, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Adam Kuckhoff, Michael Speier

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010 en alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog.

Depression

So proudly she came into the subway car
all who were not reading their newspapers saw
the head high and the slow tread—
coat wrinkled and her belongings in a paper bag,
face unwashed and the grey hair uncombed;

simple soul, who so early in the morning when only the
poorest go to work,
stood up in the subway and outshouting the noise:
‘Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I have a baby at home who
is sick,
and I have no money, no job;’ who did not have box or cap
to take coins—
only his hands,
and, seeing only faces turned away,
did not even go down the aisle as beggars do;

the fire had burnt through the floor:
machines and merchandise had fallen into
the great hole, this zero that had sucked away so many years
and now, seen at last, the shop itself;
the ceiling sloped until it almost touched the floor a strange curve
in the lines and oblongs of his life;
drops were falling
from the naked beams of the floor above,
from the soaked plaster, still the ceiling;
drops of dirty water were falling
on his clothes and hat and on his hands;
the thoughts of business
gathered in his bosom like black water

in footsteps through a swamp;
waiting for a job, she studied the dusty table at which she sat
and the floor which had been badly swept—
the office-boy had left the corners dirty;
a mouse ran in and out under the radiator
and she drew her feet away
and her skirt about her legs, but the mouse went in and out
about its business; and she sat waiting for a job
in an unfriendly world of men and mice;

walking along the drive by twos and threes,
talking about jobs,
jobs they might never get and jobs they had had,
never turning to look at the trees or the river
glistening in the sunlight or the automobiles
that went swiftly past them—
in twos and threes talking about jobs;

in the drizzle
four in a row
close to the curb
that passers-by might pass,
the squads stand
waiting for soup,
a slice of bread
and shelter—
grimy clothes
their uniform;
on a stoop
stiffly across the steps
a man
who has fainted;
each in that battalion
eyes him,
but does not move from his place,
well drilled in want.

 
Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Charles Reznikoff, Jiři Orten, François Cheng, Libuše Moníková, Gisela von Arnim, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Adam Kuckhoff, Michael Speier”

Charles Reznikoff, Jiři Orten, François Cheng, Libuše Moníková, Gisela von Arnim, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Adam Kuckhoff, Michael Speier

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010 en alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog.

Heart and Clock

Now the sky begins to turn upon its hub—
the sun; each leaf revolves upon its stem;
now the plague of watches and of clocks nicks away
the day—
ten thousand steps
tread upon the dawn;
ten thousand wheels
cross and criss-cross the day
and leave their ruts across its brightness
the clocks
drip
in every room—
our lives are leaking from the places,
and the day’s brightness dwindles into stars.

 

Winter Sketches

I
Now that black ground and bushes~
saplings, trees,
each twig and limb-are suddenly white with snow,
and earth becomes brighter than the sky,

that intricate shrub
of nerves, veins, arteries-
myself-uncurls
its knotted leaves
to the shining air.

Upon this wooded hillside,
pied with snow, I hear
only the melting snow
drop from the twigs.

 

II
Subway

In steel clouds
to the sound of thunder
like the ancient gods:
our sky, cement;
the earth, cement;
our trees, steel;
instead of sunshine,
a light that has no twilight,
neither morning nor evening,
only noon.

Coming up the subway stairs, I thought the moon
only another street-light —
a little crooked.

 
Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)
De coverfoto is uit 1932/33. In de kinderwagen zijn nichtje Camilla.

Bewaren

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Charles Reznikoff, Jiři Orten, François Cheng, Libuše Moníková, Gisela von Arnim, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Adam Kuckhoff, Michael Speier”

Charles Reznikoff, Jiři Orten, François Cheng, Libuše Moníková, Gisela von Arnim, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Adam Kuckhoff

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010 en alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog.

Uit: Jerusalem the Golden

 

The Hebrew of

The Hebrew of your poets, Zion,
is like oil upon a burn,
cool as oil;
after work,
the smell in the street at night
of the hedge in flower.
Like Solomon,
I have married and married the speech of strangers;
none are like you, Shulamite.

 

Hellenist

As I, barbarian, at last, although slowly, could read Greek,
at “blue-eyed Athena”
I greeted her picture that had long been on the wall:
the head slightly bent forward under the heavy helmet,
as if to listen; the beautiful lips slightly scornful.

 

The moon shines

The moon shines in the summer night;
now I begin to understand the Hebrews
who could forget the Lord, throw kisses at the moon,
until the archers came against Israel
and bronze chariots from the north
rolled into the cities of Judah and the streets of Jerusalem.
What then must happen, you Jeremiahs,
to me who look at moon and stars and trees?

 
Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Charles Reznikoff, Jiři Orten, François Cheng, Libuše Moníková, Gisela von Arnim, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Adam Kuckhoff”

Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiři Orten, Libuše Moníková

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010.en alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog.

 

 

Night-Piece

 

I saw within the shadows of the yard the shed

and saw the snow upon its roof—

an oblong glowing in the moonlit night.

 

I could not rest or close my eyes,

although I knew that I must rise

early next morning and begin my work again,

and begin my work again.

 

That day was lost—that month as well;

and year and year for all that I can tell.

 

 

 

Jerusalem the Golden

 

 

II: The Shield of David

 

Then spoke the prophets: Our God is not of clay,

to be carried in our saddle-bags;

nor to be molten of silver or fine gold,

a calf to stand in our houses with unseeing eyes, unbending

        knees;

 

Who is the King of Glory?

He is from everlasting to everlasting;

we go down to the darkness of the grave,

but all the lights of heaven are His.

 

The smoke of your sacrifices is hateful, says the Lord,

I hate your festivals, your feasts, and your fasts;

worship Me in righteousness;

worship Me in kindness to the poor and weak,

in justice to the orphan, the widow, the stranger among you,

and in justice to him who takes his hire from your hand;

for I am the God of Justice, I am the God of Righteousness.

 

 

III: Spinoza

 

He is the stars,

multitudinous as the drops of rain,

and the worm at our feet,

leaving only a blot on the stone;

except God there is nothing.

 

God neither hates nor loves, has neither pleasure nor pain;

were God to hate or love, He would not be God;

He is not a hero to fight our enemies,

nor like a king to be angry or pleased at us,

nor even a father to give us our daily bread, forgive us our

       trespasses;

nothing is but as He wishes,

nothing was but as He willed it;

as He wills it, so it will be.

 

 

 

Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)

Bewaren

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiři Orten, Libuše Moníková”

Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiři Orten

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010.en alle tags voor Charles Reznikoff op dit blog.

 

Meditations on the Fall and Winter Holidays

I

New Year’s

The solid houses in the mist

are thin as tissue paper;

the water laps slowly at the rocks;

and the ducks from the north are here

at rest on the grey ripples.

The company in which we went

so free of care, so carelessly,

has scattered. Good-bye,

to you who lie behind in graves,

to you who galloped proudly off!

Pockets and heart are empty.

This is the autumn and our harvest–

such as it is, such as it is–

the beginnings of the end, bare trees and barren ground;

but for us only the beginning:

let the wild goat’s horn and the silver trumpet sound!

Reason upon reason

to be thankful:

for the fruit of the earth,

for the fruit of the tree,

for the light of the fire,

and to have come to this season.

The work of our hearts is dust

to be blown about in the winds

by the God of our dead in the dust

but our Lord delighting in life

(let the wild goat’s horn

and the silver trumpet sound!)

our God Who imprisons in coffin and grave

and unbinds the bound.

You have loved us greatly and given us

Your laws

for an inheritance,

Your sabbaths, holidays, and seasons of gladness,

distinguishing Israel

from other nations–

distinguishing us

above the shoals of men.

And yet why should we be remembered–

if at all–only for peace, if grief

is also for all? Our hopes,

if they blossom, if they blossom at all, the petals

and fruit fall.

You have given us the strength

to serve You,

but we may serve or not

as we please;

not for peace nor for prosperity,

not even for length of life, have we merited

remembrance; remember us

as the servants

You have inherited.

 

Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)

Bewaren

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiři Orten”

Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiři Orten

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2009 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2010.

 

Meditations on the Fall and Winter Holidays
II
Day of Atonement

The great Giver has ended His disposing;
the long day
is over and the gates are closing.
How badly all that has been read
was read by us,
how poorly all that should be said.

All wickedness shall go in smoke.
It must, it must!
The just shall see and be glad.
The sentence is sweet and sustaining;
for we, I suppose, are the just;
and we, the remaining.

If only I could write with four pens between five fingers
and with each pen a different sentence at the same time–
but the rabbis say it is a lost art, a lost art.
I well believe it. And at that of the first twenty sins that we confess,
five are by speech alone;
little wonder that I must ask the Lord to bless
the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart.

Now, as from the dead, I revisit the earth and delight
in the sky, and hear again
the noise of the city and see
earth’s marvelous creatures–men.
Out of nothing I became a being,
and from a being I shall be
nothing–but until then
I rejoice, a mote in Your world,
a spark in Your seeing.

III

Feast of Booths

This was a season of our fathers’ joy:
not only when they gathered grapes and the fruit of trees
in Israel, but when, locked in the dark and stony streets,
they held–symbols of a life from which they were banished
but to which they would surely return–
the branches of palm trees and of willows, the twigs of the myrtle,
and the bright odorous citrons.
This was the grove of palms with its deep well
in the stony ghetto in the blaze of noon;
this the living stream lined with willows;
and this the thick-leaved myrtles and trees heavy with fruit
in the barren ghetto–a garden
where the unjustly hated were justly safe at last.
In booths this week of holiday
as those who gathered grapes in Israel lived
and also to remember we were cared for
in the wilderness–
I remember how frail my present dwelling is
even if of stones and steel.
I know this is the season of our joy:
we have completed the readings of the Law
and we begin again;
but I remember how slowly I have learnt, how little,
how fast the year went by, the years–how few.

Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)

Doorgaan met het lezen van “Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiři Orten”

Charles Reznikoff, François Cheng, Jiří Orten, Gisela von Arnim, Libuše Moníková, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Adam Kuckhoff

De Amerikaanse dichter Charles Reznikoff werd op 30 augustus 1894 in New York geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2009.   

Notes on the Spring Holidays, III, [Hanukkah]    

III
Hanukkah

In a world where each man must be of use
and each thing useful, the rebellious Jews
light not one light but eight—
not to see by but to look at.

Meditations on the Fall and Winter Holidays

IV
Hanukkah

The swollen dead fish float on the water;
the dead birds lie in the dust trampled to feathers;
the lights have been out a long time and the quick gentle hands that lit them —
rosy in the yellow tapers’ glow–
have long ago become merely nails and little bones,
and of the mouths that said the blessing and the minds that thought it
only teeth are left and skulls, shards of skulls.
By all means, then, let us have psalms
and days of dedication anew to the old causes.

Penniless, penniless, I have come with less and still less
to this place of my need and the lack of this hour.
That was a comforting word the prophet spoke:
Not by might nor by power but by My spirit, said the Lord;
comforting, indeed, for those who have neither might nor power–
for a blade of grass, for a reed.

The miracle, of course, was not that the oil for the sacred light–
in a little cruse–lasted as long as they say;
but that the courage of the Maccabees lasted to this day:
let that nourish my flickering spirit.

Go swiftly in your chariot, my fellow Jew,
you who are blessed with horses;
and I will follow as best I can afoot,
bringing with me perhaps a word or two.
Speak your learned and witty discourses
and I will utter my word or two–
not by might not by power
but by Your Spirit, Lord.

reznikoff

Charles Reznikoff (30 augustus 1894 – 22 januari 1976)

 

De Chinees-Franse dichter, schrijver en vertaler François Cheng werd geboren op 30 augustus 1929 in Nanchang in China. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2009.

 

À L’ORIENT DE TOUT

L’aigle invisible est en vous
Rochers surgis de nos rêves

En nous la flamme
En nous le vol
En nous la nuit fulgurantye

Que nous ignorions

Rochers surgis de nos rêves
L’invisible aigle est en vous

Embrassant Yng
Endossant Yang
Frayant en nous la voie sûre

Que nous ignorions

Sol craquelé
Ciel constellé
En nous votre élan charnel

À l’aube de toute route
Vous dressez vos corps ailés

Parfois nos mains calleuses
Brisant les frimas figés
Un ange renaît sourire

 

Miracle

Lorsque par-dessus l’abîme qui sépare
Resplendit l’étoile
de la prime étincelle

Lorsque par-delà la nuit des temps morts
Le cauchemar éclôt
en rose-thé du jour

Lorsque jamais entendus les appels vains
Se transmuent enfin
en murmures ininterrompus

Miracle cette vie qui s’offre
Tout de consentement et d’entendement
entre les mains entre les lèvres

Laisse-toi traverser par le souffle inouï
par le pur souffle du oui !

 cheng

 François Cheng (Nanchang, 30 augustus 1929)

 

De Tsjechische dichter Jiří Orten (eig. Jiří Ohrenstein) werd geboren op 30 augustus 1919 bij Kutná Hora. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2007 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2009.

This is a Glorious Tale

With a pocket knife
the world had been cut.
And much blood has been shed. Poems
and nights. The wind played along, but
didn’t finish—For women,
it was a matter of life,
but for us a matter of death, not only
our lips thirsted after
the spring. Even our voice!
Voice, dried out and blood-stained,
go to the home
which cliffs and greenery
perceive as lost—if it’s found for them, what
a time that will be!
it will push through with its prow
everything rotting in us now—

 

Sugar Is Dissolving

Sugar is dissolving and sweetness is seeping out,
breakfast time.
Put on sandals, look around, to see if there’s still
fog, if it didn’t want to lift, if it will
be a nice day or will drizzle from
sky over hill.

Your head is clear and you look at things as if for
the first time,
you aren’t touching a thing in yourself from
the past, oh, take now the words you are whispering,
lighter than dew, and weigh them out exactly
against tears and blood.

A walk awaits you, before waters are muddied, before your
world turns mud.
Look around carefully, see how the earth is turning, how
it floats through the universe, look, focus your eyes, how
close to the circle made by the dead you are,
the dot in the center.
Vertaald door Lyn Coffin and Zdenka Brodska

 

orten

Jiří Orten (30 augustus 1919 – 1 september 1941)

 

De Duitse schrijfster Gisela von Arnim werd geboren op 30 augustus 1827 in Berlijn geboren. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2009.

Uit: Das Leben der Hochgräfin Gritta von Rattenzuhausbeiuns

„Dann sah es wohl von weitem aus, wenn sich die Abendsonne in einem Schloßfenster spiegelte, als leuchte sie den alten Steinen – denn dafür hielt man die Ratten in der Ferne – zum Abendtanz, und man hatte Angst, sie würden einmal ganz davon laufen und den Besitzer ohne Besitz lassen. Es waren auch Türme an den Ecken, aber zerfallen, außer einem, der noch zierlich an das alte Nest geklebt war; aber aus den gotischen Rosen und Linien der Verzierungen wuchs Gras und Moos.

Dies war das Schloß von einem alten Grafen Rattenzuhausbeiuns, der mit einem Töchterchen dort wohnte. Ein schmaler Steg, wie man ihn sonst über die Bächlein legt, führte von einem vorragenden Fels aus, grade über den Talabgrund, vor die kleine Holztür des Schlosses, der ein Holunderbaum mit seinen Blüten zur Seite nickte. Der Wurm hatte viele Löcher hinein gebohrt, und die Spinnen viele Decken darüber gewebt. – Heute tönte schon das fleißige Rädchen Grittas herab, wie es schnurrte. Es kam ein Steingang, spitz und dunkel zugewölbt, mit verschiednen Löchern für Ratten und Mäuse; dann ein gewundnes Treppchen hinauf. Hier saß die kleine Hochgräfin Gritta, der emsig das Rädchen den feinen Faden aus den Fingern zog, während sie träumerisch zuschaute, und hier war am Ende des Ganges eins der drei Fenster des Schlosses zu finden, das rund und halb voll grüner Scheiben, halb mit dem halben Leibe des Ritters St. Georg, im blauen und roten Gewand, und dem des Drachen gefüllt war; auf dem Fenster stand ein Krügelchen mit Nelkenschößlingen, und die Sonne fiel durch den blau und roten St. Georg auf den hochgräflichen Goldblondkopf und spielte in wundermilden Farbentönen auf dem Steinboden, ihn erwärmend, obwohl es noch ziemlich kalt im Gang war.“

 arnim

Gisela von Arnim (30 augustus 1827 – 4 april 1889)
Cover luisterboek

 

De Duitstalige, Tsjechische schrijfster Libuše Moníková werd geboren op 30 augustus 1945 in Praag. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2007 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2008 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2009.

Uit: Verklärte Nacht

„Malovanka, Marijänka, Drinopol — die dritte Haltestelle hinter Pohorelec, früher Station »Denkmal

des Nationalen Schrifttums«; die Namen wechseln schnell seit einiger Zeit. Das Kloster Strahov

wurde im Rahmen der Restitution den Prämonstratensern zurückgegeben, wie lange die Manuskripte

des Nationalen Schrifttums dort noch aufbewahrt werden, ist unklar. Der alte Ortsname Pohorelec — Brandstätte, ist geblieben, als Erinnerung an die häufigen Feuersbrünste in dieser Vorstadt von Hradcany. Ich steige aus. Die Zweiundzwanzig fährt weiter, am Gasthaus »Zur Kastanie« vorbei, dem Gründungsort der Sozialdemokratischen Partei, dann auf die Straße der Pioniere zu, mit dem ältesten Mönchskloster Böhmens und der Kirche der Heiligen Margarethe in Richtung Bilá Hora, Weißer Berg, wo in der Schlacht von 1620 der böhmische protestantische Adel vernichtet wurde. Endstation.

Nach dem November 1989 wurde die Straße der Pioniere in Patockova umbenannt, zur Erinnerung

an den Philosophen Jan Patocka, Mitbegründer der Charta 77, der mit siebzig Jahren nach einem elfstündigen Verhör durch die StB, die Geheime Staatssicherheit, an einem Hirnschlag starb. Bei seinem Begräbnis auf dem St. Margarethener Friedhof kreiste knatternd ein Polizeihubschrauber

über den Trauernden, so daß die Sprecher nicht zu hören waren. Jeder, der sich dem Friedhof

näherte, wurde gefilmt, wer eintreten wollte, mußte sich ausweisen und wurde registriert.“

monikova

Libuše Moníková (30 augustus 1945 – 12 januari 1998)

 

De Engelse schrijfster Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley werd geboren op 30 augustus 1797. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2006 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2007 en ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2009.

Uit: Letters

“[MWS to John Howard Payne, Sept. 27, 1825]

 . . . I have also been for 10 days to Windsor –where I rambled to my old haunts. Windsor–Eton &c is the only spot of English ground for which I have an affection. We were delighted each morning too by hearing the King’s band practise for an hour & a half–the finest band in the world perhaps consisting of 44 wind instruments, whose effect is so much finer than those scraping strings–In sacred pieces they rose to the majesty of an organ–in lighter airs their delicate execution seemed the work of fayry powers. The grand disappointment was that I could not obtai[n] a sight of my liege Lord his Sacred Majesty–It was too provoking–I prepared my best curls & smiles & curtsey & walked up Each day to the castle with my companion vainly–The servants in waiting began to know us & one old fat footman commiserated our fate mightily when we asked for the last time whether his Majesty was expected & told him that it was our last chance–“I am quite sorry, ladies–I am sure his majesty would have been glad to see you–he is always glad to see & be seen by ladies.”–What a flattering prospect–the while thus we fished the object of our angling was seated calmly in a boat fishing for less fish on Virginia Water.”

 shelley

Mary Shelley (30 augustus 1797 – 1 februari 1851)

 

De Duitse dichter, schrijver en verzetsstrijder Adam Kuckhoff werd geboren op 30 augustus 1887 in Aken. Zie ook mijn blog van 30 augustus 2008

Abschiedsgedicht

Andern hab ich manchen Vers geschrieben,
Dir nur hier und da ein kleines Wort.
Zeugt das nicht von kleinerer Kraft im Lieben?
Geh ich nicht als Schuldner von dir fort?

O Geliebte, ungemessen
War die Liebe, die uns zwei verband.
Über ihr hab ich das Wort – vergessen
Weil ein jeder Tag uns in ihr fand.

Denkst Du an das Blut in Deinen Lungen?
Sprichst Du von der Luft, die Dich umgibt?
Nein, ich habe Dich nicht besungen,
nur geliebt.

kuckhoff

Adam Kuckhoff (30 augustus 1887 –  5 augustus 1943)