The Story of Prince Biribinker is considered the first literary fairy tale to be published in the German language (1769). Glorious. ;-) |
Christoph Martin Wieland (5 September 1733 – 20 January 1813)
The Story of Prince Biribinker is considered the first literary fairy tale to be published in the German language (1769). Glorious. ;-) |
Christoph Martin Wieland (5 September 1733 – 20 January 1813)
Suite de Parlavà (1991) & Algú que espera (1990) & Llibre de les solituds (1997) |
* It looks as if non of Martí i Pol's work has yet been translated into English.
Estimada Marta & Haikús en temps de guerra |
Miquel Martí i Pol (19 March 1929 – 11 November 2003)
Without intending to belittle other writers, for me Edna O'Brien, together with John McGahern, is the greatest Irish author of the past decades. Both had in common their books were banned in Ireland.
Above's interview from 1976 is on her trilogy "The Country Girls".
The interview above's taken in 2012.
And this one after release of ‘The Little Red Chairs’ (2015)
Enjoy!
I have never seen an ass
who talked like a human being,
but I have met many human beings
who talked like asses.
Heinrich Heine (13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856)
Apostolos Doxiadis * 1953
Christian Goldbach (18 March 1690 – 20 November 1764)
Love Poems |
Sylvia Plath (27 October 1932 – 11 February 1963)
Why would people call this book kafkaesque? It's an excellent Ó Cadhain. |
Máirtín ò Cadhain (1906 – 18 October 1970)
Death of a Salesman |
Arthur Miller (17 October 1915 – 10 February 2005)
The Collected Stories |
Katherine Mansfield (14 October 1888 – 9 January 1923)
Master Stories |
This morning, as I was waking up from sweet dreams, I discovered that in my bed I had been changed into a tiny insect and now was sitting on my glasses reading Kafka's Verwandlung: One morning, as Gregor Samsa was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into a monstrous verminous bug. He lay on his armour-hard back and saw, as he lifted his head up a little, his brown, arched abdomen divided up into rigid bow-like sections. From this height the blanket, just about ready to slide off completely, could hardly stay in place. His numerous legs, pitifully thin in comparison to the rest of his circumference, flickered helplessly before his eyes. “What’s happened to me,” he thought. It was no dream. |
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (28 August 1749 – 22 March 1832) |
The Ice Palace |
Tarjei Vasaas (20 August 1897 – 15 March 1970)