And the Winner is?

So today the winner of this year's Nobel Prize in Literature will be announced.

I hope the members of the Nobel Prize Committee have not succumbed to the temptation to make Ukraine happy for the current occasion.

Even if there are remarkable authors there, such a decision would not be a sign of solidarity, but embarrassing at best.

I could much better live with one of the usual suspects: Roth, Murakami, Pynchon, Atwood, etc. ...

How about Edna O'Brien?

Celebrating Flann's 117th Birthday

Yesterday, October 4th, was the 82nd anniversary of his first 'An crúiscín lán' column in The Irish Times.

Today Mr Nolan does celebrate his 117th birthday. I should not tell which pseudonym he does currently prefer, but I may say those few people still taking for granted he died April 1st 1966, can look back on a remarkable long career as April fools.

Happy birthday then, alter Knabe!

Fact is, furthermore, that tonight Flanny, Sergeant Pluck, Tetrapilotomos and I as well as a certain chap who asked to remain incognito met in, at and around Seanhenge, having some pints of plain and at one stage of our vivid conversation Flann would raise his voice and not only enjoy our ears, hearts and grey cells but animate the rami zygomatici and rami buccales of nervus facialis to massively innervate our musculi risorii by once again declaiming following legendary dialogue:

The Plain People of Ireland: Isn't the German very like the Irish? Very guttural and so on?

Myself: Yes.

The Plain People of Ireland: People say that the German language and the Irish language is very guttural tongues.

Myself: Yes.

The Plain People of Ireland: The sounds is all guttural do you understand.

Myself. Yes.

The Plain People of Ireland: Very guttural languages the pair of them the Gaelic and the German.

* * *

But now, before the five of us go on celebrating, and although it ought to be most unlikely they exist - to all those who happen to not being in possession of the birthday boy's complete work: Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up. The friendly, most well-educated and -sorted bookseller just round the corner will be happy to fill the gaps of your education and in your bookshelves.

Sláinte!

Farewell to dear guests

So many swallows this year
spent summer in and around Seanhenge.

Spectacular to see them
hunting their evening meal.

Meanwhile the last one
left one of the five nests
alone under our roofs

Speeding southwards.
See you again
next spring.

Double Jubilee!

Emil Zatopek (19 September 1922 – 21 November 2000)

Dana Zátopková (19 September 1922 – 13 March 2020)

As the fine incorruptible gentlemen of the International Olympic Comitee would not allow to embed this video, here the link:

Emil Zátopek Wins 5,000m, 10,000m & Marathon Gold - Helsinki 1952 Olympics

And here's a fine article about Emil Zatopek and Dana Zatopkova: how a husband-and-wife team won four Olympic gold medals at the 1952 Games.

Saturday Night Music – Luciano Pavarotti

 

Luciano Pavarotti (12 October 1935 – 6 September 2007)

Saturday Night Music – Itzhak Perlman

 Itzhak Perlman * 31 August 1945

Plumbees

No rain.
Plums fall by the thousands from the trees.
What saddens us delights the bees.

Beers & Books CCXXXIV – Franz Werfel

Pale Blue Ink in a Lady's Hand

Franz Werfel (10 September 1890 – 26 August 1945)

Ils ont voté

Léo Ferré (24 August 1916 – 14 July 1993)

Beers & Books CCXXXIII – Jean-Jacques Sempé

For Booklovers

I envy you ...
Like you, I would have liked to write a book ...
Just the feeling of standing out from the crowd ...

Jean-Jacques Sempé (17 August 1932 – 11 August 2022)

Beers & Books CCXXXII – Laurent Binet 2

HHhH

Laurent Binet * 19 July 1972

The Seventh Function of Language

Civilisation

August beginning

Once again I feel relieved
that Fortune favours fools,
or as a German saying goes,
"Die dümmsten Bauern
ernten die größten Kartoffeln."
/
"The dumbest farmers
harvest the biggest potatoes".

Sometimes a saying
can be a great comfort.

Ach, Croagh Patrick!

In a few minutes it will be August. And only a few minutes ago I became aware of it is the last Sunday in July. Phew. 37 years ago on such a Sunday I climbed Croagh Patrick on my bare feet, one week after this agnostic had "made" Station Island, and thus kept a second promise I had given to myself. Lovely remembrance.

Croagh Patrick

St. Patrick's Purgatory

Station Island