Re-reading lots of our correspondence, for the past three days I have been crying, smiling, laughing, tears bedewing my cheeks. Even now words don't come easy to me.
Claude is dead.
Almost I am not surprised that our last conversation on this blog was about what we shall be leaving when we die.
"Appeared" at Omnium in June 2008 as "Curieuse au Canada", over the years a friendship developed
Not that we would not have had this and that verbal skirmish, but very soon we agreed to that we disagreed to this and that, and focused on what we like best: (Good) literature, poetry, music and ...
... the fun we had f.e. on the occasional "poetry slams" here or at "The Poor Mouth"!
When once she told me her age I thought she was kidding.
And when she told me about her life: What a woman! What courage!
- - -
After I had told her a bit about Irish literature she wrote:
would like German Literature. I know so little. Unless I have read translations
without noticing the country. I doubt it.
Then maybe you could tell me some English, French, American favourites? Just would like to see if we meet somewhere among books.
Of course, I read the Russians ( Who doesn't?) Also Faust, Peer Gynt, Don Quichotte, The Prophet, The Rubayyat. Studied Greek and Latin and did some translations.
Inevitably I read a lot Canadians (French and English), not necessarily all good. But I feel it's a bit of a duty to know what one's country produces.
We have about a ten-year-program in front of us. Just want to make sure you will not drop me in 3-4 weeks :)))))
I love you, Sir Jeating.
- - -
When I had told her that I am German and Sean Jeating's just my heteronym, she wanted to know more about German literature, and let me know:
Of course I have read some Germans. I couldn't name them instantly, not because I forgot them. It's only that when a book speaks to one's heart, it has no nationality.
Since my student years, I have met few people who read "without borders". I knew, when I discovered your blog, that you were universal.
I read all Hermann Hesse, more than once. Then Remarque, Zweig. Some Brecht, Kant and Schopenhauer. ...
- - -
When very young, I claimed to be a writer and a musician. I became a nurse and loved it. It gave me much to write about. I also never let go of music. But lifepain took over, killed much of my ambitions. I write...I need it like air and water. Sometimes I share it. Mostly it's in boxes. Now and again I read a page, or two...I say to myself, "Claude, it's very good!". Then I put it aside.
The Music Claude never put aside. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Abado, Bernstein, Argerich, Gulda ... Hvorostovsky ... Casals, Paco de Lucía; Fado or Flamenco, etc., etc., etc. ...
To please Claude's ears and her heart I tried to find Saturday Night Music. And by trying I learned a bit about music.
We shared some poetry, encouraged eachother. She was good.
I think Claude does like me finally to share this with you:
There lie my dreams and deep pain.
The detritus of my past
In its destitute beauty.
No recall. No tears. Adieu!
I love you, Claude. De tout cœur!