Showing posts with label writers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writers. Show all posts

Saturday, January 20, 2024

Beers & Books CCCLIII – Vater und Sohn unterwegs

Vater und Sohn unterwegs
Feðgar á ferð / The Old Man and His Sons

Heðin Brú (August 17, 1901 – May 18, 1987)

Faroe Islands

Monday, January 15, 2024

Monday, January 08, 2024

Beers & Books CCCXLIX – The Moonstone

The Moonstone

A very happy 200th Birthday, Mr. Collins.

Wilkie Collins ((8 January 1824 – 23 September 1889)

Saturday, December 30, 2023

Tuesday, December 26, 2023

Tuesday, November 28, 2023

Saturday, November 04, 2023

Wednesday, July 26, 2023

Beers & Books CCCXXXII – George Bernard Shaw

Now that we have learned
to fly the air like birds,
swim under water like fish,
we lack one thing -
to learn to live on earth as human beings.


George Bernard Shaw (26 July 1856 –2 November 1950)

Saturday, May 06, 2023

Beers & Books CCCXXIX – A Message to the Irish People

"It is clear that it is not man
who has created the universe
- whether you believe in God or in gods
or deny any divine presence -
man cannot alter the laws
that govern the universe
without damaging it."

Seán MacBride ( 26 January 1904 – 15 January 1988)

Friday, May 05, 2023

Beers & Books CCCXXVIII – Bobby Sands

 Bobby Sands (9 March 1954 – 5 May 1981)

I rolled over again freezing and the snow came in the window on top of my blankets. Tiocfaidh ár lá' (Our day will come), I said to myself, Tiocfaidh ár lá. [Final diary entry]

 

Sunday, April 23, 2023

Rather be it Shakespeare*

On Shakespeare's 459th birthday and
the 407th anniversary of either his death
and the death of Cervantes
just to wish a very special literary evening.

It's also the (International) Day of the book?

Well, yes. But isn't every day a day of the book?

Comparing the results of my recent attempts to write some sonnets myself with what I am rereading these days, I came to the conclusion, in order not to put anyone off the realm of poetry, to post rather one from the Master of Avondale.


Alack what poverty my muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside.
O blame me not if I no more can write!
Look in your glass and there appears a face,
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other my verses tend,
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell.
       And more, much more than in my verse can sit,
       Your own glass shows you, when you look in it
.

 

* knowing I would be fighting with a deadline, I went back to April 23rd, 2014, copied and pasted, updated the years, and voilà.

Saturday, April 22, 2023

Beers & Books CCCXXVII – History of Ireland

A Short History of Ireland (1952)

J. C. Beckett (8 February 1912 – 12 February 1996)