Monochrome Monday

My Walden ...

 

Beers & Books LXVIII – Baudelaire

...

Charles Baudelaire (9 April 1821 –  31 August 1867)

Les Fleurs du mal

Beers & Books LXVII – Rabelais

...

François Rabelais (ca. 1483/1494 – 9. April 1553)

Gargantua and Pantagruel

Beers & Books LXVI – Bora Ćosić

 

To my surprise,
obviously none of his works
got translated into English.

Bora Ćosić * 5 April 1932

Beers & Books LXV – Lautréamont

The great universal family of men
is a utopia worthy of the most mediocre logic.

Lautréamont aka Isidore Lucien Decasse (4 April 1846 – 24 November 1870) 

Les Chants de Maldoror

Beers & Books LXIV – Seán Ó Súilleabháin

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Seán Ó Súilleabháin (1903 – 13 December 1996)

 

Villager's Delight

...

 

Beers & Books LXIII – Seán O'Casey

The hallway of every man's life
is paced with pictures;
pictures gay and pictures gloomy,
all useful,
for if we be wise,
we can learn from them
a richer and braver way to live.

Seán O'Casey (30 March 1880 – 18 September 1964)

Jams and The Atomic Theory

In case you wish to read the words: The Englisch text you find here, at the blog of my friend Jams who today would have become 58; the translation into German here. 
Like eight years ago, I do like thinking of my friend Jams having a pint of plain tonight with Flann O'Brien [and perhaps a second with Father Jack whilst Ted (not Father Ted, obviously) is reciting an episode of The Master and Margarita; discussing with Sergeant Pluck the advantages and disadvantages of becoming a bicycle, whilst feeding Mimi with cheese; taking phantastic photos while strolling around in his new surroundings without feeling any pain in his knees, let alone longing for Garra rufa to nibble skin off his feet; organising a weekly poetry contest the winner of which will be rewarded with a bicycle-esque looking William Topaz McGonagall-statue and ... ah ... oh well ... enjoying his new alltemporaries with what he uses to call drivel, and now and then sending love to his not-wife Shirl, a smile to his Mum and Dad, a twinkle of his eyes to Tim, Li, Elahe and amongst others ... well ... to you and to me.!

Beers & Books LXII – Mario Vargas Llosa

"There are many things behind a good novel,
but in particular, there is a lot of work -
a lot of patience, a lot of stubbornness,
and a critical spirit."

Mario Vargas Llosa * 28. March 1936

 

Beers & Books LXI– Lev Kopelev

To Be Preserved Forever
and
No Jail For Thought
In Search of Truth and Tolerance

Lev Kopelev (27 March 1912 –  18 June 1997)

Beers & Books LX – Antonio Tabucchi

 

Perreira Maintains,
Little Misunderstandings of No Importance;
not translated into Engish:
Pizza d'Italia and Dreams of Dreams

Antonio Tabucchi (24 September 1943 – 25 March 2012)

Death is nothing at all

I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I, and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am just waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner.
All is well.

Tod bedeutet gar nichts.

Ich bin nur nach nebenan verschwunden.
Ich bin ich und du bist du.
Was immer wir füreinander waren, das sind wir noch.
Nenne mich bei dem alten vertrauten Namen.
Sprich von mir, wie du es immer getan hast.
Ändere nicht deinen Tonfall.
Zwinge dich nicht zu aufgesetzter Feierlichkeit oder Traurigkeit.
Lache weiterhin über die kleinen Scherze, an denen wir gemeinsam Spaß hatten.
Spiele, lächle, denke an mich, bete für mich.
Lass meinen Namen weiterhin so geläufig sein, wie er immer war.
Sprich ihn unbekümmert aus, ohne die Spur eines Schattens.
Das Leben bedeutet all das, was es bisher bedeutete.
Es ist genauso wie immer.
Es geht uneingeschränkt und ununterbrochen weiter.
Ist der Tod nicht nur ein unbedeutender Zwischenfall?
Warum sollte ich vergessen sein, nur weil du mich nicht mehr siehst?

Ich warte einstweilen auf dich, ganz in der Nähe, nur um die Ecke.
Alles ist gut. 

Henry Scott Holland (27 January 1847 – 17 March 1918)