Sam Dillemans, auteursportretten
nog tot 16/06 in het Kasteel van Gaasbeek
De Waterafsluiter, met Dirk Roofthooft (productie van Transparant)
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Een aangrijpende voorstelling over schuld en geweten, over zwijgen en je job doen, over overleven of niet. Krachtig, naakt en gebald muziektheater. Het leven, een valstrik.
Vanaf nu op tournee. Gaat dat zien!
William Stoner schreef zich in 1910, als negentienjarige, in voor het eerste jaar van de universiteit van Missouri. Acht jaar later, op het hoogtepunt van de Eerste Wereldoorlog, ontving hij zijn doctorsgraad en aanvaarde hij een baan als docent aan diezelfde universiteit, waar hij tot aan zijn dood in 1956 doceerde.
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John Williams (1965), Stoner
Nu prachtig uitgegeven in Nederlandse vertaling - geloof de hype, want het moet al straf lopen als dit boek dit jaar niet helemaal bovenaan mijn jaarlijstje staan te pronken!
Luister naar: http://programma.vpro.nl/deavonden/Dossiers/Boeken.html?playurn=urn:vpro:media:program:15878672
“The sense of unhappiness is so much easier to convey than that of happiness. In misery we seem aware of our own existence, even though it may be in the form of a monstrous egotism: this pain of mine is individual, this nerve that winces belongs to me and to no other. But happiness annihilates us: we lose our identity.”
Graham Greene (1951), The End of the Affair.
Richard & Linda Thompson, “A Heart Needs a Home” (live 1975)
The world’s no place when you’re on your own.
‘nuff said.
At first it was a form. Or not even that. A weight, an extra weight; a ballast. I felt it that first day out in the fields. It was as if someone had fallen silently into step beside me, or inside me, rather, someone who was else, another, and yet familiar. I was accustomed to putting on personae but this, this was different. I stopped, struck, stricken by that infernal cold I have come to know so well, that paradisal cold. Then a slight thickening in the air, a momentary occlusion of the light, as if something had plummeted past the sun, a winged boy, perhaps, or falling angel. It was April: bird and bush, silver glint of coming rain, vast sky, the glacial clouds in monumental progress. See me there, the haunted one, in my fiftieth year, assailed suddenly, in the midsts of the world. I was frightened, as well I might be. I imagined such sorrows; such exaltations.
opening lines from: John Banville (2000), Eclipse
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gisteren gelezen op de tram onderweg van de bib terug naar huis, en ik dacht: is dit het mooiste begin ooit van een boek?
Observe the herd which is grazing beside you. It does not know what yesterday or today is. It springs around, eats, rests, digests, jumps up again, and so from morning to night and from day to day, with its likes and dislikes closely tied to the peg of the moment, and thus is neither melancholy nor weary. To witness this is difficult for man, because he boasts to himself that his human condition is better than the beast’s and yet looks with jealousy at its happiness. For he wishes only to live like the beast, neither weary with things nor in pain, and yet he wants it in vain, because he does not desire it as the animal does. One day the man demands of the beast: “Why do you not talk to me about your happiness and only gaze at me?” The beast wants to answer, too, and say: “That comes about because I always immediately forget what I wanted to say.” But by then the beast has already forgotten this reply and remains silent, so that the man keeps on wondering about it.
from Nietzsche’s famous opening section to “The Use and Abuse of History”
Image: Eleanor Antin, from 100 Boots
