time

The passage of time will usually extract the venom from most things and render them harmless.

-Haruki Murakami in The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, 1997-

This is also one of the themes of Murakami's Norwegian Wood, named after the Beatles song that interestingly is also called This Bird Has Flown:


I once had a girl
Or should I say, she once had me
She showed me her room
Isn't it good Norwegian wood?

She asked my to stay and told me sit anywhere
So I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair

I sat on a rug, biding my time
Drinking her wine
We talked until two, and then she said:
"It's time for bed,"

She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh
I told her I didn't, and crawled off to sleep in the bath

And when I awoke, I was alone
This bird has flown
So I lit a fire
Isn't it good Norwegian wood?

oktoberkind

Oktobermaand, geboortemaand
Je vruchten zijn geoogst
De zoete wijn is in het vat
Het hout gekloofd
Dat is waarom een oktoberkind van kinds af aan voldaan is
Omdat voor haar gevoel het werk gedaan is

Oktoberzon, geboortezon
De zon die ik verdien
Want of hij op- of ondergaat
Is niet te zien
Dat is waarom een oktoberkind net als oktoberbomen
De hele dag het liefste zit te dromen

Oktoberstorm, geboortestorm
Je hebt mijn bed gespreid
Je joeg de wolken uit elkaar
En net op tijd
Heb jij de bomen zo geschud dat zij hun blad verloren
En in dat gouden bed ben ik geboren

Oktoberdag, geboortedag
Als ik geweten had
Dat ik nooit meer zo goed slapen zou
Als in dat bed van blad
Was ik vanaf die eerste dag m'n hele lange leven
Met een glas rooie wijn in bed gebleven

Oktoberkind, oktoberkind
Opdat jij niet vergaat
De allerlaatste zoete braam
Is de eerste die jij eet
Een laatste warme zonnestraal verwarmt jouw eerste dag
En een laatste zwaluw die vertrekt is de eerste die jij zag
Dat is waarom een oktoberkind niet gelooft in laatste dingen
't Zal een herfstdag als een lentedag bezingen...

-Liselore Gerritsen, 1982-

en wat is uw roeping?

Vocation

For six months I dealt Baccarat in a casino.
For six months I played Brahms in a mall.
For six months I arranged museum dioramas;
my hands were too small for the Paleolithic
and when they reassigned me to lichens, I quit.
I type ninety-one words per minute, all of them
Help. Yes, I speak Dewey Decimal.
I speak Russian, Latin, a smattering of Tlingit.
I can balance seven dinner plates on my arm.
All I want to do is sit on a veranda while
a hard rain falls around me. I'll file your 1099s.
I'll make love to strangers of your choice.
I'll do whatever you want, as long as I can do it
on that veranda. If it calls you, it's your calling,
right? Once I asked a broker what he loved
about his job, and he said Making a killing.
Once I asked a serial killer what made him
get up in the morning, and he said The people.

-Sandra Beasley, 2010-

this reminds me of Nick Cave's Murderballads, here's the one I like best: Where The Wild Roses Grow (with Kylie Minogue)

weet je nog...

Weet je nog...? - Toen de wind, de bomen
Tergde en hen de mantels, van het lichaam trok,
Dat wij samen - de regen kletterde bij stromen -
Schuilden onder 't loof, en jij zó schrok

Toen ik je zei dat dit het eind was, en voorgoed
Onze wegen voortaan zouden scheiden.
'Mijn arme kind 't is droevig maar het moet;
Beter is het heen te gaan' Ik zweeg en jij schreide.

Weet je nog? Toen mijn hand de jouwe
Zachtkens drukte, omdat jij spoedig zou zien
Dat ik niet de beste was. 'zo zijn vrouwen!'
En dat jij door je tranen lachte, en zei; 'Misschien...!"

Nu is het herfst opnieuw en regen, maar alleen
Schuil ik onder 't lover, denk aan jou - en ween...

-Hans Lodeizen, 1944-1945-

en vijfendertig jaar later (in 1982) maakte Herman van Veen er muziek bij:

if no one ever marries me

If no-one ever marries me--
    And I don't see why they should,
For nurse says I am not pretty
    And I'm seldom very good--

If no one ever marries me
    I shan't mind very much;
I shall buy a squirrel in a cage,
    And a little rabbit-hutch;

I shall have a cottage near a wood,
    And a pony all my own,
And a little lamb, quite clean and tame,
    That I can take to town;

And when I'm getting really old,
    At twenty-eight or nine--
I shall buy a little orphan girl
    And bring her up as mine.

-Laurence Alma-Tadema, 1897-
song by Nathalie Merchant

444

Above all do not forget your duty to love yourself.

-Søren Kierkegaard, 1848-

So this is post number 444, I wanted to do something special, but I have studied my brains out and you faithful readers will have to take a rain check.

I will give you something though, a song by one of my favourites, Johnny Cash, it fits my mood perfectly: Drive On.
Many of Johnny's American recording songs are beautiful stories, so take the time to hear it out.

what's he building

I discovered a new feature: adding audio to my blog, so here is that Tom Waits song I was writing about earlier:

What's he building in there?
What the hell is he building
In there?
He has subscriptions to those
Magazines... He never
Waves when he goes by
He's hiding something from
The rest of us... He's all
To himself... I think I know
Why... He took down the
Tire swing from the Peppertree
He has no children of his
Own you see... He has no dog
And he has no friends and
His lawn is dying... and
What about all those packages
He sends. What's he building in there?
With that hook light
On the stairs. What's he building
In there... I'll tell you one thing
He's not building a playhouse for
The children what's he building
In there?

Now what's that sound from under the door?
He's pounding nails into a
Hardwood floor... and I
Swear to god I heard someone
Moaning low... and I keep
Seeing the blue light of a
T.V. show...
He has a router                  (router = een werktuig, groefschaaf)
And a table saw... and you
Won't believe what Mr. Sticha saw
There's poison underneath the sink
Of course... But there's also
Enough formaldehyde to choke
A horse... What's he building
In there. What the hell is he
Building in there? I heard he
Has an ex-wife in some place
Called Mayors Income, Tennessee
And he used to have a
consulting business in Indonesia...
but what is he building in there?
What the hell is building in there?

He has no friends
But he gets a lot of mail
I'll bet he spent a little
Time in jail...
I heard he was up on the
Roof last night
Signaling with a flashlight
And what's that tune he's
Always whistling...
What's he building in there?
What's he building in there?

We have a right to know...

bij de italiaan spreken ze ook duits

"Im Wein liegt Wahrheit nur allein"

gevleugelde woorden uit de opera "Ludine" van Albert Lortzing, 1845