Messaggi del 03/08/2012

Scrittrici dimenticate:Nathalie Sarraute

Post n°3358 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

Nathalie Sarrautepseudonimo di Natacha Tcherniak (Ivanovo18 luglio 1900 – Parigi19 ottobre 1999), è stata una scrittrice francese di originerussa. Stabilitasi a Parigi dopo un'infanzia trascorsa fra Russia, Francia e Svizzera e soggiorni di studio in Inghilterra e Germania, intraprese la professione di avvocato. I suoi due primi libri, Tropismes (Tropismi, del 1939) e Portrait d'un inconnu (Ritratto d'ignoto, del 1948), passarono quasi inosservati ma, ristampati nel 1956-1957, suscitarono grande interesse, grazie anche ad una presentazione di Jean-Paul Sartre.

Nel saggio L'ère du soupçon (L'età del sospetto, del 1956), la Sarraute chiarisce le fonti della sua ricerca narrativa (Fedor DostoevskijFranz KafkaIvy Compton-Burnett), imperniata sull' esplorazione di moti psicologici al limite dell'inconscio (i cosiddetti tropismi e la famosa sotto-conversazione).

La Sarraute ha usato nelle sue opere un dialogo lucido, controllatissimo, e la sue commedie, piene di intuizioni felici, sono ricche di una gustosa vena satirica[senza fonte].

Nel 1964 le è stato conferito il Prix International de Littérature.

 
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Scrittrici dimenticate:Marie Under

Post n°3357 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

Estonian poet, generally considered among the greatest poets of the 20th-century in her language. Under escaped with her family in 1944 the Soviet occupation of Estonia to Sweden, where she spent in exile the rest of her life. Under's works have been translated into some ten languages.

Ei rannal lesi 
nüüd enam keegi, 
ei ükski hing. 
Ja parem seegi. 
Vaid kivid ja vesi 
ning ainsad jäljed veab minu king. 

(from 'Üksi merega')

Marie Under was born in Tallinn, the daughter of Fredrich Under, a schoolteacher, and Leena (Kerner) Under. She learned to read at the age of four and began to writing verse at the age of thirteen. From 1891 to 1900 she attended a private German-language school, studying German, French, and Russian. Later Under translated new German poetry, Schiller, Goethe in Estonian, and also such writers as Pär Lagerkvist and Boris Pasternak. Under worked briefly as a salesclerk in a bookstore, but after meeting the writer Eduard Vilde, she joined for a short time the radical newspaper Teataja. In 1902 Under married Carl Hacker, an accountant, and moved with him near Moskow. From 1902 to 1906 she lived in Russia; her two daughter were born there. In 1913 Under met in the Estonia Theater Artur Adson (1889–1977), a young poet, whose encouragement and support was crucial for her literary development. After divorcing Hacker, she married Adson, who later wrote her biography (pub. 1974).

Under's first poem appeared in the newspaper Postimees when she was 21. In the 1910s Under contributed to various anthologies and made in 1917 her debut as a writer with a collection of sonnets, Sonetid. With this work, a declaration of youthful love, longing for beauty, and joy of life. Her second collection, Eelõitseng (1918), consisted of poems written between 1904 and 1912.

Under was the central member of the "Siuru" group, which advocated on the eve of Estonian independence new literary movements, such as expressionism and futurism. Her early work were more or less impressionistic pieces, but she soon found her voice in emotional, dynamic way of expression that had much bold freshness. Her most sensual collection of poems, Sinine puri (1920), with its celebration of erotic love, defied boldly bourgeois conventionality and made her the best-known representative of the Estonian neoromantic poetry.

After World War I Under's poems became more pessimistic. Especially German expressionism influenced her deeply. Under employed religious images to convey her feelings of pain, delirium, and suffering - a dark angel of death comes to the door as a gate-crasher, prophets stumble over words, Noah's arch sails into the flood and rain.

'Unetuma laul,' about insomnia, from which Under suffered sporadically throughout her life, is one her most anthologized works. "Even an executioner can have a peace," the "I" of the poem realizes tormented, and wanders restlessly in clogs with a ghost dog. The whole world has fallen asleep, the poet, like a guard, is the only one awake, seeking release. Under paralles sleep with death and beds with coffins. The poems ends with a resignation: sleep comes only after giving up everything, in the calm rest under the ground.

Kuhugille, kuhugille ma ei mahu! 
Olen ma ehk ... peni, vend ...
Kumb meist, kumb meis somnambuul? 

(from 'Unetuma laul' in Hääl varjust, 1927)

Õnnevarjutus (1929), in which Under returned to ballad lyrics, is considered among her central works. Under used traditional themes from folk poetry, mostly tragic love, but brought into them solemn timelessness, seeing human yearning for happiness always shadowed by unavoidable doom, generation after generation. Dark visions of frozen waters and chained wind, contrasted to short moments of happiness, being alive, were central also in her tenth collection, Kivi südamelt (1935).

Under's financial problems were greatly relieved after the National Fund for Culture decided to give her permanent support. In 1937 Under became an honorary member of International PEN. During the early years of World War, when Estonia was taken over by the USSR and then occupied by the Germany, Under wrote about the suffering and the resistance of her people in Jõulutervitus (1941) and Mureliku suuga (1942). Like many established writers of the older and middle generation, such as Johannes Aavik (1880-1973), Gustav Suits (1883-1956), Karl Rumor (1886-1971), Karl Ristikivi (1912-1977), Under chose emigration over life under Soviet rule. From 1945 to 1957 she worked as an archivist in the Stockhom's Theatre Museum. Her first collection of poetry in exile, Sädemed tuhas, appeared in 1954, and was followed by Ääremail (1963). Under's later poetry was marked with philosophical observations of life and nature, and her metaphysical, visionary introspection. In several poems Under dealt with feelings of rootlessness and homesickness, without mentioning the name of her home country. In this humane patriotism Under's work exceeded nationalistic or political boundaries.

Because of heavy arthritis, Under spent her last years at a Convalescent Care Hospital. She died on September 25, 1980, in Stockholm. Under was mistakenly cremated against her wish. As an emigrant writer, she did not enjoy in Estonian Soviet Socialist Republic official favor, although she was removed in the 1950s from the list of banned authors, and her eightieth birthday was noted also in the former Soviet Estonia. Under's literary fame survived the political upheavals of the Cold War and as a sign of this, the Under and Tuglas Center for Literary Research has been founded in the house where Under worked in the 1930s.


 
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Scrittori dimenticati:Cyril Collard

Post n°3356 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

Cyril Collard (Parigi19 dicembre 1957 – Parigi5 marzo 1993) è stato uno scrittoreregistaattore e compositore francese.

Collard è noto per le sue descrizioni artistiche - esposte senza alibi - di bisessualità e HIV, soprattutto nel suo romanzo e poi film autobiografico Le Notti selvagge (Les nuits fauves).

Dichiaratamente bisessuale, Collard è stato anche uno dei primi artisti francesi a parlare apertamente della sua condizione di sieropositivo.

 
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Scrittori dimenticati:Seumas O'Kelly

Post n°3355 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

Scrittore e giornalista irlandese,simpatizzante del Sinn Fein,partecipò all'Easter Rising del 1916 e venne incarcerato.Morì nel 1918,in seguito alle brutali percosse di soldati inglesi che avevano fatto irruzione nel suo giornale per festeggiare la vittoria.

 
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Ritratti di donna:Rebecca Salomè Foster

Post n°3354 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

EARLY in the morning of the 22d of February, 1902, a fire occurred in one of the large hotels of New York. The flames broke out so suddenly, and spread so swiftly, that many of the guests were unable to escape. Among those who perished was a woman whose life for many years had been given to the doing of golden deeds.

Men knew this woman as the Tombs Angel. The name was a title of honor which queens might well covet. It was a strange epithet, but it described in two words the work and character of her to whom it was applied. It was in itself, as one of her friends most aptly said, a patent of nobility.

How had she earned that title?

By her good works.

There is in the city of New York a famous prison known the world over as The Tombs. Massive, gloomy, and strong, it is a place of sorrow and tears and dread forebodings.

[257] Men and women who have been accused of crime are confined there to await their trial by due process of law. The most of them will go out to suffer in the penitentiaries and workhouses the punishment that is due for their wrongdoings. A few may be found innocent of crime and permitted to return to freedom, disgraced, perhaps, for life by the fact of having been confined within prison walls.

Here many of the world's most famous criminals have spent days and months behind the bars. Here also have been confined hundreds of unfortunates, men and women, whom want or evil companionship or momentary weakness has driven into crime. If you have never visited a prison, you cannot imagine the woe, the misery, the hopelessness of such a place.

It was here that Rebecca Salome Foster labored unselfishly and unceasingly for many years, cheering the downhearted, comforting the distressed, and sowing good seeds even in the hearts of the most depraved. Her bright face, her comforting words, her cheerful manner, carried sunshine into the gloomiest cells, gave hope to the despairing, and uplifted the most unfortunate.

[258] Is it any wonder that these poor creatures gave her the noble title of the Tombs Angel?

"For many years," said District Attorney Jerome, "she came and went among us with but a single purpose—

" 'That men might rise on stepping stones

Of their dead selves to higher things!'

"There is a word which is seldom used. It is the word 'holy.' To us who are daily brought into contact with the misfortunes and sins of humanity, it seems almost a lost word. Yet in all that that word means to English-speaking peoples, it seems to me that it could be applied to her. She was, indeed, a 'holy woman.' "

In winter and in summer, on stormy days as well as on fair, Mrs. Foster was always at her post of duty. She served without the hope of reward, and solely for the good that she could do.

Numberless were the hearts which she cheered; numberless were the weary ones whose burdens she lightened; and numberless, too, were the erring men and women whom her sweet influences brought back to paths of virtue and right doing.

Not only was she loved by the prisoners, but she [259] was esteemed and venerated by the keepers of the jail and especially by the judges and officers of the city courts. And many kind-hearted people, hearing of her good works, lent her a helping hand. Every year a certain charitable society placed in her hands several thousand dollars to be expended in her work in such ways as she thought best.

Often the money which she received from others was not enough, and then she drew freely from her own means, never expecting any return. To help a poor outcast to a fresh start in life, to give relief to the innocent family of some convicted criminal, to put in the way of some unfortunate man or woman the means of earning an honest living—to do these and a thousand other services she was always ready.

Many are the stories that are told of her golden deeds. Perhaps none show more clearly her self-sacrificing spirit than the following: —

One day a poor woman, the wretchedest of the wretched, was brought to the prison guilty of a crime to which her weakness and her extreme want had driven her. She was cold, she was staring, she was in tatters and rags.

[260] Here surely was work for a ministering angel.

Mrs. Foster hastened to give her such immediate comfort as she could. She removed the poor wretch's bedraggled dress, and gave her her own warm overskirt, instead.

Was there ever a nobler example of Christian charity?

We are reminded of Sir Philip Sidney on the field of Zutphen and his gift to the dying soldier, "Thy necessity is greater than mine."

And so, untiringly and without a thought of self, the Tombs Angel went on with her work, little thinking what men would say, dreaming nothing of honor or fame, caring only to lighten the burdens of the heavy-laden. Then, suddenly and with but little warning, she was called to pass out through fire into the kingdom prepared for those who love their Lord.

Who would not sorrow for such a woman?

Even the officers whose duty is was to prosecute the prisoners in the Tombs wept when her death was announced. The eyes of the judges were filled with tears. The city courts adjourned for the day in honor of the memory of the Tombs [261] Angel. And on the following Sunday, in more than one church, a well-known parable was read with a meaning that was new and strangely forcible to those who listened:—

"Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, 'Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat. I was thirsty, and ye gave me bring. I was a stranger, and ye took me in; naked, and ye clothed me. I was sick and ye visited me. I was in prison, and ye came unto me.'

"Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, 'Lord, when saw we thee an hungered, and fed thee? Or thirsty, and gave thee drink? When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?'

"And the King shall answer and say unto them, 'Verily, I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me?' "


 
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Sei (Boye)

Post n°3353 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

Sei la mia consolazione più pura,

sei il mio più fermo rifugio,

tu sei il meglio che ho

perché niente fa male come te.

 

No, niente fa male come te.

Bruci come ghiaccio e fuoco,

tagli come acciaio la mia anima –

tu sei il meglio che ho.

 
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Libri dimenticati:La biblioteca dei libri proibiti

Post n°3352 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

Bel romanzo di Harding,che ha come protagonista una ragazzina di dodici anni.Ricorda "Giro di vite"di James

 
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Frase delgiorno

Post n°3351 pubblicato il 03 Agosto 2012 da odette.teresa1958

Idiota:membro di una grande e potente tribù che da secoli ha dominio assoluto sulle vicende umane (Bierce)

 
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