Frank McCourt, John Dryden
Der amerikanische Schriftsteller Francis „Frank“ McCourt wurde am 19. August 1930 in New York als ältester Sohn einer irischen Einwandererfamilie in Brooklyn geboren. Als er vier Jahre alt war, kehrte seine Familie nach Irland zurück, da seine Eltern aufgrund der Großen Depression in New York keine Arbeit fanden. McCourt verbrachte den Rest seiner Kindheit und Jugend in ärmlichen Verhältnissen im katholisch geprägten Limerick. Sein Vater Malachy war arbeitslos und vertrank häufig das Stempelgeld. Als Frank McCourt zehn Jahre alt war, ging der Vater nach England, um dort in einer Fabrik zu arbeiten. Geld schickte er nicht, so musste Frank McCourt zusammen mit seiner Mutter Angela für die jüngeren Geschwister Malachy McCourt, Michael und Alphey sorgen. 1949 hatte er sich den Traum seiner Jugend zusammengespart: Die Fahrkarte zurück nach New York. Nach dem Ende seines Studiums unterrichtete er an verschiedenen Schulen als Englischlehrer. Zuletzt war er 15 Jahre an der renommierten Stuyvesant High School in New York. Dort unterrichtete er vor allem kreatives Schreiben. Frank McCourt war zweimal verheiratet, seine Tochter Margaret stammt aus erster Ehe. Im Ruhestand verarbeitete Frank McCourt seine schwierige Kindheit und Jugend in dem autobiografischen Roman Die Asche meiner Mutter (1996). Das Buch wurde mit über 6 Mio. Exemplaren zum internationalen Bestseller und brachte seinem Autor 1996 den National Book Critics Circle Award und 1997 den Pulitzer-Preis. Der Roman wurde 1999 von Alan Parker verfilmt. Am 19. Juli 2009 verstarb Frank McCourt in einem Hospiz in Manhattan, New York,
Aus: Tis
“When the MS Irish Oak sailed from Cork in October 1949, we expected tobe in New York City in a week. Instead, after two days at sea, we were told wewere going to Montreal in Canada. I told the first officer all I had was fortydollars and would Irish Shipping pay my train fare from Montreal to New York. Hesaid, No, the company wasn't responsible. He said freighters are the whores ofthe high seas, they'll do anything for anyone. You could say a freighter is likeMurphy's oul' dog, he'll go part of the road with any wanderer.Two days later Irish Shipping changed its mind and gave us the happy news,Sail for New York City, but two days after that the captain was told, Sail forAlbany.The first officer told me Albany was a city far up the Hudson River, capitalof New York State. He said Albany had all the charm of Limerick, ha ha ha, agreat place to die but not a place where you'd want to get married or rearchildren. He was from Dublin and knew I was from Limerick and when he sneered atLimerick I didn't know what to do. I'd like to destroy him with a smart remarkbut then I'd look at myself in the mirror, pimply face, sore eyes, and bad teethand know I could never stand up to anyone, especially a first officer with auniform and a promising future as master of his own ship. Then I'd say tomyself, Why should I care what anyone says about Limerick anyway? All I hadthere was misery.Then the peculiar thing would happen. I'd sit on a deck chair in the lovelyOctober sun with the gorgeous blue Atlantic all around me and try to imaginewhat New York would be like. I'd try to see Fifth Avenue or Central Park orGreenwich Village where everyone looked like movie stars, powerful tans,gleaming white teeth. But Limerick would push me into the past. Instead of mesauntering up Fifth Avenue with the tan, the teeth, I'd be back in the lanes ofLimerick, women standing at doors chatting away and pulling their shawls aroundtheir shoulders, children with faces dirty from bread and jam, playing andlaughing and crying to their mothers.“
Frank McCourt (19. August 1930 – 19. Juli 2009)
Der englische Schriftsteller John Dryden wurde am 19. August 1631 als Spross einer puritanischen Familie in Aldwincle bei Huntingdon geboren, besuchte die Westminster School und wechselte später zur Universität Cambridge über. Um 1657 wurde er in London Schreiber des Kämmerers des Lordprotektors Oliver Cromwell. Nach der Restauration der Stuartmonarchie wandelte sich Dryden zum Royalisten und huldigte König Karl II. in den Gedichten Astraea redux (1660) und Panegyric on the Coronation (1661). 1663 heiratete er Lady Elizabeth Howard, die Schwester seines Gönners, des Höflings und Dramatikers Sir Robert Howard. 1668 wurde Dryden als erster Dichter offiziell in den Stand eines Poeta laureatus erhoben. Zwei Jahre später erhielt er ein Amt als königlicher Geschichtsschreiber. Obgleich Dryden sich in seinem religiösen Lehrgedicht Religio Laici, or, A Layman’s Faith (1682; Die Religion eines Laien) klar zum Protestantismus bekannt hatte, trat er 1685 zum katholischen Glauben über. Dass in jenem Jahr mit König Jakob II. ein Anhänger des Katholizismus den Thron bestieg, mag ein Grund für die Konvertierung gewesen sein. Nach der Glorious Revolution 1688 und während der Regierungszeit des protestantischen Königs Wilhelm III. blieb Dryden Katholik, verlor dadurch jedoch seine Position als Poeta laureatus und hatte keine finanziellen Zuwendungen mehr zu erwarten. 1699 schrieb er sein letztes Werk, das noch zu seinen Lebzeiten veröffentlicht wurde.
One Happy Moment
NO, no, poor suff'ring Heart, no Change endeavour,
Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;
My ravish'd eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her:
One tender Sigh of hers to see me languish,
Will more than pay the price of my past anguish:
Beware, O cruel Fair, how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.
Love has in store for me one happy minute,
And She will end my pain who did begin it;
Then no day void of bliss, or pleasure leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
Cupid shall guard the door the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us:
Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying,
Love has found out a way to live, by dying.
Hidden Flame
FEED a flame within, which so torments me
That it both pains my heart, and yet contains me:
'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,
That I had rather die than once remove it.
Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it;
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.
Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses,
But they fall silently, like dew on roses.
Thus, to prevent my Love from being cruel,
My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel;
And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.
On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me;
While I conceal my love no frown can fright me.
To be more happy I dare not aspire,
Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher.
John Dryden (19. August 1631 – 12. Mai 1700)
Aus: Tis
“When the MS Irish Oak sailed from Cork in October 1949, we expected tobe in New York City in a week. Instead, after two days at sea, we were told wewere going to Montreal in Canada. I told the first officer all I had was fortydollars and would Irish Shipping pay my train fare from Montreal to New York. Hesaid, No, the company wasn't responsible. He said freighters are the whores ofthe high seas, they'll do anything for anyone. You could say a freighter is likeMurphy's oul' dog, he'll go part of the road with any wanderer.Two days later Irish Shipping changed its mind and gave us the happy news,Sail for New York City, but two days after that the captain was told, Sail forAlbany.The first officer told me Albany was a city far up the Hudson River, capitalof New York State. He said Albany had all the charm of Limerick, ha ha ha, agreat place to die but not a place where you'd want to get married or rearchildren. He was from Dublin and knew I was from Limerick and when he sneered atLimerick I didn't know what to do. I'd like to destroy him with a smart remarkbut then I'd look at myself in the mirror, pimply face, sore eyes, and bad teethand know I could never stand up to anyone, especially a first officer with auniform and a promising future as master of his own ship. Then I'd say tomyself, Why should I care what anyone says about Limerick anyway? All I hadthere was misery.Then the peculiar thing would happen. I'd sit on a deck chair in the lovelyOctober sun with the gorgeous blue Atlantic all around me and try to imaginewhat New York would be like. I'd try to see Fifth Avenue or Central Park orGreenwich Village where everyone looked like movie stars, powerful tans,gleaming white teeth. But Limerick would push me into the past. Instead of mesauntering up Fifth Avenue with the tan, the teeth, I'd be back in the lanes ofLimerick, women standing at doors chatting away and pulling their shawls aroundtheir shoulders, children with faces dirty from bread and jam, playing andlaughing and crying to their mothers.“
Frank McCourt (19. August 1930 – 19. Juli 2009)
Der englische Schriftsteller John Dryden wurde am 19. August 1631 als Spross einer puritanischen Familie in Aldwincle bei Huntingdon geboren, besuchte die Westminster School und wechselte später zur Universität Cambridge über. Um 1657 wurde er in London Schreiber des Kämmerers des Lordprotektors Oliver Cromwell. Nach der Restauration der Stuartmonarchie wandelte sich Dryden zum Royalisten und huldigte König Karl II. in den Gedichten Astraea redux (1660) und Panegyric on the Coronation (1661). 1663 heiratete er Lady Elizabeth Howard, die Schwester seines Gönners, des Höflings und Dramatikers Sir Robert Howard. 1668 wurde Dryden als erster Dichter offiziell in den Stand eines Poeta laureatus erhoben. Zwei Jahre später erhielt er ein Amt als königlicher Geschichtsschreiber. Obgleich Dryden sich in seinem religiösen Lehrgedicht Religio Laici, or, A Layman’s Faith (1682; Die Religion eines Laien) klar zum Protestantismus bekannt hatte, trat er 1685 zum katholischen Glauben über. Dass in jenem Jahr mit König Jakob II. ein Anhänger des Katholizismus den Thron bestieg, mag ein Grund für die Konvertierung gewesen sein. Nach der Glorious Revolution 1688 und während der Regierungszeit des protestantischen Königs Wilhelm III. blieb Dryden Katholik, verlor dadurch jedoch seine Position als Poeta laureatus und hatte keine finanziellen Zuwendungen mehr zu erwarten. 1699 schrieb er sein letztes Werk, das noch zu seinen Lebzeiten veröffentlicht wurde.
One Happy Moment
NO, no, poor suff'ring Heart, no Change endeavour,
Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her;
My ravish'd eyes behold such charms about her,
I can die with her, but not live without her:
One tender Sigh of hers to see me languish,
Will more than pay the price of my past anguish:
Beware, O cruel Fair, how you smile on me,
'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.
Love has in store for me one happy minute,
And She will end my pain who did begin it;
Then no day void of bliss, or pleasure leaving,
Ages shall slide away without perceiving:
Cupid shall guard the door the more to please us,
And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize us:
Time and Death shall depart, and say in flying,
Love has found out a way to live, by dying.
Hidden Flame
FEED a flame within, which so torments me
That it both pains my heart, and yet contains me:
'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,
That I had rather die than once remove it.
Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it;
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.
Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses,
But they fall silently, like dew on roses.
Thus, to prevent my Love from being cruel,
My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel;
And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.
On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me;
While I conceal my love no frown can fright me.
To be more happy I dare not aspire,
Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher.
John Dryden (19. August 1631 – 12. Mai 1700)
froumen - 19. Aug, 18:36
