Författare: Annzah
Dagens dikt: We real cool av Gwendolyn Brooks
Varför hör man aldrig talas om Gwendolyn Brooks? Detta är den enda dikt jag kan av henne, men hon har ju vunnit Pulitzerpriset och allt möjligt upptäckte jag nu när jag researchade lite. Man borde ha lite bättre koll!
==
The Pool Players.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.
Seven at the Golden Shovel.
We real cool. We
Left school. We
Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We
Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We
Jazz June. We
Die soon.
==
ShoppingFAIL
Idag har jag och pappa julpysslat lite. Det sista på schemat var skumtomtefudge.
Tur att vi kom ihåg att köpa skumtomtar då… haha.
Only in America…
Bokutmaning: Dag 10 – Favoritbok: klassiker
Bokutmaning: Dag 10 – Favoritbok: klassiker
Brideshead revisited av Evelyn Waugh
Jag satt här och funderade, Dickens? Jane Austen? Någon av Brontësystrarna? 
Men så klickade det till i huvudet. Naturligtvis Brideshead Revisited!
((Och ännu ett tillfälle där jag varit säker på att författaren som hette Evelyn var en kvinna.))
Jag kommer ihåg att jag läste om den i Linda Skugges första krönikebok faktiskt, Fast då var jag tolv och trodde att Sebastian Flytes efternamn uttalades ”flyte”, som på svenska.
Hur som helst, Charles Ryder återkommer till godset Brideshead från andra världskriget. Han spenderade mycket tid där som ung – Sebastian Flyte var studiekamrat till honom vid Oxford – och han tittar tillbaka på sin tid under studierna och på besök hos familjen Flyte.
Språket är så otroligt att man baxnar lite. Det går knappt att beskriva hur fantastiskt det är, så vackert och inspirerat och jag vill säga exquisite men kommer inte på en bra svensk synonym.
Sebastian är i mångt och mycket ett förvuxet barn – han vill helst inte vara utan sin teddybjörn Aloysius. Men hans och Charles vänskap är innerlig, och det är en väldigt fin roman.
Dagens Buzzfeed-länkar
Jag vet att det kanske är tråkigt att jag bara lägger in en massa länkar vissa dagar men jag hoppas att de är värda er tid 🙂
Dagens dikt: The Pig av Roald Dahl
Tihi!
==
In England once there lived a big
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn’t read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn’t puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, ‘By gum, I’ve got the answer! ‘
‘They want my bacon slice by slice
‘To sell at a tremendous price!
‘They want my tender juicy chops
‘To put in all the butcher’s shops!
‘They want my pork to make a roast
‘And that’s the part’ll cost the most!
‘They want my sausages in strings!
‘They even want my chitterlings!
‘The butcher’s shop! The carving knife!
‘That is the reason for my life! ‘
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great piece of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grisly bit
So let’s not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
‘I had a fairly powerful hunch
‘That he might have me for his lunch.
‘And so, because I feared the worst,
‘I thought I’d better eat him first.’
And wonderfully clever pig.
To everybody it was plain
That Piggy had a massive brain.
He worked out sums inside his head,
There was no book he hadn’t read.
He knew what made an airplane fly,
He knew how engines worked and why.
He knew all this, but in the end
One question drove him round the bend:
He simply couldn’t puzzle out
What LIFE was really all about.
What was the reason for his birth?
Why was he placed upon this earth?
His giant brain went round and round.
Alas, no answer could be found.
Till suddenly one wondrous night.
All in a flash he saw the light.
He jumped up like a ballet dancer
And yelled, ‘By gum, I’ve got the answer! ‘
‘They want my bacon slice by slice
‘To sell at a tremendous price!
‘They want my tender juicy chops
‘To put in all the butcher’s shops!
‘They want my pork to make a roast
‘And that’s the part’ll cost the most!
‘They want my sausages in strings!
‘They even want my chitterlings!
‘The butcher’s shop! The carving knife!
‘That is the reason for my life! ‘
Such thoughts as these are not designed
To give a pig great piece of mind.
Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland,
A pail of pigswill in his hand,
And piggy with a mighty roar,
Bashes the farmer to the floor…
Now comes the rather grisly bit
So let’s not make too much of it,
Except that you must understand
That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,
He ate him up from head to toe,
Chewing the pieces nice and slow.
It took an hour to reach the feet,
Because there was so much to eat,
And when he finished, Pig, of course,
Felt absolutely no remorse.
Slowly he scratched his brainy head
And with a little smile he said,
‘I had a fairly powerful hunch
‘That he might have me for his lunch.
‘And so, because I feared the worst,
‘I thought I’d better eat him first.’
==
Bokutmaning: Dag 09 – En bok du inte trodde att du skulle tycka om men i slutändan älskade
Bokutmaning: Dag 09 – En bok du inte trodde att du skulle tycka om men i slutändan älskade
Grabben i graven bredvid av Katarina Mazetti
Det är nästan otroligt att jag trodde att jag inte skulle gilla Grabben, för det är en av mina absoluta favoritböcker. Jag minns att alla vuxna läste den en sommar, kan ha varit 1994, och skrattade så de höll på att få andnöd. Kanske var det just därför som jag trodde att den skulle vara en tråkig vuxenbok?
Men m
ilde himmel. Det är den ju inte. Eller ja, vuxenbok må vara hänt, men inte tråkig.
ilde himmel. Det är den ju inte. Eller ja, vuxenbok må vara hänt, men inte tråkig. Jag vet inte om jag någonsin skrattat så hysteriskt åt en bok – möjligen Mazettis andra romaner, uppföljaren till Grabben, Familjegraven, är också vansinnigt rolig. Ja, och Bert och Sune har jag ju också skrattat mig igenom.
Grejen är väl galghumorn. Det händer hemska saker i båda böckerna om Desirée och Benny, men det blir aldrig sentimentalt. Vilket jag gillar skarpt. Jag orkar inte med bara drama och sorg, det får gärna hända saker men de får gärna bli presenterade på ett lite bättre sätt än bara doom and gloom.
Och gapskrattandet börjar ganska tidigt, när Desirée beskriver sina ben som brännbollsträn. Och Bennys förklaring om sin förälskelse till Bengt-Göran om att det väl inte sa klick precis utan kändes mest som att luta sig mot elstängslet. Och middagen hos Desirées arbetskamrat. Herregud, jag skulle väl kunna skriva ner hela boken här för gud vet att jag har läst den mer än tio gånger.
Och jag skrattar fortfarande så att jag får hålla kudden över ansiktet om jag är hos mamma och pappa. Det är ett himla bra betyg.
Dagens dikt: An almost made up poem av Charles Bukowski
Detta är en speciell dikt. Väldigt speciell. Man kan inte läsa den rad för rad, utan som en sammanhängande text.
==
I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.
==
Bokutmaning: Dag 08 – Den mest överskattade boken
Bokutmaning: Dag 08 – Den mest överskattade boken
Gömda av Liza Marklund och Mia Eriksson
Tja, jag tror inte direkt att det kommer som en chock att det blir denna boken som är mest överskattad. 
Jag minns hur alla vuxna i min omgivning läste den på nittiotalet och förfasades, och jag minns när jag själv läste den några år senare och förfasades själv.
När det blev utrett att praktiskt taget allting är ett enda stort ljug blev jag nästan besviken. Så kan man väl omöjligt göra?
Numera står Gömda i romansektionen på bibliotek och i bokhandlar. Man kan nämligen inte kalla något som inte är sant för biografi.
Dessutom skriver ju Liza Marklund som en kratta. Men det är en annan sak.
