Onlangs heb ik mijn boekenkast opgeruimd,
wat mij in verwarde toestand achterliet.
Tenminste drie boeken
bleken spoorloos verdwenen:
- Richard Adams, Shardick
- Elias Canetti, Het martyrium
- Robert Pirsig, Zen en de kunst van het motoronderhoud
Een ongeluk wordt gevreesd.
Vooral natuurlijk
als ik er achter kom waar ze zijn.
1 opmerking:
Volgens mij heb ik "Zen" jaren geleden op Floortje's kamer in Boxtel zien liggen, en die kamer is volgens mij sindsdien niet echt opgeruimd. Ik dacht dat ze ook "Nooit meer slapen" van je had, en ik heb hier in Amsterdam van jou nog "De vloek van Wittgenstein" liggen, dat ik nog niet gelezen heb overigens. Momenteel ben ik aan het genieten van het geniale "Tortilla Flat" van John Steinbeck. Twee fragmenten:
"One night he had a dollar, acquired in a manner so astounding that he tried to forget it immediately for fear the memory might make him mad. A man in front of the San Carlos hotel had put the dollar in his hand, saying, "Run down and get four bottles of ginger-ale. The hotel is out." Such things were almost miracles, Pilon thought. One should take them on faith, not worry and question them. He took the dollar up the road to give to Danny, but on the way he bought a gallon of wine, and with the wine he lured two plump girls into his house."
"The afternoon came down as imperceptibly as age comes to a happy man. A little gold entered into the sunlight. The bay became bluer and dimpled with shore-wind ripples. Those lonely fishermen who believe that the fish bite at high tide left their rocks, and their places were taken by others, who were convinced that the fish bite at low tide.
At three o'clock the wind veered around and blew softly in from the bay, bringing all manner of fine kelp odors. The menders of nets in the vacant lots of Monterey put down their spindles and rolled cigarettes. Through the streets of the town, fat ladies, in whose eyes lay the weariness and the wisdom one sees so often in the eyes of pigs, were trundled in overpowered motor cars toward tea and gin fizzes at the Hotel Del Monte. On Alvarado Street, Hugo Machado, the tailor, put a sign in his shop door, "Back in Five Minutes," and went home for the day. The pines waved slowly and voluptuously. The hens in a hundred hen yards complained in placid tones of their evil lot."
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