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Wellsi viiteprobleem: The Guardian: War of the words: HG Wells coin also features false quote. https://www.theguardian.com/books/2021/jan/08/war-of-the-words-hg-wells-coin-also-features-false-quote

Virginia Woolf[muuda]

Virginia Woolf (sünninimi Adeline Virginia Stephen; 25. jaanuar 1882, South Kensington, London – 28. märts 1941 Lewes, Ida-Sussex, Inglismaa) oli Briti kirjanik ja feminist, üks tähtsamaid modernistliku romaani esindajaid. Tema tuntuimate teoste sekka kuuluvad "Proua Dalloway" (1925), "Tuletorni juurde" (1927), "Orlando" (1928) ja "Lained" (1931), samuti feminismiklassikasse kuuluv essee "Oma tuba" (1929). "Proua Dallowayl" põhineb omakorda Michael Cunninghami romaan "Tunnid" (1999).

Eesti keeles on ilmunud Woolfi romaanid "Tuletorni juurde" (tlk Malle Talvet ja Jaak Rähesoo, 1983 ja 2005), "Orlando: elulugu" (tlk Riina Jesmin, 1997), "Proua Dalloway" (tlk Riina Jesmin, 1998), "Lained" (tlk Riina Jesmin, 1999 ja 2008), samuti essee "Oma tuba" (tlk Malle Talvet, 1994), valimik "Esseed" (tlk Malle Talvet ja Jaak Rähesoo, 1997) ning rida lühiproosat ja esseid ajakirjades: "Kew Gardens" (tõlkinud Inna Feldbach, Looming 1975/8), "Kaasaegne proosa" (tõlkinud Jaak Rähesoo, Looming 1982/1), "Kolm pilti" (tõlkinud Malle Talvet, Vikerkaar 1991/7), "Tellija ning krookus", "Viiv", "Suveõhtu" (tõlkinud Malle Talvet, Looming 1991/12), "Kuidas rabab kaasaegset" (tõlkinud Jaak Rähesoo, Looming 1992/8).

  • So with the house empty and the doors locked and the mattresses rolled round, those stray airs, advance guards of great armies, blustered in, brushed bare boards, nibbled and fanned, met nothing in bedroom or drawing-room that wholly resisted them but only hangings that flapped, wood that creaked, the bare legs of tables, saucepans and china already furred, tarnished, cracked. What people had shed and left - a pair of shoes, a shooting cap, some faded skirts and coats in wardrobes - these alone kept the human shape and the emptiness indicated how once they were filled and animated; how once hands were busy with hooks and buttons; how once the looking glass had held a face; had held a world hallowed out in which a figure turned, a hand flashed, the door opened, in came children, rushing and tumbling; and went out again.
    • Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse, Harmondsworth, Penguin, [1929] 1975, 147. Motto for Carolyn Steedman, "Dust".

Anna Murray Vail[muuda]

"Märkmeid Smythe'i maakonna floorast Virginias, III"[muuda]

Anna Murray Vail, "Notes on the Flora of Smythe County, Virginia. III", Garden and Forest, 17. august 1892, lk 388-389

  • pOPULAR tradition declares that the distance from Marion ·*־ to White Top Summit is twenty-eight miles, and even the most hardened mountaineer calls it the very worst road in the state, and looks upon the ascent of the mountain as an achieve· ment for a lifetime. Most of the residents of Marion look what they called "that ׳ere company" fora party of full-fledged lunatics, when they learned that'we meditated its ascent a second time, having already spent three nights upon the summit.

Our traveling outfit consisted of two wagons—one fairly strong, drawn by a team of good horses, the other bearing a perilous resemblance to the "deacon's one-hoss shay “ toward the close of its magic century. The team, however, was good, though the driver was not a man of brilliant intellect. Neither of the men, born and bred in Marion, had ever been on the mountains, and both would infinitely have preferred to stay at home.

It was on a dull day during the last week in May that we started. The road was passably good till we began (he ascent of Iron Mountain, which was crossed at an altitude of over three thousand feet in a driving hail-storm. Along the gap, among the Hemlocks, there was a small grove of White Pine and beautiful thickets of Rhododendron Catawbiense intermingled with Mountain Maples (Acer spicatum), Striped Maples (A. Pennsylvanicum) and great hedges of the luxuriant Purple-flowering Raspberry (Rubus odoratus).

The road on the descent of Iron Mountain winds for two or three miles along White Top-tree Creek; the many small brooks that feed it run through dense forests consisting for the most part of Hemlock. Some of the trees are magnificent specimens, three to four feet or even more in diameter, and tower above everything else in the gloomy ravine, where Rhododendron maximum made an impenetrable tangle, individual plants being over twenty-five feet in height and tree-like in character. Kalmia La ti folia was there also in great abundance, quite respectable little trees, with the gnarled, picturesque aspect of old Apple-trees. At that season, however, the only conspicuous tree in flower was Magnolia Fraseri. Manv of them must have exceeded the filty feet given as their height in Gray's Manual, for in some instances they seemed to rival the giant Hemlocks themselves. These made a picture to be remembered long. All along the gorge the straight, slim Magnolias, their light green leaves glistening with the rain-drops from the sudden shower, stood out in such dear outline *against their dark evergreen background that each graceful, perfect flower seemed conscious of its beauty. For several miles at each turn of the road we saw a scries of lovely trec-groups, and though, of course, there were many other interesting and remarkable trees. Chestnuts, Maples, Oaks and Tulips, the remembrance is only of the Hemlocks and Magnolias.

At a fork of the road we missed the right turning, and in consequence had to endure six miles, instead of two, of the roughest of corduroy roads; our ״*one-hoss shay,’* unlike its lamous prototype, breaking down on an average every two hours. We were unable to reach the mountain that night, and took refuge in a small wayside inn near Green Cove on the North Carolina border, some twelve miles by the roud from the top.

Near the spring where our hostess kept her milk-uans and great stone jars of butter, we found an antique Kaimia that has survived many winters. It was about twenty-live feet tall, and at six inches from the ground measured seven feet and two inches ; at one foot from the ground four feet and three inches in circumference. It was not yet in bloom, but its magnificent proportions compcltcd our admiration.

Among the plants not collected before, nearer Marion, was Phacelia finibriata, with charming little white flowers, a smaller and more delicate species than P. Purshii. With it along a little mountain stream was the tiny spring beauty, Claytonia Caroliniana, in fruit. The woods were all second growth, and, with few exceptions, large trees were seldom seen. A thousand feet or so below the summit we passed through a belt of Spruce-trees growing in a deep black loam bog. Clintonia umbellata grew there in great beds and was at its best; C. borealis was just beginning to show its pretty green bells, and unusually large specimens of the yellow Adder’s· tongue (Erythronium Americanum) were still blooming. Streptopus roseus, with its tiny rosy bells, was plentiful; the delicate white Thalictrum clavatum grew along every little rill and ditch, as did also a particularly large and handsome swamp form of Viola cucullata.

Of all the swamp flowers, however, the roost conspicuous and luxuriant was Anemone trifolia. Tins charming little plant, so long confounded with A. nemorosa, has rather an interesting history, which has recently been published by Dr. britton in one ol the Afrmoirs of the Torrey Club. It was collected twenty-five years or more ago by Mr. Canby on the Salt Pond Mountain, and again by Mr. Curtiss on the Peaks of Otter. It had been considered a distinct species, but on comparing it with the European A. trifolia it was found to be identical, and republished as such. Two years ago we found it in great abundance in flower and fruit in the localities mentioned above, und all through the higher altitudes of the Smythe County mountains we found it this year in even greater quantities, and especially fine in the great swamp on While Top. The plant stands mostly six to eight inches hign,and sometimes even higher, and has m every way larger and coarser leaves and larger flowers than the trail little Wood Anemone of the northern lowland woods.

The Spruces were neither very old nor very large trees, and their very ancient appearance was caused by the luxuriance of the moss and lichen crop with which their trunks and branches were covered. Above the Spruce-swamp, on the edge of the road, stood a venerable Hirch, one of the remains of the older forest on the mountain—a great gnarled old trunk that measured at three feet from the ground within two inches of twenty-three feet in circumference. Some twenty feet or more from the ground the main trunk was separated into four great erect branches, each a large tree in itself.

Range after range of billowy forest-clad mountain-tops of ever-increasing height, with the Roan and Grandfather mountains for a somewhat hazy background against a cloudless midday sky, was the sight that greeted us as we came out of the woods'on to the great open field at an altitude of over 5.600 feet. The mountain-slope was not precipitous, but the great semicircle of North Carolina mountains lay apparently just at our feet. The grassy, rocky field, many acres in extent, the gra/ing-ground of many cattle, spreads right and left of the httle group of cabins, where we stayed that night. The actual summit is covered with a dense forest of Black Spruce /Picea nigra). The grass is strewn with Violets and little low iitraw-berry-blossoms, and above, near the trees, the dainty little Carolina Claytonia was blooming, while the fragrant Trailing Arbutus still lingered in the dense shade. Under the Spruces we walked nearly knee-deep in luxuriant mosses, and the Cryptogamic collection was very large and mosi interesting. On (he topmos( cliff Rho<lodendron Catawbiense hardly showed signs of color on its great buds, though along the valleys we had collected and seen i( in bloom fora couple of weeks. From those rocks we saw three white-iiowered shrubs and trees blooming in the valley below : Amelanchier Canadensis, the Servicc-uerry of the natives, its fruit already tinged with red; the Wild Red Cherry (Pro n us Pennsylvanica), a graceful little tree covered with slender-pedicelled, delicate white blossoms, and the crowning glory of the whole, the Hobble-bush (Viburnum lantanoides). its great Hydrangea-like creamy cymes shining among the dark evergreens ",like a good deed in a naughty world."

Some of (he moss-covered boulders were overgrown with clumps of (he Fetid Currant {Ribes prostratum), a pretty shrub notwithstanding its rather forbidding name, which, however, is well merited.

Early the next day we started on the return (rip by a shorter and somewhat better road. On the south-east side of the mountain the white Baneberry (Act.׳ea alba), (he Blue Cohosh (CaulophyCum (halic(roides). with strange, inconspicuous little greenish and brownish Mowers, and the Umbrella-leaf (Diphyl* leia cvmosa) had foi* a distance complete possession of the wood's. The Diphylleia is a tall, handsome plant, with large, coarse, roundish peltate leaves and small cymes of white flowers with bright golden-yellow stamens. Along the road (wo yellow Umbelliferous plants were abundant, the small Zizia Bcbbii, and the larger, more showy Thaspium barbinode. At a somewhat lower altitude we found a thicket of Menziesia glohularis, wi(h what in the Manual is called Vaccinium corvmbosum, var. pallidum. The Blueberry is a slender shrub, with Hat. spreading, very light green leaved branches and very full clusters of greenish white bells. The Pipe-vinc (Aristolochia SiphoJ grew high over shrubs and up on trees, and was covered with its strange little brown flowers.

During the latter port of (he descent we were caught in another storm, and reached Marion at nightfall in a drenched condition. The luxuriance and almost abnormal growth of the mountain vegetation are not to be wondered at when the rainfall is taken into consideration. The day without a thunderstorm or sudden, short shower was a rarity, and a three days' drought happened only once during our six weeks'sojourn in the county.

Epi Tohvri[muuda]

Epi Tohvri (sündinud 12. märtsil 1970) on eesti kunstiteadlane ja arhitektuuriajaloolane, kes on uurinud peamiselt valgustusajastu (18.–19. sajandi) arhitektuuri, ülikoolide akadeemilist struktuuri ja ehituslugu ning ajaloolist pedagoogikat Atlandi-üleses võrdluses.

"Georges Frédéric Parrot"[muuda]

Tsitaadid väljaandest: Epi Tohvri, "Georges Frédéric Parrot: Tartu Keiserliku Ülikooli esimene rektor" Tartu: Tartu Ülikooli Kirjastus, 2019

  • "Georges Frédéric Parrot' visioon valgustusajastu ülikooli uuest struktuurist Tartu ülikoolis 19. sajandi alguses". Rahvusarhiivi Toimetised =Acta et Commentationes Archivi Nationalis Estoniae, 2/2018, lk 227−260
  • "Valgustusajastu uue ülikooli idee – "Akadeemiline küla" – Thomas Jeffersoni poolt kavandatud Virginia ülikooli kontseptuaalne seos Tartu ülikooliga 19. sajandi alguses". Kunstiteaduslikke Uurimusi = Studies on art and architecture = Studien für Kunstwissenschaft, 26, 2018, 64−91
  • "Otto Friedrich von Pistohlkors ja Rutikvere mõis". Kodres, K.; Maiste, J. (toim.). "Eesti kunsti ajalugu. 3. osa, 1770-1840 = History of Estonian art. 3, 1770-1840" (lk 64−68). Eesti Kunstiakadeemia, 2017.
  • "Vabamüürlusest Venemaal ja Läänemere ääres". Tuna. Ajalookultuuri ajakiri, 2/2016, lk 143–146
  • "J. W. Krause arhitektuurikabinet ja erialaraamatukogu". Rmt: "Johann Wilhelm Krause. Ülikool Emajõe Ateenas". Eesti Keele Sihtasutus, 2016, lk 281–310
  • Käsper, Marge; Tohvri, Epi. "Georges Frédéric Parrot' prantsuse nimest, päritolust ja retoorikast: rektori tervituskõne keisrile ja selle lausumiskontekstid". Tuna. Ajalookultuuri ajakiri, 1/2015, lk 36–50
  • "Sümbol VERITAS kui valgustusajastu Tartu ülikooli teadlaskogukonna representatsioon". Eesti Ajalooarhiivi toimetised = Acta et commentationes Archivi Historici Estoniae, 2014, lk 93–112
  • "Liivimaa Üldkasuliku ja Ökonoomilise Sotsieteedi esimene põhikiri ning selle ideelised allikad". Tartu Ülikooli Ajaloo Küsimusi, XLI, 2013, lk 11–30
  • "Eesti luterliku kirikuehituse kontekstuaalsed muutused 19. sajandi keskel". Kunstiteaduslikke Uurimusi = Studies on art and architecture = Studien für Kunstwissenschaft, 21/1-2, 2012, lk 273–277
  • "The Enlightenment and Standard Facades in Tartu". Centropa. A Journal of Central European Architecture and Related Arts, Volume X, 2010, lk 5–13
  • "19. sajandi I poole Tartu linna hoonestust mõjutanud eeskujud Lääne-Euroopast". Rmt: "Tartu Linnamuuseum 2010 Aastaraamat", lk 35–49. Tartu: Elmatar, 2010
  • "Philantropin'i mõju Eesti pargikunstile". Rmt: "Park on paradiis looduses ja kunstis". Tartu: Eesti Maaülikool, 2009, lk 60–73
  • "Ühest sotsiaalutoopilisest eksperimendist Vene impeeriumi linnades 19. sajandi esimesel poolel". Rmt: "Klassika ja klassitsism", Ehituskunst = Estonian architectural review 36/37. Tallinn: Eesti Arhitektide Liit, 2003, lk 32–51

Emily Green Balch[muuda]

Emily Greene Balch

Emily Greene Balch (8. jaanuar 1867, Boston, Massachusetts, USA – 9. jaanuar 1961, Cambridge, Massachusetts, USA) oli USA majandusteadlane, sotsioloog, kirjanik ja patsifist, kes 1946. aastal pälvis koos John Mottiga Nobeli rahuauhinna panuse eest Naiste Rahvusvahelise Rahu ja Vabaduse Liidu arengusse.

  • Religion seems to me one of the most interesting things in life, one of the most puzzling, richest and thrilling fields of human thought and speculation... religious experience and thought need also a light a day and sunshine and a companionable sharing with others of which it seems to me there is generally too little... The Quaker worship at its best seems to me give opportunities for this sort of sharing without profanation. (lk 60)
  • [Hispaania kodusõjast, kirjas WILPFi eestseisusele, 26. august 1936:] We believe that nothing can be settled right by the method of fighting nor in the midst of fighting. Everything sould be done to secure a truce, at least, so that reason could have a chance to make itself heard. [---]
I have no patience with the legalistic view that beyond the policy of refusing to send in war supplies (which, important as this policy is, is a purely negative one) friendly governments can do nothing to stop the present horrors without recognizing the rebels and giving them the status of belligerents. 'Friendly offices' conciliation can always be tried. If the Governments had the will to do something they could.
As it is, with the Governments and especially the great European Powers, lined up in their sympathies behind the two parties and therefore against each other, they are unlikely to act, and we have great cause for thankfulness if only the general explosion is not brought to pass. 5 (lk 324)
  • [1934:] There is a powerful current of feeling of the duty and happiness of merging self in the community whether in Fascist Italy, Soviet Russia or Hitler Germany. It is powerfully stimulated by government propaganda but apart from this it seems to me clear that it is a psychological current which has deeper spurces than the self-interest of those who are in power. 8 (lk 326)
  • [1927:] How many Americans not only believe, but openly maintain, that fascism is better than democracy, that unthinking obedience is better than action based on individual conscience and thought, that patriotism is synonymous with nationalism, that liberty is dangerous, that peace is a dream and not even a beautiful dream? 9 (lk 326)
  • Some time later, Emily Balch, writing on American policy in the face of the war in China, and thinking also of Germany, Ethiopia, and Spain, wrote: "Neutrality in the sense of treating the aggressor and his victim alike is morally impossible. ... I stand emphatically for non-belligerency. I do believe in embargoes on munitions to all parties, at all times and now particularly re Japan and China." She hoped to keep out of war by building up a collective peace system using such non-military forms of pressure, internationally organized, as moral, diplomatic, and if unavoidable, economic, except a food blockade.* "The type of peace people with whom I disagree and whose influence seems to me to have had unfortunate results are those who teach, in effect, that we must do nothing that will make a bully displeased, since if we do he may fight - and then we should have the world in flames again. I do not think we should be scared off from doing what we should otherwise think right to do through fear of how the bully will react. No one can be made to fight who chooses not to. It would be a salutary sight to see a country against which war had been declared refusing to accept that weapon and seeking the solution of the conflict by quite other means.
"Those who believe in force grow the more dangerous when they are led to believe that every one is too much afraid of them to oppose them, and pacifists who avoid war by mere yielding are likely to be the more overwhelmed by it later."** And then she closes: “It is essential to offer effective opposition, but by other methods than those of the violent, or rather to do more than merely to oppose them. The peace method is, renouncing all idea not merely of revenge, reprisals or punishment, but of 'victory for our side,' and, adopting no 'holier than thou' attitude, to seek out co-operatively a solution that will be beneficial all round. And such a solution is not so Utopian as it sounds. It is even conceivable that such a via aurea may be worked out, through mediation, in China and in Spain." 14

    • * "I would like to see active aid to China, not only relief but loans, technical aids, not military. Opinion is much divided here. ... It is a tragic dilemma that the world is in: to acquiesce is moral suicide and perhaps ultimately war; to resist is probably war and is almost impossible, given the political morale or lack of it in England and France, each of them tied to a dying imperialism and divided between capitalist conservatism and an unclear radicalism." E. G. Balch, letter to G. Baer, December 1, 1937.
    • ** The attitude of the International W.I.L.P.F. toward the situation created by the Conference of Munich was briefly expressed by Clara Ragaz: "The 'peace' proclaimed at Munich is not the peace we have always fought for. It is no peace at all. It might at best be called a state of 'non-war' or better still 'deferred war.' It cannot be called peace because it is not founded on justice. It is merely an agreement between four partners, one of whom, the party prosecuting as it were, under threat of war made certain demands which were supported by his second and acquiesced in and granted by the third and fourth partners. The defendant had not been asked to be present: he was not even consulted and was sacrificed in cold blood. The four partners then were acclaimed by the multitude as peace-makers while the victim was going to his death."

(lk 333-334)

  • Speak of the great things
Above Peace, above Freedom
These are means, not ends. (lk 334)
  • February 3, 1933: Leisure from oneself for others: leisure from details for the whole. (lk 334)
  • January 19, 1936: I tried today to interrupt my occupiedness, my sense of duties and busyness, to free and open myself — such a creaking and dust choked door to open-I have not succeeded, yet it is something to be beginning once more to try to live not only in the ordinary dimensions but also, in however tiny a degree, in that other dimension which we call God. (lk 334)
  • September 26, 1937: [Aetat 70] Reasons my spirit has been darkened this autumn are perhaps:
1) Unwillingness to face and endure the situation of the world and to think out my own position and to be more than merely passive. (lk 334)
2) A growing love of money and concern over it and ill feeling at what I consider injustice to me personally.
3) Lack of resignation to old age and all its incidents and losses and to nearer approach of certain death. [Ta elas veel kakskümmend neli aastat.]
4) Indolence in things spiritual; laziness and self-indulgence.
5) Anxiety about Annie.
6) Pressure on my faith in non-violence by the dilemma of Chinese pacifism, a dread of facing the problem, once more, honestly de novo. (lk 335)
  • Päevikumärkmed, lk 334-335)
  • “This is no time for discouragement and we are not discouraged. It is a time to maintain our principles and to use every educational device to make them understood and accepted. 15 (lk 335)
  • It seems as though when things look as bad as possible each day brought some item of news for the worse. My naturally resilient optimism is hard put to it. May I some day look back and think how much I feared unnecessarily. I pick up crumbs of comfort. Frau Seger and her baby have been released from their German concentration camp. (lk 335)
  • [1938:] It is shallow to be so impressed by the blatant victories of violence and unreason as to fail to recognize the more permanent and more significant forces which are constantly working in the contrary direction. 16 (lk 336)
  • This wide-spread determination to put an end to war is a new thing in history. (lk 336)
  • I devoted myself to work for the refugees, members of the W.I.L.P.F. and others, who were then desperately seeking asylum in the United States, securing for them as far as possible the coveted affidavits which were required for entry and carrying on a voluminous correspondence which in the end was too generally futile owing to what seemed to me the narrow-minded and pusillanimous policy of the American State Department. (lk 336)
  • [Lendleht "Refugees as Assets":] There is good reason to be convinced that they are bringing to us more than they ask of us. May we ourselves be worthy of the refugeel And to him, may his enforced change of country with all its pain and loss be in the end blessed also! (lk 337)
  • [1939:] The new Allies, which we are too apt to forget included later the new Russia, appeared to me to represent certainly, not an all virtuous body but one infinitely preferable to the cruelty and hatefulness of Hitlerism, not alone exemplified in the concentration camps and the hideous mistreatment of Jews, but in its whole character and purpose. (lk 340)
  • When the war broke in its full fury in 1939, and especially when, after the disaster at Pearl Harbor, the U.S.A. became a belligerent, I went through a long and painful mental struggle, and never felt that I had reached a clear and consistent conclusion. 'How can you reach inner unity,' I said, 'when in your own mind an irresistible force has collided with an immovable obstacle?' It appeared to me that after the Japanese attack any government would have found it impossible to refuse to fight, impossible that is, given the existing degree of development of mankind and its failure to have ready any effective and generally understood technique for constructive non-violent action, such as Gandhi had aimed at. On the one hand, I refused to buy war-bonds; on the other, I contributed, however modestly, to so-called Community War-Funds, a large part of which was devoted to wholly peaceful social aid-which typifies my mixed reaction. I thus lost the respect of my many 'absolutisť' pacifist friends. That of the military-minded i neither had nor desired. (lk 340-341)
  • [Kirjas Gertrude Baerile 22. septembrist 1939:] It is incredible that I have not written all this time but you will know what I have been thinking and feeling. I have the sense of being numb and inert under the blow of war. To the last I hoped it might be averted. (lk 341)
  • [Kirjas 11. oktoobrist 1939:] Of course, I long for mediation by a conference of neutrals such as we are working for but I fear such a conference could effect little actual accomplishment till the situation has matured one way or another. Yet in the period before that occurs they might be affecting the situation psychologically and getting seminal ideas into the minds of the peoples in a way that would be profoundly important.
"The facts of the situation are so largely unknown to us, that one must either be fanatical and naive, or profoundly wise to come to definite and clear cut conclusions. This is an effort to rationalize my own confusion!" 3 (lk 341)
  • [Naiste Liiga kohta oma 75. sünnipäeval, 8. jaanuaril 1942:] In countries overwhelmed by Nazism, Fascism and war, the League is invisible as are the flowers in winter which will yet fill the fields with color when spring returns. (lk 345)
  • [Kõnes "Towards a Planetary Civilization" mais 1942:] In looking back over the years, I have not the feeling that our efforts have been unreasonable. On the contrary, I have the impression that although the world was not ready to realize them, the trend of development runs obviously and unmistakably toward the end that we have sought-a planetary civilization. Our planetary barbarism, is, I have faith to believe, the forerunner of this. (lk 345)
  • [Samas kõnes:] When war came in 1914 I felt this at first mainly as a senseless interruption of social-economic progress. I felt that war must be got rid of so that the threat of war might not interrupt and distort the course of this progress. Only gradually I came to understand at least partly how deeply war is intertwined with our whole economic and social system, our scale of values, our ideas of what is right and of supreme importance.
  • [Samas kõnes:] I see no chance of social progress apart from fundamental changes on both the economic and the political side, replacing national anarchy by organized cooperation of all peoples to further their common interest, and replacing economic anarchy, based on the search for personal profit, by a great development of the cooperative spirit. Peace is too small a word for all this, too negative in its connotations.
  • Tänapäeval peaksid inimesed ühiselt pingutama, et turvalisus luua, mitte säilitada turvalisus, mida pole olemas. (lk 366)
  • In a letter to the president of Wellesley, she wrote we should follow "the ways of Jesus." Her spiritual thoughts were that American economy was "far from being in harmony with the principles of Jesus which we profess." (lk 364, 378)
    • Mercedes Moritz Randall, "Improper Bostonian: Emily Greene Balch, Nobel Peace Laureate, 1946", Twayne Publishers, 1964

Tema kohta[muuda]

  • Like Jane Addams, she never had much self-assurance. She put out her ideas in a deprecatory manner, saying, "this isn't much, but I've been thinking about this." But the ideas were fertile and rich in suggestions for other minds to develop them further. Her value as a world citizen was demonstrated in the manner in which she applied her well-trained mind to devising ways and means by which people could become interested in problems of international scope and exert themselves in the treatment and solution of such problems. Though she never held any high public office and made her contributions largely outside government agencies, she managed by her tireless work of writing, travel, organization, and more uniquely by effective and continued letter writing, to achieve a wide hearing and influence. She had a real talent for enlisting the participation of people throughout the world who had not waited for government but had gone ahead under her leadership in the faith that the foundations of peace lie in the hearts of men and women everywhere. (lk 330)
  • Her absorption in the "great things," in planetary concerns, did not cause her to lose a sense of the importance of the "little things that grow not less." She made a time for the Graces as well as the Muses, for turning inward as well as outward, for the ultimates as well as the ephemeral. Ultimates for her might be "the little friendlinesses" or the aesthetic enjoyment of the "first warm and sweet-breathing day this spring." The ephemeral might be the social-political affairs she was concerned with. (lk 334)
    • Mercedes Moritz Randall, "Improper Bostonian: Emily Greene Balch, Nobel Peace Laureate, 1946", Twayne Publishers, 1964

Mari Tarand[muuda]

Belle da Costa Green[muuda]

Olga Tokarczuk[muuda]

Angela Davis[muuda]

Angela Davis, 2010.

Angela Yvonne Davis (sündinud 26. jaanuaril 1944 Birminghamis Alabama osariigis USAs) on USA aktivist, filosoof, ajaloolane ja kirjanik. Ta on tegelenud peamiselt rassilise ja soolise võrdõiguslikkuse jt inimõigusprobleemidega ning kutsunud üles kaotama vanglaid.

"Angela Davis: An Autobiography"[muuda]

Angela Davis, "Angela Davis: An Autobiography", 1996 (kordustrükk 1988. aastal ilmunud 2. väljaandest; esimese trüki pealkiri oli "With My Mind on Freedom, the Autobiography").

     For my family, my strength
     For my comrades, my light.
For the sisters and brothers whose fighting spirit was my
For those whose humanity is too rare to be destroyed
     by walls, bars, and death houses.
And especially for those who are going to struggle until
     racism and class injustice are forever banished
     from our history

  • moto

  • Kui ma algselt väljendasin kõhklust autobiograafiaga alustamise suhtes, ei olnud see sellepärast, et ma ei tahtnud kirjutada tollal ja üldisemalt mu eluajal aset leidnud sündmustest, vaid pigem sellepärast, et ma ei tahtnud anda lisapanust niigi levinud kombele ajalugu isikustada ja individualiseerida. Ja kui täiesti aus olla, pani mu enda loomupärane tagasihoidlikkus mind iseendast kirjutamise pärast üsna piinlikult tundma. Nii et ma ei kirjutanudki päriselt iseendast. See tähendab, et ma ei mõõtnud sündmusi oma elus nende võimaliku isikliku tähendusega. Selle asemel püüdsin ma kasutada autobiograafiažanri, et hinnata minu elu selle järgi, mida ma pidasin oma kogemuste poliitiliseks tähtsuseks.
  • When I expressed my initial hesitancy to begin working on an autobiography, it was not because I did not wish to write about the events of that time and generally in my lifetime, but rather because I did not want to contribute to the already widespread tendency to personalize and individualize history. And to be perfectly candid, my own instinctive reserve made me feel rather embarrassed to be writing about myself. So I did not really write about myself. That is to say, I did not measure the events of my own life according to their possible personal importance. Rather I attempted to utilize the autobiographical genre to evaluate my life in accordance with what I considered to be the political significance of my experiences.
  • When I was writing this book, I was vehemently opposed to the notion, developed within the young women’s liberation movement, which naively and uncritically equated things personal with things political. In my mind, this idea tended to render equivalent such vastly disparate phenomena as racist police murders of Black people and the sexist-inspired verbal abuse of white women by their husbands. Since I personally witnessed police violence on a number of occasions during that period, my negative response to the feminist slogan, “the personal is political,” was quite understandable. While I continue to disagree with all easy attempts to define these two dimensions as equivalent, I do understand that there is a sense in which all efforts to draw definitive lines of demarcation between the personal and political inevitably misconstrue social reality. For example, domestic violence is no less an expression of the prevailing politics of gender because it occurs within the private sphere of a personal relationship. I therefore express my regrets that I was not able to also apply a measuring stick which manifested a more complex understanding of the dialectics of the personal and the political.
  • Minu tollase lähenemise tõeline tugevus seisneb minu arvates selle ausas rõhuasetuses rohujuuretasandi panustele ja saavutustele, et demüstifitseerida tavapärane arusaam, justkui ajalugu kujundaksid ainulaadsed üksikisikud, kel suurus tuleneb nende kaasasündinud omadustest.
  • The real strength of my approach at that time resides, I think, in its honest emphasis on grassroots contributions and achievements, so as to demystify the usual notion that history is the product of unique individuals possessing inherent qualities of greatness.
    • Sissejuhatus 2. trükile, lk viii
  • 1 was not anxious to write this book. Writing an autobiography at my age seemed presumptuous. Moreover, I felt that to write about my life, what I did, what I thought and what happened to me would require a posture of difference, an assumption that I was unlike other women— other Black women— and therefore needed to explain myself. I felt that such a book might end up obscuring the most essential fact: the forces that have made my life what it is are the very same forces that have shaped and misshaped the lives of millions of my people. (lk xv)
  • When I decided to write the book after all, it was because I had come to envision it as a political autobiography that emphasized the people, the events and the forces in my life that propelled me to my present commitment. Such a book might serve a very important and practical purpose. There was the possibility that, having read it, more people would understand why so many of us have no alternative but to offer our lives— our bodies, our knowledge, our will— to the cause of our oppressed people. In this period when the covers camouflaging the corruption and racism of the highest political offices are rapidly falling away, when the bankruptcy of the global system of capitalism is becoming apparent, there was the possibility that more people— Black, Brown, Red, Yellow and white — might be inspired to join our growing community of struggle. Only if this happens will I consider this project to have been worthwhile. (lk xvi)
    • Eessõna

1. ptk, "Võrgud"[muuda]

  • Jonathani keha lamas Marini maakonna kogukonnakeskuse parkla kuumal asfaldil. Ma nägin teleriekraanil, kuidas nad sikutasid teda kaubikust välja, köis seotud ta vöökoha ümber...
Oma seitsmeteistkümne eluaasta jooksul oli Jon näinud rohkem jõhkrust kui enamik inimesi võib oodata tervelt elult. Sestsaati, kui ta seitsmeaastaseks sai, lahutasid teda ta vanemast vennast vanglatrellid ja vaenulikud valvurid. Ja mina olin talt kord rumalast peast küsinud, miks ta nii harva naeratab. (lk 5)
  • Jonathan's body had lain on the hot asphalt of the parking lot outside the Marin County Civic Center. I saw them on the television screen dragging him from a van, a rope tied around his waist...
In Jon's seventeen years he had seen more brutality than most people can expect to see in a lifetime. From the time he was seven, he had been separated from his older brother George by prison bars and hostile guards. And I had once stupidly asked him why he smiled so seldom. (lk 5)
  • The route from Echo Park down to the Black neighborhood around West Adams was very familiar to me. I had driven it many times. But tonight the way seemed strange, full of the unknown perils of being a fugitive. And there was no getting around it— my life was now that of a fugitive, and fugitives are caressed every hour by paranoia. Every strange person I saw might be an agent in disguise, with bloodhounds waiting in the shrubbery for their masters command. Living as a fugitive means resisting hysteria, distinguishing between the creations of a frightened imagination and the real signs that the enemy is near. I had to learn how to elude him, outsmart him. It would be difficult, but not impossible. (lk 5)
  • We passed the broken-down shops on Eighth Avenue and were crossing over to the motel side of the street when suddenly I seemed to see police agents all around me. Surely this was just another one of my recurring fits of paranoia. Yet as we walked through the glass doors of the motel, I had a sudden impulse to turn around and race back into the anonymous crowds I had just left. But if my instincts were correct, if all these nondescript white men were in fact policemen surrounding us, then the slightest abrupt move on my part would give them the excuse they needed to shoot ijs down on the spot. I remembered how they had murdered li’l Bobby Hutton, how they shot him in the back after telling him to run. If, on the other hand, my instincts were groundless, my running would only arouse suspicion. I had no choice but to keep on walking.
Inside the lobby, my fears seemed to be confirmed in every straight-looking white man standing around. I was positive that all these men were agents standing in a formation previously agreed upon, preparing themselves for attack. But nothing happened. As nothing had happened in the motel in Detroit, when I had also been certain that we were about to be captured. As nothing had happened on the countless other occasions when my unnaturally high level of tension had transformed perfectly ordinary events into scenes of impending capture. (lk 13)
  • At age fifteen I accepted some of the myths surrounding prisoners. I did not see them as quite the criminals society said they were, but they did seem aliens in the world I inhabited. I never knew what to do when I saw the outlines of women s heads through the almost opaque windows of the jail. I could never understand what they were saying— whether they were crying out for help, whether they were calling for someone in particular, or whether they simply wanted to talk to anyone who was “free.” My mind was now filled with the specters of those faceless women whom I had not answered. Would I scream out at the people passing in the streets, only to have them pretend not to hear me as I once pretended not to hear those women? (lk 18)
  • Kui vahetus lõppes, ootasin ma endiselt samas räpases ruumis. Mind saadeti valvama uus politseinik. Ta oli mustanahaline ja noor - minust noorem -, ta kandis puhvis soengut ja mulle lähenedes ei näidanud ta üles tavapärast sõjakust ja ülbust, mida olin harjunud naisvangivalvuritelt ootama.
See oli relvitukstegev kogemus. Kuid mind ei rabanud mitte see, et ta oli must. Ma olin ennegi mustanahalisi valvureid kohanud - San Diego ja Los Angelese arestimajades -, kuid asi oli tema ülalpidamises: ta oli rahmeelne ja nähtavasti ka kaastundlik.
Algul oli ta vaikne. Kui mõne minuti pärast ütles ta tasasel häälel: "Paljud siinsed valvurid - mustanahalised valvurid - on sulle pöialt hoidnud. Me kõik lootsime kogu aeg, et sa pääsed kuhugi ohutusse kohta." (lk 19-20)
  • When the work shift changed, I was still waiting in that dingy room. A new officer was sent to guard me. She was black, she was young— younger than I— she wore a natural, and as she approached, she showed none of the belligerence and arrogance I had learned to associate with jail matrons.
It was a disarming experience. Yet it was not the fact that she was Black that threw me. I had encountered Black matrons before— in jails in San Diego and Los Angeles— but it was her manner: unaggressive and apparently sympathetic.
At first she was taciturn. But after a few minutes, in a quiet voice, she told me, “A lot of officers here — the Black officers — have been pulling for you. We've been hoping all along that you would get to someplace that was safe.” (lk 19-20)
  • Mulle meenus pilt, mida George oli kirjeldanud oma raamatukäsikirjas - vennast, kes maalis oma kongi lakke öötaeva, sest ta polnud juba aastaid kuud ega tähti näinud. (Kui see avastati, võõpasid valvurid lae halliks.) (lk 28)
  • I thought about the scene George had described in the manuscript of his book— the brother who had painted a night sky on the ceiling of his cell, because it had been years since he had seen the moon and stars. (When it was discovered, the guards painted over it in gray.) (lk 28)
  • Isegi päevatoas, kus valvurite silma jälgisid pidevalt iga meie vähimatki liigutust, ei lubatud meil hoida sigaretipakki ega tikke. Kui sa sigaretti tahtsid, läksid sa laua taga istuva valvuri juurde, tema andis sulle ühe sinu pakist ja pani selle põlema. Kui sa olid ahelsuitsetaja, nagu mina tollal, ja eriti kui sa olid säilitanud oma terve ja kaine mõistuse, ajas see väike tseremoonia sind juba iseenesest hulluks. (lk 32)
  • Even there in the day room where the eyes of the officers were constantly following our most subtle gestures, we were not allowed to hold a pack of cigarettes or matches. If you wanted a cigarette, you approached the officer sitting at the desk, and she handed you one from your pack and lit it for you. If you were a chain smoker, as I was at the time, and especially if you had kept your sanity and your sobriety, this little ceremony was itself maddening. (lk 32)
  • Isegi kui raskete psühholoogiliste probleemidega vangidele pöörataks rohkem tähelepanu, kahtlen ma, kas lähenemine oleks põhimõtteliselt erinev sellest, mille tunnistajaks ma olin blokis 4b. Psühholoogia, nagu seda tavapäraselt harrastatakse, ei ole mõeldud ravima. Sageli ei küündi see probleemi juurteni, kuna see ei mõista vaimuhaiguse paljude vormide ühiskondlikku päritolu.
Kuidas võiks minu naaberkongis olnud naise ravi isegi alguse saada, kui teda raviv psühholoog ei ole teadlik viisist, kuidas rassism, justkui mingi muistne katk, nakatab selles riigis ühiskonnaelu iga liigese, muskli ja koe? See naine mädanes rassismi täis augus, piitsutades end iga päev oma ropu ja ereda kujutlusvõimega. Et tema haigust mõista, peaks alustama ühiskonna haigusest - sest just ühiskonnalt oli ta nii täiuslikult õppinud mustanahalisi vihkama. (lk 36-37)
  • Even if prisoners with severe psychological problems were given more attention, I wonder whether the approach would be fundamentally different from what I witnessed in 4b. Psychology as it is generally practiced is not geared to cure. Often it does not reach the root of the problem because it does not recognize the social origin of many forms of mental illness.
How could the woman next door to me even begin to be cured if the psychologist treating her was not aware of the way in which racism, like an ancient plague, infects every joint, muscle and tissue of social life in this country? This woman was rotting in a snake pit of racism, flagellating herself daily with her obscene and graphic imagination. In order to understand her illness, it would be necessary to start with the illness of the society— for it was from the society that she had so perfectly learned how to hate Black people. (lk 36-37)

  • I looked around the cell in angry disbelief. It seemed especially illogical that after they had transferred me from the psychiatric cellblock to the dormitory, they would now isolate me altogether. Even as these thoughts sifted through my head, I realized that it was futile to try to understand the perverted logic of jailers.
I learned later that this room was ordinarily used by the doctor, ostensibly for medical examinations. The isolation units which had existed in the past had been dismantled years ago, in an effort to remove from view the most blatant instances of inhumanity. Needless to say, they had not succeeded; inhumanity seethed from all the cracks and crevices of that place. (lk 40-41)
  • Unfortunately, I cannot describe the sympathetic officers or refer to them by name. My words might mean the loss of their jobs. They were an interesting conglomeration of Black women, both young and old, whose political sentiments ranged from “liberal” to straight-out sympathy with the most militant wings of the Black Liberation Movement.
They all explained that they had been driven by necessity to apply for this kind of job. Apparently it was one of the highest-paying jobs in New York that did not require a college education. In a way, these officers were prisoners themselves, and some of them were keenly aware that they were treading ambiguous waters. Like their predecessors, the Black overseers, they were guarding their sisters in exchange for a few bits of bread. And like the overseers, they too would discover that part of the payment for their work was their own oppression. For example, overtime was compulsory. And because of the military discipline to which they were forced to submit, failure to work overtime was punishable as insubordination. Sixteen-hour workdays, a few times a week, were never out of the ordinary for the young officers who held no seniority, and for the older ones who weren’t well-liked in the top echelons of the jail hierarchy. (lk 43)
  • Elu vanglas korraldati ja kontrolliti ülaltpoolt, vastavalt halvimat sorti pragmaatilistele printsiipidele. Vangidele anti täpselt niipalju tegemist, et hajutada nende tähelepanu igalt pikemalt järelemõtlemiselt oma viletsa olukorra üle. Eesmärk oli täita terve päev mõttetute tegevustega, sisutühjade katsetega tähelepanu kõrvale juhtida.
Selle tulemusena imas vangide energiat terve institutsioonide võrgustik. Küllap pole tarvis öeldagi, et vanglapood oli vangistuses ellujäämise jaoks tähtis. Kolmel päeval nädalas külastasid kohtuistungit ootavad naised seda väikest poekest, et osta pisiasju, mis muutsid elu natuke vähem talumatuks. Esmaspäeviti ja kolmapäeviti oli meie ostudel kolmedollariline piir, reedeti võisime kuluta ühe dollari rohkem. Ihaldatud müügiartiklite seas olid säherdused asjad nagu sigaretid, kosmeetika, algelised kirjutusvahendid - pliiatsid (aga mitte pastakad), joonitud kirjaplokid ja margid -, kudumis- ja heegeldusvahendid ning toidukraam nagu küpsised, kommid, suhkur, lahustuv kohv ja kuum šokolaad. Kui sa polnud just rase, said sa ehtsat piima üksnes vanglapoest.
Vanglapoe keskne tähendus tuleneb ilmajäetusest, mis on ametliku kontrolli ja autoriteedi tähtis element. Arestimajas õpid sa, et eeldada ei maksa mitte midagi; tavapärane vajaduste rahuldamise protsess on katkestatud. Sa ei saa eeldada, et isegi su kõige põhilisemad vajadused rahuldatud saavad. Iga asja küljes on konks. Kui sa pead end ülal nii, et provotseerid valvuri sind luku taha panema, kaotad sa õiguse käia vanglapoes. Kui sul sigarette ei ole, pead lihtsalt ilma läbi ajama. Oht vanglapoe külastusõigusest ilma jääda on vüimas negatiivne stiimul. (lk 50)
  • Life in jail was arranged and controlled from above in accordance with pragmatic principles of the worst order. Just enough activities were provided to distract the prisoners from any prolonged reflection upon their wretched condition. The point was to fill up the day with meaningless activities, empty diversions.
As a result, a whole network of institutions was there to absorb the energies of the prisoners. Commissary, needless to say, was an important aspect of survival in captivity. Three days out of the week women awaiting trial visited this small store to purchase the little things that made life slightly less intolerable. Mondays and Wednesdays, there was a three dollar limit on what we could buy; on Fridays we could spend one dollar more. The coveted articles on sale were such things as cigarettes, cosmetics, primitive writing materials — pencils (but no pens) and lined pads, and stamps; knitting and crocheting paraphernalia; and foodstuffs such as cookies, candies, sugar, instant coffee and hot chocolate. Unless you were pregnant, the only available source of real milk was the commissary.
The centrality of commissary emerges from the deprivation which is such an important element of official control and authority. In jail, you learn that nothing can be taken for granted; the normal need-fulfillment process is shattered. You cannot assume that even your most basic needs will be satisfied. There are always strings attached. If you conduct your self in such a way as to provoke an officer to place you in lockup, you lose your commissary privileges. If you happen not to have cigarettes, you must simply do without. The threat of withdrawing commissary privileges is a powerful negative stimulus. (lk 50)
  • Arestimajad ja vanglad on mõeldud inimeste murdmiseks, inimeste muutmiseks loomaaia asukateks, kes on talitajatele kuulekad, kuid üksteisele ohtlikud. Selle vastuseks leiutavad ja kasutavad vangistatud mehed ja naised pidevalt mitmesuguseid kaitsevahendeid. Sellest tulenevalt võib pea igas arestimajas ja vanglas leida kaks olemise tasandit. Esimene tasand koosneb rutiinidest ja köäitumisest, mille kirjutab ette karistusasutust valitsev hierarhia. Teine tasand on vanglakultuur ise: käitumisreeglid ja -standardid, mis pärinevad ja mida kujundavad vangid ise, et kaitsta endid avaliku ja varjatud terrori eest, mille eesmärk on murda nende vaim.
Elementaarsel kujul on see kultuur vastupanukultuur, kuid see vastupanu põhineb meeleheitel. Seepärast ei suuda see süsteemi kuidagi oluliselt kahjustada. Kõik selle osad põhinevad eeldusel, et vanglasüsteem jääb püsima. Just sel põhjusel ei püüa süsteem ka seda purustada. (Õigupoolest juhtub vahel, et vangide subkultuuri salamisi soodustatakse.) Mind jahmatasid pidevalt lõputud üksikasjad neis valdkondades, mida arestimaja naised oma eksklusiivseks valitsusalaks pidasid. See kultuuri oli valvuritele kindlalt suletud. (lk 52-53)
  • Jails and prisons are designed to break human beings, to convert the population into specimens in a zoo - obedient to our keepers, but dangerous to each other. In response, imprisoned men and women will invent and continually invoke various and sundry defenses. Consequently, two layers of existence can be encountered within almost every jail or prison. The first layer consists of the routines and behavior prescribed by the governing penal hierarchy. The second layer is the prisoner culture itself: the rules and standards of behavior that come from and are defined by the captives in order to shield themselves from the open or covert terror designed to break their spirits.
In an elemental way, this culture is one of resistance, but a resistance of desperation. It is, therefore, incapable of striking a significant blow against the system. All its elements are based on an assumption that the prison system will continue to survive. Precisely for this reason, the system does not move to crush it. (In fact, it sometimes happens that there is an underthe-table encouragement of the prisoners’ subculture.) I was continually astonished by the infinite details of the social regions which the women in the House of Detention considered their exclusive domain. This culture was contemptuously closed to the keepers. (lk 52-53)
  • Üks minust paar kambrit eemal asuv naine kirjeldas mulle haaravalt tervet süsteemi, mille abil said naised oma vanglasõbrad sugulasteks adopteerida. tundsin jahmatust ja aukartust viisi ees, kuidas suurem osa arestimaja aukaist oli osavalt organiseerunud põlvkondade kaupa perekondadeks: emad/naised, isad/abikaasad, pojad ja tütred, isegi tädid, onud, vanaemad ja vanaisad. Perekonnasüsteem toimis kaitsena tõiga ees, et inimene polnud siin muud kui number. See inimlikustas keskkonda ja lasi suhestuda teistega tuttavas raamistikus. [---]
Perekonnasüsteemi juures rabas mind kõige rohkem selle tuumaks olev homoseksuaalsus. Ent ehkki selles improviseeritud sugulusstruktuuris oli kindlasti homoseksuaalsete suhete üleküllus, ei olnud see siiski ka heteronaistele suletud. Selles olid heterotütred ja abikaasata, st. heteroemad. (lk 53-54)
  • A woman a few cells down gave me a fascinating description of a whole system through which the women could adopt their jail friends as relatives. I was bewildered and awed by the way in which the vast majority of the jail population had neatly organized itself into generations of families: mothers/wives, fathers/husbands, sons and daughters, even aunts, uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers. The family system served as a defense against the fact of being no more than a number. It humanized the environment and allowed an identification with others within a familiar framework. [---]
What struck me most about this family system was the homosexuality at its core. But while there was certainly an overabundance of homosexual relationships within this improvised kinship structure, it was nevertheless not closed to "straight” women. There were straight daughters and husbandless, i.e., straight, mothers. (lk 53-54)
  • Homoseksuaalsus esineb vältimatult suhteliselt suurel määral igas seksuaalselt eraldatud kinnipidamiskohas. Seda teadsin ma juba enne arreteerimist. Ma polnud aga valmis šokiks, mille sain nähes, kuivõrd juurdunud oli see arestimaja eluolus. Naised mängisid maskuliinseid ja feminiinseid rolle; neist esimeste, "isaste naiste" kohta öeldi he. Kogu selle kuue nädala jooksul, mis ma seitsmendal korrusel veetsin, ei suutnud ma sundida ennast ühegi naise kohta meessoo asesõna kasutama, ehkki mõnd neist ei oleks kuidagi saanud naisteks pidada, kui nad poleks kohustuslikke kleite kandnud. (lk 54)
  • Homosexuality is bound to occur on a relatively large scale in any place of sexually segregated confinement. I knew this before I was arrested. I was not prepared, however, for the shock of seeing it so thoroughly entrenched in jail life. There were the masculine and feminine role-playing women; the former, the butches, were called “he.” During the entire six weeks I spent on the seventh floor, I could not bring myself to refer to any woman with a masculine pronoun, although some of them, if they hadn’t been wearing the mandatory dresses, would never have been taken for women. (lk 54)
  • Perekonnasüsteemi tähtis osa olid abiellumised. Mõned neist olid ülimalt keerukad - kutsetega, formaalse tseremooniaga ja mõne kolmandaga "preestri" rollis. "Pruut" valmistus selliseks puhuks nagu päris pulmadeks. (lk 55)
  • An important part of the family system was the marriages. Some of them were extremely elaborate— with invitations, a formal ceremony, and some third person acting as the “minister ” The “bride" would prepare for the occasion as if for a real wedding. (lk 55)
  • Kõige traagilisem vaatepilt olid verinoored sõltlased, kellest paljud ei saanud olla vanemad kui neliteist, ükskõik kui vanaks nad end politseis väitsid. Enamikul neist polnud vähimatki kavatsust tänavale tagasi jüudes narkootikumidest eemale hoida. Mulle jäi täiesti mõistetamatuks, kuidas nad suutsid näha vanglas olles oma silmaga heroiini kõige rängemaid mõjusid ja mitte kaaludagi loobumist oma flirdist narkootikumidega - flirdist, mis mutuus sageli täielikuks sõltuvuseks. (lk 55-56)
  • The most tragic sight of all was the very young addicts, many of whom could have been no more than fourteen, despite the age they had given the police. Most of them had absolutely no intention of staying off the drug once they returned to the streets. To me, it was beyond comprehension that they could witness the most sordid effects of heroin whilethey were in jail and not be provoked to reconsider their own flirtations with the drug — flirtations that frequently became full-scale addiction. (lk 55-56)
  • Once I felt settled in the main population, my thoughts naturally turned toward the possibility of collective political activity in jail. Many people are unaware of the fact that jail and prison are two entirely different institutions. People in prison have already been convicted. Jails are primarily for pretrial confinement, holding places until prisoners are either convicted or found innocent. More than half of the jail population have never been convicted of anything, yet they languish these cells. Because the bail system is inherently biased in the favor of the relatively well-off, jails are disproportionately inhabited by the poor, who cannot afford the fee. The O.R. program— which allows one to be released without posting bond, on one’s own recognizance— is heavily tainted with racism. At least ninety-five percent of the women in the House of D׳ were either Black or Puerto Rican.
The biggest problem jail prisoners face is how to get out on bail. The political issue, therefore, is how accused men and women can benefit equally from the so-called presumption of innocence by being free until proven guilty. I assumed that this was the issue around which we could most effectively organize sisters in the House of D. — and, in fact, this is what we later did. (lk 60-61)
  • Ühel õhtul, kui kongid olid lukku pandud, kõlas vaikuses vali küsimus. See tuli õelt, kes luges raamatut, mille ma talle olin laenanud.
"Angela, mida tähendab "imperialism"?"
Hõikasin vastu: "Ühe riigi valitsev klass alistab teise riigi rahva, et röövida neilt nende maa ja loodusvarad ning ekspluateerida nende tööjõudu."
Teine hääl hüüdis: "Sa pead silmas, et teiste riikide rahvaid koheldakse samamoodi nagu siin mustanahalisi?"
See kutsus esile ägeda arutelu, mis kajas läbi kongide minu koridorist teise, mis asus teispool vahekäiku, ja jälle tagasi. (lk 62)
  • One evening, after lock-up, a loud question broke the silence. It came from a sister who was reading a book I had lent her.
“Angela, what does 'imperialism' mean?”
I called out, “The ruling class of one country conquers the people of another in order to rob them of their land, their resources, and to exploit their labor.”
Another voice shouted, “You mean treating people in other countries the way Black people are treated here?”
This prompted an intense discussion that bounced through the cells, from my corridor to the one across the hall and back again. (lk 62)

2. ptk, "Kaljud"[muuda]

  • The more steeped in violence our environment became, the more determined my father and mother were that I, the first-born, learn that the battle of white against Black was not written into the nature of things. On the contrary, my mother always said, love had been ordained by God. White people’s hatred of us was neither natural nor eternal. She knew that whenever I answered the telephone and called to her, Mommy, a white lady wants to talk to you,” I was doing more than describing the curious drawl. Every time I said “white lady” or ״white man” anger clung to my words. My mother tried to erase the anger with reasonableness. Her experiences had included contacts with white people seriously committed to improving race relations. Though she had grown up in rural Alabama, she had become involved, as a college student, in anti-racist movements. She had worked to free the Scottsboro Boys and there had been whites— some of them Communists— in that struggle. Through her own political work, she had learned that it was possible for white people to walk out of their skin and respond with the integrity of human beings. She tried hard to make her little girl— so full of hatred and confusion— see white people not so much as what they were as in terms of their potential. She did not want me to think of the guns hidden in drawers or the weeping black woman who had come screaming to our door for help, but of a future world of harmony and equality. I didn’t know what she was talking about.
When Black families had moved up on the hill in sufficient numbers for me to have a group of friends, we developed our own means of defending our egos. Our weapon was the word. We would gather on my front lawn, wait for a car of white people to pass by and shout the worst epithets for white people we knew: Cracker. Redneck. Then we would laugh hysterically at the startled expressions on their faces. I hid this pastime from my parents. They could not know how important it was for me, and for all of us who had just discovered racism, to find ways of maintaining our dignity. (lk 79-80)
  • That summer in New York made me more more keenly sensitive to the segregation I had to face at home. Back home in Birmingham, on my first bus ride with my teen-aged cousin Snookie, I broke away from her and raced for my favorite place, directly behind the driver. At first, she tried to coax me out of the seat by cheerfully urging me to come with her to a seat in the back. But I knew where I wanted to sit. When she insisted I had to get up, I wanted to know why. She didn't know how to explain it. I imagine the whites were amused at her dilemma, and the Black people were perhaps just a little embarrassed about their own acquiescence. My cousin was distraught; she was the center of attention and had no notion of what to do. In desperation she whispered in my ear that there was a toilet in the back and if we didn’t hurry she might have an accident. When we reached the back and I saw there was no toilet, I was angry not only because I had been tricked and lost my seat, but because I didn't know who or what to blame. (lk 82-83)
  • “If only we lived in New York ...” I constantly thought. When we drove by the amusement park at the Birmingham Fairgrounds, where only white children were allowed, I thought about the fun we had at Coney Island in New York. Downtown at home, if we were hungry, we had to wait until we retreated back into a Black neighborhood, because the restaurants and food stands were reserved for whites only. In New York, we could buy a hot dog anywhere. In Birmingham, if we needed to go to the toilet or wanted a drink of water, we had to seek out a sign bearing the inscription "Colored.” Most Southern Black children of my generation learned how to read the words ״Colored” and ״White” long before they learned ״Look, Dick, look.” (lk 83)
  • My mother, a primary school teacher herself, had already taught me how to read, write and do simple arithmetic. The things I learned in the first grade were far more fundamental than school learning. I learned that just because one is hungry, one does not have the right to a good meal; or when one is cold, to warm clothing, or when one is sick, to medical care. Many of the children could not even afford to buy a bag of potato chips for lunch. It was agonizing for me to see some of my closest friends waiting outside die lunchroom silently watching the other children eating. (lk 88)

Simone de Beauvoir[muuda]

Caitlin Moran[muuda]

Caitlin Moran, 2016.

Caitlin Moran (kodanikunimega Catherine Elizabeth Moran; sündinud 5. aprillil 1975 Brightonis Inglismaal) on Suurbritannia saatejuht, muusikakriitik, kirjanik ja ajakirjanik. Eesti keeles on ilmunud kaks Morani raamatut: "Kuidas olla naine" (tõlkinud Marion Undusk, Tallinn: Tänapäev, 2013) ja "Kuidas luua tüdrukut" (tõlkinud Maria Lepik, Tallinn: Tänapäev, 2015).


Caitlin Moran, "Moranthology", Ebury Press, 2012.

  • Kui sa oled olnud paks, tunned ja näed sa maailma alati paksu inimese silme läbi. Sa tead, kui raske see on. [---] Sama käib töölisklassi tausta kohta [---], sa ei vabane sellest kunagi.
  • Nii et mis on parim köögivili? Noh, me kõik teame: see on kartul. Köögivili, mida ei saa tuksi keerata. Sa võid visata kartuli lõkkesse, joosta ära - ja tund aega hiljem on see muutunud toiduks. Proovi teha seda brokkoli või puuviljatarretisega, nad naeravad sulle näkku.
  • Mul on reegel, mis aitab välja selgitada, kas millegi põhiprobleem on tegelikult seksism. Ja see käib nii. Küsi: "Kas poisid teevad seda? Kas poisid peavad selle pärast muretsema? Kas poisid on sel teemal hiiglasliku ülemaailmse vaidluse keskmes?"
  • Öeldakse: "Kunst peaks paljastama kõrgeid ja kõlavaid tõdesid inimolu kohta." Noh, kui aus olla - ei, ei peaks. Ma pean silmas, et kui ta tahab, siis ta vahel võib; aga kui mitut läbinägelikku sissevaadet inimloomusse sa elu jooksul tegelikult vajad? Kahte? Kolme? Kui sa ükskord aru saad, et ka teistel pole õrna aimugi, mida nad teevad, ja et armastus võib olla täiesti mõttetu, muutuvad kõik edasised pilguheidud inimloomusse tõeliselt masendavateks.
Naabruskonna keskel asuv raamatukogu on avariiväljapääsu, päästeparve ja festivali ristand. Raamatukogud on vaimukatedraalid, hingehaiglad, kujutlusvõime lõbustuspargid. Külmal ja vihmasel saarel on nad ainsad avalikud varjualused, kus sa oled mitte tarbija, vaid kodanik. Inimene, kel on aju ja süda ja igatsus tõusta kõrgemale, mitte klient, kel on krediitkaart ja algeline "vajadus" mingi "nodi" järele. Kaubanduskeskused - poed - on kohad, kus sinu raha teeb rikkad rikkamaks. Aga raamatukogu on koht, kus rikaste maksude eest saad sina ise natuke imepärasemaks. See on rahulduspakkuv pööre. Võimu vastukaal.
  • Everything I am is based on this ugly building on its lonely lawn—lit up during winter darkness; open in the slashing rain—which allowed a girl so poor she didn’t even own a purse to come in twice a day and experience actual magic: traveling through time, making contact with the dead—Dorothy Parker, Stella Gibbons, Charlotte Brontë, Spike Milligan.
A library in the middle of a community is a cross be-tween an emergency exit, a life raft and a festival. They are cathedrals of the mind; hospitals of the soul; theme parks of the imagination. On a cold, rainy island, they are the only sheltered public spaces where you are not a consumer, but a citizen, instead. A human with a brain and a heart and a desire to be uplifted, rather than a customer with a credit card and an inchoate “need” for “stuff.” A mall—the shops—are places where your money makes the wealthy wealthier. But a library is where the wealthy’s taxes pay for you to become a little more extraordinary, instead. A satisfying reversal. A balancing of the power.
  • Vanemate joomine on põhjus, miks sa siia ilma tulid, ja kui me sellega ei jätka, siis jumala eest, sellest saab põhjus, miks sa siit jälle minema lähed.
  • Laheduse üks väike mure on, et sama lahedad inimesed on liiga lahedad, et tulla ja öelda, et sa lahe oled - sest see ei oleks üldse lahe. Ja niimoodi kaob vähehaaval ära kogu laheduse mõte.
  • Riiulid pidid olema täis raamatuid, aga tegelikult olid seal muidugi uksed: iga avanev raamatukaas oli sama erutav kui lukku avav kuldvõti Alice'i jaoks. Ma veetsin päevi, joostes teistest maailmadest sisse-välja nagu ajabandiit või spioon. Tolles raamatukogus olin ma nii erutatud, nagu ma elus harva olnud olen: lapates uusi raamatuid kohe, kui nad saabusid; tellides raamatuid, millest kuulnud olin, ja neid siis palavikuliselt oodates, just nagu oleks nad sõnajõulud.
  • The shelves were supposed to be loaded with books—but they were, of course, really doors: each book-lid opened as exciting as Alice putting her gold key in the lock. I spent days running in and out of other worlds like a time bandit, or a spy. I was as excited as I’ve ever been in my life, in that library: scoring new books the minute they came in; ordering books I’d heard of—then waiting, fevered, for them to arrive, like they were the word Christmas.
  • Sõbrad, me elame kofeiini maailmas. Me mõtleme kofeiini moodi ja me elame kofeiini elu.
  • Peamiselt olen siiski märganud, kui mittemõistlikuks, enesekeskseks ja pidevalt ärritunuks kofeiin mu on muutnud.
  • Keith Richards on mees, kes ei kahetse midagi. Kui ma küsin talt, et kui tal oleks võimalus kõike otsast alata, kas ta hakkaks siis heroiini tarvitama, ei jää ta hetkekski järele mõtlema. "Oo jaa. Jah. Selles oli hea hulk kogemusi - sa kohtad palju veidraid inimesi, teisi arusaamu elust, mida sa iial ei leia, kui sa sellega ei alusta. Mulle meeldis korralikult laksu all olla. Ja kui sa üles jääd, saad sa laulud, mille kõik teised maha magavad. Laulud kimavad seal igal pool ringi. Praegugi kimavad laulud siinsamas läbi õhu."

"Kuidas raamatud tegid minust feministi"[muuda]

Caitlin Moran, "Ηow books made me a feminist", Penguini kirjastuse koduleht, märts 2017 (arhiivikoopia Internet Archive'is 12. märtsist 2017).

  • Kui mul peaks olema noortele tüdrukutele ja naistele üksainus nõuanne, oleks see järgmine: tüdrukud, ärge lugege meeste kirjutatud raamatuid. Jätke nad lugemata. Hoidke neist eemale. Või vähemalt ärge lugege neid, kuni te olete vanemad ja väljakujunenud ja lahinguvalmis, ja suudate hakata vastu kellelegi, kes on teie suhtes vestlus jõhker, mitte piinlikkusest vaikides või tumma sisemise raevuga, vaid öeldes külmalt: "Minge palun perse ja head aega."
  • Kui on miski, mis on teinud mind ehk iseeneses õnnelikumaks, enesekindlamaks tõe kirjutamise suhtes ja vähem kriitiliseks enda väljanägemise, kehakaalu, valjuhäälse ja ebatavalisuse suhtes kui paljud teised naised, siis see, et noorena ei lugenud ma kunagi meeste kirjutatud raamatuid.
Lühidalt, mu enda maailmast. Mu enda elust. Neis raamatutes peegeldus kõik, mida ma mõtlesin ja tundsin - ma tundsin end sõbrunevat nende kujuteldavate tüdrukutega kõigist sajandeist. Ma tundsin, et oleme kõik üheskoos. Tundsin end normaalsena. Tundsin, et ka minu elu oli lugu - miski, millest rõõmu tunda, mida jagada ilma hirmu, piinlikkuse või õigete sõnade järele kobamiseta. Ma tundsin - nagu selles eas peakski -, et mina ja minusugused tüdrukud olid maailma keskpunktis ja et me olime olulised.
Alles aastaid hiljem - õigupoolest üsna hiljuti - hakkasin ma lugema raamatuid, mida sind eeldatakse lugevat: Suurte Valgete Meeste raamatuid. Faulkner, Chandler, Hemingway, Roth. Kanooniliselt hiilgavad. Mehed neis on säravad, targad, kohmakad, haaravad, keerukad - nende lood tõmbavad sind kaasa, nende hääled on pidurdamatud. Sära ja sädelus on vaieldamatud. Ma kummardan nende ees nii kirjaniku kui ka lugejana.
Aga naisena? Ma märkasin kohe, kui kutsumatu tunde need raamatud mulle jätsid. Kui ebamugava. Lugedes raamatut avatud südamega, oodates, kuidas autor mind näeb, minuga kõneleb, hindab mind kui tüdrukut, kes võiks olla neis raamatuis - nagu ma olin teistes loetud raamatutes - murti mu süda juba esimestel lehekülgedel. Või siis aeglaselt, jubedusttekitavas külmas, kuni ma pidin peatuma kahe peatüki järel, kogu armastus vaikselt purustatud.
Sest nii pea, kui naistegelane siseneb mõnda juttu, mille kirjutasid need säravad, enesekindlad 20. sajandi mehed, kaldub autor vaatama teda jääkülma silmaga. Kirjeldades tema väljanägemist viisil, millega mina, kes ma kasvasin üles naiskirjanikega kogu nende õrnuses, uhkuses ja lugupidamises naisekehade vastu, ei olnud üldse harjunud. See kuulus Raymond Chandleri rida - rida, mida ma iseenesest nii säravaks pidasin? "See oli blondiin. Blondiin, keda nähes lööb piiskop augu vitraažaknasse."
Kui sa loed seda romaanis "Hüvasti, mu arm", toob see su pähe kiiresti üksteise järel mõtted "On see vast alles ilus rida" ja seejärel "Jumal küll, kui raske võib tal olla". Naine, kes paneb piiskopid tahtma lüüa auke vitraažakendesse. Kuidas ta päev kulgeb? Milline on tema lugu? Kuidas selles raske eluga hakkama saab - ajades piiskoppe hulluks ja vägivaldseks lihtsalt tuppa astumisega?
Tüdrukuna, nagu tema seda on, tahaks ma panna käe tema ümber ja öelda: "Kuule, kutt - lähme õige ja võtame ühe napsi - kuskil katedraalidest kaugel - ja ohkame, kui raske on elu?" Ma arvan, et iga küps, täiskasvanud, enesekindel naine teeks seda lugedes samamoodi.
Ja ometi on see Chandleri maailmas - ja Chandleri meessoost lugejate jaoks - parim asi, mis üks naine olla saab. See naine hullude meeste keskel on ülim.
Ma tean nüüd, et kui ma oleksin seda lugenud teismelise tüdrukuna, 13- või 14-aastaselt, oleksid need sõnad lõiganud mind luuni välja. Ma oleksin mõelnud: "Iga Raymond Chandleri sõna on lahe, nii et minustki peab kindlasti saama selline naine, kes paneb piiskopid aknaid sisse taguda tahtma. Ma ei tea, kuidas ma selliseks saan - ma pean kaalus alla võtma ja kontsi kandma ja huulepulka kasutama ja leiutama mingi joovastava kõnnaku ja nägema kogu aeg kuum välja ja mitte kunagi jooksma tuppa, karjudes: "JUMAL KÜLL, KAS SA OLED UUT MUPPETITE FILMI NÄINUD? KERMIT SÕIDAB JALGRATTAL OMA VÄIKESTE KONNAJALAKESTEGA!" Seda peangi ma nüüdsest peale tegema. Sest igaüks teab, et kõige paremaid inimesi kujundavad raamatud ja seepärast peab mind kujundama see raamat. Sest see on klassika. Sest selle autor on geenius. Sest need on need raamatud, mida arvatakse, et sa pead armastama."
Ei. Need ei ole sulle õiged raamatud, kui sa oled noor tüdruk. Need ei ole hääled, mida sa peaksid oma pähe lubama. Tüdrukud, kuni te olete täiskasvanud - kuni te suudate enesekindlalt vastu vaielda jutustajale, geeniusele, maailmavaatele -, ärge lugege vanade meeste raamatuid. Nad elavad teises sajandis ja teie olete tulevik. Teie ja kõik need säravad kaunid tüdrukud, kes minevikus kirjutasid.

"Mis on nad teinud mu raamatukoguga?"[muuda]

Caitlin Moran, "What have they done to my library?", Nosy Crow, 21. aprill 2015 (varem ilmunud Times'is 18. aprillil 2015).

  • Ma ei kavatsenud seda – olin vaid vana kodulinna külastamas –, kuid jõudsin ikkagi oma kohalikku raamatukokku: kohta, kus ma elasin viiendast viieteistkümnenda eluaastani. Ja seal, selles raamatukogus, valitses nüüd kokkuhoiupoliitika. Silmnähtavalt. Sa oleks saanud selle nööpnõelaga kaardile märkida.
Olen sellest raamatukogust varem kirjutanud. Kuidas see koht oli mu elu valgus – oma puberteedieelses antropomorfilises faasis oleksin võinud sellega abielluda. Oleksin olnud õnnelik nagu põrsas poris ja, kui jumalad oleksid meid õnnistanud, oleksin sellest raamatukogust rasedaks jäänud ja me oleksime kasvatanud üheskoos üles mõned väikesed rändraamatukogud.
  • Audioraamatud, millesse ma suhtusin väga snooblikult. "Olen lugenud 337 raamatut," kirjutasin ma päevikusse. "Ma pean silmas päris lugemist – silmadega. Mitte audioraamatuid."
  • Too raamatukogu oli Pandora laegas tulvil imepäraseid omavahel põimunud juhuseid, rikkalik nagu ploomikook. Pista ükskõik millise kahe raamatu vahele uudishimu seeme ja üleöö kasvab sellest vihmamets täis ahve ja jaaguare ja puhkpüsse ja pilvi. Ruum oli puupüsti täis ja mina pea niisamuti. Milline võluline süsteem, mille keskel ainsagi pennita tüdruk võis olla.
  • That library was a Pandorica of fabulous, interwoven randomness, as rich as plum cake. Push a seed of curiosity in between any two books and it would grow, overnight, into a rainforest hot with monkeys and jaguars and blowpipes and clouds. The room was full, and my head was full. What a magical system to place around a penniless girl.
  • Kuid siis saabus 21. sajandi kokkuhoiupoliitika. Ma teadsin, mida eelarvekärped olid raamatukogudega teinud - olin näinud müüdavaid raamatukuhje raamatukogude ees Swindonis ja Barnetis. Kuid need polnud minu raamatukogud, nii et ma ei saanud aru, mis välja visati ja mis alles jäi. Kuid ma sain sellest aru, kui läksin tagasi Wolverhamptonisse, sest see raamatukogu oli minu peas. Ma tean selle kohta kõike.
Ja see kõik oli läinud – või nii palju, et see oligi praktiliselt kõik. Läinud oli ka enamik riiuleid; järele olid jäänud vaid hunnikud Andy McNabi ja viitkümmet halli varjundit ning selle haledaid koopiaid. Nii vähe raamatuid. Nutmaajavalt vähe raamatuid.
  • Te võite öelda, et me ei vaja enam teatmeteoseid, sest meil on nüüd internet. Milleks minna raamatukokku (sest inimene peab majast välja saama! Sest sa sured ära, kui sa majast väljas ei käi!), kui sa võid selle asemel lihtsalt guugeldada (sest sul ei ole arvutit! Sest sa oled liiga vana või liiga vaene või mõnes orus, kuhu internetikaabel pole veel jõudnudki!).
Noh, sellepärast, et otsimootor näitab sulle vaid seda, mis on kõige populaarsem, mitte seda, mis on kõige parem. Sind karjatatakse koos ülejäänud miljardi guugeldajaga filmiklipi juurde, millel hai inimest hammustab, või sama pinnapealse Vikipeedia artikli juurde: me kõik loeme samu 10 000 sõna, kõnnime samu radu, mõtleme samu mõtleid, mida sõelub Google'i ainuke sõel.
Me läheneme monoteadmisele: meie karjatara piirile; mõtte massimigratsioonidele, mis on sama kahtlusevabad, nagu oleks me miljon juhmi pühvlit.
  • Now, you may say we have no need for reference books any more, now that we have the internet. Why go to a library (because you need to get out of the house! Because you will die if you stay in the house!) when you could just google something (because you have no computer! Because you are old, or poor, or in a valley where broadband does not venture!) instead?
Well, because a search engine will just show you what is most popular, rather than what is best. You, like a billion other googlers, will be herded to the footage of a shark biting a man, or the same shallow Wikipedia entry: we are all reading the same 10,000 words, walking the same paths, thinking the same thoughts, filtered through the single lens of Google.
We are approaching a mono-knowledge – diametrics herding us; migrations of thought, as unquestioning as a million dumb buffalo.
Mitte keegi ei võitle selle eest - mitte keegi ei saagi sellise koha eest võidelda. Kuidas saaks põhjendada rahakulutamist sellisele kohitsetud, ühesilbilisele, intellektuaalselt steriilsele kohale, kui on olemas haiglad ja koolid?

Carol Ann Duffy[muuda]

Carol Ann Duffy, 2009.

Carol Ann Duffy (sündinud 23. detsembril 1955) on Briti luuletaja, näite- ja lastekirjanik. 2009-2019 oli ta poeet-laureaat, olles selle tiitli kandjaist esimene naine, šotlane ja LGBT esindaja.


You sat on your desk,
swinging your legs,
reading a poem by Yeats
to the bored girls,
except my heart stumbled and blushed
as it fell in love with the words and I saw the tree
in the scratched old desk under my hands,
heard the bird in the oak outside scribble itself on the air.

Sa istusid oma laual,
kõlgutades jalgu,
lugedes Yeatsi luuletust
igavlevatele tüdrukutele,
aga mu süda komistas ja punastas,
kui see armus sõnadesse ja ma nägin puud
vanas kriibitud koolipingis mu käte all,
kuulsin lindu akna taga tammepuus kritseldamas end õhku.

Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.



Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So, a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child's name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside, the radio's prayer -
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.

  • "Prayer", luulekogust "Mean Time", 1994;

William Crawley. "Will & Testament: Carol Ann Duffy's prayer". BBC. Retrieved 17 July 2016. https://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/ni/2009/05/carol_ann_duffys_prayer.html

Today we have a poet in the class.
A real live poet with a published book.
Notice the ink-stained fingers girls. Perhaps
we're going to witness verse hot from the press

  • "Head of English", luulekogust "Standing Female Nude" (1985)
  • "Achilles (for David Beckham)"

https://web.archive.org/web/20121107185443/http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2010/mar/16/carol-ann-duffy-poem-david-beckham "Achilles (David Beckham)" Archived 7 November 2012 at the Wayback Machine, The Guardian, 16 March 2010. Retrieved 16 March 2010.


  • Ma arvan, et minu jaoks on luule elukaaslase moodi. Luule tundub olevat elus asi: mitte üksnes need luuletused, mida ma ise kirjutan, vaid ka minevikus kirjutatud luuletused ja need, mida inimesed praegu kirjutavad. See on nagu pidev kohalolu - isegi lugeja, mitte ainult kirjutajana. Nii et sa ei tunne end kunagi üksi.
  • Ma arvan, et toonase ja praeguse vahe on selles, et nüüd kaldun ma märksa rohkem mitte kirjutama ja vait olema kui noorena. Mul ei ole seda kirjutamise sundi. Ma olen kindlam selles, millal kirjutada, kui varem olin.
  • [Luuletus] on koht, kus keel on kõige tõetruum. Luuletuses ei saa sa valetada, veel vähem kui üheski teises kirjanduse vormis.
  • Ma arvan, et inimesed - ja see on muidugi ilmne - pöörduvad luule poole oma elu kõige pingelisematel hetkedel. Kui nad on leinas. Kui nad abielluvad või alustavad kooselu. Ja mõned neist inimestest jätkavad kirjutamist, nagu minagi tegin. Või tulevad nad luule juurde tagasi. Ma arvan, et jutt inimeste hirmust luule ees või selle ärapõlgamisest on pigem müüt.

  • Of her own writing, Duffy has said, "I'm not interested, as a poet, in words like 'plash'—Seamus Heaney words, interesting words. I like to use simple words, but in a complicated way."[8]
    • Forbes, Peter. "Winning Lines" Archived 13 February 2013 at the Wayback Machine, The Guardian, 31 August 2002.


  • 'When you have a child, your previous life seems like someone else's,' Duffy tells me over instant coffee. 'It's like living in a house and then suddenly finding a room that you didn't know was there, full of treasure and light. Every day is a gift with a child, no matter what problems you have.
  • 'It all comes from the same place. There'll be what you might call a moment of inspiration - a way of seeing or feeling or remembering, an instance or a person that's made a large impression. Like the sand and the oyster, it's a creative irritant. In each poem, I'm trying to reveal a truth, so it can't have a fictional beginning.
  • Christmas is taken very seriously in this household. I believe in Father Christmas and there's no way I'd do anything to undermine that belief.
  • Halloween, Bonfire Night, Christmas - I'm a great believer in preserving those festivals. They're like beacons in childhood; they make children feel safe and special.
  • Poetry and prayer are very similar. I write quite a lot of sonnets and I think of them almost as prayers: short and memorable, something you can recite.
  • Our abuse of the planet and our resources is an anxiety - childhood for children yet to be born will be darkened in ways we can't imagine.
    • Anderson, Hephzibah. Christmas Carol Archived 3 November 2012 at the Wayback Machine, The Observer, 4 December 2005.


Tema kohta[muuda]

Charlotte Mendelson writes in The Observer:

Part of Duffy's talent – besides her ear for ordinary eloquence, her gorgeous, powerful, throwaway lines, her subtlety – is her ventriloquism. Like the best of her novelist peers ... she slides in and out of her characters' lives on a stream of possessions, aspirations, idioms and turns of phrase. However, she is also a time-traveller and a shape-shifter, gliding from Troy to Hollywood, galaxies to intestines, sloughed-off skin to department stores while other poets make heavy weather of one kiss, one kick, one letter ... from verbal nuances to mind-expanding imaginative leaps, her words seem freshly plucked from the minds of non-poets – that is, she makes it look easy.

  • Mendelson, Charlotte. The gospel truth Archived 30 January 2010 at the Wayback Machine, The Observer, 13 October 2002.


Anette Parksepp[muuda]

Anette Parksepp on eesti ajakirjanik.

Simona Kossak[muuda]

Simona Kossak oli poola ökoloog ja looduskaitsja.

Kertu Birgit Anton[muuda]

Kertu Birgit Anton on Eesti kliimaaktivist.

Aila Meriluoto[muuda]


Tsitaadid on tõlgitud väljaandest: "Kootut runot" ("Kogutud luuletused"), Porvoo, Helsinki: Werner Söderström Oy, 1976.


Luuletused Aita Meriluoto esikkogust "Lasimaalaus" ("Klaasimaal", 1946, praeguseks on ilmunud vähemalt 14 trükki).

Kuoleman ankarat kasvot
kauan tunsin jo ennen,
kuin minä rahtua tiesin,
millainen elämä on.

Siksi en tänään seiso
portilla vartoen, milloin
"prinssi Elämä" saapuu
- ja ohi kulkea voi.

Mikään ei ohitse kulje.
Tyynet on silmäni, joihin
maailman rikkaat muodot
selkeinä kuvastuvat.

Elämä itse mä olen,
avoinna seison kuin kukka
iloinen, luja ja valmis,
kuoleman vertainen.

Surma kõledat palet
tundsin ammugi enne,
kui üldse aimata võisin,
milline elu on.

Sestap ei seisa ma täna
väravas valvates, millal
ükskord "Prints Elu" saabub
- ja edasi minna võib.

Miski mööda ei lähe.
Minu tüüneisse silmi
maailma kirevad vormid
paistavad selgeina.

Elu olen ma ise,
avali õiena seisan,
õnnelik, kindel ja valmis,
surmaga võrdne ma.

  • "Täna" ("Tänään", lk 9-10)

Pientä on kaikki yön kämmenellä,
pieniä meret ja vuosisadat,
tornit päivällä pystytetyt,
pieniä ihmisten mahtavat joukot...

Hetkeksi päivään päästyänsä
silmiään sokkoina siristävät:
vääntynein muodoin kaikki seisoo,
vääriä peilejä kaikkialla.

Katsovat kättään ja sanovat: vahva.
Katsovat työtään ja sanovat: suuri.
Mutta yön kämmen on alati auki.

Vähenee päivä ja päivän valta.
Kasvavat totuudet syvyyksistä.
Kuljet polkua yötä kohden,
pieneksi käyden ja vastustamatta.
Pieneksi kaikki käy ympärilläs,
tiet sinun polkemas,
takomas tornit,
pientä on "mistä" ja "minne" ja "miksi"

Valmiina astut yön kämmenelle.

Väike on kõik öö peopesal,
väikesed mered ja aastasajad,
tornid, mis päevadel püstitatud,
väikesed vägevad rahvahulgad...

Päeva päädides viimaseks viivuks
piiluvad pooleldi suletud silmil:
väändunud vormides seisavad asjad,
kõikjal paistavad kõverad peeglid.

Vaatavad kätt ja ütlevad: tugev.
Vaatavad tööd ja ütlevad: vägev.
Aga öö pihk on alati valla.

Väheneb päev ja päeva vägi.
Tõed kasvavad sügavikest.
Kõnnid teerajal öö poole,
väikesil sammel ja vastupanuta.
Väikeseks muutub kõik ümberringi,
teed sinu talla all (?),
...? tornid,
väiksed on "kust" ja "kuhu" ja "miks"

Valmina astud öö pihkudele.

  • "Öö peopesal" ("Yön kämmenellä", lk 11-12)


Niin taukosi myrsky, ja äänettömyys
putos ylle kuin Jumalan kuollut käsi.
Tuli mies, tuli otsalla uupunut syys
ja seisoi, kirkko, sun äärelläsi.

Ja silmiin murheesta raskaisiin
hän keräsi seinien mustuneet karret,
keräs tornit; murretut keihäsvarret,
ja hitaasti kulki portaaliin.
Niin valmis oli se, temppeli uus,
ei kivistä rakennettu, ei puista:
sen Kristus rauniouruista soitti.
Säröt äänien viimeistenkin se voitti.
Se ehjänä seisoi: hiljaisuus.

Nii seisma jäi torm ja hääletu vaikus
langes maha kui Jumala surnud käsi.
Tuli mees, tuli, otsa ees väsinud sügis,
ja seisis, kirik, su ...

  • "Orelivare" ("Rauniourut", lk 20-22)

Kaksi maljaa

Kukkaniityllä liike on laannut.
Enää ei tunnu tuulien ajo.
Taivaanrannassa vaaleni viipyvä kajo.
Taivas on niinkuin hopeamalja,
niinkuin ääretön hopeamalja
rauhaa tulvillaan.

Olen vain kukkanen lähellä maata,
lehti ei kanna, ei irtoa juuri.
Taivas on ylläni tajuamattoman suuri.
Sentään on ihanaa olla pieni,
olla kuin malja aivan pieni
rauhaa tulvillaan.

Kaks kaussi

Lilleaasal on vaikseks jäänud.
Enam ei kuule siin tuulte ulgu.
Silmapiiril veel viivitab ehavalgus.
Taevas on just nagu hõbekauss
just nagu ääretu hõbekauss
tulvil rahu.

Olen vaid maadligi lilleõis,
ei kanna lehti, ei aja ma juurt.
Taevas mu kohal on otsata suur.
Imeline on olla väike,
olla kui kaussike üsna väike
tulvil rahu.

  • "Kaks kaussi" ("Kaksi maljaa", lk 26-27)

Pauli Murray[muuda]

Ida B. Wells[muuda]

Inez Milholland[muuda]

Anna Howard Shaw[muuda]

Carrie Chapman Catt[muuda]

Lucretia Mott[muuda]

Elizabeth Cady Stanton[muuda]

Emily Brontë[muuda]

Emily Brontë tema venna Patrick Branwell Brontë maalitud grupiportreel.

Emily Jane Brontë (30. juuli 1818 Thornton, Yorkshire, Inglismaa – 19. detsember 1848 Haworth, Yorkshire) oli inglise kirjanik, õdedest Brontëdest (Charlotte, Emily, Anne) keskmine. Tema pseudonüüm oli Ellis Bell. Eesti keeles on ilmunud tema romaan "Vihurimäe" (1847) Ester Jaigma tõlkes 1974. aastal (kordustrükid 2006 ja 2016).


Emily Brontë, "Vihurimäe", tlk Ester Jaigma, 1974.

Teose kohta[muuda]

Teose kohta[muuda]

  • Rikas, julmast naisest lahutatud, üsna pikka kasvu Mark seisis, selg toa poole, ja uuris Alconburyde raamaturiiulite sisu: peamiselt nahkköites teosed kolmandast Saksa vabariigist, mida Reader's Digest Geoffreyle saadab. Mulle tundus üpris naeruväärne, et inimese nimi on mr. Darcy ja ta seisab omaette, teisi peolisi põlastades.
See teeb umbes sama välja, kui su nimi on Heathcliff ja sa tahad terve õhtu aias veeta, karjuda "Cathy!" ja peaga vastu puud taguda. (lk 18)
  • Helen Fielding, "Bridget Jonesi päevik". Tlk Kersti Tarien. Varrak, 1998

John Barth[muuda]

"Tee lõpp"[muuda]

Tsitaadid väljaandest: John Barth, "Tee lõpp" ("The End of the Road"), Bantam Books, 1981.

1. ptk[muuda]

  • It is impossible to be at ease in the Progress and Advice Room. The Doctor sits facing you, his legs slightly spread, his hands on his knees, and leans a little toward you. You would not slouch down, because to do so would thrust your knees virtually against his. Neither would you be inclined to cross your legs in either the masculine or the feminine manner: the masculine manner, with your left ankle resting on your right knee, would cause your left shoe to rub against the Doctor's left trouser leg, up by his knee, and possibly dirty his white trousers; the feminine manner, with your left knee crooked over your right knee, would thrust the toe of your shoe against the same trouser leg, lower down on his shin. To sit sideways, of course, would be unthinkable, and spreading your knees in the manner of the Doctor makes you acutely conscious of aping his position, as if you hadn't a personality of your own. Your position, then (which has the appearance of choice, because you are not ordered to sit thus, but which is chosen only in a very limited sense, since there are no alternatives), is as follows: you sit rather rigidly in your white chair, your back and thighs describing the same right angle described by the structure of the chair, and keep your legs together, your thighs and lower legs describing another right angle.
The placing of your arms is a separate problem, interesting in its own right and, in a way, even more complicated, but of lesser importance, since no matter where you put them they will not normally come into physical contact with the Doctor. You may do anything you like with them (you wouldn't, clearly, put them on your knees in imitation of him). As a rule I move mine about a good bit, leaving them in one position for a while and then moving them to another. Arms folded, akimbo, or dangling; hands grasping the seat edges or thighs, or clasped behind the head or resting in the lap -- these (and their numerous degrees and variations) are all in their own ways satisfactory positions for the arms and hands, and if I shift from one to another, this shifting is really not so much a manifestation of embarrassment, or hasn't been since the first half-dozen interviews, as a recognition of the fact that when one is faced with such a multitude of desirable choices, no one choice seems satisfactory for very long by comparison with the aggregate desirability of all the rest, though compared to any one of the others it would not be found inferior.
It seems to me at just this moment (I am writing this at 7:55 in the evening of Tuesday, October 4, 1955, upstairs in the dormitory) that, should you choose to consider that final observation as a metaphor, it is the story of my life in a sentence - to be precise, in the latter member of a double predicate nominative expression in the second independent clause of a rather intricate compound sentence. You see that I was in truth a grammar teacher. (lk 2-3)

2. ptk[muuda]

  • [Jake:] "You take a boy -- bright kid, alert kid, you see it at once, but never been exposed to thinking, never been in an environment where intellectual activity was as common as eating or sleeping. You see a fresh young mind that's never had a chance to flex its muscles, so to speak. Maybe he can't speak good English. Never heard good English spoken. Not his fault. Not wholly his parents' fault. But there he is."
My audience was most receptive, all except Joe Morgan, who regarded me coolly.
"So you start him off. Parts of speech! Subjects and verbs! Modifiers! Complements! And after a while, rhetoric. Subordination! Coherence! Euphony! You drill and drill, and talk yourself blue in the face, and all the time you see that boy's mind groping, stumbling, stretching, making false steps. And then, just when you're ready to chuck the whole thing -"
"I know!" Miss Banning breathed. "One day, just like all the rest, you say the same thing for the tenth time - and click!" She snapped her fingers jubilantly at Dr. Schott. "He's got it! Why, there's nothing to it! he says. It's plain as day!"
"That's what we're here for!" Dr. Schott said quietly, with some pride. "That's what we all live for. A little thing, isn't it?"
"Little," Dr. Carter agreed, "but it's the greatest miracle on God's green earth! And the most mysterious, too."

3. ptk[muuda]

  • My moods were little men, and when I killed them they stayed completely dead. (lk 30)

4. ptk[muuda]

  • Once I had a dream in which it became a matter of some importance to me to learn the weather prediction for the following day. I searched the newspapers for the weather report, but couldn't find it in its usual place. I turned the radio on, but the news broadcasters made no mention of tomorrow's weather. I dialed the Weather number on the telephone (this dream took place in Baltimore), but although the recording described the current weather conditions it told me nothing about the forecast for the next day. Finally, in desperation, I called the Weather Bureau directly, but it was late at night and no one answered. I happened to know the chief meteorologist's name, and so I called his house. The telephone rang many times before he answered, and then it seemed to me that I detected an uneasiness in his voice.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I want to know what weather we'll be having tomorrow," I demanded. "It's terribly important: you see, I --"
"There's no use your trying to impress me," the meteorologist said. "No use at all. What made you suspicious?"
"Suspicious of what? I assure you, sir, I just want to know what the weather will be tomorrow. I can't say I see anything suspicious in that question."
"There isn't going to be any weather tomorrow, if you must know."
"You heard me. I said there isn't going to be any weather tomorrow. All our instruments agree. You mustn't be skeptical. No weather."
":But that's impossible!"
"I've said what I've said," the weatherman grumbled. "Take it or leave it. No weather tomorrow, and that's that. Leave me alone, now; I have to sleep."
That was the end of the dream, and I woke up very much upset. I tell it now to illustrate a difference between moods and the weather, their usual analogy: a day without weather is unthinkable, but for me at least there were frequently days without any mood at all. On these days Jacob Horner, except in a meaningless metabolistic sense, ceased to exist altogether, for I was without a personality. Like those microscopic specimens that biologists must dye in order to make them visible at all, I had to be colored with some mood or other if there was to be a recognizable self to me. (lk 35-36)
  • [Joe:] "Four things that I'm not impressed by," he added, "are unity, harmony, eternality, and universality. In my ethics the most a man can ever do is be right from his point of view; there's no general reason why he should even bother to defend it, much less expect anybody else to accept it, but the only thing he can do is operate by it, because there's nothing else. He's got to expect conflict with people or institutions who are also right from their points of view, but whose points of view are different from his."
  • "That's one reason why I don't apologize for things," Joe said finally. "It's because I've no right to expect you or anybody to accept anything I do or say -- but I can always explain what I do or say. There's no sense in apologizing, because nothing is ultimately defensible. But a man can act coherently; he can act in ways that he can explain, if he wants to. This is important to me. Do you know, for the first month of our marriage Rennie used to apologize all over herself to friends who dropped in, because we didn't have much furniture in the house. She knew very well that we didn't want any more furniture even if we could have afforded it, but she always apologized to other people for not having their point of view. One day she did it more elaborately than usual, and as soon as the company left I popped her one on the jaw. Laid her out cold. When she came to, I explained to her very carefully why I'd hit her. She cried, and apologized to me for having apologized to other people. I popped her again."
There was no boastfulness in Joe's voice when he said this; neither was there any regret.
"What the hell, Jake, the more sophisticated your ethics get, the stronger you have to be to stay afloat. And when you say good-by to objective values, you really have to flex your muscles and keep your eyes open, because you're on our own. It takes energy: not just personal energy, but cultural energy, or you're lost. Energy's what makes the difference between American pragmatism and French existentialism -- where the hell else but in America could you have a cheerful nihilism, for God's sake? I suppose it was rough, slugging Rennie, but I saw the moment as a kind of crisis. Anyhow, she stopped apologizing after that." (lk 47)
  • "Rennie would've told you if you hadn't flustered her by making fun of her," he smiled; "the only demonstrable index to a man's desires is his acts, when you're speaking of past time: what a man did is what he wanted to do."
"Don't you see?" asked Rennie, and Joe sat back and relaxed. "The idea is that you could have conflicting desires -- say, the desire not to have dinner with us and the desire not to offend us. If you end by coming to dinner it's because the second desire was stronger than the first: other things being equal, you wouldn't want to eat with us, but other things never are equal, and actually you'd rather eat with us than insult us. So you eat with us - that's what you finally wanted to do. You shouldn't say you'll eat with us whether you want to or not; you should say you'll eat with us if it satisfies desires in you stronger than your desire not to eat with us."
"It's like combining plus one hundred and minus ninety-nine," Joe said. "The answer is just barely plus, but it's completely plus. That's another reason why it's silly for anybody to apologize for something he's done by claiming he didn't really want to do it: what he wanted to do, in the end, was what he did. That's important to remember when you're reading history." (lk 49-50)

5. ptk[muuda]

  • The clumsy force of Rennie was a thing that attracted me during the weeks following this dinner of shrimp, rice, beer, and values that the Morgans had fed me. It was a clumsiness both of action and of articulation - Rennie lurched and blurted - and I was curious to know whether what lay behind it was ineptitude or graceless strength.
At least this was my attitude when we began my riding lessons. My mood was superior, in that I regarded myself as the examiner and her as the subject, but it was not supercilious, and there was a certain sympathy in my curiosity. That I felt this special superiority is fortunate, because it got me through the first lessons on horseback, which otherwise would have been difficult to face indeed. I hated not the work but the embarrassment of learning new things, the ludicrousness of the tyro, and I can't imagine ever having learned to ride horses (for I had only the most vagrant interest in riding) without this special curiosity and special superiority feeling to salve my pride. (lk 51)
  • I remarked to Rennie once that it was a pity Joe couldn't enjoy the place with us.
"That's a silly thing to say," she said, a little upset.
"Like all politeness is silly," I smiled. "I feel politely sorry for him grinding away at the books while we gallop and splash around."
"Better not tell him that; he hates pity."
"That's a silly way to be, isn't it?" I said mildly. "Joe's funny as hell."
"What do you mean, Jake?" We were resting after a swim; I was lying comfortably supine under a tree beside the water, chewing on a green pine needle and squinting over at Susie and Tom Brown, tethered nearby. Rennie had been slouched back like a sack of oats against the same tree, smoking, but now she sat up and stared at me with troubled eyes.
"How can you possibly call Joe silly, of all people?"
"Do you mean how can I of all people call Joe silly, or how can I call Joe of all people silly?"
"You know what I mean: how can you call Joe silly? Good God!"
"Oh," I laughed. "What could be sillier than getting upset at politeness? If I really felt sorry for him it would be my business, not his; if I'm just saying I feel sorry for him to be polite, there's even less reason to be bothered, since I'm just making so much noise."
"But that kind of noise is absurd, isn't it?"
"Sure. Where did you and Joe get the notion that things should be scrapped just because they're absurd? That's a silly one for you. For that matter, what could be sillier than this whole aim of living coherently?" (lk 55)
  • Rennie stood up. Her expression, I should guess, was that of the Athenians on the morning they discovered that Alcibiades had gelded every marble god in town. She was speechless. (lk 55-56)
  • [Rennie:] "You know, I lived in a complete fog from the day I was born until after I met Joe," she said. "I was popular and all that, but I swear it was just like I was asleep all through school and college. I wasn't really interested in anything, I never thought about anything. I never even particularly wanted to do anything -- I didn't even especially enjoy myself. I just dreamed along like a big blob of sleep. If I thought about myself at all, I guess I lived on my potentialities, because I never felt dissatisfied with myself." (lk 57)
  • "First of all, suppose everyone's personality is unique. Does it follow that because a thing is unique it's valuable? You're saying that it's better to be a real Rennie MacMahon than an imitation Joe Morgan, but that's not self-evident, Jake; not at all. It's just romantic. I'd rather be a lousy Joe Morgan than a first-rate Rennie MacMahon. To hell with pride. This unique-personality business is another thing that's no absolute."
"To quote the gospel to you, Rennie," I said: "it doesn't follow either that because a thing's not absolute it isn't valuable." (lk 62-63)
  • [Joe ja Rennie] Probably he knew she was lying, although it is hard for one who is aware of the truth to judge effectively its disguise. (lk 65-66)
  • Real people aren't any different when they're alone. No masks. What you see of them is authentic."
"Horseshit. Nobody's authentic." (lk 70)
  • It is indeed the grossest of injustices to observe a person who believes himself to be alone. (lk 70)
  • Rennie closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the window sill. I stood beside her, out of the light from the brilliant living room, and stroked and stroked her hair, speaking softly in her ear the wordless, grammarless language she'd taught me to calm horses with. (lk 71)

6. ptk[muuda]

  • [Doktor:]
  • "I daresay you don't know the seating capacity of the Cleveland Municipal Stadium, do you?"
The Doctor did not smile. "You suggest that my question is absurd, when you have no grounds for knowing whether it is or not -- you obviously heard me and understood me. Probably you want to delay my learning that you don't know the seating capacity of Cleveland Municipal Stadium, since your vanity would be ruffled if the question weren't absurd, and even if it were. It makes no difference whether it is or not, Jacob Horner: it's a question asked you by your doctor. Now, is there any ultimate reason why the Cleveland Stadium shouldn't seat fifty-seven thousand, four hundred eighty-eight people?"
"None that I can think of," I grinned.
"Don't pretend to be amused. Of course there's not. Is there any reason why it shouldn't seat eighty-eight thousand, four hundred seventy-five people?"
"No, sir."
"Indeed not. Then as far as Reason is concerned its seating capacity could be almost anything. Logic will never give you the answer to my question. Only Knowledge of the World will answer it. There's no ultimate reason at all why the Cleveland Stadium should seat exactly seventy-seven thousand, seven hundred people, but it happens that it does. There's no reason in the long run why Italy shouldn't be shaped like a sausage instead of a boot, but that doesn't happen to be the case. The world is everything that is the case, and what the case is is not a matter of logic. If you don't simply know how many people can sit in the Cleveland Municipal Stadium, you have no real reason for choosing one number over another, assuming you can make a choice at all - do you understand? But if you have some Knowledge of the World you may be able to say, 'Seventy-seven thousand, seven hundred,' just like that. No choice is involved." (lk 81-82, 6. ptk)
  • "You claim to be unable to choose in many situations," he said once. "Well, I claim that that inability is only theoretically inherent in situations, when there's no chooser. Given a particular chooser, it's unthinkable. So, since the inability was displayed in your case, the fault lies not in the situation but in the fact that there was no chooser. Choosing is existence: to the extent that you don't choose, you don't exist. Now, everything we do must be oriented toward choice and action. It doesn't matter whether this action is more or less reasonable than inaction; the point is that it is its opposite."
"But why should anyone prefer it?" I asked.
"There's no reason why you should prefer it," he said, "and no reason why you shouldn't. One is a patient simply because one chooses a condition that only therapy can bring one to, not because any one condition is inherently better than another. All my therapies for a while will be directed toward making you conscious of your existence. It doesn't matter whether you act constructively or even consistently, so long as you act. It doesn't matter to the case whether your character is admirable or not, so long as you think you have one."
"I don't understand why you should choose to treat anyone, Doctor," I said.
"That's my business, not yours." (lk 83, 6. ptk)
  • There were special diets and, for many patients, special drugs. I learned of Nutritional Therapy, Medicinal Therapy, Surgical Therapy, Dynamic Therapy, Informational Therapy, Conversational Therapy, Sexual Therapy, Devotional Therapy, Occupational and Preoccupational Therapy, Virtue and Vice Therapy, Theotherapy and Atheotherapy -- and, later, Mythotherapy, Philosophical Therapy, Scriptotherapy, and many, many other therapies practiced in various combinations and sequences by the patients. Everything, to the Doctor, is either therapeutic, anti-therapeutic, or irrelevant. He is a kind of super-pragmatist. (lk 84)
  • [Doktor:] "It would not be well in your particular case to believe in God," he said, "Religion will only make you despondent. But until we work out something for you it will be useful to subscribe to some philosophy. Why don't you read Sartre and become an existentialist?" (lk 84-85)

  • [Doktor:] Mütoteraapia põhineb kahel eeldusel: et inimese olemasolu eelneb inimese olemusele, kui kumbki neist kahest terminist üldse midagi tähistab, ja et inimene on vaba mitte üksnes valima omaenda olemust, vaid ka seda omatahtsi muutma. Need mõlemad on head eksistentsialistlikud eeldused ja kas nad on tõesed või väärad, ei paku meile huvi - sinu puhul on nad kasulikud. (lk 88)
  • [Doktor:] Elus ei ole olemuslikult pea- ja kõrvaltegelasi. Selles osas on kogu ilukirjandus, elulookirjandus ja suurem osa ajalookirjandust vale. Igaüks on paratamatult omaenda eluloo kangelane. "Hamletit" võiks jutustada Poloniuse vaatepunktist ja nimetada "Taani lordkantsleri Poloniuse tragöödiaks". Ma julgen väita, et ta ei pidanud ennast milleski kõrvaltegelaseks. Või oletame, et sa oled pulmas uksehoidja. Peigmehe vaatepunktist on peategelane tema ja kõik teised mängivad kõrvalosi, isegi pruut. Sinu vaatepunktist aga on pulm kõrvaline episood sinu vägagi põnevas eluloos ning pruut ja peigmees on kõrvalosalised. Sa oled otsustanud mängida kõrvalosalise rolli: sulle võib pakkuda lõbu teeselda, et sa oled vähem oluline kui sa ennast tegelikult olevat tead, just nagu tegi Odüsseus, kui ta end seakarjuseks maskeeris. Ja iga pulmaseltskonna liige näeb iseennast peategelasena, kes on soostunud osalema näitemängus. Nii et selles tähenduses ei ole ilukirjandus üldse mitte vale, vaid tõene kajastus moonutusest, mille igaüks elule peale surub.
Kuid me ei ole mitte üksnes omaenda elulugude kangelased - me oleme need, kes loo välja mõtlevad ja annavad teistele inimestele kõrvaltegelaste olemuse. Kuid reeglina ei ole mitte kellegi elulugu iial vaid üks kooskõlalise tegevustikuga lugu, me mõtestame kogu aeg ümber, mis laadi kangelased me oleme, ja mis laadi kõrvalrolle teised inimesed sellest tulenevalt mängima peaksid. See on üldjuhul tõsi. Kui keegi etendab päevad läbi peaaegu ühtsama tegelast, on see kas sellepärast, et tal puudub kujutlusvõime, just nagu näitlejal, kes suudab mängid vaid ühtainust rolli, või kuna tema kujutusvõime on nii laiahaardeline, et ta näieb iga on elus ettetulevat olukorda episoodina mingis suurejoonelises kõikehõlmavas tegevustikus ja suudab olukordi niiviisi moonutada, et nende kõigiga saab hakkama sama tüüpi kangelane. Aga see on ülimalt haruldane.
Sedalaadi rollimääramine ongi müüdiloome ja kui seda tehakse, teadlikult või alateadlikult, oma ego paisutamiseks või kaitsmiseks - ja seda tehakse sel eesmärgil tõenäoliselt kogu aeg - saab sellest mütoteraapia. Asja iva seisneb selles: selline liikumisvõimetus, mida sa tundsid tookord Penni jaamas, on võimalik ainult inimese jaoks, kes on mingil põhjusel loobunud mütoteraapias osalemisest. Tookord pingil istudes polnud sa ei pea- ega kõrvaltegelane: sa polnud üldse mingi tegelane. Sellepärast, et seda on korduvalt juhtunud, pean ma seletama sulle midagi, mis tuleb kõigil teistel välja loomulikult. See on nagu õpetada paralüütikut jälle kõndima.
Paljud kriisid inimeste elus leiavad aset seepärast, et kangelase roll, mille nad on ühe olukorra või olukordade rühma jaoks valinud, uues ettejuhtuvas olukorras enam ei toimi või - mis on sisuliselt sama asi - kuna neil ei ole piisavalt kujutlusvõimet, et moonutada uut olukorda oma vana rolli jaoks sobivaks. Nii juhtub näiteks vanematega, kui nende lapsed vanemaks saavad, ja armastajatega, kui üks neist teisele enam ei meeldi. Kui uus olukord muutub liiga tugevaks, et seda eirata, ja nad ei suuda leida maski, mille abil selles hakkama saada, võivad nad muutuda skisofreenilisteks - see mask on hädaabinõu - või lihtsalt puruneda. Kõik terviklikkuse küsimused hõlmavad seda kaalutlust, kuna inimese terviklikkus seisneb truuduses stsenaariumile, mille ta on enda jaoks kirjutanud.
Ma ütlesin, et sa oled liiga ebastabiilne, et mängida kogu aeg ühtainust osa - ja sa oled ka liiga kujutlusvõimetu -, nii et sul on parem tegelda nende kriisidega, muutes stsenaariumit nii tihti kui vaja. See peaks sul loomupäraselt välja tulema. Sinu jaoks on tähtis mõista, et sa teed seda, et mitte jääda ilma stsenaariumita või antud olukorra jaoks vale stsenaariumiga. Näiteks said sa algaja kohta päris hästi hakkama, kui marssisid siia siia veidi aja eest sisse enesekindlalt ja peaaegu ülbelt, määrates mulle šarlatani rolli. Aga sa pead suutma vahetada maske kohe, kui ma muudan selle, millega sa sisenesid, kuidagiviisi kõlbmatuks. Sa võiksid - ma pakun lihtsalt suvalisi võimalusi - hakata mõtlema minust kui Vanast Targast Mentorist, ütleme, omamoodi makjavellilikust Nestorist, ja endast kui Naiivsest, Kuid Paljulubavast Noorest Õpilasest, noorest Aleksandrist, kes ühel päeval kasutab kõiki neid õpetusi praktikas ja hiilgab palju säravamalt kui õpetaja. Saad sa aru? Või - see on häiriv, kuid hädaabinõuna kõlbulik - Vaikselt Põlglik Noormees, kes kannatab Vana Hullu sonimise välja, kuid lahkub siit nendest mõjutamatuna. Ma nimetan seda häirivaks seepärast, et seda kasutades lõikad sa end ära liiga paljust, mida sa pole veel õppinud.
On ülimalt tähtis, et sa õpiksid neid maske kõhklematult omaks võtma. Ära arva, et nende taga on veel midagi. Ei ole. "Ego" tähendab "mina" ja "mina" tähendab "ego" ja ego on juba definitsiooni järgi mask. Kui puudub ego - nii, nagu sul pingil istudes -, puudub ka "mina". Kui sa mõnikord tunned, et su mask on "ebasiiras" - võimatu sõna! -, siis ainult sellepärast, et üks su maskidest ei sobi teisega. Sa ei saa kahte korraga kanda. See tekitab konflikti ja maskidevaheline konflikt põhjustab liikumisvõimetust samamoodi kui maski puudumine. Mida tugevamalt sa oma olukorda dramatiseerida suudad, määratledes omaenda rolli ja kõigi teiste rollid, seda turvalisem sul on. Paralüütikute mütoteraapias ei ole oluline, kas sul on pea- või kõrvalosa, kuni see on selgelt läbimõeldud, aga tavaliselt on loomulik olla alati peaosas. Nüüd ütle midagi."
Ma ei suutnud.
"Ütle midagi!" käskis Doktor. "Liigu! Võta roll!"
Püüdsin kõigest väest mingit rolli välja mõelda, kuid ei suutnud. (lk 88-91, 6. ptk)

7. ptk[muuda]

  • The dance of sex: if one had no other reason for choosing to subscribe to Freud, what could be more charming than to believe that the whole vaudeville of the world, the entire dizzy circus of history, is but a fancy mating dance? That dictators burn Jews and businessmen vote Republican, that helmsmen steer ships and ladies play bridge, that girls study grammar and boys engineering all at behest of the Absolute Genital? When the synthesizing mood is upon one, what is more soothing than to assert that this one simple yen of humankind, poor little coitus, alone gives rise to cities and monasteries, paragraphs and poems, foot races and battle tactics, metaphysics and hydroponics, trade unions and universities? Who would not delight in telling some extragalactic tourist, "On our planet, sir, males and females copulate. Moreover, they enjoy copulating. But for various reasons they cannot do this whenever, wherever, and with whomever they choose. Hence all this running around that you observe. Hence the world?" A therapeutic notion! (lk 93)
  • In a classroom on the first day of a new term the air's electric with sex like ozone after a summer storm, and all sensed it, if all couldn't name it: the rubby sweet friskies twitched in their seats and tugged their skirts down dimpled white knees; the springy fresh men flexed and slouched, passed quick hands over crew cuts; I folded arms and tightened hams, and leaning against the desk, let its edge press calmingly against my trouser fly like a steadying hand. Early blue morning is an erotic time, the commencement of school terms an erotic season; little's to be done but nod to Freud on such a day. (lk 94)
  • [Jake:] "Don't you understand that all this rigmarole of flattery and chivalry -- the whole theatrical that men perform for women - is disrespect? Any lie is disrespect, and a relationship based on that nonsense is a lie. Chivalry is a fiction invented by men who don't want to be bothered with taking women seriously. The minute a man and woman assent to it they stop thinking of each other as individual human beings: they assent to it precisely so they won't have to think about their partners. Which is completely useful, of course, if sex is the only thing that's on your mind." (lk 97)
  • By that time, if we had been consciously thinking of first steps - and I for one certainly wasn't - I'm sure we both would have assumed that the first steps, whoever made them, had already been made. I mention this because it applies so often to people's reasoning about their behavior in situations that later turn out to be regrettable: it is possible to watch the sky from morning to midnight, or move along the spectrum from infrared to ultraviolet, without ever being able to put your finger on the precise point where a qualitative change takes place; no one can say, "It is exactly here that twilight becomes night," or blue becomes violet, or innocence guilt. One can go a long way into a situation thus without finding the word or gesture upon which initial responsibility can handily be fixed - such a long way that suddenly one realizes the change has already been made, is already history, and one rides along then on the sense of an inevitability, a too-lateness, in which he does not really believe, but which for one reason or another he does not see fit to question. (lk 100-101)
  • "I'm afraid of violence," I said. "I'm always afraid of any kind of violence, even violent emotions. But you have to understand that when anything that matters is concerned, I wouldn't go an inch out of my way to avoid violence. Fear is different from cowardice. If I don't want you to tell Joe it's because I'm afraid of possible violence, but I'd never say a word to talk you out of telling him. There's nothing a man can do about fear, but he has to choose to be cowardly." (lk 105)

Helgi Muller[muuda]


Astusin kastepiisku mööda,
linnulaulude redelit.
Kurekatlad kõlisesid,
pääsusilmad päevitasid,
kullerkupud kumasid.
Küll olid päeval pikad rajad.

  • Helgi Muller, "*Haarasin kinni päeva turjast", rmt: Helgi Muller, "Laulud ratastel", 1966, lk 17

Amanda Gorman[muuda]

Amanda Gorman, 2017.

Amanda Gorman (sündinud 7. märtsil 1998) on USA luuletaja ja aktivist, kes kirjutab valdavalt ühiskondlikel teemadel. 2017. aastal sai temast esimene USA riiklik noorpoeet-laureaat (National Youth Poet Laureate), 2021. aasta 20. jaanuaril esines ta president Joe Bideni ametissepühitsemisel luuletusega "Mägi, millele me ronime" ("The Hill We Climb"). Põhimõtteliselt on ta USA Sveta Grigorjeva.

"Mägi, millele me ronime"[muuda]

Kui saabub päev, küsime endilt,
kust leiaksime valgust selles lõputus varjus?
Me kanname endaga kaotust,
peame kahlama läbi mere
Saime hakkama elaja kõhus
Õppisime, et vaikus ei ole alati rahu
Ja normid ja arusaamad
sellest mis lihtsalt on
Ei ole alati lihtsalt õiglus
Ja ikkagi kuulus koidik meile
juba enne kui me seda teadsime
Kuidagi me seda teeme
Kuidagi oleme vastu pidanud ja näinud
rahvast, mis pole murdunud
üksnes lõpetamata
Meie, maa ja aja järglased
Kus kõhn must tüdruk
kes põlvneb orjadest ja keda kasvatas üksikema
võib unistada presidendiks saamisest
ja leida end ühe sellise ees esinemas

When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry,
a sea we must wade
We've braved the belly of the beast
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace
And the norms and notions
of what just is
Isn’t always just-ice
And yet the dawn is ours
before we knew it
Somehow we do it
Somehow we've weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken
but simply unfinished
We the successors of a country and a time
Where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president
only to find herself reciting for one

Ning jah me pole kaugeltki lihvitud
kaugel hiilgavast
kuid see ei tähenda, et me
püüame luua täiuslikku liitu
Me püüame luua liitu, millel on eesmärk
Luua maad, mis pühendub kõigile inimese kultuuridele, nahavärvidele, loomustele ja
Ja nii tõstame oma pilgud mitte sellele, mis seisab meie vahel
vaid sellele, mis seisab meie ees
Me sulgeme lõhe, sest teame, et tulevikule pühendumiseks
peame esmalt jätma kõrvale oma erinevused
Me paneme relvad käest
et võiksime ulatada käed
Me ei taha kellelegi kahju, vaid kõigile üksmeelt
Tunnistagu maailm tõeks seegi, kui ei midagi muud:
Et isegi leinas me lootsime
Et isegi piinas me püüdsime
Et isegi kurnatult me kasvasime
Et me jääme alati seotuks võidukaina
Mitte sellepärast, et me enam iial lüüa ei saa
vaid sellepärast, et me enam kunagi ei lõhene

And yes we are far from polished
far from pristine
but that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect
We are striving to forge a union with purpose
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and
conditions of man
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us
but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another
We seek harm to none and harmony for all
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew
That even as we hurt, we hoped
That even as we tired, we tried
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious
Not because we will never again know defeat
but because we will never again sow division

Pühakiri käsib meil kujutleda
et igaüks istub oma viina- ja viigipuude all
Ja mitte keegi ei hirmuta neid
Kui me elame oma aja vääriliselt
Siis ei peitu võit mitte relvas
Vaid meie ehitatud sildades
See on lubadus lagendikule
Mägi, millele me ronime
Kui me vaid julgeme
Sellepärast, et olla ameeriklane on enamat kui päritud uhkus,
see on minevik, millesse me astume
ja viis, kuidas me seda parandame
Oleme näinud jõudu, mis pigem purustaks me rahva
kui laseks end jagada
Hävitaks me riigi, kui see tähendaks demokraatiaga viivitamist
Ja see püüd oleks peaaegu õnnestunud
Aga kuigi demokraatiaga saab vahel viivitada
ei saa seda kunagi alatiseks lüüa

Scripture tells us to envision
that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree
And no one shall make them afraid
If we’re to live up to our own time
Then victory won’t lie in the blade
But in all the bridges we’ve made
That is the promise to glade
The hill we climb
If only we dare
It's because being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into
and how we repair it
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation
rather than share it
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy
And this effort very nearly succeeded
But while democracy can be periodically delayed
it can never be permanently defeated

Sellesse tõesse
sellesse usku me usume
Sest kuni meie vaatame tulevikku
vaatab ajalugu meid
See on õiglase lunastuse ajastu
Me kartsime selle sünnil
Me polnud valmis saama pärijaiks
nii hirmutavale tunnile
kuid leidsime selles jõu
kirjutada uus peatükk
Pakkuda endile lootust ja naeru
Nii et kui me kord küsisime
kuidas võiksime katastroofist jagu saada?
Küsime nüüd
kuidas võiks katastroof meist jagu saada?
Me ei marsi tagasi selle juurde, mis oli
vaid liigume selle poole, mis olema saab
Maa, mis on räsitud, kuid terve,
heatahtlik, kuid julge,
raevukas ja vaba

In this truth
in this faith we trust
For while we have our eyes on the future
history has its eyes on us
This is the era of just redemption
We feared at its inception
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs
of such a terrifying hour
but within it we found the power
to author a new chapter
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves
So while we once we asked,
how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?
Now we assert
How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was
but move to what shall be
A country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free

Meid ei peleta
ega katkesta ähvardused
sest me teame, et meie enda tegevusetus ja tuimus
oleks järgmise põlvkonna pärand
Meie komistused saaksid nende koormaks
Kuid üks on kindel:
Kui me ühendame halastuse jõuga
ja jõu õiglusega,
siis saab meie pärandiks armastus
ja see muudab me laste sünniõigust
Nii et jätkem endast maha maa,
mis on parem kui see, mis jäeti meile
Iga hingetõmbega mu pronksrinnast
muudame selle haavatud maailma imeliseks
Me tõuseme lääne kullakarvalistest mägedest,
me tõuseme tuulisest kirdest
kus meie esiisad esmakordselt rajasid revolutsiooni
Me tõuseme kesklääne osariikide järvelinnadest,
me tõuseme päikses küpsenud lõunast
Me ehitame taas üles, lepitame ja taastume
ja meie riigi iga nurgake ja
iga paik, mida kutsutakse meie maaks,
meie kirev ja kaunis rahvas tõuseb,
räsitud ja kaunis

We will not be turned around
or interrupted by intimidation
because we know our inaction and inertia
will be the inheritance of the next generation
Our blunders become their burdens
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and change our children’s birthright
So let us leave behind a country
better than the one we were left with
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one
We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west,
we will rise from the windswept northeast
where our forefathers first realized revolution
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states,
we will rise from the sunbaked south
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover
and every known nook of our nation and
every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,
battered and beautiful

Kui saabub päev, astume varjust välja,
leekides ja kartmatud
Uus koidik lööb õitsele, kui me ta vabastame
Sest valgus on alati,
kui me vaid oleme küllalt julged, et seda näha,
kui me vaid oleme küllalt julged, et see olla

When day comes we step out of the shade,
aflame and unafraid
The new dawn blooms as we free it
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it
If only we’re brave enough to be it


Jill Biden[muuda]

Jill Biden

Jill Tracy Biden (neiupõlvenimega Jacobs, hiljem Stevenson; sündinud 3. juunil 1951 Hammontonis New Jerseys USAs) on USA pedagoog, inglise filoloogia professor Põhja-Virginia Kogukonnakolledžis (Northern Virginia Community College). Tal on pedagoogikadoktori kraad Delaware'i Ülikoolist (2007). 2012. aastal avaldas ta lasteraamatu "Don't Forget, God Bless Our Troops", mis põhines tema kasupoja Beau väeteenistusel, ning 2019. aastal mälestusteraamatu "Where the Light Enters: Building a Family, Discovering Myself". Tema abikaasa Joe Biden tegeleb väikestviisi poliitikaga, nende tütar Ashley Biden on moelooja, filantroop ja aktivist.

  • She has said of teaching at a community college, "I feel like I can make a greater difference in their lives. I just love that population. It just feels really comfortable to me. I love the women who are coming back to school and getting their degrees, because they're so focused."[38]
  • But following George W. Bush's reelection in 2004, she urged her husband to run again for president,[39] later saying: "I literally wore black for a week. I just could not believe that he won, because I felt that things were already so bad. I was so against the Iraq War. And I said to Joe, 'You've got to change this, you have to change this.'"
    • Libby Copeland, "Campaign Curriculum", The Washington Post, October 23, 2008. Koopia Internet Archive'is, 7. november 2010

  • She told a colleague, "My standard line when students ask me if I am married to the VP is to say that I am one of his relatives. That usually quiets them."
    • Glueck, Katie; Eder, Steve (February 2, 2020). "In Iowa, a Former Second Lady Campaigns to Be the First". The New York Times. p. A16. Archived from the original on July 19, 2020. Retrieved February 12, 2020.


  • Staffers recall Biden always carrying students' work around with her on trips, and Michelle Obama's recollection of her time travelling with Biden was simply, "Jill is always grading papers."[19]
    • Yuan, Jada; Linskey, Annie (August 17, 2020). "Jill Biden is finally ready to be first lady. Can she help her husband beat Trump?". The Washington Post. Archived from the original on August 19, 2020. Retrieved August 19, 2020.


  • That same month, she was named board chair of Save the Children; she said, "I think [their] emphasis on education fits with my life's work."[84]

"Jill Biden to Be Named Board Chair of Save the Children". U.S. News & World Report. Associated Press. February 21, 2017. Archived from the original on August 6, 2017. Retrieved August 6, 2017. https://web.archive.org/web/20170806182746/https://www.usnews.com/news/tennessee/articles/2017-02-21/jill-biden-to-be-named-board-chair-of-save-the-children

  • Then in May 2018, she gave a commencement address at Bishop State Community College in Alabama, telling the graduates that "Maybe like me, life got in the way and it's taken you a lot longer than you expected to get here today. ... Whoever you are, know this, if you can walk across this stage, you can do anything."[90]
    • "'You can do anything,' Dr. Jill Biden says at Bishop State's Commencement". Huntsville, Alabama: WAAY-TV. May 11, 2018. Archived from the original on July 23, 2018. Retrieved July 23, 2018.


Sally Rooney[muuda]

Sally Rooney (sündinud 20. veebruaril 1991 Castlebaris Mayo maakonnas Iirimaal) on iiri kirjanik, stsenarist, toimetaja ja luuletaja. Eesti keeles on ilmunud tema debüütromaan "Vestlused sõpradega" (i.k "Conversations with Friends", 2017; e.k. Tallinn : Varrak, 2019, tlk Triin Tael). Järjeromaani "Normal People" (2018) alusel valmis 2020 BBC telesari.


I’ve never attempted to write from the perspective of someone older than me so my novels are all about my cohort. That’s not about making a statement, but it’s what I can do.

I certainly never intended to speak for anyone other than myself. Even myself I find it difficult to speak for. My books may well fail as artistic endeavours but I don’t want them to fail for failing to speak for a generation for which I never intended to speak in the first place.

I was born in the same year a Virgin megastore was raided for selling condoms without a pharmacist present. Two years before the decriminalisation of homosexuality. Four years before the legalisation of divorce.

I don’t respond to authority very well. I fundamentally don’t agree with accepting authority that you haven’t agreed to in some way. As a funnel – as a way of making children into adults – I don’t think it’s good practice.

  • [Inglise filoloogia õpinguist Dublini Trinity College'is:]

It was a completely new way of thinking about books and literature and it felt intellectually challenging. I was grappling with the modernists and 19th-century novels and even now I’m still developing the ability to read intelligently, which I hope will continue for the rest of my life.

Tema kohta[muuda]

  • The history of fiction is littered with callow university novels, so what happened next was extraordinary: almost as soon as Conversations with Friends appeared in the spring of 2017, Rooney was being hailed as the voice of the millennials, a Snapchat Salinger. It was an intensity of acclaim that happens once or twice in a generation, placing her alongside Donna Tartt or Zadie Smith as a writer who appeared to emerge fully formed, not only in her craft but as a literary celebrity and a mouthpiece for something in the culture that needed to be articulated.


Jennie Augusta Brownscombe, The First Thanksgiving, 1914. Pilgrim Hall Museum, Plymouth, Massachusetts.
""Esimese tänupüha" filiopietistlikud kujutised hakkasid vohama 19. sajandi lõpus ja 20. sajandi alguses, mil tänupühamüüt populaarsust kogus. Pange tähele selliseid ajaloolisi ebatäpsusi nagu tasandikuindiaanlaste rõivad Wampanoagide seljas (nagu peaehted ja narmastega nahkrõivad), palkmaja, laudlina ja peen mööbel. Tegelik pidusöök oli maalähedasem ja lärmakam üritus kui siin kujutatud vaga kodune stseen." - David J. Silverman, "This Land Is Their Land: The Wampanoag Indians, Plymouth Colony, and the Troubled History of Thanksgiving", Bloomsbury Publishing, 2019.

Tänupüha on Ameerika Ühendriikides, Kanadas, Grenadal, Saint Lucial, Libeerias, Saksamaal, Jaapanis jt riikide püha, mis jääb sügiseste lõikuspühade aega. USAs tähistatakse seda tänapäeval novembri neljandal neljapäeval. Selles on sulanud ühte mitu eri algupäraga püha, näiteks Virginias 1619. aastal maabunud asunike Berkeley Hundredisse saabumist tähistanud püha, Plymouthis 1621. aastast asunike ja vampanoagi indiaanlaste vastastikust abistamist tähistanud lõikuspüha, Puritaanide Hollandist kaasatoodud püha, mis algselt mälestas Leideni linna vabanemist piiramisest 1574. aastal, Massachusettsis 1630. aastate lõpust tähistatud püha, mis mälestas Plymouthi kuberneri William Bradfordi juhtimisel pekoti indiaanlaste seas 1637. aastal toime pandud genotsiidi, jmt.

  • [---] Thanksgiving Day, a function which originated in New England two or three

centuries ago when those people recognized that they really had something to be thankful for — annually, not oftener — if they had succeeded in exterminating their neighbors, the Indians, during the previous twelve months instead of getting exterminated by their neighbors the Indians. Thanksgiving Day became a habit, for the reason that in the course of time, as the years drifted on, it was perceived that the exterminating had ceased to be mutual and was all on the white man’s side, consequently on the Lord’s side, consequently it was proper to thank the Lord for it and extend the usual annual compliments. The original reason for a Thanksgiving Day has long ago ceased to exist—the Indians have long ago been comprehensively and satisfactorily exterminated and the account closed with Heaven, with the thanks due. But, from old habit, Thanksgiving Day has remained with us, and every year the President of the United States and the Governors of all the several States and the territories set themselves the task, every November, to advertise for something to be thankful for, and then they put those thanks into a few crisp and reverent phrases, in the form of a Proclamation, and this is read from all the pulpits in the land, the national conscience is wiped clean with one swipe, and sin is resumed at the old stand.

    • Mark Twain, 12. jaanuar 1906, rmt: Autobiography of Mark Twain, Vol. 1, University of California Press, 2010, lk 267-268
  • . During the eighteenth century and the first half of the

nineteenth, Thanksgiving had no link whatsoever with Pilgrims and Indians. It was a regional holiday, observed only in the New England states or those in the Midwest to which New Englanders had migrated. Individual states decided whether and when they would hold the holiday, though the traditional time was late November to mark the close of the agricultural year. The so-called First Thanksgiving, as a 1621 gathering of English colonists and Wampanoags has come to be known, was not the root of this holiday. [---]

The character of the holiday began to change only around the time of the

Civil War. In 1863 President Abraham Lincoln declared that the last Thursday of November should be held as a national day of Thanksgiving, apparently in response to intense lobbying by Sarah Josepha Hale, the editor of Godey’s Lady’s Book. Hale believed that the observance would foster unity amid the horrors of the Civil War. Afterward, the tradition stuck, with some modifications to the date, and gradually it spread to the South, too. Around the same time, Americans began to think of the holiday as originating in a feast shared between the English colonists of Plymouth and the surrounding Indians. The first suggestion that such a link existed appears to date to 1841, when the Reverend Alexander Young published the only primary source account of that event, consisting of a mere paragraph of four lines. To it, Young added an influential footnote (perhaps the first and only influential footnote in history) stating that “this was the first Thanksgiving, the harvest festival of New England.” Over the next fifty years, various authors, artists, and lecturers disseminated Young’s idea until Americans took it for granted.5

    • "Mourning in America", David J. Silverman, "This Land Is Their Land: The Wampanoag Indians, Plymouth Colony, and the Troubled History of Thanksgiving", Bloomsbury Publishing, 2019
  • It was conceived they thus destroyed about 400 at this time. It was a fearful sight to see them thus frying in the fire, and the streams of blood quenching the same, and horrible was the stink and scent thereof; but the victory seemed a sweet sacrifice, and they gave the praise thereof to God, who had wrought so wonderfully for them, thus to enclose their enemies in their hands, and give them so speedy a victory over so proud and insulting an enemy.
  • Plymouthi kuberner William Bradford massimõrva kohta, mille puhul ta käskis edaspidi iga-aastaselt jumalat tänada

Leah Goldberg[muuda]

Leah Goldberg 1946. aastal.

Leah Goldberg (ka Lea Goldberg; 29. mai 1911 Königsberg, Saksamaa – 15. jaanuar 1970 Jeruusalemm, Iisrael) oli viljakas heebreakeelne kirjanik, näitekirjanik, tõlkija ja kirjandusteadlane, keda tänapäeval peetakse Iisraeli kirjanduse klassikuks.


"Mu kodumaa"[muuda]

Oh mu kodumaa, vaene ja võrratult ilus!
Kuninganna koduta, kuningas kroonita seal.
Seitse päeva vaid aastas sa kevadeilus,
vihm ja kõledus vahepeal.

Kuid kõikjal on roosid seitse päeva
ja kõikjal on kastemärg seitse päeva
ja avatud aknad on seitse päeva
ja kõik kerjused õhtuti kokku saavad
ja valgust kui sõpra nad tervitavad
ja kõik kerjused rõõmu näevad.

Oh mu kodumaa, vaene ja võrratult ilus!
Kuninganna koduta, kuningas kroonita seal.
Seitse päeva vaid aastas sa rõõmuilus,
nälg ja valu on vahepeal.

Kuid küünlapaar laual on seitse päeva
ja toitu täis lauad on seitse päeva
ja südamed laulavad seitse päeva
ja kõik kerjused taeva all palvetavad
ja su lastest peiud ja pruudid saavad
ja kõik kerjused üksteises kaime näevad.

Oh mu kodumaa, vaene ja näguripäevis!
Kuninganna koduta, kuningas kroonita seal.
Ühe lauludes ainult Sa kiitust näeksid,
kogu ilm vaid su süüd ja su häbi neab.

Kõnnin risti ja põiki ma, taas ja taas
igal turuplatsil ja tänaval,
su vägevaist varemeist hoian ma
iga kivi ja laulu sees märgin ta ära.

Riigist riiki, mäel ja lausikul maal
sama lugu mängin leierkastiga,
ülistades su vaesuse sära.