Birth was the death of him

In the spirit of nobody and nowhere (see forthcoming post) special, I present to you an Irishman, a centurion and a genius: the inimitable Samuel Beckett – poet of nothingness.

I haven't written about Beckett since my heady University days but many are writing about the man, his works and the centenary celebrations that are going on across the UK and Ireland at the moment. The Guardian's Michael Hall asks:

"Why, indeed, would you bother [with Beckett], given his reputation … Will he depress you, drive you to drink or worse?

"Depending on your constitution, perhaps he will. But there's much more to this great writer than an impossibly bleak view of the universe. Honest. He's incredibly funny, for one. And he's fond, in a puerile way, of the word "arse", which, in my view, recommends him highly."

Mine too. Happy 100th Sam

(Photo half-inched from


Blogger Serge said...

What an incredible coincidence. I was just reading on (national TV station - viz. about a group of men aged 50+ (like Beckett always said they should be) standing around on the Korenmarkt in Ghent (one of the major squares in the old part of town), waiting. For Godot yes: it's a project, apparently, by an art school student who is af big fan of Beckett's work. I'll try and look out for some photos - none found so far..

2:00 pm  
Blogger Serge said...

That link should be:

Just paste it back together to get it complete...

2:02 pm  
Blogger Pub said...

Thanks for the link, between my rusty Dutch and Babelfish I got there in the end.

Godot is one of my favourite plays. When I'm over 50 I think I might find myself a spot and some companions and sit around and wait myself

2:54 pm  

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