dinsdag 9 augustus 2011

Prentbriefkaart


Charles Simic luidt de alarmbel in The New York Review of Books: er worden geen prentbriefkaarten meer verstuurd!
Here it is already August and I have received only one postcard this summer. It was sent to me by a European friend who was traveling in Mongolia (as far as I could deduce from the postage stamp) and who simply sent me his greetings and signed his name. The picture in color on the other side was of a desert broken up by some parched hills without any hint of vegetation or sign of life, the name of the place in characters I could not read. Even receiving such an enigmatic card pleased me immensely. This piece of snail mail, I thought, left at the reception desk of a hotel, dropped in a mailbox, or taken to the local post office, made its unknown and most likely arduous journey by truck, train, camel, donkey—or whatever it was— and finally by plane to where I live.
(en het vervolg lees je hier)

Het prentje: uit Martin Carr's collectie Boring Postcards. Voor alle duidelijkheid: wij ontvangen altijd graag prentbriefkaarten. Welke dan ook. Zelfs van Britse autosnelwegen.

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