He aquí los pensamientos aleatorios de un epistemólogo andante.
I dream of a world where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned.
피할수 없는 고통이라면 차라리 즐겨라
As of June, 2013, I have assumed a new identity: I am a cancer survivor. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose."
"A blog, in the end, is really not so different from an inscription on a bone: I was here, it declares to no one in particular. Don't forget that." - Justin E. H. Smith
재미없으면 보상해드립니다!
"All things are enchained with one another, bound together by love." - Nietzsche (really!)
Leviticus 19:33-34
Donc, si Dieu existait, il n’y aurait pour lui qu’un seul moyen de servir la liberté humaine, ce serait de cesser d’exister. - Mikhail Bakunin
Solvitur ambulando.
"Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to soliloquize. Where was I?" - the villain Heinz Doofenshmirtz, in the cartoon Phineas and Ferb.
My name is Jared Way. I was born in rural Far Northern California, and became an "adoptive" Minnesotan. I have lived in many other places: Mexico City, Philadelphia, Valdivia (Chile), Los Angeles. And for 11 years, I was an expatriate living in South Korea. In the summer of 2018, I made another huge change, and relocated to Southeast Alaska, which is my uncle's home.
For many years I was a database programmer, with a background in Linguistics and Spanish Literature. In Korea, worked as an EFL teacher.
In June, 2013, while I was in Ilsan in South Korea, I was diagnosed with cancer, and underwent successful treatment. That changed my life pretty radically.
Currently, you could say I'm "between jobs," somewhat caretaking my uncle (to the extent he tolerates that) and getting adapted to life in rural Alaska after so many years as an urban dweller.
I started this blog before I even had the idea of going to Korea (first entry: Caveat: And lo...). So this is not meant to be a blog about Korea, by any stretch of the imagination. But life in Korea, and Korean language and culture, inevitably have come to play a central role in this blog's current incarnation.
Basically, this blog is a newsletter for the voices in my head. It keeps everyone on the same page: it has become a sort of aide-mémoire.
For a more detailed reflection on why I'm blogging, you can look at this old post: What this blog is, and isn't.
If you're curious about me, there is a great deal of me here. I believe in what I call "opaque transparency" - you can learn almost everything about me if you want, but it's not immediately easy to find.
A distillation of my personal philosophy (at least on good days):
I have made the realization that happiness is not a mental state. It is not something that is given to you, or that you find, or that you can lose, or that can be taken from you. Happiness is something that you do. And like most things that you do, it is volitional. You can choose to do happiness, or not. You have complete freedom with respect to the matter.
"Ethical joy is the correlate of speculative affirmation." - Gilles Deleuze (writing about Spinoza).
Like most people, I spend a lot of time online, although I try to limit it somewhat. Here is a somewhat-annotated list of the "places" where I spend
time online.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Knowledge and News
I spend about half of all my time online reading Wikipedia. It's why I know stuff.
I get most of my world news from Minnesota Public Radio which includes NPR, BBC and CBC, depending on when I listen.
I don't really "do" social media. I have a membership at Facebookland but I never log in
there. I don't like it.
I have a membership at The Youtubes but I mostly use it for work. I also listen to music on youtube, frequently - I prefer it to typical streaming services, for example.
Humor and Cat Videos
Cat videos and other internet novelties: Laughing Squid.
Geofiction - this has evolved into a significant "hobby" for me. I like to draw imaginary maps, and there is a website that has enabled this vice.
I worked as a volunteer administrator for the site OpenGeofiction on and off for a few years. I created (but no longer maintain) the site's main wiki page: OGF Wiki. I am not currently working as administrator but I remain active on the site.
The above work has required my becoming an expert in the Openstreetmap system. Openstreetmap is an attempt do for online maps what wikipedia has done for encyclopedias. I have considered becoming an openstreetmap contributor, but I feel that my current location in Korea hinders that, since I don't have a good grasp Korean cartographic naming conventions.
Starting in April, 2018, I decided somewhat capriciously to build my own "OGF stack" on my own server. This was not because I intended to abandon the OGF site, but rather because I wanted to better understand the whole architecture and all its parts. I built a wiki on the Mediawiki platform (the same as wikipedia). This wiki has no content. I built a map tileserver and geospatial database, which contains a very low resolution upload of an imaginary planet called Rahet. And I built a wordpress blog, which is a separate, low-frequency blog intended to focus on my geofictional pursuits rather than this more personalized, general purpose blog. All of these things can be found integrated together on my rent-a-server, here: geofictician.net
TEFL - my "profession," such as it is.
Online English Grammar reference Grammarist. Useful for settling disputes over grammar.
Hoc etiam magis haec animum te advertere par est corpora quae in solis radiis turbare videntur, quod tales turbae motus quoque materiai significant clandestinos caecosque subesse. multa videbis enim plagis ibi percita caecis commutare viam retroque repulsa reverti nunc huc nunc illuc in cunctas undique partis. scilicet hic a principiis est omnibus error. prima moventur enim per se primordia rerum, inde ea quae parvo sunt corpora conciliatu et quasi proxima sunt ad viris principiorum, ictibus illorum caecis inpulsa cientur, ipsaque proporro paulo maiora lacessunt. sic a principiis ascendit motus et exit paulatim nostros ad sensus, ut moveantur illa quoque, in solis quae lumine cernere quimus nec quibus id faciant plagis apparet aperte.
- Titus Lucretius Carus (Roman poet, 99BC-55BC),
The above are lines from Book II, lines 125-141, in Lucretius' De Rerum Natura.
Here is a prose translation to English, by John Selby Watson, 1851.
For you will see there, among those atoms in the sun-beam, many, struck with imperceptible forces, change their course, and turn back, being repelled sometimes this way, and sometimes that, every where, and in all directions. And doubtless this errant-motion in all these atoms proceeds from the primary elements of matter; for the first primordial-atoms of things are moved of themselves; and then those bodies which are of light texture, and are, as it were, nearest to the nature of the primary elements, are put into motion, and these latter themselves, moreover, agitate others which are somewhat larger. Thus motion ascends from the first principles, and spreads forth by degrees, so as to be apparent to our senses, and so that those atoms are moved before us, which we can see in the light of the sun; though it is not clearly evident by what impulses they are thus moved.
This is about Brownian motion. It was written a bit less than 2100 years ago.
Public Enemy, "Bring The Noise." This song is 30 years old. The video is dated, but the sound works, still, I think. Actually I went and listened this because it was mentioned in a discussion of dactylic hexameter, the meter of classical epic poetry (Greek and Latin, notably Virgil's Aeneid). I tried to scan a few lines and find the dactyls, but to be honest my skills are limited. I have always felt that rap and hiphop are genres wherein poetry most convincingly persists as a truly popular artform in our modern era.
Lyrics.
Too black, too strong Too black, too strong
[Intro: Flava Flav] Yo Chuck, these honey drippers are still fronting on us Show 'em that we can do this, cause we always knew this Haha, yeah boy!
[Verse 1: Chuck D] Bass! How low can you go? Death row, what a brother know Once again, back is the incredible rhyme animal The uncannable D, Public Enemy Number One Five-O said, "Freeze!" and I got numb Can I tell 'em that I really never had a gun? But it's the wax that the Terminator X spun Now they got me in a cell cause my records, they sell Cause a brother like me said, "Well Farrakhan's a prophet and I think you ought to listen to What he can say to you, what you wanna do is follow for now" Power of the people, say "Make a miracle, D, pump the lyrical" Black is back, all in, we're gonna win Check it out, yeah y'all, come on, here we go again
[Hook:] Turn it up! Bring the noise!
[Bridge: Flava Flav] Ayo Chuck, they're saying we're too black, man Yo, I don't understand what they're saying But little do they know they can get a smack for that, man
[Verse 2] Never badder than bad cause the brother is madder than mad At the fact that's corrupt like a senator Soul on a roll, but you treat it like soap on a rope Cause the beats and the lines are so dope Listen for lessons I'm saying inside music that the critics are blasting me for They'll never care for the brothers and sisters now, cause the country has us up for the war We got to demonstrate, come on now They're gonna have to wait till we get it right Radio stations I question their blackness They call themselves black, but we'll see if they'll play this
[Hook:] Turn it up! Bring the noise!
[Bridge: Flava Flav] Ayo Chuck, they illin', we chillin' Yo PE in the house, top billin' Yo Chuck, show em what you can do, boy
[Verse 3:] Get from in front of me, the crowd runs to me My deejay is warm, he's X, I call him Norm, ya know He can cut a record from side to side So what, the ride, the glide should be much safer than a suicide Soul control, beat is the father of your rock'n'roll Music for whatcha, for whichin', you call a band, man Making a music, abuse it, but you can't do it, ya know You call 'em demos, (but we ride limos, too) Whatcha gonna do? Rap is not afraid of you Beat is for Sonny Bono, (beat is for Yoko Ono) Run-DMC first said a deejay could be a band Stand on its feet, get you out your seat Beat is for Eric B. and LL as well, hell Wax is for Anthrax, still it can rock bells Ever forever, universal, it will sell Time for me to exit, Terminator X-it
[Hook:] Turn it up! Bring the noise!
[Bridge: Flava Flav] Yo, they should know by now that they can't stop this bum rush Word up, better keep tellin' me to turn it down But yo, Flavor Flav ain't going out like that
[Verse 4] From coast to coast, so you can stop being like a comatose "Stand, my man? The beat's the same with a boast toast" Rock with some pizzazz, it will last. Why you ask? Roll with the rock stars, still never get accepted as We got to plead the Fifth, we can investigate Don't need to wait, get the record straight Hey, posse's in effect, got the Flavor, Terminator X to sign checks, play to get paid We got to check it out down on the avenue A magazine or two is dissing me and dissing you Yeah, I'm telling you
[Outro: Flava Flav] Hey yo, Griff, get thirty S1W, we got to handle this We ain't goin' out like that Yo man, straight up on the Columbo tip We can do this, like Buddhists Cause we always knew this You know what I'm sayin' There's just one thing that puzzles me, my brother What's wrong with all these people around here, man Is they clocking? Is they rocking? Is they shocking?...
At night, toward dawn, all the lights of the shore have died, And the wind moves. Moves in the dark The sleeping power of the ocean, no more beastlike than manlike, Not to be compared; itself and itself. Its breath blown shoreward huddles the world with a fog; no stars Dance in heaven; no ship's light glances. I see the heavy granite bodies of the rocks of the headland, That were ancient here before Egypt had pyramids, Bulk on the gray of the sky, and beyond them the jets of young trees I planted the year of the Versailles peace. But here is the final unridiculous peace. Before the first man Here were the stones, the ocean, the cypresses, And the pallid region in the stone-rough dome of fog where the moon Falls on the west. Here is reality. The other is a spectral episode: after the inquisitive animal's Amusements are quiet: the dark glory.
Day is a type when visible objects change then put
on form but the anti-type That thing not shadowed
The way music is formed of cloud and fire once actually
concrete now accidental as half truth or as whole truth
Is light anything like this stray pencil commonplace
copy as to one aberrant onward-gliding mystery
A secular arietta variation Grass angels perish in this
harmonic collision because non-being cannot be ‘this'
Not spirit not space finite Not infinite to those fixed—
That this millstone as such Quiet which side on which—
Is one mind put into another in us unknown to ourselves by going about among trees and fields in moonlight or in a garden to ease distance to fetch home spiritual things
That a solitary person bears witness to law in the ark to
an altar of snow and every age or century for a day is
I had a plan to do some things to get ready for the fact I'm going to Australia next weekend: various projects, hovering in the wings. But after making it to the store yesterday, I got absolutely nothing done. I just lost momentum - last week was a hard week and I just needed the downtime, I think.
I listened to random new music in pop and rap genres.
So now I'm going to have a pretty hectic week, I think. More later.
What I'm listening to right now.
The Weeknd, "Starboy feat. Daft Punk." This song intrigues me: the kind of sweet, ballad-like production and melody contrasting with the hardcore street-culture braggadocio lyrics. That makes it a more introspective effort than either genre in isolation.
Lyrics (NSFW).
[Verse 1] I'm tryna put you in the worst mood, ah P1 cleaner than your church shoes, ah Milli point two just to hurt you, ah All red Lamb’ just to tease you, ah None of these toys on lease too, ah Made your whole year in a week too, yah Main bitch out your league too, ah Side bitch out of your league too, ah
[Pre-Chorus] House so empty, need a centerpiece 20 racks a table cut from ebony Cut that ivory into skinny pieces Then she clean it with her face man I love my baby You talking money, need a hearing aid You talking bout me, I don't see the shade Switch up my style, I take any lane I switch up my cup, I kill any pain [Chorus] Look what you've done I’m a motherfuckin' starboy Look what you've done I'm a motherfuckin' starboy
[Verse 2] Every day a nigga try to test me, ah Every day a nigga try to end me, ah Pull off in that Roadster SV, ah Pockets overweight, gettin' hefty, ah Coming for the king, that's a far cry, ah I come alive in the fall time, I No competition, I don't really listen I’m in the blue Mulsanne bumping New Edition
[Pre-Chorus] House so empty, need a centerpiece 20 racks a table cut from ebony Cut that ivory into skinny pieces Then she clean it with her face man I love my baby You talking money, need a hearing aid You talking bout me, I don’t see the shade Switch up my style, I take any lane I switch up my cup, I kill any pain
[Chorus] Look what you've done I’m a motherfuckin' starboy Look what you've done I'm a motherfuckin’ starboy
[Verse 3] Let a nigga Brad Pitt Legend of the Fall took the year like a bandit Bought mama a crib and a brand new wagon Now she hit the grocery shop looking lavish Star Trek roof in that Wraith of Khan Girls get loose when they hear this song 100 on the dash get me close to God We don't pray for love, we just pray for cars
[Pre-Chorus] House so empty, need a centerpiece 20 racks a table cut from ebony Cut that ivory into skinny pieces Then she clean it with her face man I love my baby You talking money, need a hearing aid You talking 'bout me, I don't see the shade Switch up my style, I take any lane I switch up my cup, I kill any pain
[Chorus] Look what you've done I'm a motherfuckin' starboy Look what you've done I'm a motherfuckin' starboy Look what you've done I'm a motherfuckin' starboy Look what you've done I'm a motherfuckin' starboy
Sometimes my friend Bob, an academic professor of music and conductor in Wisconsin, sends me snippets of Spanish song lyrics to translate, because he actually needs them for his work. He knows I don't mind this, and even enjoy it.
Perhaps I should add to my blog's various tag-lines, at left, the phrase "The Only Spanish-to-English translation service operating in the Korean Peninsula!" I would be pretty confident this is true, though who really knows what Kim Jeong-eun is up to in his secret cultural propaganda factories in the basements of Pyeongyang.
Yesterday, Bob sent me a song in the genre of candombe (see the wiki thing). He was hoping I could translate it and/or offer some cultural observations. Here's what I sent back to him this morning.
Here's an in-line translation, mostly "on the fly" with a few checks with the RAE (Royal academy of Spanish Dictionary website). There are a few disorganized notes below the translation.
Candombe del seis de enero
Verse 1
Es por todos sabido que el 6 de enero Everyone knows that January 6th es el dia de los Reyes Magos is the day of the Three Magi [Epiphany] y en honor de uno de ellos, el más negro and to honor one of them, the darkest, se programa una fiesta en el barrio. a party is arranged in the neighborhood
Es por todos sabido que es el más negro Everyone knows that the darkest, el rey de los santos candomberos the king of the candombe saints San Baltasar es un santo muy alegre Saint Balthazar is a very happy saint dice la mama Inés y mueve los pies. that's what Mama Inés says, and she moves her feet
Refrain
Listos corazones Ready hearts van con el candombe come with candombe y con este ritmo a profesar, and with this rhythm, to show los rojos colores the bright colors con festón dorado, with golden edging le gustan al rey San Baltasar. they love Saint Balthazar
Verse 2
La comuna convoca y lo venera The troupe gathers and venerates por la estrella lucero que el ciclo espera under the Wandering Star that the calendar will bring San Baltasar se hamaca sobre las aguas Saint Balthazar rocks over the waters de un mar de promesantes que canta y baila. of a sea of worshippers who sing and dance
Conversa el ronco bombo mientras avanza the husky drum speaks as it moves forward repican tamboriles en las comparsas tambourines sing out in the dance-lines fiesta criolla de negros y blanqueados a high-caste party of blacks and whites together cuando cambian de toque cambian de estado. when the rhythm changes, the whole mood changes
Refrain
- by Yábor (Uruguayan folk singer, b 1950) - in-line translation is mine
Possibly controversial translations:
* criollo as high-caste - normally criollo is translated as "Creole" but that, in colloquial English, is tightly associated with Franco-Carribean culture, which obviously is something different than what we have here. So I went back to the original Spanish meaning (actually originally Portuguese), which is a reference to a specific rank within the complex caste system that existed in Spanish colonial America - the criollos were the locally born white folk, thus at the top of the caste system. But criollo also developed a broader meaning of "locally born" as opposed to "foreigner" (immigrants and "peninsulares" i.e. Spaniards) - especially during the 19th century. So in that sense, the "fiesta criollo" might just mean "a party for and by locals". In the first half of the 20th century, it even became a kind of term of pride that was essentially unifying as opposed to divisive. Probably that's what's intended, here, but by using the term "high caste" I'm getting at the word's problematic roots.
* toque as rhythm - that's not a dictionary translation, but it seems to fit the context. It really might be wrong, but "when the touch changes" feels meaningless to me, so I made a guess based on my feel for broader semantics of the word toque - much wider than English "touch" - and my vague recollections of interactions with Spanish-speaking folk musicians (a few in the 1980s, and one, a close friend of my dad's, in the 2000s).
The most notable thing about this song, to me, is the clear implication that whites participate and enjoy, too ("a high-caste party of blacks and whites together"). This is underscored by the insistence that Saint Balthazar is the "darkest" - it's announcing a kind of "Africa Day" for the whole community, which is unifying in a pre-PC way. That's how I read it, anyway. Cynically, if Yábor is the author (and I think he is), as a white Uruguayan folk singer, he would naturally want to emphasize this aspect if he decided to author a candombe. In that sense, this song most definitely is a bit of cultural appropriation, but perhaps no less authentic or meaningful for that - it represents a genuine if somewhat starry-eyed effort at racial unity in the complex landscape of Latin American racial politics (which, we must always remember, work differently than US racial politics, as much as we want to notice the obvious parallels and similarities).
The poem's themes are quite dark, but they are depressingly apropos considering it's 2017.
What I'm listening to right now.
Oscar Brown, Jr., "Bid 'Em In."
Lyrics.
Bid 'em in! Get 'em in! That sun is hot and plenty bright. Let's get down to business and get home tonight. Bid 'em in! Auctioning slaves is a real high art. Bring that young gal, Roy. She's good for a start. Bid 'em in! Get 'em in! Now here's a real good buy only about 15. Her great grandmammy was a Dahomey queen. Just look at her face, she sure ain't homely. Like Sheba in the Bible, she's black but comely. Bid 'em in! Gonna start her at three. Can I hear three? Step up gents. Take a good look see. Cause I know you'll want her once you've seen her. She's young and ripe. Make a darn good breeder. Bid 'em in! She's good in the fields. She can sew and cook. Strip her down Roy, let the gentlemen look. She's full up front and ample behind. Examine her teeth if you've got a mind. Bid 'em in! Get 'em in! Here's a bid of three from a man who's thrifty. Three twenty five! Can I hear three fifty? Your money ain't earning you much in the banks. Turn her around Roy, let 'em look at her flanks. Bid 'em in! Three fifty's bid. I'm looking for four. At four hundred dollars she's a bargain sure. Four is the bid. Four fifty. Five! Five hundred dollars. Now look alive! Bid 'em in! Get 'em in! Don't mind them tears, that's one of her tricks. Five fifty's bid and who'll say six? She's healthy and strong and well equipped. Make a fine lady's maid when she's properly whipped. Bid 'em in! Six! Six fifty! Don't be slow. Seven is the bid. Gonna let her go. At seven she's going! Going! Gone! Pull her down Roy, bring the next one on. Bid 'em in! Get 'em in! Bid 'em in!
Luis Fonsi (feat. Daddy Yankee), "Despacito." Acerca del video, pido disculpas. Casi aproxima lo llamado "NSFW", pero me defiendo con que es culturalmente apropriado. De hecho, incluso la letra es mas o menos igual de NSFW. Cierto que no intentaría enseñar esta canción a mis alumnos en unas de mis clases "CC." Bueno, ni se presenta como posibilidad, dado el idioma.
Observación lingüística: cuando se anuncia "DY" (Daddy Yankee), el nombre se deletrea en inglés (o sea, "dihuay", y no, digamos, "deígriega"). Esto me interesa.
Letra.
Ay Fonsi DY Oh, oh no, oh no Oh, yeah Diridiri, dirididi Daddy Go
Sí, sabes que ya llevo un rato mirándote Tengo que bailar contigo hoy (DY) Vi que tu mirada ya estaba llamándome Muéstrame el camino que yo voy (oh)
Tú, tú eres el imán y yo soy el metal Me voy acercando y voy armando el plan Solo con pensarlo se acelera el pulso (oh, yeah)
Ya, ya me está gustando más de lo normal Todos mis sentidos van pidiendo más Esto hay que tomarlo sin ningún apuro
Despacito Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito Deja que te diga cosas al oído Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo
Despacito Quiero desnudarte a besos despacito Firmar las paredes de tu laberinto Y hacer de tu cuerpo todo un manuscrito
Sube, sube, sube Sube, sube
Quiero ver bailar tu pelo Quiero ser tu ritmo Que le enseñes a mi boca Tus lugares favoritos (favoritos, favoritos, baby)
Déjame sobrepasar tus zonas de peligro Hasta provocar tus gritos Y que olvides tu apellido
Si te pido un beso, ven dámelo Yo sé que estás pensándolo Llevo tiempo intentándolo Mami, esto es dando y dándolo Sabes que tu corazón conmigo te hace bom-bom Sabes que esa beba está buscando de mi bom-bom Ven prueba de mi boca para ver como te sabe Quiero, quiero, quiero ver cuanto amor a ti te cabe Yo no tengo prisa yo me quiero dar el viaje Empezamos lento, después salvaje
Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito Cuando tú me besas con esa destreza Veo que eres malicia con delicadeza
Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito Y es que esa belleza es un rompecabezas Pero pa montarlo aquí tengo la pieza
Despacito Quiero respirar tu cuello despacito Deja que te diga cosas al oído Para que te acuerdes si no estás conmigo
Despacito Quiero desnudarte a besos despacito Firmar las paredes de tu laberinto Y hacer de tu cuerpo todo un manuscrito
Sube, sube, sube Sube, sube
Quiero ver bailar tu pelo Quiero ser tu ritmo Que le enseñes a mi boca Tus lugares favoritos (favoritos, favoritos, baby)
Déjame sobrepasar tus zonas de peligro Hasta provocar tus gritos Y que olvides tu apellido
Despacito Vamos a hacerlo en una playa en Puerto Rico Hasta que las olas griten: ¡Ay, bendito! Para que mi sello se quede contigo
Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito Que le enseñes a mi boca Tus lugares favoritos (favorito, favorito, baby)
Pasito a pasito, suave suavecito Nos vamos pegando, poquito a poquito Hasta provocar tus gritos (Fonsi) Y que olvides tu apellido (DY) Despacito
The below was written by Roger Fisher, in The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, in 1981.
My favourite activity is inventing. An early arms control proposal dealt with the problem of distancing that the President would have in the circumstances of facing a decision about nuclear war. There is a young man, probably a Navy officer, who accompanies the President. This young man has a black attache case which contains the codes that are needed to fire nuclear weapons. I could see the President at a staff meeting considering nuclear war as an abstract question. He might conclude: "On SIOP Plan One, the decision is affirmative. Communicate the Alpha line XYZ.." Such jargon holds what is involved at a distance.
My suggestion was quite simple: Put that needed code number in a little capsule, and then implant that capsule right next to the heart of a volunteer. The volunteer would carry with him a big, heavy butcher knife as he accompanied the President. If ever the President wanted to fire nuclear weapons, the only way he could do so would be for him first, with his own hands, to kill one human being. The President says, "George, I’m sorry but tens of millions must die." He has to look at someone and realize what death is – what an innocent death is. Blood on the White House carpet. It’s reality brought home.
"When I suggested this to friends in the Pentagon they said, "My God, that’s terrible. Having to kill someone would distort the President’s judgement. He might never push the button."
Unrelatedly (except for maybe the vague atmospherics of 1980s-era nuclear angst), what I'm listening to right now.
New Order, "True Faith."
In 1991, I was a US Army soldier, stationed at Camp Edwards, Paju, Korea - a few kilometers from the DMZ and a few kilometers (5 subway stations) from where I live now. I had a Laotian-American barracksmate, with the euphonious surname Inthalangsy, who was a gangbanger from Houston who'd been offered one of those "join the Army or go to jail" options that judges seem to used to have had the option of offering. Inthalangsy was a die-hard New Order fan, and so this song was on very heavy rotation in our barracks room. The Korean soldiers (KATUSAs) didn't like it, and I think Inthalangsy played it partly because he knew it annoyed them. It grew on me.
Lyrics.
I feel so extraordinary Something's got a hold on me I get this feeling I'm in motion A sudden sense of liberty I don't care 'cause I'm not there And I don't care if I'm here tomorrow Again and again I've taken too much Of the things that cost you too much
I used to think that the day would never come I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun My morning sun is the drug that brings me near To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear I used to think that the day would never come That my life would depend on the morning sun...
When I was a very small boy, Very small boys talked to me Now that we've grown up together They're afraid of what they see That's the price that we all pay Our valued destiny comes to nothing I can't tell you where we're going I guess there was just no way of knowing
I used to think that the day would never come I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun My morning sun is the drug that brings me near To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear I used to think that the day would never come That my life would depend on the morning sun...
I feel so extraordinary Something's got a hold on me I get this feeling I'm in motion A sudden sense of liberty The chances are we've gone too far You took my time and you took my money Now I fear you've left me standing In a world that's so demanding
I used to think that the day would never come I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun My morning sun is the drug that brings me near To the childhood I lost, replaced by fear I used to think that the day would never come That my life would depend on the morning sun...
All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair— The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing— And Winter slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring! And I the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow. Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may, For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away! With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll: And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul? Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve, And Hope without an object cannot live.
- Samuel Taylor Coleridge (English poet, 1772-1834)
Sometimes something like a second washes the base of this street. The father and his two assistants are given permission to go. One of them, a woman, asks, “Why did we come here in the first place, to this citadel of dampness?”
Some days are worse than others, even if we can’t believe in them. But that was never a concern of mine, reasoned the patient.
Sing, scroll, or never be blasted by us into marmoreal meaning, or the fist for it. Kudos to the prince who journeyed here to negotiate our release, if you can believe it.
You’re right. The ballads are retreating back into the atmosphere. They won’t be coming round again. Make your peace.
Today in my "CC" listening class, we were listening to the American pop song "Blank Space," by Taylor Swift. The students' job is to listen to the song (line by line and over and over, if necessary), and fill in a cloze version of the lyrics (i.e. words missing). So we were filling in the blank spaces in the song "Blank Space.
One student, Kevin, when confronted with the line "I can read you like a magazine," decided, confidently, that it was "I can read you like a banana." For whatever reason, I started trying to explain how this might work. I held up an imaginary banana, and pretended to "read" it. I looked at Kevin, and tried to "read" him in the same way. The students understood the absurdity of the interpretation. Anyway, I found it entertaining, as often happens with absurdity.
What I'm listening to right now.
Taylor Swift, "Blank Space."
Lyrics.
Nice to meet you, where you been? I could show you incredible things Magic, madness, heaven, sin Saw you there and I thought Oh my God, look at that face You look like my next mistake Love's a game, wanna play?
New money, suit and tie I can read you like a magazine Ain't it funny, rumors fly And I know you heard about me So hey, let's be friends I'm dying to see how this one ends Grab your passport and my hand I can make the bad guys good for a weekend
So it's gonna be forever Or it's gonna go down in flames You can tell me when it's over If the high was worth the pain Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane 'Cause you know I love the players And you love the game
'Cause we're young and we're reckless We'll take this way too far It'll leave you breathless Or with a nasty scar Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane But I've got a blank space, baby And I'll write your name
Cherry lips, crystal skies I could show you incredible things Stolen kisses, pretty lies You're the King, baby, I'm your Queen Find out what you want Be that girl for a month Wait, the worst is yet to come, oh no
Screaming, crying, perfect storms I can make all the tables turn Rose garden filled with thorns Keep you second guessing like "Oh my God, who is she?" I get drunk on jealousy But you'll come back each time you leave 'Cause, darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream
So it's gonna be forever Or it's gonna go down in flames You can tell me when it's over If the high was worth the pain Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane 'Cause you know I love the players And you love the game
'Cause we're young and we're reckless We'll take this way too far It'll leave you breathless Or with a nasty scar Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane But I've got a blank space, baby And I'll write your name
Boys only want love if it's torture Don't say I didn't say, I didn't warn ya Boys only want love if it's torture Don't say I didn't say, I didn't warn ya
So it's gonna be forever Or it's gonna go down in flames You can tell me when it's over If the high was worth the pain Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane 'Cause you know I love the players And you love the game
'Cause we're young and we're reckless We'll take this way too far It'll leave you breathless Or with a nasty scar Got a long list of ex-lovers They'll tell you I'm insane But I've got a blank space, baby And I'll write your name
The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne, Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne, Al this mene I by love, that my feling Astonyeth with his wonderful worching So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke, Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke.
For al be that I knowe nat love in dede, Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre, Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede Of his miracles, and his cruel yre; Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre, I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore, But God save swich a lord! I can no more.
Of usage, what for luste what for lore, On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde. But wherfor that I speke al this? not yore Agon, hit happed me for to beholde Upon a boke, was write with lettres olde; And ther-upon, a certeyn thing to lerne, The longe day ful faste I radde and yerne.
For out of olde feldes, as men seith, Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere; And out of olde bokes, in good feith, Cometh al this newe science that men lere. But now to purpos as of this matere -- To rede forth hit gan me so delyte, That al the day me thoughte but a lyte.
- first stanzas to long poem Parlement of Foules, by Geoffrey Chaucer (English poet, c 1343-1400)
Only the priest of the temple knows when it was born. He has the date in a book, so he can be ready, when its time has come, to build the fire on the altar:
cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, twigs of balm, virgin sulphur. It will be heaped up, unlit, when the bird blunders in, faffing between the pillars like a panicked sparrow,
but the size of an eagle, its colours now tarnished by five hundred years of sandstorms. Yet it remembers at last what to do, and climbs on to its nest of spice,
lifting its neck and fanning with its wings till the sparks wake in the dull feathers and catch in their own tinder. Then it is sitting on flame, and the smell fills the air,
incense, banquet and bonfire in one. Its trumpetings are triumph seasoned with agony. When they die down there is nothing left but a puffy cushion of ash.
Next day the priest sifts through the coolness with his fingers and finds a maggot no bigger than a nail paring, which, by the next, has formed into a body and wings . And by the third morning it is a whole bird, preening the last ash from its scarlet wings and indigo back. It sputters once more round the tall spaces, and flies out.
There is only one in the world. If you should see it, a dragonfly speck overhead as you cross the sand, it is a sign of good luck. Your journey will prosper.
Lest by diminished vitality and abated vigilance, I become food for crocodiles—for that quicksand of gluttony which is legion. It is there close at hand— on either side of me. You remember the Israelites who said in pride
and stoutness of heart: "The bricks are fallen down, we will build with hewn stone, the sycamores are cut down, we will change to cedars"? I am not ambitious to dress stones, to renew forts, nor to match my value in action, against their ability to catch
up with arrested prosperity. I am not like them, indefatigable, but if you are a god, you will not discriminate against me. Yet—if you may fulfill none but prayers dressed as gifts in return for your gifts—disregard the request.
I learned this aphorism from my book of aphorisms.
구렁이 담 넘어가듯 한다 gu.reong.i dam neom.eo.ga.deut han.da snake wall go-over-AS-IF do-PRES [He/she/it] acts like a snake going over a wall.
I think this must be more or less the same as English's "Like a snake in the grass": sneaky behavior, creeping up on on a situation unnoticed.
This makes me think of Bob Dylan's old song, "Man Gave Names To All The Animals," which is my favorite song from Dylan's "Christian period."
I would like to include a youtube embed of Dylan's song, but Dylan is one of those performing artists who is VERY aggressive in his takedowns of his work online. I personally consider this reprehensible, and combined with his assholery around his recent Nobel prize, that's why he's gone down substantially in my estimation as a human being, if remaining high in my estimation of him as an artist.
What I'm listening to right now.
Townes Van Zandt, covering "Man Gave Names To All The Animals," by Bob Dylan. It's perhaps a better rendition than the original, anyway. But regardless, Dylan is an amazing lyricist: the ending of the song is poetically brilliant.
Lyrics.
Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, in the beginning Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to growl Big furry paws and he liked to howl Great big furry back and furry hair "Ah, think I'll call it a bear".
Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, in the beginning Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal up on a hill Chewing up so much grass until she was filled He saw milk coming out but he didn't know how "Ah, think I'll call it a cow".
Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, in the beginning Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to snort Horns on his head and they weren't too short It looked like there wasn't nothing that he couldn't pull "Ah, I'll think I'll call it a bull".
Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, in the beginning Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal leaving a muddy trail Real dirty face and a curly tail He wasn't too small and he wasn't too big "Ah, think I'll call it a pig".
Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, in the beginning Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, long time ago.
Next animal that he did meet Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet Eating grass on a mountainside so steep "Ah, think I'll call it a sheep".
Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, in the beginning Man gave names to all the animals In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal as smooth as glass Slithering his way through the grass Saw him disappear by a tree near a lake ....
Someone has created a version of the first part of the Biblical Book of Genesis using ONLY words that start with the letter 'A.'
1. An advent: ancient archangels architect abstract astronomy and arid asteroids. 2. All asteroids are amorphous and absent; And all asleep across aquatic anarchy. And astral angels advanced across area. 3. And Almighty asked," Appear." And all appeared aglow. 4. And Almighty approved. Aura and absence: an antagonistic arithmetic. 5. An afternoon and aurora, an aeon. 6.And atmosphere and all awash abscinded. 7. Astral air above; aquatic area abased. All as Almighty asserted. 8. Angel's abode appeared. Another afternoon, another aurora. Another aeon. 9. And Almighty authored aquatic archipelagos. Arable acreage appeared. 10. And Almighty approved.
The song by Joe Hill (union organizer in the first decades of the 1900s) entitled "The Preacher and the Slave" is the origin of the phrase "pie in the sky."
Joe Hill was executed in 1915, probably framed for a murder by state authorities trying to get tamp down his troublesome politics.
What I'm listening to right now.
Utah Phillips, "The Preacher and the Slave."
Lyrics.
Long haired preachers come out ev'ry night, Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right; But when asked, how 'bout something to eat, (Let us eat) They will answer with voices so sweet; (Oh so sweet) You will eat, (You will eat) Bye and bye, (Bye and bye) in that glorious land above the sky; (way up high) work and pray, (work and pray) live on hay, (Live on hay) you'll get pie in the sky when you die. (That's a lie)
And the starvation army they play, And they sing and they clap and they pray. Till they get all your coin on the drum, Then they'll tell you when you're on the bum:
CHORUS
Holy Rollers and Jumpers come out, And they holler, they jump and they shout "Give your money to Jesus," they say, "He will cure all diseases today."
CHORUS
If you fight hard for children and wife- Try to get something good in this life- You're a sinner and bad man, they tell, When you die you will sure go to hell.
CHORUS
Workingmen of all countries unite, Side by side we for freedom will fight! When the world and its wealth we have gained, To the grafters we'll sing this refrain:
CHORUS
You will eat, bye and bye, When you've learned how to cook and to fry. Chop some wood, 'twill do you good, And you'll eat in the sweet bye and bye.
Bien amar, leal servir, cridar et dezir mis penas, es sembrar en las arenas o en las ondas escrevir. Si tanto quanto serví sembrara en la ribera, tengo que reverdesciera et diera fructo de sí. Et aun por verdat dezir, si yo tanto escreviera en la mar, yo bien podiera todas las ondas teñir.
- Juan Rodríguez del Padrón (poeta español, 1390-1450)
"El poema creado es un poema en el que cada parte constitutiva, y todo el conjunto, muestra un hecho nuevo, independiente del mundo externo, desligado de cualquiera otra realidad que no sea la propia, pues toma su puesto en el mundo como un fenómeno singular, aparte y distinto de los demás fenómenos. Dicho poema es algo que no puede existir sino en la cabeza del poeta. Y no es hermoso porque recuerde algo, no es hermoso porque nos recuerde cosas vistas, a su vez hermosas, ni porque describa hermosas cosas que podamos llegar a ver. Es hermoso en sí y no admite términos de comparación. Y tampoco puede concebírselo fuera del libro. Nada se le parece en el mundo externo; hace real lo que no existe, es decir, se hace realidad a sí mismo. Crea lo maravilloso y le da vida propia. Crea situaciones extraordinarias que jamás podrán existir en el mundo objetivo, por lo que habrán de existir en el poema para que existan en alguna parte." - El Creacionismo (Vicente Huidobro)
Hay palidez tremenda desdeñada desde cielo como olvido vestido de un color apagado en el tiempo.
Hay días amontonándose como vidas sobre la columna de la flor y su memoria de agua triste callada.
Hay esqueletos en fila demostrando como cada idea tiene el dolor como carne sobre el vacío como hueso.
Hay figuras rojas temblando al desvanecer bajo un sol que se confundía con el calor de la guerra.
Hay más existiendo para abarcar en la marcha cuyo motor es ritmo de pura noche estrellada.
Hay secretos acompañándose porque adolorida está la verdad al madrugar en una montaña la creación sin alas.
Hay lividez a las seis de la tarde cuando el pensamiento es una campana dándole raíz al trueno sucio en tierra.
Hay cantos que queman que dejan la sangre bebiendo crestas de fuego que el mundo no ve desde su esquina de humo.
- Pablo Saborío (poeta y artista costarricense-danés, n 1982)
Today is our big day, the annual Karma English Academy talent show. As is typical, I feel utterly unprepared. But thus it goes - that's life in the Karmic Korean Kingdom of Chaotic Quasi-Confucian Contingency.
Meanwhile, what I'm listening to right now.
Elton John, "Rocket Man." The video is brand new, but has been declared "official." I found the video, by Iranian refugee Majid Adin, quite stunningly beautiful and sad, and it manages to take a melancholic, classic song almost half a century old, now, like John's "Rocket Man," and imbue it with intense new meaning vis-a-vis the contemporary, never-ending global refugee crisis.
Lyrics.
She packed my bags last night pre-flight Zero hour nine AM And I'm gonna be high as a kite by then I miss the earth so much I miss my wife It's lonely out in space On such a timeless flight
And I think it's gonna be a long long time 'Till touch down brings me round again to find I'm not the man they think I am at home Oh no no no I'm a rocket man Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone
And I think it's gonna be a long long time 'Till touch down brings me round again to find I'm not the man they think I am at home Oh no no no I'm a rocket man Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone
Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids In fact it's cold as hell And there's no one there to raise them if you did And all this science I don't understand It's just my job five days a week A rocket man, a rocket man
And I think it's gonna be a long long time 'Till touch down brings me round again to find I'm not the man they think I am at home Oh no no no I'm a rocket man Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone
And I think it's gonna be a long long time 'Till touch down brings me round again to find I'm not the man they think I am at home Oh no no no I'm a rocket man Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone
And I think it's gonna be a long long time And I think it's gonna be a long long time And I think it's gonna be a long long time And I think it's gonna be a long long time And I think it's gonna be a long long time And I think it's gonna be a long long time And I think it's gonna be a long long time And I think it's gonna be a long long time
That public men publish falsehoods Is nothing new. That America must accept Like the historical republics corruption and empire Has been known for years.
Be angry at the sun for setting If these things anger you. Watch the wheel slope and turn, They are all bound on the wheel, these people, those warriors. This republic, Europe, Asia.
Observe them gesticulating, Observe them going down. The gang serves lies, the passionate Man plays his part; the cold passion for truth Hunts in no pack.
You are not Catullus, you know, To lampoon these crude sketches of Caesar. You are far From Dante's feet, but even farther from his dirty Political hatreds.
Let boys want pleasure, and men Struggle for power, and women perhaps for fame, And the servile to serve a Leader and the dupes to be duped. Yours is not theirs.
- Robinson Jeffers (American poet, 1887-1962)
This poem seems stunningly topical, given it was written 75 years ago.
El hombre imaginario vive en una mansión imaginaria rodeada de árboles imaginarios a la orilla de un río imaginario
De los muros que son imaginarios penden antiguos cuadros imaginarios irreparables grietas imaginarias que representan hechos imaginarios ocurridos en mundos imaginarios en lugares y tiempos imaginarios
Todas las tardes imaginarias sube las escaleras imaginarias y se asoma al balcón imaginario a mirar el paisaje imaginario que consiste en un valle imaginario circundado de cerros imaginarios
Sombras imaginarias vienen por el camino imaginario entonando canciones imaginarias a la muerte del sol imaginario
Y en las noches de luna imaginaria sueña con la mujer imaginaria que le brindó su amor imaginario vuelve a sentir ese mismo dolor ese mismo placer imaginario y vuelve a palpitar el corazón del hombre imaginario
- Nicanor Parra (poeta chileno, b 1914)
Parra todavía vive, a los 102 años. Es un buen logro, por un hombre imaginario.
I am enjoying my Buddhamas holiday by finding humor on the internet. It's not letting me down.
What I'm listening to right now.
Palette-Swap Ninja, "Princess Leia's Stolen Death Star Plans / With Illicit Help From Your Friends." Palette-Swap Ninja consists of Dan Amrich and Jude Kelley. This is in the finest tradition established by Weird Al Yankovich, but I believe these lyrics surpass any of his. There is zero awkwardness in the tight adaptation of the Beatles' scansion to the Star Wars plot. Brilliant.
Lyrics (my own transcription from the on screen subtitles, with one minor correction).
* Track 1 *
It was many years ago today In a galaxy so far away It's a period of civil war They don't want the Empire any more The Rebels made a daring move They've got some data in their hands Princess Leia's stolen Death Star plans...
They're Princess Leia's stolen Death Star plans She's got them and it's time to go Princess Leia's stolen Death Star plans The Empire doesn't even know Princess Leia's stolen... Princess Leia's stolen... Princess Leia's stolen Death Star plans We're running from the Empire It's us they want to kill A Star Destroyer's chasing us We've got to get away from them We've got to make it home
"This is madness!" mutters Threepio But we're caught, there's nowhere else to go If we put the plans inside Artoo Then there's nothing more that I can do He's gotta go find Obi-Wan He's carrying the contraband Princess Leia's stolen Death Star plans
* Track 2 *
Vader's here What would you think if I boarded your ship would you give those transmissions to me? How can this be a real consular ship? No ambassador that I can see Oh, you're all spies with illicit help from your friends Hey, but nice try with illicit help from your friends You're gonna die along with all of your friends
What did you do with those plans you were sent? I'm a diplomat from Alderaan You're not on a merciful mission this time But I'm hoping you'll believe I am No, 'cause you lie with illicit help from your friends You're a spy with illicit help from your friends You're gonna die along with all of your friends
Do you need something Vader? I want those plans in my glove Can you see she's a traitor? I need those plans in my glove
One pod was jettisoned during the fight I believe you'll find the plans inside We'll bring the passenges, all that we find And you know that I want them alive Oh, you're a spy with illicit help from your friends Mmm, and you lie with illicit help from your friends Oh, You're gonna die along with all of your friends
Do you need something Vader? I want those plans in my glove Can you see she's a traitor? I need those plans in my glove
Oh, you're a spy with illicit help from your friends And they lie with illicit help from your friends Mmm, gonna die along with all of your friends
Yes, they're all spies with illicit help from your friends With illicit help from your friends With illicit help from your friends
흰 구름 시냇가에 절을 지으니 서른 해 내리 이 주지로세 웃으며 가리키노니 문앞의 한 줄기 길이 조금 곧 산 아래를 떠나면 천 가닥이 되네
- 최치원 (신라 시인)
English Translation
Presented to the Abbot of Keumcheon Temple
By the White Cloud Stream you built a temple where for thirty years you've been the abbot. Smiling, you point to the single trail outside the gate. At the foot of the mountain, it branches out to a thousand paths.
- Choi Chiwon (Silla/Tang poet, 857 - 924?) - English translation by Christina Han and Wing S. Chu
Note that the Chinese is the original language of composition - all poetry and literature in Silla-Era Korea was written in Classical Chinese (similar to the way poetry and literature in Europe during a parallel era was mostly written in Latin).
I found the poem in the book Solitary Cloud: Poetry of Ch'oe Ch'iwŏn, by Christina Han and Wing S. Chu. The text of the poem is only in the Chinese characters in the book, along with the English translation. I really wanted to include the Chinese text here, but I am incapable of typing Chinese characters unless I know their Korean pronunciation, and I only actually know about 20 such hanja, so... I wasn't sure how to figure this out.
I tried a little trick, which was successful: I took a photo of the Chinese text with my phone, I went to one of those free OCR (Optical Character Recognition) websites and uploaded my photo, and presto, a somewhat faulty capture of the Chinese text. I took that text, in turn, and googled it, to find the correct text of the poem (verified against the book's text), where I also found the modern Korean translation - for which there was no attribution.
Meaningless? You mean it's all been meaningless? Every whisper and caress? Yes, yes, yes, it was totally meaningless
Meaningless Like when two fireflies fluoresce Just like everything I guess Less less yes, it was utterly meaningless
Even less a little glimpse of nothingness Sucking meaning from the rest of this mess Yes, yes, yes, it was thoroughly meaningless
And if some dim bulb should say We were in love in some way Kick all his teeth in for me and if you feel Like keeping on kicking, feel free
Meaningless Who dare say it wasn't meaningless? Shout from the rooftops and address the press Ha ha ha, it was totally meaningless
Meaningless Meaning less than a game of chess Just like your mother said and mother knows best I knew it all the time but now I confess
Yes, yes, yes, how deliciously meaningless Yes, yes, yes, effervescently meaningless Yes, yes, yes, it was beautifully meaningless Yes, yes, yes, it was profoundly meaningless
Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar y el caballo en la montaña. Con la sombra en la cintura ella sueña en su baranda, verde carne, pelo verde, con ojos de fría plata. Verde que te quiero verde. Bajo la luna gitana, las cosas la están mirando y ella no puede mirarlas.
Verde que te quiero verde. Grandes estrellas de escarcha vienen con el pez de sombra que abre el camino del alba. La higuera frota su viento con la lija de sus ramas, y el monte, gato garduño, eriza sus pitas agrias. ¿Pero quién vendra? ¿Y por dónde...? Ella sigue en su baranda, Verde carne, pelo verde, soñando en la mar amarga.
—Compadre, quiero cambiar mi caballo por su casa, mi montura por su espejo, mi cuchillo per su manta. Compadre, vengo sangrando, desde los puertos de Cabra. —Si yo pudiera, mocito, este trato se cerraba. Pero yo ya no soy yo, ni mi casa es ya mi casa. —Compadre, quiero morir decentemente en mi cama. De acero, si puede ser, con las sábanas de holanda. ¿No ves la herida que tengo desde el pecho a la garganta? —Trescientas rosas morenas lleva tu pechera blanca. Tu sangre rezuma y huele alrededor de tu faja. Pero yo ya no soy yo, ni mi casa es ya mi casa. —Dejadme subir al menos hasta las altas barandas; ¡dejadme subir!, dejadme, hasta las verdes barandas. Barandales de la luna por donde retumba el agua. Ya suben los dos compadres hacia las altas barandas. Dejando un rastro de sangre. Dejando un rastro de lágrimas. Temblaban en los tejados farolillos de hojalata. Mil panderos de cristal herían la madrugada. Verde que te quiero verde, verde viento, verdes ramas. Los dos compadres subieron. El largo viento dejaba en la boca un raro gusto de hiel, de menta y de albahaca. ¡Compadre! ¿Donde está, díme? ¿Donde está tu niña amarga? ¡Cuántas veces te esperó! ¡Cuántas veces te esperara, cara fresca, negro pelo, en esta verde baranda!
Sobre el rostro del aljibe se mecía la gitana. Verde carne, pelo verde, con ojos de fría plata. Un carámbano de luna la sostiene sobre el agua. La noche se puso íntima como una pequeña plaza. Guardias civiles borrachos en la puerta golpeaban. Verde que te quiero verde. Verde viento. Verdes ramas. El barco sobre la mar. Y el caballo en la montaña.
- Federico García Lorca (poeta español 1898-1936)
Sin duda, este poema es mi favorito de todos los poemas en cualquier idioma. Me parece una falta el hecho de que nunca lo he publicado, antes, aquí en el blog. Pues, ahora lo publico. El tema trata de la guerra civil española.
I have a certain student, whom I've written about many times before. She's been at Karma for a long time - I think at least 3 years now. She goes by Sophia. She is a very voluble girl, and talks with me, in English, almost continuously whenever she's around me. Also, she's the only student I've ever had who ever had any kind of interaction with any members of my family - she bonded to my niece Sarah when my sister Brenda and her kids visited a few years back (I have no idea if that bonding was mutual, but anyway, she still mentions that visit). For these reasons, I've perhaps come to think of her like she was a bit of a surrogate child in a way I don't typically feel for students.
Anyway, I have been feeling singularly depressed about Sophia, lately. She's in the sixth grade, now, and if she's always been a bit emotionally immature and academically unmotivated, recently she's become gloomily but quite declaratively unambitious, too. With alarming regularity, these days, she says things like, "I don't want to learn anything," and "I'm going to get married and only be a mom."
I don't really want to begrudge anyone their passion or heart's desire - and there's a place in the world for "just gettting married and being a mom" - it's not like that isn't a really important role for society.
The problem is that Sophia is possibly one of the smartest students I have ever taught. I would expect that if she took an IQ test, she'd be a genius. At the least, she's without a doubt some kind of savant in the realm of language: without ever having lived or studied abroad, her spoken English is better than most other students'. She's been entirely autodidact in this - she actively resists formal instruction of any kind, and always has. But she soaks up vocabulary and grammar effortlessly. I think she mostly learned English by watching TV shows and movies in English.
She will correctly use a new word that I have used in class in front of her, after hearing it just one time. She has a stunning memory. She can memorize the words (English-Korean translation lists of 20 words) for her in-class vocabulary quizzes in the 3-4 minutes right before the quiz. She can memorize songs in Korean and English flawlessly, and has a huge repertoire of song lyrics floating around her head. She even memorized a fairly passable rendition of a stanza of a song in Spanish, which she sang for me one time simply to impress me. She said she had no idea what it meant - she found it on youtube.
I would be so happy to see her show some intellectual ambition about life. I have tried to encourage various pursuits that match her expressed interests, including suggesting things like acting, linguistics and recently, songwriting or just writing. But my seeing her only 1-2 hours a week really isn't going to give me much influence over the choices she makes.
I suspect these loud declarations of anti-intellectualism are rooted in some kind of rebellion against parental pressure - I sense her mom pushes hard. There's nothing I can do about that. But I feel sad. Hopefully she'll find a different way to rebel against mom that is less self-defeating for the long term.
What I'm listening to right now.
U2, "Numb."
Lyrics.
Don't move Don't talk out of time Don't think Don't worry Everything's just fine Just fine
Don't grab Don't clutch Don't hope for too much Don't breathe Don't achieve Or grieve without leave
Don't check Just balance on the fence Don't answer Don't ask Don't try and make sense
Don't whisper Don't talk Don't run if you can walk Don't cheat, compete Don't miss the one beat
Don't travel by train Don't eat Don't spill Don't piss in the drain Don't make a will
Don't fill out any forms Don't compensate Don't cower Don't crawl Don't come around late Don't hover at the gate
Don't take it on board Don't fall on your sword Just play another chord If you feel you're getting bored
I feel numb I feel numb Too much is not enough I feel numb
Don't change your brand Don't listen to the band Don't gape Don't ape Don't change your shape Have another grape
I am observing the world whose very act of existing has made us claim that it is the only world to exist.
I am observing the shadows of the sun when suddenly the monkey appears again, opening that window below my language.
It picks up all my words and chews them, only to spit them out while producing a grotesque sound of pleasure.
I’ve seen this monkey many times, he comes from the world within that is populated by innumerable monkeys.
They all seek the only thing they claim is real: monkeyhood. Monkeyhood is hidden deep in their jungle, it can be eaten, soft caramel-like substance that it is.
But only a few monkeys are able to reach this sacred core.
The monkeys that visit me are those that for whatever reason have stopped seeking monkeyhood.
They would rather appear unannounced in this world, to taste a few fragments of illusion – as I believe they once called it.
I sit watching the shadows of the sun, here below the clouds while I describe the indistinct quality of being alive.
- Pablo Saborío (Costa Rican-Danish Poet and Artist, b 1982)
A few days ago, I put a poem if his in Spanish. I guess he writes in English, too.
Memories consume like opening the wounds I'm picking me apart again You all assume I'm safe here in my room Unless I try to start again I don't want to be the one the battles always choose 'cause inside I realize that I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for Or why I have to scream I don't know why I instigate And say what I don't mean I don't know how I got this way I know it's not alright So I'm breaking the habit I'm breaking the habit tonight
Clutching my cure I tightly lock the door I try to catch my breath again I hurt much more than any time before I have no options left again I don't want to be the one the battles always choose 'cause inside I realize that I'm the one confused
I don't know what's worth fighting for Or why I have to scream I don't know why I instigate And say what I don't mean I don't know how I got this way I'll never be alright So I'm breaking the habit I'm breaking the habit tonight
I'll paint it on the walls 'cause I'm the one at fault I'll never fight again And this is how it ends
I don't know what's worth fighting for Or why I have to scream But now I have some clarity to show you what I mean I don't know how I got this way I'll never be alright So I'm breaking the habit I'm breaking the habit I'm breaking the habit tonight
Damas demos además de danzas hondura hasta la hora del hombre, niño: nada ni nadie es necesario al fin fuimos fatídicas figuras finalmente todo tanto terrestre como transcendental es idea idioma intelecto invento o instante lástima la lengua tan lógica y locuaz cuenta casos, crónicas, calambres pero calla al viajar en vastas vibraciones v vacíos mira mujer mira hombre mira niño algo anda arriba abajo alrededor sucediendo algo sombra algo sencillo algo sagrado algo suave sin sangre sin sal tal vez luz tal vez nocturna tal vez umbral.
- Pablo Saborío (poeta y artista costarricense-danés, n 1982)
Дайн ба энх, "76." Although my Mongolian-language googling skills are quite poor, I even managed to find the lyrics.
Lyrics.
Зөөлөн суудлаасаа тэд *** өндийлгүй өдөржин хэлэлцэж Зөв буруу хууль дүрэм баахан юм баталцгааж Цөөхөн хэдэн ард бидэндээ зурагтаар л бараагаа харуулж Хийж бүтээх нь багадсан Хэлэх амлалт нь ихэдсэн 76-д зориуллаа Тэд өөрсдөө Монгол хүн чи хүн би хүн бид адил хүмүүс Эртнээс эхэлсэн энэ цус Монгол цус Халуун биеэр минь халх цус Эрэлхэг хүчирхэг Монгол түмний дуу хоолойг ойлгож сонс одоо цагт Төрийн суудалд үхэн хатан мөнгө цацан хаян тэмцэхийг бодоход Түүнээс илүү ашиг хонжоог хайж байна гэсэн үг биш үү Үүнээс цаашгүй түүнээс цаашгүй Хэрэлдэж уралдсан 76 Үнэндээ чанартай маньдаа хамаагүй хий дэмий амны зугаа Ууж идэж хахаж цацаж бүгдийг авлаа болоо юм биш үү Улсаа хөгжүүлэхийн төлөө та нар одоо юм хийх болсон юм биш үү Хүний төлөө энэ нийгмийн бохирдлыг устгая Улс орны сайхны төлөө санаа тавь тавь тавь Тавьсан санаа хаана л байна л гэж л хэлмээр байна л Ард л олон л тэр л амла мөр л хөтөлбөр л гэдэг үлгэр домог болдог Тэр л том том дарга руу байгаа чиглүүлэв үгээр чичрүүлэв би
Дахилт:
тэнгэрт найдахаас Монголчууд аа Тэдэнд найдаж болохгүй шүү молигодуулваа Чааваас даа миний цөөхөн халх ардаа Хаанаас даа ийм зүйл байж боломгүй юм даа Тэд бол их л хуурдаг ардад бурдаг худлаа бурдаг Нөхөд л гардаг хуралдаж хуралдаж хувьдаа ашигласан Зүйлээ хуваалцаж байж л тардаг явдаг даа Санаа нь амарч харьдаг даа 76 нь ийм юм бол Монгол улс мөхжээ Монголд төрсөн хүн л мөн болдоо Мангар тэнэг биш л байх боддоо өө Улс орноо гэдэг бодол байдаг юмуу даа Амьдрал ер нь тамуу даа сүйрэлд хүрэх замууд Энэ л олон намууд аа тэд нийлээд чадах уу даа Ээ хар малнуудаа рад түмэнлүүгээ эргэн нэг хараач Тэр олон гахайд найдаад хэрэг байхгүй за байз яая даа Хараал идэг чөтгөр аваг Энэ муу новшийн нийгмийг хар хар Хар дарсан зүүднээсээ тэр сэр сэр сэр Ертөнц хорвоод баян ядуу баян ядуу Мөнгөтэй төгрөгтэй мөнгөгүй төгрөггүй Мэдэлтэй мэдэлгүй нь хосолсоор хосолсоор Хэн нь сайтар хэн нь муутар амьдрах хүн бүрээс хамаарах болж Энэ л үед ийм үед мөрөн дээрхээ тэр толгойгоо Энэ нийгмийн толгойлогчдод буруу бий буруу бий Хямралд оруулж байгаа хүмүүс эд нар мөн эд нар мөн
Дахилт:
Чи бол Монгол би бол Монгол хүн Бидэнд бие биенээ харйлах сэтгэл зүрх байх л ёстой гэж л бодно Миний бодсон нэг л худлаа бас л худлаа болоод байх шиг байдаг Ер нь яадаг тэнэг нөхөд гэхээр улс төр л мөр л гэж явдаг байна л Ард л олон яана л шал худлаа Тэр л сайхан нам л байна Амьдрал гэдэг там л байна Тэр л 76- гаа л сандал суудал зулгаа л Энэ л төрийн нүүр л царай л гэвэл энэ ээ Нэг хоёр гурван жил 76 нам жим Ингэсээр сүүлийн дөрвөн жил гэнэт гарч ирэн намайг дэмж Энэ миний мөрийн хөтөлбөр энэ чиний сургалтын төлбөр Энэ бүгдийг чиний төлө харин чи тууштай миний төлөө Гэж хэлээд суудалд суухдаа тэр маш их мөнгө зарсан Тэр гарсан зарсан мөнгөө хэд хэд нугалж олсон Ард бид чинь та нарт итгэн суудалд суулган залсан Ахисан даварсан тэд нар харин гарсан хойноо мартсан
This is the future that liberals want: a cool return to norms after the tan excrescence is excised. Peace? Well, purity of essence. Articulate. Harvard Law or a comparable school. Personally dedicated to the rule of law. A paragon. A recrudescence in an empire seemingly sunk in convalescence. Judicious. Stylish. Not a raving fool. Across an ocean in a dusty town a boy who’s barely past a cracking voice is set to marry a girl he’s only recently met. He vacillates from morbid fear to joy. He’s droned and bleeds to death at evening prayer. The liberal president pretends to care.
- Jacob Bacharach (American writer, b?-notdeadyet [i.e. google let me down])
順伊(순이)가 떠난다는 아침에 말 못할 마음으로 함박눈이 나려, 슬픈 것처럼 窓(창) 밖에 아득히 깔린 地圖(지도) 위에 덮인다.
房방 안을 돌아다보아야 아무도 없다. 壁(벽)과 天井(천정)이 하얗다.
房(방) 안에까지 눈이 나리는 것일까. 정말 너는 잃어버린 歷史(역사)처럼 홀홀이 가는 것이냐, 떠나기 前(전)에 일러둘 말이 있던 것을 편지를 써서도 네가 가는 곳을 몰라 어느 거리, 어느 마을, 어느 지붕 밑, 너는 내 마음 속에만 남아 있는 것이냐.
네 쪼그만 발자욱을 눈이 자꾸 나려 덮여 따라갈 수도 없다.
눈이 녹으면 남은 발자욱 자리마다 꽃이 피리니 꽃 사이로 발자욱을 찾아 나서면 一年(일 년) 열두 달 하냥 내 마음에도 눈이 내리리라.
-윤동주 (한국의 시인, 1917~1945)
The Snowing Map
In the morning that Soon-ee left, With my heart unable to speak, Large snowflakes fell Sadly outside the window Covering the map Spread out in the distance.
I return to the room, looking, But there is nothing there at all. The wall and the ceiling, white.
Will it snow inside the room? Will you fly from me like history lost? Even though you wrote me a letter With your last words here, I don’t know where you’re going, Which street, which village, which house? Are you to remain only in my heart?
The falling snow covers Your small footsteps, again and again, That I can’t even follow.
If the snow melts, Flowers will bloom in each Of your footprints, but if I can find even just one between The blossoms, Snow will fall in my heart, For a year, twelve months,
Yun Dong-ju grew up in Manchuria, in a Korean community, under the Japanese colonial regime. He died in prison in Fukuoka, Japan, having been convicted of advocating Korean independence.
