The rhythms of hagwon life are pretty well understood by me, now. December is a tough month – it’s the de facto end of the hagwon school year (the Korean school year officially ends at the end of February, but the hagwon business, getting a jump on things, seems to be driven to move the kids up a grade a few months in advance).
So we have a kind of “open house,” called 설명회, every year around this time. That means coming to work early, and for a foreigner peon such as myself (and don’t get me wrong, I am a peon entirely by choice, at this point), it mostly means standing around trying to look competent while others make their presentations.
So that’s what happened, this morning.
There’s a lot of unsurprising end-of-year work to get done: new curricula being laid out (such as they are); level testing for the kids (such as it goes). Nevertheless, in the Korean way, which I find so amenable to my personal inclinations, I shall procrastinate.
Therefore, just now I have some time to kill at work. Not enough time to go home and come back later for class, so just sitting here. I wish my mind was feeling more dynamic, these days, but it’s not. Still coming off the nasty flu thing I had.
It’s a frigid day outside. I guess it’s about -5° C – but bright and sunny.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Month: December 2016
Caveat: Englyn #29
(Poem #136 on new numbering scheme)
Dead leaves caught on a street grate trace an unspeakable fate on a moment so bitter the winter wind tastes like slate.
– an englyn cyrch
Caveat: Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor
More useful work is being done on the internet, just in time for Christmas! Someone has helpfully translated Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer into Anglo-Saxon.
Incipit gestis Rudolphi rangifer tarandus
Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor –
Næfde þæt nieten unsciende næsðyrlas!
Glitenode and gladode godlice nosgrisele.
Ða hofberendas mid huscwordum hine gehefigodon;
Nolden þa geneatas Hrodulf næftig
To gomene hraniscum geador ætsomne.
Þa in Cristesmæsseæfne stormigum clommum,
Halga Claus þæt gemunde to him maðelode:
“Neahfreond nihteage nosubeorhtende!
Min hroden hrædwæn gelæd ðu, Hrodulf!”
Ða gelufodon hira laddeor þa lyftflogan –
Wæs glædnes and gliwdream; hornede sum gegieddode
“Hwæt, Hrodulf readnosa hrandeor,
Brad springð þin blæd: breme eart þu!”
… in modern English:
Here begins the deeds of Rudolph, Tundra-Wanderer
Lo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer –
That beast didn’t have unshiny nostrils!
The goodly nose-cartilage glittered and glowed.
The hoof-bearers taunted him with proud words;
The comrades wouldn’t allow wretched Hrodulf
To join the reindeer games.
Then, on Christmas Eve bound in storms
Santa Claus remembered that, spoke formally to him:
“Dear night-sighted friend, nose-bright one!
You, Hrodulf, shall lead my adorned rapid-wagon!”
Then the sky-flyers praised their lead-deer –
There was gladness and music; one of the horned ones sang
“Lo, Hrodulf the red-nosed reindeer,
Your fame spreads broadly, you are renowned!”
This was posted at the All Things Linguistic blog.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Englyn #28
(Poem #135 on new numbering scheme)
I worry about small things. Peace of mind is hard to find. Doubtings unfold, like coils or springs. A clockwork beetle grows wings.
– an englyn unodl union
Caveat: They’ll be out for us
I slept in quite a bit this morning – I'm still sleeping more than usual. Although yesterday, Monday, I officially resumed my "normal" teaching schedule, for the first time since before my trip, it was still hard – because on my "normal" teaching schedule, Monday is my hardest day. So there's that.
What I'm listening to right now.
Friendly Fires, "Paris (Aeroplane Remix)."
Lyrics (kinda boring).
One day we're gonna live in Paris
I promise
I'm on it
When I'm bringing in the money
I promise
I'm on it
I'm gonna take you out to club showcase
We're gonna live it up
I promise
Just hold on a little more
And every night we'll watch the stars
They'll be out for us
They'll be out for us
And every night, the city lights
They'll be out for us
They'll be out for us
One day we're gonna live in Paris
I promise
I'm on it
I'll find you that French boy
You'll find me that French girl
I promise
I'm on it
So go and pack your bags
For the long haul
We're gonna lose ourselves
I promise
This time it's you and me for evermore
And every night we'll watch the stars
They'll be out for us
They'll be out for us
And every night, the city lights
They'll be out for us
They'll be out for us
And every night we'll watch the stars
They'll be out for us
They'll be out for us
And every night, the city lights
They'll be out for us
They'll be out for us
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Englyn #27
(Poem #134 on new numbering scheme)
Deciduous dawn redwoods shed their needles so they could make small piles on the sidewalks and blocks of my neighborhood.
– an englyn cyrch
Caveat: Alligator Legacy
Two weeks ago, a former student of mine who is now finishing the 9th grade departed Karma. I knew she was leaving, but since I don't regularly see the 9th graders, I didn't get to say goodbye. She'd been my student for 4 years.
She left me a note on my desk, which included a touching message and an alligator sketch. I was very pleased.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Englyn #26 “Against oatmeal, on principle”
(Poem #133 on new numbering scheme)
I grow weary of oatmeal: its amorphousness, surreal, brooding in its little bowl its sole purpose, to congeal.
– an englyn cyrch
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Englyn #25
(Poem #132 on new numbering scheme)
"Give us the alligator!" they tell me. I say, "Maybe later." "Teacher, you mean dictator!" Those kids, procrastinators!
– an englyn unodl union
Caveat: Park Geun-hye, Hiya!
Yesterday, an impeachment process was started against the president of Korea, Park Geun-hye (박근혜).
Perhaps not coincidentally, during my Newton1-M cohort class (4th and 4th graders), after allowing several students to use the Korean-English dictionary on my phone, I found the following message written on the dictionary's search window:
박근혜하야하라 [pak.geun.hye ha.ya.ha.ra]
This means "Park Geun-hye, resign!" (in a very informal register, as used in the recent public demonstrations against the president).
Note that we were not, in any way, discussing the political events – I tend to confine my political class discussions to my middle schoolers. This was essentially a kind of surreptitious message entered for no particular reason.
I asked the kids, "who wrote this on my phone?"
Eric raised his hand, sheepishly. "Park Geun-hye, hiya," he said, waving a hand and exaggerating an "English" pronunciation of the name, making it sound like he was "just saying hi."
I had to laugh.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Englyn #24
(Poem #131 on new numbering scheme)
About the rains in Mahhal, you might say most every day it falls; Beneath the constant gray pall, into your sad soul it crawls.
– an englyn unodl union about a fictional place, written by a fictional person
Caveat: conversation – or not
"Most conversations are simply monologues delivered in the presence of a witness." – Margaret Millar
Definitely sick. More later.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Englynion #22-23
(Poem #130 on new numbering scheme)
A conspiracy of ants debated, congregated, danced. Some crickets sang in a trance, but the sun spared not a glance. The Californian earth cried, desperate for rain or wet, but sighed resigned to hot wind that dried the trees and grass. The hills died.
– a pair of englyn unodl union (caveat: this poem not reflective of the current weather outside).
Caveat: What a sleep schedule shows
I have been definitely sick, this past week. The main indicator is the amount that I sleep. Normally I'm lucky to stay asleep for 7 hours in a night, most nights (or less, if I have my early morning insomnia). I generally sleep as much as I need, because I don't have any alarm or obligations first thing in the morning, given my afternoon/evening teaching schedule. So I wake up when I want to wake up.
All this week, except yesterday, I have woken up after 9-10 hours of sleep. Yesterday, I had some insomnia, but still managed to nap several hours in the late morning before work.
All that said, the sleep schedule which my body "takes" for itself is a clear indicator something is wrong. I assume it's some kind of low-grade flu.
It's hard for me to focus, but work is pushing really hard and demanding a lot too.
Which is to say, I've got nothing interesting to post here, just now.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
Caveat: Englyn #21 “As mirrors will do”
(Poem #129 on new numbering scheme)
The mirror was reticent. It refused to be confused, intent on atmospherics, my bent face, the missing hair, silent.
– an englyn of indeterminate form
Caveat: They say gold paint on the palace gates comes from the teeth of pensioners
I had a really hard day yesterday. Work has been hard lately. I’ll get over it. I woke up too early, but now it’s dawn and it’s trying to snow outside.
Meanwhile, I think that in 1986, Elvis Costello had a Bobdylanesque dream.
What I’m listening to right now.
Elvis Costello, “Tokyo Storm Warning.”
Lyrics.
Oh, the sky fell over cheap Korean monster-movie scenery
And spilled into the mezzanine of the crushed capsule hotel
Between the Disney abattoir and the chemical refinery
I knew I was in trouble but I thought I was in hell
So you look around the tiny room and you wonder where the hell you are
While the K.K.K. convention are all stranded in the bar
They wear hoods and carry shotguns in the main streets of Montgomery
But they’re helpless here as babies ’cause they’re only here on holiday
What do we care if the world is a joke? (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’ll give it a big kiss, we’ll give it a poke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
Death wears a big hat ’cause he’s a big bloke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’re only living this instant
Well, the black sand stuck beneath her feet in a warm Sorrento sunrise
A barefoot girl from Naples or was it a Barcelona hi-rise?
Whistles out the tuneless theme song of a hundred cheap suggestions
And a million false seductions and all those eternal questions
Well, what do we care if the world is a joke? (Tokyo Storm Warning)
Oh, we’ll give it a big kiss, we’ll give it a poke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
Death wears a big hat ’cause he’s a big bloke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’re only living this instant
So they flew the Super-Constellation all the way from Rimini
And feasted them on fish and chips from a newspaper facsimile
Now dead Italian tourist bodies litter up the Broadway
Some people can’t be told, you know they have to learn the hard way
Holidays are dirt-cheap in the Costa del Malvinas
In the Hotel Argentina they can hardly tell between us
For Teresa is a waitress, though she’s now known as Juanita
In a tango bar in Stanley or in Puerto Margarita
She’s the sweetest and the sauciest
The loveliest and naughtiest
She’s Miss Buenos Aires in a world of lacy lingerie
What do we care if the world is a joke? (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’ll give it a big kiss, we’ll give it a poke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
Death wears a big hat ’cause he’s a big bloke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’re only living this instant
Japanese God, Jesus robots telling teenage fortunes
For all we know and all we care they might as well be Martians
They say gold paint on the palace gates comes from the teeth of pensioners
They’re so tired of shooting protest singers
That they hardly mention us
While fountains fill with second-hand perfume and sodden trading stamps
They’ll hang the bullies and the louts that dampen down the day
What do we care if the world is a joke? (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’ll give it a big kiss, we’ll give it a poke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
Death wears a big hat ’cause he’s a big bloke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’re only living this instant, hey
We braved the cold November air and the undertaker’s curses, saying
“Take me to the Folies Bergères, and please don’t spare the hearses”
For he always had a dream of that revolver in your purse
How you loved him ’till you hated him and made him cry for mercy
He said “don’t ever mention my name there or talk of all the nights you cried
We’ve always been like worlds apart, now you’re seeing two nightmares collide”
What do we care if the world is a joke? (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’ll give it a big kiss, we’ll give it a poke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
Death wears a big hat ’cause he’s a big bloke (Tokyo Storm Warning)
We’re only living this instant, hey, ow!
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba!
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Englyn #20
(Poem #128 on new numbering scheme)
A little fragment of art, seen walking: a face talking, a part of a skull - below, a heart. Modern? Anyway, a start.
– an englyn unodl union
Caveat: Neoknownothingist Tokenism
One area where I had been willing to give some benefit of the doubt to the new Space Emperor-elect was in whether or not he was actually a racist. I had preferred to imagine that he was cynically manipulating racists by rhetorical means, without himself having strong opinions on the matter. However, blogger Paul Campos makes a point at the Lawyers, Guns & Money blog about the Ben Carson appointment to HUD:
Appointing someone who admits to being completely unqualified for a job, and who also happens to be black, to that very job is exactly what one would expect a racist to do, since that’s a racist’s definition of “affirmative action” in action.
I am no longer able to give benefit of the doubt. This is pure reaction: post Obama, everything swings outrageously the other way. Sad!
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Englyn #19
(Poem #127 on new numbering scheme)
Winter is a guileless thing. December can't remember thinking about constraints: No inkling of glad rain or birds that sing.
– an englyn unodl union
Caveat: la luna ha caído a mis pies
Paisaje de arrabal
Anochecer de domingo
¿Quién aprisionó el paisaje
entre rieles de cemento?
Bocas hediondas ametrallan la noche
Los hombres que tornan del domingo
con mujeres marchitas colgadas de los brazos
y un paisaje giróvago
en la cabeza
vendrán soñando en un salto prodigioso
para que el río acune su sueño
Un grito mecánico entra en el puente
De pronto alguien
ha volcado sobre nosotros su mirada desde
la curva de la carretera
Pasó
Sus ojos van levantando
los paisajes que duermen
Ahora la luna ha caído a mis pies
– Lucía Sánchez Saornil (poeta española, 1895-1970)
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Englyn #18
(Poem #126 on new numbering scheme)
The tree was standing its ground; the wind blew. Broken leaves flew around. Branches wavered without sound. It all seemed nothing profound.
– an englyn unodl union
Caveat: Problems got me pessimistic
I'm using my day off to try to get healthy again. Lots of rest and mindlessly drawing and listening to various things.
What I'm listening to right now.
Arrested Development, "Tennessee."
Lyrics.
[Verse 1: Speech]
Lord I've really been real stressed
Down and out, losing ground
Although I am Black and proud
Problems got me pessimistic
Brothers and sisters keep messin up
Why does it have to be so damn tough
I don't know where I can go
To let these ghosts out of my skull
My grandma's passed, my brother's gone
I never at once felt so alone
I know you're supposed to be my steering wheel
Not just my spare tire (home)
But Lord I ask you (home)
To be my guiding force and truth (home)
For some strange reason it had to be (home)
He guided me to Tennessee (home)
[Hook]
Take me to another place
Take me to another land
Make me forget all that hurts me
Let me understand your plan
[Verse Two]
Lord it's obvious we got a relationship
Talking to each other every night and day
Although you're superior over me
We talk to each other in a friendship way
Then outta nowhere you tell me to break
Outta the country and into more country
Past Dyersburg into Ripley
Where the ghost of childhood haunts me
Walk the roads my forefathers walked
Climbed the trees my forefathers hung from
Ask those trees for all their wisdom
They tell me my ears are so young (home)
Go back to from whence you came (home)
My family tree my family name (home)
For some strange reason it had to be (home)
He guided me to Tennessee (home)
[Hook]
[Interlude: Aerle Taree]
Eshe, she went down to Holly Springs
Rasadon and Baba, they went down to Peachtree
Headliner, I challenge you to a game of horseshoes, a game of horseshoes
[Verse 3: Speech]
Now I see the importance of history
Why my people be in the mess that they be
Many journeys to freedom made in vain
By brothers on the corner playing ghetto games
I ask you Lord why you enlightened me
Without the enlightment of all my folks
He said cause I set myself on a quest for truth
And he was there to quench my thirst
But I am still thirsty
The Lord allowed me to drink some more
He said what I am searching for are
The answers to all which are in front of me
The ultimate truth started to get blurry
For some strange reason it had to be
It was all a dream about Tennessee
[Hook]
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: Englyn #17 “At the day’s end”
(Poem #125 on new numbering scheme)
I got home from work at last - feeling numb. There were some clouds amassed. The hazy sky, overcast, allowed the dull sunlight past.
– this is an englyn unodl union
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Englyn #16
(Poem #124 on new numbering scheme)
I had a student who said, "I like cats." Grinning, she sat, with tilted head. "I think they're cute," she added.
– an englyn
Caveat: ㄱ ㅣ ㅋ ㅌ
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
Caveat: Englyn #15
(Poem #123 on new numbering scheme)
A box lies on the sidewalk. Wind, in gusts, sighs, grasps and thrusts, starts to talk. The box, deaf, can only balk.
– an englyn penfyr