"I love you," my student announced, looking up at me. Koreans – or, at least, a subset of Koreans – will be much more demonstrative and free with these kinds of expressions than typical Americans. I've had many students, male and female, come straight out and say "I love you" in this way. This isn't just about having limited English – they will just as easily say 사랑해요 to a Korean teacher in Korean. I've heard it, many times. Korean teachers will use it with their students, too.
Sometimes, it's utterly random. Other times, from students, it means something akin to, "I didn't do my homework" – it's an effort to preempt teacher wrath or anger. In any event, it's more common with elementary students than middle schoolers. But this was a middle schooler who goes by the English nickname of Kelly. Generally, when Kelly says this, she means "I didn't do my homework."
"Teacher is soooo handsome," she added. She must have a lot of undone homework to apologize for, I speculated. But I hammed it up.
I put my hand on my chin in a kind of stereotyped Korean pop-star pose. Several kids laughed. And then Kelly broke her run of compliments. As if awakening from a bad dream, she shook her head, and announced, "Oh my god. But teacher is sooo old!"
xkcd has one of the most amazing timeline graphics I’ve seen in a long time: the US Congress’ left-right spectrum over time.
xkcd has been moving into more and more interesting and challenging graphics, which I really appreciate. It’s become a reliably thought-provoking series and not just an occasional nerdy snicker.
Two days until the election. I absentee voted. I voted my conscience, I wasn’t able to select the “lesser of two evils.” Oh happy Sunday.
What I’m listening to right now.
Lionrock, “Packet of Peace.” I think it’s a UK dance track from circa 1993.
One of my regrets and frustrations about the fact that my Korean keeps failing to improve is that it limits my ability to interact with the parents of my students. This issue is sometimes “a feature, not a bug” – for example, it exempts me from the extensive telephone-calling obligation that the Korean-speaking teachers have. Nevertheless, I’d be happy to have more interaction with parents.
I got a taste last night, however, and it was pleasing (it wouldn’t always be pleasing, I’m sure, if it was “always on”). I’ve been trying a new thing: sending out video of my students’ month-end speech tests. I shoot video of the class making their little speeches, post it to youtube as “unlisted” which keeps it more-or-less private, and then use kakao, a ubiquitous Korean chat app, on my new phone, to send out links to the parents. So far, I’ve sent out video for 3 classes and it’s mostly like sending out spam into the ether with no answer or feedback. But last night one parent finally answered, and I felt a little bit happy with the result. The mom wrote:
네, 선생님. 잘보았습니다~ 덕분에 메리가 영어실력이 많이 향상외였네요. 즐거운 주말되세요.
My effort at understanding this: “Yes, teacher. Looks good~ thanks to [you] Mary’s English skills have improved a lot. Have a good weekend.” – Mary being the English nickname of the student in question.
That’s pretty awesome feedback to get. And if I was braver and more proficient in Korean, I could get more. Probably, I’d get some complaints, too. But well… it might be worth it.
I suppose some people may find it peculiar or self-indulgent or egotistical that I journal my dreams on my blog. I suppose it can be those things. But I will continue to do it. Last night’s dream was quite odd but very vivid and memorable. You will be able to tell what issues are front-and-center in my subconscious.
I dreamed I went to visit my father, but my father lived in Ulleungdo (an island off Korea’s east coast). It was a remote house on a dirt road – more similar to my uncle’s house in Alaska than anything I saw on Ulleungdo. But when I saw my father, he said, “I have something to show you.” We drove into town. The dream was an odd mash-up of my childhood in my dad’s Model A and a Korean road-trip. None of the Koreans seemed affected by a pair of foreigners driving a 1928 Ford Model A through their towns. We arrived in the main town of Ulleungdo (called Dodong though the dream neglected to remind me of that – I only remembered as I was typing just now), and we got out near some construction.
My father and I walked over to this odd, square, un-constructed-upon lot on a steep hillside – the lot was “leveled” – it had been dug out so that it was flat at the lower street level, with an ugly, two-storey retaining wall of dark concrete block at the back of the lot, and boughs of pine overhanging that retaining wall. In the center of the lot was a strange “house” made of cloth and cardboard and sheets of metal – something a homeless man might construct – however, it was apparent my father had been spending time here. I surmised he had been “squatting” on the property during his visits to town. I went inside, and it was actually pretty comfortable inside. There was a small, old-fashioned stove you sometimes see ajeossis using in tent-like constructions in small towns in Korea in winter, and a platform made of pallets and plywood for sleeping. I came back outside.
In the dream, I was most struck by the fact there was a stunted palm tree in the lot beside the tent-thing, along with a pitiful-looking persimmon tree, shorn of leaves but with glowing golden fruit still hanging on the raggedy branches. Both trees seemed very lonely and unhappy. I laughed at the idea of a palm tree on Ulleungdo. It reminded me of the palmtrees in Yeonggwang, that I had seen covered with snow when I lived down there.
I commented on this, and smiled at dad. “I should buy this lot. I could build a nice house here.” I began to describe the kind of house I would build on this odd vacant lot on Ulleungdo. It would have two or three levels, up against the retaining wall at the back, with a front entrance at the street and lots of stairs.
My father said, “I bought it.” I was very surprised. My father owned not one, but two pieces of property on Ulleungdo!
Of course, it was all a dream.
To set the scene, here are some pictures from my 2009 visit to Ulleungdo.
This last is a picture of Dodong, seen from near the ferry terminal.
We had three Halloween parties – to cover the various shifts of children we teach. One yesterday and two today. It was all barely-managed chaos, but I think the kids had fun. I had fun. But it’s a lot of work, too. We did various activites: memorizing Halloween-themed poems or songs, face (or hand) painting, costumes (for those kids that brought costumes), and my favorite, paper decorations. Then the kids would march down to one room where the Assistant Manager had set up as a witch giving out candy. They would knock, say “trick or treat” and would have to present something: their song or poem or painting or costume or craft. The paper crafts were attached to the wall. There are no pictures of me or the kids in action – because I was too busy to take pictures. I was kind of coordinating everything, and running from classroom to classroom making sure everyone had something to do.
We had a Halloween party at hagwon for the Tuesday/Thursday kids. Then we'll have one tomorrow for the Monday/Wednesday/Friday kids.
My costume is a sort of "Zorro lite" – with a fork. A fork, because I have a plastic pitchfork, instead of a plastic sword. I'm surprised at how many kids recognize that I'm trying to be Zorro – it's just a hat, mask, and black coat.
Normally I sleep for about 7 hours a night, if I don’t set my alarm I’ll just wake up after about 7 hours, regardless. After yesterday’s disturbed and half-sleepless morning, however, I was very, very tired last night. I went to bed right at midnight. I had noticed a sign in the elevator (picture at right, click to enbiggen) posted by my building’s administration saying that that time of the year when the heat comes on has arrived. You can note that the sign explains that when the overnight temperatures are between 0 and 10 degrees Celsius, the heat is only on at night, but then once the overnights drop below zero, they’ll leave it on all day. So when I got back to my apartment, given it was forcast to be around 5 C overnight, I turned on the heat in my apartment – partly, because I want to make sure it works for the season before it becomes a critical matter. But… I was feeling oddly cold, too. I assume it’s some kind of cold or flu, starting up.
So my apartment became unpleasantly warm for sleeping, and at around 2 AM, after 2 hours of restless sleep, I woke up. I drank some water, turned the heat back off, opened a window, and went back to sleep. I hadn’t turned on any alarm. And lo and behold, I awoke at 10:45 am – which means I basically slept for almost 11 hours. I haven’t slept that late in ages.
It must be a cold coming on. Or stress. Speaking of stress, my blood pressure was down slightly upon return to the doctor yesterday morning – they said it was only “dangerous” rather than “unacceptable.” So they certified my health for the Provincial Education Office, provisionally. I thought these health inspections were supposed to be about drugs, not other issues. But whatever. I guess it’s true I’ve got to somehow get control of this: more exercise, better diet, less stress.
Right, then.
I like that I got all that extra sleep, but it kind of destroys my morning habits of leisurely consuming several cups of coffee and doing some reading or writing or something. It’s like I wake up and rather than a 6 hour morning stretching out ahead of me, I have only a few hours to get things done and get to work. I’ve been going into work earlier than the mandatory 3 pm time almost every day, lately, and it’s going to get worse. Staff changes at work mean that my class load is going to increase.
Wow I slept badly last night. I'm stressing about something. Specifically, my allegedly too high blood pressure – the doctor wants me to go back. Of course, stressing about it is exactly the worst thing for it. Knowing this doesn't help.
I had an “off-line” day – I forced myself to not go on my computer until now. And I’m not sure I have figured out my new phone, either – so I had a non-technological day. I’ve been reading a biography of Park Chung-Hee, by Chong-Sik Lee, that my friend Peter loaned to me. It’s really very interesting.
Somewhat discordantly…or at the least, unrelatedly:
What I’m listening to right now.
McGinty, “Farewell to Nova Scotia.”
I only visited Nova Scotia once. I was 11 or 12 years old.
My students taught me a phrase: “이빵꾸똥꾸야!” They said it means you hate something – the thing you’re talking to – a kind of vocative “I hate you.”
But a little bit of looking around the internet adds some information. It’s “little-kid” talk, originated in a TV show from a few years ago. And roughly, its more literal meaning might be “you farty butt.”
Great thing to know how to say.
I drew some comic characters today.
What I’m listening to right now.
Icon of Coil, “Love As Blood (Implant Remix).” [UPDATE 2020-03-21: link rot repair]
I work Saturday mornings. It’s kind of hard to do, when I work afternoon/evenings the other 5 days of the week. But at least it means I get a day-and-a-half weekend. Today was a rainy day.
I left work and took a picture of the fall trees and the rain and the traffic. Hugok is the name of the neighborhood where KarmaPlus academy is located. I took the picture below standing on the corner in front of work, as I was leaving. The building in the center across the street was the first building I worked in in Hugok, in 2007 (Tomorrow School, which no longer exists).
I voted for Obama mostly as seeking for (hoping
for) a repudiation of George W. Bush. And so the reason I cannot vote
for Obama this time round is because Obama has utterly failed to
repudiate anything Bush did: Guantanamo still open, drone strikes are
more popular than ever, wars only wind down in defence-industry-friendly
ways, the Patriot Act persists, Bush's tax cuts persist, health care
reform (if it must be done) is in the pockets of the insurance industry
(seriously: let's compare Bush's oft-forgotten humongous new drug
entitlement with Obamacare and try to find philosophical differences),
etc., etc., ad infinitum.
There's some unpleasant irony in the fact that the Right (such as it is) accuses Obama of such things as socialism and betraying American values. To the former accusation, Obama is no more socialist than Bush – which is faux socialist, at best, though certainly more socialist (e.g. "big government") than anyone on the right wants to admit. To the latter accusation, well, I would have to say that GW Bush was he who most "betrayed American values" – Obama is merely continuing that trend. Here's an interesting thought: Colin Powell has endorsed Obama, again. Wasn't he, uh, GW Bush's Secretary of State during that most stunning of betrayals of American values, the Iraq invasion?
This blog post at the website-whose-name-I-hate sums it up most excellently.
It seems I will be voting "third party" this year – back to old ways, I
guess – though I'm a bit hesitant to wear my politics so prominently on my sleave, as posting on this blog inevitably means.
The same blog post points to a somewhat apocryphal quote from Karl Rove, that is utterly stunning in its scope:
We’re
an empire now, and when we act, we create our own reality. And while
you’re studying that reality — judiciously, as you will — we’ll act
again, creating other new realities, which you can study too, and that’s
how things will sort out. We’re history’s actors . . . and you, all of
you, will be left to just study what we do.
Obama will be remembered as only the second emperor of the new imperium that Julius Caesar – ahem, George W. Bush – founded.
Yesterday was a very long day. I got up and went with Curt to the hospital in the morning, for a stupid reason: I had done a health checkup / drug screening back in May, because it’s required for the Provincial Office of Education for hagwon employees, but then Curt forgot (or procrastinated on) submitting the paperwork from it, such that it was “out of date” when he went to submit it. So… I had to do it again.
I’m still suffering from too high blood pressure. And I haven’t managed to shed any pounds, either. I continue to be frustrated with my feeling that I should be managing these things better somehow. Probably, that frustration leads to stress which is the cause of the cortisol that’s causing the problems in the first place. Sigh.
After the hospital, Curt and I had some juk (rice porridge) at a juk-joint in my neighborhood. We were eating, and Curt told me that he doesn’t actually like juk. “Why did you get it?” I asked. “You got it,” he explained. It was an odd moment. Like a moment in a novel, interpolated into a regular reality.
Later, I had a busy day at work. And I went with some coworkers to Costco with the idea of buying some Halloween-themed stuff for our hagwon Halloween party next week, only to find that Costco had exactly 1 (one) Halloween decoration in stock. It was dumb. We bought a lot of candy, but we’ll have to find the Halloween stuff elsewhere, or improvise our own (which I would personally prefer but doing that does seem to be labor intensive).
Then we had a hoesik (business-dinner) for a departing coworker – nothing more exciting than watching a bunch of Koreans drinking too much. Well, that’s cynical. I genuinely like and respect most of my coworkers – they’re good people and well-meaning. And often very hard-working, too – more so than I am, in point of fact. But I always feel awkward in the alcohol-themed hoesik – especially since I’ve gone back to my teetotaller ways, lately. I did have one cup of beer – and it was enough to leave me feeling woozy and with a splitting headache in the morning – or maybe that was just staying up too late.
You definitely learn things about people in that kind of environment that you can’t learn if you don’t see them that way. Which is why I always go to hoesik, even though I feel awkward about it. It’s anthropologically fascinating. That sounds so cold, doesn’t it?
절약이 돈 버는 것 thrift-SUBJ money make[money]-PART thing Thrift is a money-making thing. “A penny saved is a penny earned.” Well, yes, the whole frugality thing, right? I have good days and bad days, on that. Certainly, I try to live within my means, even as my “means” have been cut by about 75% over the last half decade. I made the decision, at some point, that money wasn’t the main thing in my life. But it still has to be dealt with – managed.
I slept very deeply, probably because of all the walking yesterday. I was surprised to hear thunder. It's rare in Korea – certainly I don't associate it with fall weather. It was raining hard – the swooshing sound of cars and buses on the busy streets echoed outside my window. My legs were sore. I made some coffee.
Ganghwa Island is a very historical place. It’s a large island approximately straight west from Seoul and also straight west from Ilsan, but there’s not really any direct route there from Ilsan. I took a zig-zaggy bus over there with my friend Peter, and we walked a 22 km route down the island from the bus terminal in the main town at the northern end all the way to a very historic temple complex called Jeondeungsa. It had a lot of tourists. We saw a lot of rice being harvested. We stopped at a hole-in-the-wall called “Mexican Pizza Chicken” and had some chicken (they didn’t have pizza, oddly) that didn’t seem very Mexican. But it wasn’t bad. Random strangers handed us fruit and nuts. Some of this, we ate. It was a good day, but now I’m very tired. Here are many pictures, starting with a googlemap of the route, in context west of Goyang (Ilsan – where I live) and Bucheon (where Peter lives).
So, without a detailed travelogue – perhaps just a random comment here or there – here are some pictures, in chronological order.
A farm house with a mushroom-shaped roof.
A cute dog in front of a very western style house.
A rice-harvesting machine, cutting rice.
A country lane.
Fall colors.
A sign to a tomb of Leegyubo.
A farm house with a strange but interesting design.
Exploring Lee Gyu-bo’s tomb site.
Caveat: I find dumptrucks exciting. Because… of the blog name, y’know? [UPDATE: I liked this orange dumptruck so much that it later became the “brand” image for this blog.]
Most dreams seem like rehashes of old material, poorly or incompletely executed at best. But occassionally something really strange comes along. This morning I was dreaming something like a crime-procedural (a la CSI). But the specific situation involved investigating a dead person's past work history at a university library. This latter is the connection to my subconscious's accumulation of experience – I spent far too much time in university libraries, when younger. But I was the investigator, in this dream-story.
I had found a book that had been checked out by the deceased person in 1979, with those old-style check-out cards, and it had a date-stamp and their name written by hand on a list glued into the front cover of the book, in that old style libraries used to use to check out books, before computers and bar codes and all of that. So I wanted to take the book as evidence of something – I'm not sure what, but in the dream, it was important, as it showed something critical to the case I was building. But taking the book was a problem – I went to check it out, and the first thing that happened was some idiotic student worker at the library said, "…well, this book hasn't been checked out since 1979, so we need to put in a bar code and a new computer-printed information page."
He moved to remove the sticker in the front of the book with the deceased person's name on it. And I said, "Wait! That's the part that I need – that's why I want to check out the book."
This boggled the mind of the student worker, so I asked to see the supervisor. No one could even understand what I was talking about – even when I began referencing the fact that there had been a murder and that I was trying to get this book as evidence. I considered just taking the book as evidence through some kind of crime-scene confiscation scheme – but for some procedural reason I didn't have access to that pathway of action.
Finally, I was talking to some head librarian. "Why won't anyone help me solve this problem?" I asked. The woman was memorable – she resembled someone I actually knew in college. She didn't even look up from her work. She grimmaced, as if to say, 'how could this man be so ignorant?' And she said, simply, "You put a crook in their craw."
I woke up with a start. Why? The phrase was striking, and puzzling. Was it a real expression? It seemed familiar, to me, as I mulled it over in my waking-up brain. I couldn't shake the expression – it was sticking with me. Finally, I googled it. Nothing for "crook in their craw." A hits few for "crook in his craw" and "crook in my craw." There are enough hits – mostly in the comments parts of websites – to believe that it's a real expression, and not just a conjuration of my overactive imagination. But it's definitely not very common. It seems to be a southernism – perhaps it entered my mind while in the military, or via my mother, who occassionally lets her youth in Arkansas show through her layers of dialectical detritus. What is a crook in a craw? It's something that bends you out of shape. It's something that annoys you.
So in the dream, I was annoying those people. And I still don't know why, as I was distracted by the language used by the person who was trying to explain to me that I was annoying them. Is that annoying?
I stayed very late at work, talking about stuff with the boss. I think the post-merger situation isn't all good. I don't know what solutions are possible – the big players in the market seem to be engaging in price-war: they're undercutting the tuition of the smaller hagwon. Whether this is sustainable or not, I can't guess. The staff at "KarmaPlus" isn't really cohering into a single team. How does one make this happen? I don't know.
What I'm listening to right now.
Magnetic Fields, "Meaningless."
Lyrics:
Meaningless? You mean it's all been meaningless? Every whisper and caress? Yes yes yes it was totally meaningless Meaningless like when two fireflies flouresce 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 Yes yes yes definatively meaningless Yes yes yes comprehensively meaningless Yes yes yes magnificently meaningless Yes yes yes how incredibly meaningless Yes yes yes unprecedentedly meaningless Yes yes yes how mind-blowingly meaningless Yes yes yes how unbelievably meaningless Yes yes yes how infinitely meaningless
짖는 것은 무는 것만 못하다 bark-PART thing-TOPIC bite-PART thing-ONLY can’t-do That which barks isn’t sufficient to bite. “One’s bark is worse than one’s bite.” The ~만하다 ending means “is sufficient to” in one of my grammar books, so I decided that ~만 못하다 must mean “isn’t sufficient to” – but what I’m not confident about is how this works when attached to the periphrastic ~는 것 “that which ~”. I just kind of ignored that aspect in the second half of the sentence. Speaking of bark worse than bite: my boss. Just sayin’.
If I ever went to Africa, Ghana is one of the countries that most interests me. I can’t really explain why – it’s partly related to my econo-geekery: Ghana is a remarkable economic success story, in many respects, in a region replete with disasters. That, in and of itself, is interesting. But as the culture grows more prosperous, it takes on the trappings of the globalized bourgeois everywhere. One aspect: pop music and videos.
I spent part of the afternoon yesterday watching Ghanian music videos. This behavior is inexplicable.
What I’m listening to right now.
Becca, “Daa Ke Daa.”
And meanwhile, reading Henry James. Why did I ever dislike this author?
About a week ago I posted a video by Nina Paley. That discovery led me to her website / blog. Her pet cause is the madness of current intellectual property laws – so she immediately won a place in my heart. A notable quote:
“What do religious fundamentalists and big media corporations have in common? They believe that they own culture.” – Nina Paley.
Her interest in and advocacy for alternatives to the copyright regimen we all suffer under arose because she made a professional feature-length movie by herself over a period of years, only to essentially be blocked by the fact that the movie relied on still-copyrighted music from the 1930s that she’d perhaps assumed was public domain. The movie itself is awesome. It’s called Sita Sings the Blues – you can get the full story at her relevant posts on her blog.
Her attention has lately turned to a reconceptualization of copyright that I find much more compelling than the fairly established “copyleft” associated with the free software movement: she calls it “♡copyheart.” It’s cool. I may even put a ♡copyheart at the bottom of my blog at some point.
Actually, although I thought Paley did an artistic and masterful job with her sequences involving the 1930s music by jazz singer Annette Hanshaw, those weren’t my favorite tracks from the movie. My favorite musical track and video sequence was the part called “Agni Pariksha (Sita’s Fire),” which is accompanied by a song by Todd Michaelsen, sung by Reena Shah. It took me more than a little bit of googling to figure that out – it wasn’t immediately transparent on her various websites.
Here’s the thing – the irony, if you will: I decided I liked that Todd Michaelsen song enough that I “wanted” it. I sort of assumed that, given it was part of this copyheart-advocating artist, that I’d surely find it downloadable, somewhere, But I didn’t. Really, I didn’t. When I went to use one of the free youtube-to-mp3 conversion utilities, to “capture” the audio stream from the youtube video, I got this message:
Google doesn’t block the youtube copywidgets unless it’s getting takedown pressure from the copyright holder in question – this means that Todd Michaelsen or someone connected to him is specifically not allowing youtube users full access to the work.
That’s the irony – that the one song in Paley’s work that I decided I wanted, I couldn’t get. Paying for Michaelsen’s song was literally not an option – because of my nefarious South Korean IP address, getting the credit card checkout widget to work on US-based websites is sometimes unreliable, because US banking websites shove South Korean IP addresses into a “probably evil fraudsters” bucket along with most other “Asian-except-Japan” addresses; either that, or they force you to a Korean-language- and Korean-bank based site that then requires a Korean credit card. What’s often impossible is using a US credit card on a US site from South Korea. I really did intend to buy his “soundtrack” to Sita Sings the Blues.
Of course, I’m technically savvy enough that using other means to capture the song stream in question was pretty trivial. But still. I’m just sayin’.
어떤 사람에게는 좋은 것이 what-way-PART person-TO-TOPIC is-good-PART thing-SUBJ 다른 사람에게는 싫은 것 is-other-PART person-TO-TOPIC hate-PART thing A thing good for one person [is] a thing hated by another person. “One man’s meat is another’s poison.” And other proverbs in similar vein.
One of my most-liked students, who had quit Karma last year, has resumed at Karma this week. I’m so pleased.
I wrote this englyn penfyr. (Poem #6 on new numbering scheme)
the morning sky looked too cold, and dim white,
my window's light like a fold
of feeling, and it looked old.
I see these Welsh poetic forms as something offering the same brevity as haiku but more “native” to the Western – specifically Britannic – tradition, especially with their emphasis on rhyme, consonance and assonance.
The fall is finally arriving – I went to sleep with my windows open, and when I woke up, the air was chilly. Maybe 5 C or so.
I'm glad that Fall is arriving. I like summer in Korea because it is green and rainy for much of it – but I like the heat and humidity, less so.
I feel a bit frustrated with work. I sense implosional tendencies in the staffroom dynamic. These are making me uncomfortable. Meanwhile, I'm back to teaching the regular middle-schoolers. They can be frustrating sometimes, with their (externally) affectless approach to reality: I sometimes can't figure out if I'm getting through to them at all. And lately, there is a lot of talk of making the elementary side "harder" (or "hardcore") – which is exactly the direction I'm least happy in taking it, though I understand the rationale behind it, market-wise.
The big players in the hagwon biz are beginning a kind of price-war. They are thus undercutting the tuition of smaller players like Karma. Consequently, we have to differentiate in the market, and one option is to try to present ourselves as more "hardcore." Right? Personally, I think there's better options – e.g. become more "innovative" – but to be innovative, one needs to… er, um… innovate.
Estaba caminando de regreso a casa y salió en mi mp3player la canción “Heart of Glass” de Blondie. Pues, me puso a pensar en el cuento “El licenciado vidriera” de Cervantes – por el “corazón de vidrio,” por supuesto. “El licenciado vidriera” es el cuento corto cervantino que más me interesa – sin duda es el gérmen del Quijote.
El hombre, por un hechizo, contrae una locura:
… loco dela mas estraña locura, que entre las locuras hasta entonces se auia visto. Imaginose el desdichado, que era todo hecho de vidrio, y con esta imaginacion, quando alguno se llegaua a el, daua terribles vozes, pidiendo, y suplicando con palabras, y razones concertadas, que no se le acercassen, porque le quebrarian, que real, y verdaderamente el no era como los otros hombres, que todo era de vidrio de pies a cabeça. Para sacarle desta estraña imaginacion, muchos, sin atender a sus vozes, y rogatiuas arremetieron a el, y le abraçaron, diziendole, que aduirtiesse, y mirasse, como no se quebraua. Pero lo que se grangeaua en esto era, que el pobre se echaua en el suelo, dando mil gritos, y luego le tomaua vn desmayo, del qual no boluia en si en quatro horas: y quando boluia, era renouando las plegarias, y rogatiuas, de que otra vez no le llegassen. – Miguel de Cervantes, “El licenciado vidriera,” (1613).
Así la conexión entre la literatura española del siglo de oro y la música “disco” de los 1980.
Lo que estoy escuchando en este momento.
Blondie, “Heart of Glass.”
Lyrics.
Once I had a love and it was a gas
Soon turned out had a heart of glass
Seemed like the real thing, only to find
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind
Once I had a love and it was divine
Soon found out I was losing my mind
Seemed like the real thing but I was so blind
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind
In between what I find is pleasing and I’m feeling fine
Love is so confusing
There’s no peace of mind
If I fear I’m losing you it’s just no good
You teasing like you do
Once I had a love and it was a gas
Soon turned out had a heart of glass
Seemed like the real thing, only to find
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind
Lost inside, adorable illusion
And I cannot hide
I’m the one you’re using
Please don’t push me aside
We coulda made it cruising, yeah
Once I had a love and it was a gas
Soon turned out had a heart of glass
Seemed like the real thing, only to find
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind
In between what I find is pleasing and I’m feeling fine
Love is so confusing
There’s no peace of mind
If I fear I’m losing you it’s just no good
You teasing like you do
I have been reading a book, I Am a Cat, by Soseki Natsume. In translation, of course – I can’t read Japanese – I can barely remember my kana.
I came across a passage that featured the word rhodomontade, which I had never seen before.
Blacky [another cat], like all true braggarts, is somewhat weak in the head. As long as you purr and listen attentively, pretending to be impressed by his rhodomontade, he is a more or less manageable cat.
I had no idea what rhodomontade meant. I looked it up, and lo and behold, it’s from Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso (and the antecedant Orlando Innamorato by Boiardo). I supposedly read this work as part of my master’s degree program, and though I could talk about its cultural impact, I suspect I never really made it through the text – my ability in 16th century century Italian wasn’t the best, either – much less now.
When a translation features such an obscure word, it’s an indication of either a poor quality translation or a masterful one. Based on my progress so far through Aiko Ito and Graeme Wilson’s translation of Natsume’s novel (original 吾輩は猫である [Wagahai wa neko de aru]), I’m inclined to believe the latter. It’s an interesting picture of Meiji-era Japan – a period which has always fascinated me in any event.
Or l’alta fantasia, ch’un sentier solo non vuol ch’i’segua ognor, quindi mi guida, e mi ritorna ove il moresco stuolo assorda di rumor Francia e di grida, d’intorno il padiglione ove il figliuolo del re Troiano il santo Impero sfida, e Rodomonte audace se gli vanta arder Parigi e spianar Roma santa. – Orlando Furioso, Canto LXV.
