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. [daily log: walking, 7km]
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 of his in Spanish. I guess he writes in English, too.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
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 (Korean poet, 1917-1945)
(Translation by Yelun Qin)
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. [daily log: walking, 7km]
Hey, hey Captain Jack Meet me down by the railroad track With that rifle in my hand I'm gonna be a shootin' man A shootin' man The best I can For Uncle Sam
Hey, hey Captain Jack Meet me down by the railroad track With that knife in my hand I'm gonna be a cuttin' man A cuttin' man A shootin' man The best I can For Uncle Sam
Hey, hey Captain Jack Meet me down by the railroad track With that grenade in my hand I'm gonna be a killin' man A killin' man A cuttin' man A shootin' man The best I can For Uncle Sam
Hey, hey Captain Jack Meet me down by the railroad track With that bottle in my hand I'm gonna be a drinkin' man A drinkin' man A killin' man A cuttin' man A shootin' man The best I can For Uncle Sam
Hey, hey Captain Jack Meet me down by the railroad track With that book in my hand I'm gonna be a studyin' man A studyin' man A drinkin' man A killin' man A cuttin' man A shootin' man The best I can For Uncle Sam
– a US Army Marching Cadence
The original "Captain Jack" was a Modoc Indian, Kintpuash, who is the only person to have killed a US Army General officer during battle – although the Army later executed him for "war crimes," I don't think it's so clear that he was employing tactics any dirtier than the US soldiers were.
So in the marching cadence, the soldiers' plan to meet Captain Jack down by the railroad tracks strikes me as an ambivalent situation. Like many US military cadences, there is an anti-military subtext hovering below the surface.
I remember decades ago, in some social group or another (I don't really recall exactly which, but I was young), "Captain Jack" was a kind of facetious answer to any "who" question, e.g.
Q: "Who did you see there?" A: "Captain Jack."
"Captain Jack" is also, apparently, an old slang term for heroin or other narcotics – which lends yet another angle of meaning to the popularity of this cadence especially during the Vietnam era.
A different version of the cadence is heard in this youtube.
Note not just the variation in specific types of "A __-in' man", but the addition of the lines "Re-up? You're crazy! / Re-up? You're outta your mind!"
"Fascism is what capitalism does when it’s under threat." – Sam Kriss (Idiot Joy Showland blog).
What I'm listening to right now.
Heartless Bastards, "Only For You."
Lyrics.
Been a while since I felt this way about Someone that really really like to know you More I know you, more All your eyes sing the song to me And I really really like to move to it Oh oh ? oh
And ? me oh Open my ? And now we I only for you
All your eyes spending on my head And all, all this ? of sorrow uh yeah for ? Yeah all your eyes spending on my head And I ? spend of sorrow uh yeah for.
And now I'm ? open my heart And I only oh only for you And now I'm just gone don't know what to do My head is such a cloud if you And I'm just gone now what to do My head is such a cloud if you so ? I'm tryin uh uh uh And now I'm just gone don't know what to do My head is such a cloud if you
All your eyes spending on my head And all, all this ? of sorrow uh yeah for ? Yeah all your eyes spending on my head And I ? spend of sorrow uh yeah for.
And now I'm ? open my heart And I only oh only for you
The human cylinders Revolving in the enervating dusk That wraps each closer in the mystery Of singularity Among the litter of a sunless afternoon Having eaten without tasting Talked without communion And at least two of us Loved a very little Without seeking To know if our two miseries In the lucid rush-together of automatons Could form one opulent wellbeing
Simplifications of men In the enervating dusk Your indistinctness Serves me the core of the kernel of you When in the frenzied reaching out of intellect to intellect Leaning brow to brow communicative Over the abyss of the potential Concordance of respiration Shames Absence of corresponding between the verbal sensory And reciprocity Of conception And expression Where each extrudes beyond the tangible One thin pale trail of speculation From among us we have sent out Into the enervating dusk One little whining beast Whose longing Is to slink back to antediluvian burrow And one elastic tentacle of intuition To quiver among the stars
The impartiality of the absolute Routs the polemic Or which of us Would not Receiving the holy-ghost Catch it and caging Lose it Or in the problematic Destroy the Universe With a solution
This song is old, but that Talking Heads Remain In Light album is easily one of my personal favorites of all time. I have never tired of the Talking Heads, since I first discovered them when I was in high school.
What I'm listening to right now.
Talking Heads, "Crosseyed And Painless." I believe this song seems like a kind of prophesy – perhaps an anthem for our new "post-fact" era.
Lyrics.
Lost my shape Trying to act casual! Can't stop I might end up in the hospital I'm changing my shape I feel like an accident They're back! To explain their experience Isn't it weir Looks too obscure to me Wasting away And that was their policy I'm ready to leave I push the fact in front of me Facts lost Facts are never what they seem to be Nothing there! No information left of any kind Lifting my head Looking for danger signs There was a line There was a formula Sharp as a knife Facts cut a hole in us There was a line There was a formula Sharp as a knife Facts cut a hole in us I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… The feeling returns Whenever we close out eyes Lifting my head Looking around inside The island of doubt It's like the taste of medicine Working by hindsight Got the message from the oxygen Making a list Find the cost of opportunity Doing it right Facts are useful in emergencies The feeling returns Whenever we close out eyes Lifting my head Looking around inside. Facts are simple and facts are straight Facts are lazy and facts are late Facts all come with points of view Facts don't do what I want them to Facts just twist the truth around Facts are living turned inside out Facts are getting the best of them Facts are nothing on the face of things Facts don't stain the furniture Facts go out and slam the door Facts are written all over your face Facts continue to change their shape I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting… I'm still waiting…
I posted this song quite some time ago (more than 5 years). I’m posting again because the video link at the old posting “rotted” (the so-called “link-rot” problem that long-lived blogs have), and anyway I never posted the lyrics in that old posting. It’s one of my favorites by Dylan.
Bob Dylan (with Johnny Cash), “Girl From The North Country.”
[UPDATE 2020-03-24: link rot repair (again!)]
Lyrics.
If you’re travelin’ in the north country fair
Where the winds hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a true love of mine
If you go when the snowflakes storm
When the rivers freeze and summer ends
Please see if she’s wearing a coat so warm
To keep her from the howlin’ winds
Please see for me if her hair hangs long
If it rolls and flows all down her breast
Please see for me if her hair hangs long
For that’s the way I remember her best
I’m a-wonderin’ if she remembers me at all
Many times I’ve often prayed
In the darkness of my night
In the brightness of my day
Del color de la vejez es el poema que a la vida insulta y a los hombres increpa llamándoles con voz de sirena hacia el desierto: qué larga es hacia la nada la procesión de los hombres con gritos y relinchos, y fuego en los dos ojos y ceniza que cae señalando el camino y alabando al abismo la página que escribo y que se dobla y se tuerce entre tus manos.
– Leopoldo María Panero (poeta español, 1948-2014)
Run The Jewels, "Report to Shareholders." The lyrics to this song are quite dark – but we are living in dark times, perhaps?
Lyrics [NSFW].
[Verse 1: El-P] Beware of horses I mean a horse is a horse of course, but who rides is important Sitting high with a uniform, barking orders, demanding order And I'm scared that I talk too much about what I think's going on I got a way with this, they might drag me away for this Put me in a cage for this, I might pay for this I just say what I want like I'm made for this But I'm just afraid some days I might be wrong Maybe that's why me and Mike get along Hey, not from the same part of town, but we both hear the same sound coming Woo! And it sounds like war Woo! And it breaks our hearts When I started this band, didn't have no plans, didn't see no arc Just run with the craft, have a couple laughs Make a buck and dash, yeah Get a little dap like "Yeah I'm the fucking man!", yeah Maybe give a little back like, "Here, I do what I can" It's all jokes and smoke 'till the truth start schemin' Can't contain the disdain for y'all demons You talk clean and bomb hospitals So I speak with the foulest mouth possible And I drink like a Vulcan losing all faith in the logical I will not be confused for docile I'm free, motherfuckers, I'm hostile
[Verse 2: Killer Mike] Choose the lesser of the evil people, and the devil still gon' win It could all be over tomorrow, kill our masters and start again But we know we all afraid, so we just simply cry and march again At the Dem Conven my heart broke apart when I seen them march mommas in As I rap this verse right now, got tears flowing down my chocolate chin Told the truth and I've been punished for it, must be a masochist 'cause I done it again "Ooh, Mike said 'uterus'" They acting like Mike said, "You a bitch" To every writer who wrote it, misquoted it Mike says, "You a bitch, you a bitch, you a bitch" Add a "nigga" for the black writer that started that sewer shit I maneuver through manure like a slumdog millionaire El-P told me, "Fuck them devils, Mike, we gon' be millionaires" I respond with a heavy "Yeah" Big bruh says "Fuck that, toughen up Stay ready, write raw raps, shit rugged rough" The devil don't sleep, us either El spits fire, I spit ether We the gladiators that oppose all Caesars Coming soon on a new world tour Probably play the score for the World War At the apocalypse, play the encore Turn around, see El, and I smile Hell coming, and we got about a mile Until it's over I remain hostile
Part II: "Kill Your Masters"
[Verse 1: Killer Mike] Mere mortals, the Gods coming so miss me with the whoopty-whoop You take the devil for God, look how he doin' you I'm Jack Johnson, I beat a slave catcher snaggletooth I'm Tiger Flowers with a higher power, hallelu' Life'll get so bad it feel like God mad at you But that's a feeling, baby, ever lose I refuse I disabuse these foolish fools of they foolish views I heard the revolution coming, you should spread the news Garvey mind, Tyson punch, this is bad news So feel me, follow me Devil done got on top of me Bad times got a monopoly Give up, I did the opposite Pitch perfect, I did it properly Owner killed by his property
[Verse 2: El-P] This life'll stress you like Orson Welles on the radio War after war of the world'll make all your saneness go And these invaders from Earth're twerkin' on graves you know Can't wait to load up the silos and make your babies glow It's so abusive you'll beg somebody to roofie you They'll snatch your hope up and use it like it's a hula-hoop And it's a loop, they talk to you just like their rulers do These fuckin' fools have forgotten just who been foolin' who
[Hook: Killer Mike] Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters (kill your masters!) Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters (kill your masters!)
[Verse 3: Zack de la Rocha] Killer children of men on the throne, roving with no atonement Got me feeling like I'm Clive Owen rowing through a future frozen The flow's a burning wind, blowing to your coast Now in cages 'cause we rode the waves of your explosions Done appealing to our killers, man, to stop the bleedin' This song's a dirty bomb for they dirty dealings Boots on the roof, I'm Charley Mingus dumping through the ceiling Master P-in' on these lost Europeans thievin' Shit be grim, and De La born a reaper Born in the beast and fixin' feast tearin' its features The world surges, the nation's nervous The crowds awaken, they can't disperse us We ain't at your service Won't stay sedated Won't state our numbers for names and Remaining faceless We dignified, they can't erase us We ain't asleep, we rope-a-dope through the flames Man, the world gonna ride on what's implied in the name Run 'em
[Hook] Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters (kill your masters!) Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters Kill your, kill- kill your kill your, kill- Kill your, kill- kill- kill your, kill- Kill your masters (kill your masters!)
Apparently Longfellow's poem, "The Song of Hiawatha" has been rewritten in a LOLcat version (LOLcat, for those unaware, is a kind of internet 'meme' – i.e. a faddish and famous complex of behaviors, images and what might be called internet text-based dialect slang).
By the shores of Intar-Webbies, By the shining Big-Cheez-Burger, Stood the macro of Blue Kitteh, Pièce de résistance, Blue Kitteh. Dark behind it rose the sofa, Rose the roomy gloomy sofa, Rose the pics with lols upon them; Bright before it post the comments, Post the wry and funneh comments, LOl@shining Big-Cheez-Burger!!
For comparison, here are the first ten lines of the original.
By the shores of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, Stood the wigwam of Nokomis, Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis. Dark behind it rose the forest, Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees, Rose the firs with cones upon them; Bright before it beat the water, Beat the clear and sunny water, Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (American poet, 1807-1882)
To have known him, to have loved him After loneness long; And then to be estranged in life, And neither in the wrong; And now for death to set his seal— Ease me, a little ease, my song! By wintry hills his hermit-mound The sheeted snow-drifts drape, And houseless there the snow-bird flits Beneath the fir-trees’ crape: Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine That hid the shyest grape.
– Herman Melville (American novelist and poet, 1819-1891)
The poem is probably about the novelist Nathaniel Hawthorne, a contemporary and sometime friend of Melville's. The two of them were close friends for a while but estranged in later life.
Run The Jewels, "Nobody Speak." Anyway I found the video entertaining.
Lyrics (NSFW).
[El-P] Picture this I'm a bag of dicks Put me to your lips I am sick I will punch a baby bear in his shit Give me lip I'ma send you to the yard, get a stick Make a switch I can end a conversation real quick
[Killer Mike] I am crack I ain't lyin', kick a lion in his crack I'm the shit, I will fall off in your crib, take a shit Pinch your momma on the booty Kick your dog, fuck your bitch Fat boy dressed up like he's Santa And took pictures with your kids
[El-P] We the best We will cut a frowny face in your chest, little wench I'm unmentionably fresh, I'm a mensch, get correct I will walk into a court while erect, screaming "Yes! I am guilty motherfuckers, I am death"
Hey, you wanna hear a good joke?
[Refrain] Nobody speak, nobody get choked
[El-P] Get running Start pumping your bunions, I'm coming I'm the dumbest, who flamethrow your function to Funyuns Flame your crew quicker than Trump fucks his youngest Now face the flame, fuckers, your fame and fate's done with
[Killer Mike] I rob Charlie Brown, Peppermint Patty, Linus and Lucy Put coke in the doobie, roll woolies to smoke with Snoopy I still remain that dick grabbin' slacker that spit a loogie Cause the toter of the toolie'll murder you friggin' Moolies Fuck outta here, yeah
[Refrain] Nobody speak, nobody get choked, hey Nobody speak, nobody get choked, hey, hey Nobody speak Nobody speak
[El-P] Only facts I will shoot a Baby duck if it quacks, with a Luger Top billin', come cops some villainous shots is blocked, shipped out, and bought, and y'all feeling it El-P killin' it, Killer Mike killin' shit
[Killer Mike] What more can I say? We top billin' it Valiant without villainy Viciously foul victory Burn towns and villages Burning looting and pillaging
[El-P] Murderers try to hurt us we curse them and all their children I just want the bread and bologna bundles to tuck away I don't work for free, I am barely giving a fuck away
[Killer Mike] So tell beggin' Johnny and Mommy to get the fuck away Heyyo here's a gun, son, now run, get it the gutterway Live to shoot another day
[Refrain] Nobody speak, nobody get choked, hey Nobody speak, nobody get choked, hey Nobody speak Nobody speak Nobody speak, nobody get choked
I had a student who expressed an interest in English-language poetry, after it came up in some TOEFL-style listening passage we were working on. This is so rare as to be almost sui generis.
I said, "You really read English poetry?"
"Sometimes," she said. This was just barely plausible – she attended an international school when her family lived in China, for a while. "So I had to read it."
"OK. Did you like it?"
"Sometimes. I had to make a poem."
I showed a lot of enthusiasm for this. She asked, "Do you want me to write a poem?"
"Sure," I said. "That would be great."
"I will write it on the whiteboard," she announced. This is what she wrote.
The moral of this story: when a seventh-grader offers to write a poem for you, use caution.
La verdad quiere cetro. El verso mío Puede, cual paje amable, ir por lujosas Salas, de aroma vario y luces ricas, Temblando enamorado en el cortejo De una ilustre princesa o gratas nieves Repartiendo a las damas. De espadines Sabe mi verso, y de jubón violeta Y toca rubia, y calza acuchillada. Sabe de vinos tibios y de amores Mi verso montaraz; pero el silencio Del verdadero amor, y la espesura De la selva prolífica prefiere: ¡Cuál gusta del canario, cuál del águila!
I have long felt that the most dynamic, creative, and relevant poetry being written in English in this contemporary era is in the hiphop and rap music genres. And certainly, if a lyricist like Bob Dylan can win the Nobel Literature Prize, then we should see no impediment to recognizing that this work is poetry. Although these songs are deeply profane, often violent, and sometimes disturbing, some of them are also great poetry.
What I'm listening to right now (with the additional caveat: NSFW).
Run The Jewels, "Talk To Me."
Lyrics (NSFW).
We return from the depths of the badland With a gun and a knife in our waistband Went to war with the Devil and Shaytan He wore a bad toupee and a spray tan So high now, hoping that I land On a Thai stick, moving through Thailand On the radio, heard a plane hijack Government be in debt while they cook crack I move in a world of conspiracies Obey no rules, I'm doing me Smoke kush, transport to the airport Customs found a joint in my passport Pull cash and I gave him what he asked for Goddammit, it's a motherfucking miracle Small bribe, made it back into America Hit Uber and maneuvered out the area Rhyme animal, pitbull terrier Rap terrorist, terrorize, tear it up Brought gas and the matches to flare it up Militant Michael might go psycho On any ally or rival Born Black, that's dead on arrival My job is to fight for survival In spite of these AllLivesMatter-ass white folk
This is spiritual warfare that you have been dealing with. This is not a fight that you have been dealing with flesh and blood But this is a fight against principalities and evil doers and unclean spirits (RTJ3 motherfuckers)
Brave men didn't die face down in the Vietnam muck so I could not style on you I didn't walk uphill both ways to the booth and back to not wild on you You think baby Jesus killed Hitler just so I'd whisper? When you're safe and sound and these crooks tap your phone and now have a file on you? What, me worry? Nah, buddy, I've lost before, so what? You don't get it, I'm dirt, motherfucker, I can't be crushed Fuckers, open the books up and stop bullshitting the kid My dick got a Michelin star, I'm on par with the best ever took the gig I'm a super cat, from don dada to dusk, don't bother to touch I got firm clutch on the grip and the bucks I might ghost ride a tank, take a ride to the bank I'm the son of Rick Rubin rushing full-thrust Don't flash weak shit to the Shark Tank judge Talk real good 'cause I'm smart and stuff We a good crew to fuck with, better to love
I told y'all suckers, I told y'all suckers. I told y'all on RTJ1, then I told ya again on RTJ2, and you still ain't believe me. So here we go, RTJ3
Hermano, tú que tienes la luz, dime la mía. Soy como un ciego. Voy sin rumbo y ando a tientas. Voy bajo tempestades y tormentas ciego de ensueño y loco de armonía. Ese es mi mal. Soñar. La poesía es la camisa férrea de mil puntas cruentas que llevo sobre el alma. Las espinas sangrientas dejan caer las gotas de mi melancolía. Y así voy, ciego y loco, por este mundo amargo; a veces me parece que el camino es muy largo, y a veces que es muy corto… Y en este titubeo de aliento y agonía, cargo lleno de penas lo que apenas soporto. ¿No oyes caer las gotas de mi melancolía?
