Wanting to write about autumn I thought: that many haiku are written in
a simple and forthright way. That reminded me of Hesiod. Of course
my grasp of Ancient Greek is very little but I have often read "Works
and Days" in translation, and thought I'd try to capture something of
the style he uses. This is a rather free version of one of his verses.
Skip that shitwreck
Don't fly off under sail
When autumn is late, dark
Our wine a thin no-hoper.
When I'm burned
All the winds will fight
over my ashes.
1. THE WASTE LAMB
SOUPTEMBER is the gruellest month, brothing
Lentils up with the dead lamb, mixing
Mulligatawnny and dhal, stirring
Dull stews with autumn grain.
Reading glasses
Expand your horizons.
The rainbow's like
The work of a mad painter.
Who always gets it right.
Don't laugh at the chicken
It knows best.
You're on.
Then you're gone.
He penn'd.
Entering an old house,
Cobwebs tug at you.
Like memories.
The shortest poem I know is "Be happy", in ancient Greek "Xere". This is inscribed on many tombstones from the Hellenistic era, and I admire the way the dead person passes their blessing to the living.
This made me think about the meaning of the word "Verkënnen" that I mentioned a post or two back. I like it because of the emphasis on gradualness and because I have always liked the idea that time may bring us better understanding.
In itself it is a poem.
But can it be translated into other languages, as a poem, rather then literally as in the earlier post?
This blogging platform is very limited and that's an irritation quite often.
But some of my favorite watercolorists used a basic palette and working within those constraints made the artists concerned more creative.
I'm reading a Lingo: Language Spotter's Guide, by Gaston Dorren.
(Aside: I think we word spotters should be called worders.)
I like the book very much. It taught me a word I've been missing lately. It's from Luxembourgish.
Verkënnen - "to gradually experience the effects of old age in body and mind".
Isn't that rather beautiful?
PS Verkënnen means something related but a bit different in German and Dutch.
While I think of it:
"Of course I won't marry you!", she bridled unengagingly.
A Croaker is similar to a Tom Switfie but with a verb instead of an adverb.
The form gets its name from this example, which was invented by Mr and Mrs Bongartz.
"I'm dying", Tom croaked.
Croakers seem hard to invented but I came up with these.
"The divorce was very costly!", Tom exclaimed.
"Me, addicted to cocaine?", Tom snorted.
"I've got a red-hot tip for the 2:30", Tom asserted.
"Smile for the camera!", Tom snapped.
"This soft toy is totally under my control", Tom ranted.
Tom Swifties are a form of humorous wordplay. For example:
Go to the rear of the ship at once", said Tom sternly.
"Who left the toilet seat down?", asked Tom peevishly.
Here's a few I came up with:
"I marked your answer wrong", said Tom crossly.
"Life itself is a game of chance", explained Tom winsomely.
"One day all this will be yours", Tom stated willingly.
"Calculate the average for yourself!", snarled Tom meanly.
"They insist on keeping me in overnight", Tom snapped impatiently.
"I think I've sprained my ankle", muttered Tom disjointedly.
"I prefer to live in an apartment", answered Tom flatly.
"I'm counting how many pots of tea you lot make", Tom pointed out brutally.
"What's for afters?", asked Tom sweetly.
"Sorry, your answer was correct after all", Tom remarked.
Cod: Found in compounds such as: 'Codwrangle', 'Codratic Seaquation", etc.
Crab: Seas.
Crevette: Posh necktie.
Eel: Dickensian: See cure.
Fish: Dickensian: Aspiration.
Herring: Sounds like.
Lobster: Lember of a lob.
Mussel: Likely to do well on eBay.
Plaice: Pretentious dramas.
Ray: Limp cheer.
Scampi: Deceitful pee.
Shad: Abbr. She formerly had.
Trout: Doh reh.
Whelk: Informal: No thanks expected.
Whiting: A form of communication.
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti
Refused to use his potty.
When he began scribbling on the ceiling
His parents considered that more appealing.
John Hull wrote "Touching the Rock”.
If you want to feel blindness, read this book. We can never understand anything by covering our eyes.
On a hot day, the door being open
A Robin flew briefly into my kitchen.
Perched on the back of a chair.
I froze. From where I sat its legs were so slender
That I wondered how they could support even that tiny weight.
When my Robin glanced around, I even (stupidly),
Thought it might see me as a friend.
And not be afraid as it flew away.
Peeing in a corner,
A cat.
Or a Buddhist.
Recently I've had a bad spell of Meralgia paresthetica (from? Greek meros=thigh + algos=pain + para=around + aistheme=I feel. I guessed some bits but that's the idea.)
It's a very strange and uncomfortable sensation on the outside of the thigh. For me, it's like having something very heavy and clunky in your pocket, always weighing on the thigh, not exactly hurting -- but sort of -- even though the pocket is completely empty.
It's caused by a particular nerve being pinched as it radiates from the spinal chord to the thigh itself. I've had this from time to time since the 70s but it flares up now and then.
Poor me. But then I read that Sigmund Freud had the same condition, so I am in illustrious company.
I couldn't resist this.
Munchday
Cheeseday
Wafflesday
Thirsty
Friesday
Snacksday
Bunday
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