Adventures in Translation

From a student paper on Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants":

"The man tells the girl about a drink called Anis del Toro (meaning butt of the bull)."

No wonder I could never stand the taste of anise.

Line(s) of the Week

"Her voice was a force of nature, her conversation a fast-moving rapid full of deadly churning eddies. She was like Hitler without the anti-Semitism, MLK without the compassion or noble cause."

—Joshua Ferris, Then We Came to the End

The Holy Order of Fish Handlers

There are those who claim

they can catch the sleek

trout in their bare hands.

My first response to this

was disbelief, but when

I try to imagine it—

I who can barely catch

that lovely and elusive

fish with hook and line

and who have seen them

flash upstream when I

merely scratched an itch—

I imagine something

like a sacred meditation,

a dance of stillness

demanding the non-

attachment of a monk.

To teach oneself to

stand in a cold river

without disrupting it,

to cast no shadow:

is it any different from

learning to levitate, or

mastering that bullfrog-

like chanting that resounds

even underneath the temple?

They talk of calming the fish

by gently stroking

its belly, and I admit,

like a hungry trout

gulled by glint and feather,

I may have been seduced

by a beautiful idea,

but I want to believe

in this, the holy order

of fish handlers, who, to

briefly catch their prey, must

first forget themselves.

—Dallas Crow

"The Holy Order of Fish Handlers" originally appeared in the Fall/Winter 2008 (Vol. 103, #3/4) issue of Poet Lore.

The Aesthetics of Gravity

Think of the pleasure boys take in falling,

the hours they devote to it: ko'd, shot

in the back, machine-gunned in the

gut; tackled, clotheslined, checked,

body-blocked, tripped; in slow motion

whenever possible; preferably

for an audience of friends or family;

dramatically, comically; into

pillows, hay, leaves, mud, snow—

any pile promising padding or a mess;

water, too: flips, splits, bellyflops,

can openers and cannonballs.

Some may argue that phylogeny

recapitulates ontogeny, that

they are reliving that initial fall

from grace themselves; others may

insist they somehow sense their

own mortality, and are preparing for

their future decline; but I am convinced—

watching my sons catapult and pirouette

through the invisible air, then replay

those all too brief moments of flight

again and again for friends—they are

enchanted by the aesthetics of gravity.

Icarus is their hero, not for his

Pyrrhic success or greedy heedlessness,

but for his most delightful failure.

—Dallas Crow

"The Aesthetics of Gravity" originally appeared in the Fall/Winter 2008 (Vol. 103, #3/4) issue of Poet Lore.

Sick and Awkward

One of the pleasures of teaching teenagers is that you get to keep up on current slang, or at least not fall behind as far as you would on your own as an old fart. This year’s two biggest slang terms are sick and awkward. Sick is an adjective that—not surprisingly—mean its opposite. It’s used almost entirely by guys, especially (at this institution) hockey players, in place of awesome or amazing. For example: That was a sick move! Or That was a totally sick move! Or Did you see the end of last night’s game? It was sick!

Awkward is used primarily by girls, which is fitting since it has more to do with social dynamics.

“I would never do that.”

“Why?”

“It would be so awkward. Can you imagine anything more awkward?”

It also has more complex connotations than sick. In fact, it seems to me, to signify a different and particular kind of social awareness. Sick feels like another version of cool or bad: one syllable terms that essentially mean good or really good. The prominence of the concern about awkwardness seems like something different and new. Obviously when I was a teenager there were awkward situations and moments, but we didn’t identify them in a such a clearly-defined category. Also, awkwardness can be uncomfortable or odd, and given those things it can often be quite funny. In fact, it seems to me to be the operating mode of the most popular comedy out there these days. The humor of The Office is built almost entirely around discomfort—our own and that of the characters—which is true as well of last summer’s hit movie, The Hangover.

I love to see the way people play with language, and make it fresh. I remember when my first son was born, and consciously not wanting to use the word cool around him too much. It seemed that everyone around me was using it for everything that was good or desirable. I felt like it put too much emphasis on what was cool and what wasn’t, and it also made people sound rather unintelligent when that was the only modifier that came out of their mouths. I wanted him to grow up with a greater range of descriptors at his disposal. In time, sick and awkward will either become passé or clichéd, but for now they feel fresh. Of course, as a middle-aged man I don’t actually use these terms. That would be awkward.

For a Good Time, Call . . .

Focus!

So, the other a day my friend and colleague, Ms. M., came to me with a song running through her head that she couldn’t identify. What she hummed didn’t ring any bells for me, and I didn’t think any more about it until she showed up in my classroom a couple hours later, having tracked down the above video.

When she started playing the song, I wasn’t watching the screen, and I called out “England, 1972.” The video actually says 1973, and the caption says it's from a 1971 album, so I wasn’t too far wrong on that, but the band, as it turns out, was not British but Dutch, which may or may not explain things. In any case, this video left me amazed and speechless on any number of fronts.

1. Where in the world had Ms. M. heard this before?

2. How had I never heard this before?

3. Who the hell are these guys?

The remaining questions I had left me so speechless I can’t even write them down. I was awed, amazed, and convulsing in laughter and disbelief. What were they thinking? It’s brilliant. And it’s awful. And even though it calls to mind Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, and a demented Julie Andrews at times, it also is like nothing else on the planet. It's also addictive. I keep needing to see the vocalist (if that is the right word here) perform one more time. In fact, I'll probably click on the link right now, and see and hear it again.

Word of the Day

cwm—(noun)—a geological term from Wales, another word for a cirque, which may not help many of us flatlanders very much. Still, you gotta love a word with no vowels, especially a noun. That's rock solid.