Sculpin

So, a friend on LiveJournal is looking for a translation of an Italian hymn. I don’t know how to translate it, but I know a game of mistranslation. There are lots of verses left if you find yourself wanting to join in. No real rules to speak of except “amuse yourself”; you can even get some of it right if that’s what seems right. (I guess you could get all of it right, but why?)

Hampered by the frilly nightgown of the sea
Against the feminine derriere of Arabia
Come giggling into the valley that welcomes you
Spurting out life as if it were light;
The sun itself, that pious bitch,
Cannot quell what mortals give.

Not for you or me but for those holy gifts we live;
Not the little brothers of God and their chewed-up Christ
Or the gray spirits of the awful fedoras
Or the corpses of the gods sadly leaning:
Not in ten lives can they approach our joy, so hot
and unceasing is the flame of love.

Negli Estremi confini d’Egea
Dell’Arabia nell’arse contrade
Come Gigli in amena vallea
Vostra vita a la luce spunto;
E quai stelle la diva pietade
In quell’ora ai mortal vi dono.

Non per voi ma per l’alma viveste
Dei fratelli, da Cristo redenti:
Or gli spiriti alla fede traeste,
Or dei corpi leniste il dolor;
Non periglio vi tenne:era ardente
E perenne la fiamma d’amor.

(I’m going to hell, aren’t I? Oh yeah. Maybe it’s the beer talking, but I feel kinda like I just wrote hymnal slash.)

Previously.

Over at Ozarque’s place, people are engaging in haiku about hostile language and verbal self-defense. Here’s my batch:

Now, dear, we all know
Exactly what’s wrong with you,
So don’t you worry.

I believe in you!
I know that if you just try
You’ll be adequate.

We all have a gift.
It’s just that in your case, dear,
Nobody knows what.

Remember one thing
And you can never go wrong:
I am on your side.

I’ve got jury duty coming up in a week and a half. Alas, nobody timed this to coincide with a new Terry Pratchett release, or I’d be set. Anybody read anything great lately?

Bonus points for great biographies — I’m just finishing up Eric Hobsbawm’s autobiography, which has given me some food for thought. But really, anything would do, as long as it isn’t a Moody Sock Novel. (”Linda folded another pair of socks and sighed. Would her sister ever find true love? And why had Richard become so distant? What was love, after all? Could it be like matching socks? She came to her senses suddenly, holding a pair of socks in her hand as she stared into the distance.” Pbbbbbt, yawn.) I prefer books in which something happens once in a while.

Seed Packet

In three months’ time it will seem
as though you bought
a 99-cent ticket to the Big Top:
a small green vehicle with orange
circus hubcaps will appear
in your garden, and send out of
every exit pattypans
yellow and green, clearing your fence
in their ruffs
and frills, and still more
clowns of the vegetable kingdom
will brave thistles in striped, edible hats
with marigolds dangling
here and there for keeping bugs away,
the whole troupe freckled
variously and sniffing the day lilies
with zucchini beezers and golden honkers,
not a nose in sight, but impossible blue
hubbard shoes fleeing up the paths
on their lifelines.

– Brendan Galvin

Via Metafilter, Max Dohle’s Stapelgedichten. “Stack up some books, take a picture: a poem is born.”

The Invention of the Zero Memory Not wanted on the voyage The moon by whale light Crossing open ground The nothing that is In the shadow of memory Where late the sweet birds sang Ghost circles Sparks Pale fire Unquenchable fire

Update: I like my next one a lot better.

Nature rejects the monarch, not the man;
The subject, not the citizen; for kings
And subjects, mutual foes, forever play
A losing game into each other’s hands,
Whose stakes are vice and misery. The man
Of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
Power, like a desolating pestilence,
Pollutes whate’er it touches; and obedience,
Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth,
Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame
A mechanized automaton.

– Percy Bysshe Shelley, from “Queen Mab”

Something I love about Aaron, owner of The Dreaming comic book shop, is that I can walk up to him and ask, as I did yesterday, “So, can you recommend anything with a really good story that isn’t a bunch of sexist twaddle? Because I have reached my limit with the sexist twaddle.” And he does not twitch and cover his groin; he laughs loudly and knows exactly what I’m talking about. That “Friends of Lulu” sticker on the front door tipped me off, years ago, that this was a cool comic book store for women.

Unfortunately, I’m already reading all the stuff that came to mind: Finder (my very favorite) , Mouse Guard, Castle Waiting, Polly and the Pirates, Y: The Last Man, and Fables were some of the more-or-less current titles we mentioned. I might also have mentioned Astro City and Scary Godmother. They’re not exactly current now, but I loved Transmetropolitan, Amy Unbounded and Hopeless Savages. I also like what I’ve seen from Andi Watson.

So, I’m looking for some new titles, not necessarily written from an explicitly feminist point of view, but necessarily written from an implicitly feminist point of view: you know, the radical belief that women are people. I’m not looking to be empowered; I manage that perfectly well on my own. I’m just looking to be entertained without being thoroughly annoyed. I haven’t yet found any shôjo manga that I’ve found particularly riveting, but it’s probably out there. Mostly, though, my tastes tend to run to independent, Western, creator-owned titles. Stuff for kids is fine, as long as it’s intelligent.

Any recommendations?

The Three Bears Norse, via Cissa. Fantastic.

It all hit me today — the bicycling, the shoveling, the Pilates. I’m limbering up now, but I was stiff and sore from jaws to knees. It was a magnificent soreness, a big big ache I could be proud of.

So instead of getting things done today, I dinked around on the net. One of my favorite places to dink around is Spy’s Spice — so many beautiful and striking and strange things there.

Ben thought that Josh and I should have gotten married in a cold, abandoned warehouse. But no, I wanted to get married somewhere pretty with reasonably comfortable chairs. I guess I could have compromised. Just as well, really, that I didn’t.

And I played the quotation game that’s been going around. Here are my five favorite quotations from the Random Quotation page:

The best way to realize the pleasure of feeling rich is to live in a smaller house than your means would entitle you to have.
Edward Clarke

The one thing more difficult than following a regimen is not imposing it on others.
Marcel Proust (1871 - 1922)

I cannot call to mind a single instance where I have ever been irreverent, except toward the things which were sacred to other people.
Mark Twain (1835 - 1910), “Is Shakespeare Dead?”

Doing a thing well is often a waste of time.
Robert Byrne

My definition of a free society is a society where it is safe to be unpopular.
Adlai E. Stevenson Jr. (1900 - 1965), Speech in Detroit, 7 Oct. 1952

(Too bad, no Horace in this batch. I have a soft spot for Horace.)