The Christmas market is here

Happy Thanksgiving

Assorted rambling.

It's paper procrastination season, so I stumbled across an article by Ezra Pound the other day, reviewing a volume of translated poetry from Bohemia, which conveniently enough is now available in its entirety online. It was rather serendipitous, I'd been meaning to delve into some more regional poetry, but hadn't really gotten around to it.

The book contains some pretty painful translations, but also some amazing work. Pound writes of Bezruc and his Songs of Silesia, "[Bezruc] is the truth where our "red-bloods" and magazine socialists are usually a rather boresome pose."

Here's the translation, available in the original Czech at http://www.archive.org/stream/modernczechpoetr00selviala/modernczechpoetr00selviala_djvu.txt as well,

THE PITMAN.

I dig, under the earth I dig;

Boulders glittering like the scales of a serpent I dig:

Beneath Polska Ostrava I dig.

My lamp is quenched, upon my brow has fallen

My hair, matted and clammy with sweat;

My eyes are shot with bitterness and gall;

My veins and my skull are clouded with vapour;

From beneath my nails gushes forth crimson blood;

Beneath Polska Ostrava I dig.

The broad hammer I smite upon the pit;

At Salmovec I dig,

At Rychvald I dig, and at Petrvald I dig.

Hard by Godula my wife freezes and whimpers,
Famishing children weep at her bosom;
I dig, under the earth I dig.

Sparks flash from the pit, sparks flash from my eyes;

At Dombrova I dig, at Orlova I dig,

At Poremba I dig, and beneath Lazy I dig.

Above me overhead rings the clatter of hoofs,

The count is riding trough the hamlet, the countess with dainty hand

Urges on the horses and her rosebud face is smiling,

I dig, the mattock I upraise;

My wife, livid-faced, trudges to the castle,

Craving for bread, when the milk has dried up in her breasts.

Good-hearted is my lord,

Of yellow masonry is his castle,

Beneath the castle is dinning and bursting the Ostravice.

By the gates two black bitches are scowling.

Wherefore she went to the castle to pester and beg?

Grows rye on my lord's field for the drab of a pitman?

At Hrusov I dig and at Michalkovice.

What will betide my sons, what will betide my daughters,

On the day when they drag out my corpse from the pit?

My sons shall go on digging and digging,

At Karvinna digging;

And my daughters, how fares it with daughters of pitmen?

How if one day I should fling my accursed lamp into the pit,

And stiffen my bended neck,

Clench my left hand and stride forth and onward,

And in a sweeping curve from the earth to the skyline upwards

Should upraise my hammer and my flashing eyes,

Yonder beneath God's sunshine!

"Silesian Songs" (1909)

The area that is now the Czech Republic moved the smoothest and most willingly of any nation into communism due to it's pre-existing level of industry and secularity, and with poetry like this, it's even more understandable. It's not subtle, but it has a rhythm for marching.

The painting is by Konrad Magi, an amazing Estonian artist I encountered for the first time at the KuMu in Tallinn. Their expressionist collection is breath-taking in person, and made the trip to Estonia worth it on its own, changed my understanding of art. This one seemed to fit the poem.

On a side note, Ukraine's one to watch tomorrow. The hryvnia has been plummeting against the dollar and my Ukrainian roommate's family called and told her that tomorrow Ukraine will likely default on it's loans from Russia. Ukraine has been in negotiations with Moscow this week over supposed debts to Gazprom and the new price of oil. For the past three years Ukraine has been plagued by these disputes with Russia, resulting in massive gas shortages as Russia turns off the pipelines. Ukraine was also one of the nations hit hardest by the US financial crisis, to the point that Ukrainians are only allowed to withdraw small amounts from the bank every day now to prevent total collapse. Defense Minister Yekhanurov also announced today that Ukraine would be building up troops along the Russian border in light of the Georgian conflict, though his timing is certainly also indicative of what's running through the mind of Ukrainian politicians right now. Politically Ukraine is paralyzed since the collapse of the coalition in Parliament. The World Bank is prepared to give Ukraine a $500 million loan, but it remains to be seen if that will be anywhere near enough. Meanwhile, Ukraine observes the 75th anniversary of the Stalinist-orchestrated great famine which killed between 4-6 million Ukrainians, a third of the nation. Unfortunately, with it's disputed borders, internal corruption problems, lack of infrastructure, political and economic instability, and reliance on Russia, Ukraine isn't moving any closer to the membership in the EU that would hopefully assure its peaceful and democratic future, and how it's economy fares in the following months may seal that fate.

And on that gloomy note, have a good thanksgiving! Eat lots of the infamous cranberry sauce for me in SC! I'll call and you can tell me how many tries it took this year :)

Braving the snow with Moni

'




Also, about an hour ago a report was made that the Polish and Georgian presidents' motorcades were turned away from the South Ossetian border by warning gunshots from Russian forces stationed at a checkpoint. We'll see what that means soon, aside from, you know, Russians are crazy.

The first snow

We saw our first flakes last night and my Ukrainian roomie, Liza, just shook her head as I ran outside to stand in them. This morning we woke to a few scattered patches of white in the park across the street, but by the time I walked home from Alchemia this evening the sidewalks and cars were covered. The snow was three inches thick and utterly silent. I realized the city had been waiting for snow. The buildings could sleep now. They’d dreamed of this wearily all summer, crumbling bricks exposed to the sun. Now they could dwell in silence again, sleepy in their white hats. And we’ll watch as they doze and not slam doors, we'll speak a little more quietly huddled around the radiators.
The snow first started falling hard when Monika and I were at Massolit, the English bookstore, working in the cafe. I had resolved not to go home until I'd produced a rough draft of my paper on the comparative roles of women in the theology and shaping of Jewish and Christian medieval mysticism (a mouthful, right? I can never resist the chance to write about Hildegard of Bingen, she's my girl). There was a girl from Texas studying in the corner. It was good to be with other Americans when the snow began, because no one here quite gets American snow-joy. Poor Moni got caught in the worst of the snow walking home and I stole some of her pictures here, she always has her camera out in Massolit too. This is the main square, in the background you can see the giant creche being built. The Christmas market opens in the main square next week and I smile every time I see the stalls. Almost time to buy presents!
By the time I came home, the tree was up in the main square and already weighed down with snow. Krakow's architecture makes even more sense now, this is a city meant for snow. Wawel Castle was the most beautiful I'd ever seen it as I walked past in the dark on my way home from Kazimierz and it loomed down from Wawel Hill. I spent the afternoon in Alchemia, the best jazz bar in Krakow by night, and the darkest and smokiest cafe by day. Being in the Jewish quarter and writing by proper candlelight helped me get eight pages out before I gave in and just watched people and lingered over my pot of tea for another hour.
Time for kolacje, supper, or really, more like obiad, because I still haven't gotten the hang of eating the biggest meal midday like a proper Pole. Pasta with tomatoes and eggplant and the lovely kielbasa (named Herman) I picked up at the butcher. And a little wine of course - have to embrace that while I still can!

Completely on topic.

Have you read Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet? You should. It's even online. http://leb.net/~mira/works/prophet/prophet.html

Here, the chapter "Joy and Sorrow" and the chapter "Love."

Joy and Sorrow

Then a woman said, "Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow."

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

Love

Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."

And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.

And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Back from the Baltics

Pictures!

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2294671&l=59e8f&id=2735473

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2294681&l=c62ff&id=2735473

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2294677&l=7da1d&id=2735473

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2294673&l=331dc&id=2735473

hey from Estonia

Well I cant access my webmail due to the Estonian keyboard, but if anyone sees this, send mum a message and tell her Im doing great! Lots of love....

Milano!

This last weekend I went to Milan to visit a friend and former teacher of mine from New York, Rebecca. The city was beautiful beyond words and I had a fabulous time catching up, but I'm still running on about two hours of sleep, so forgive my relative brevity!

I arrived Wednesday night around midnight and spent Thursday and Friday exploring the city. I'm prone to just wander the streets of a city watching people and trying to get a sense of its character if left to my natural inclination, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see the museums. It's not everyday one gets to admire Roman artifacts and DaVinci's work! Mind you, I often fail to see the attraction in big name artwork, like my earlier encounter with Lady with an Ermine, but its worth it to make the trip to find the little treasures in the galleries and also to peoplewatch as tourists stand perplexed in something they know they're supposed to be awed by.

Of course, I didn't visit just any gallery...the museum was in the Sforza Castle! Like any good American I have an ongoing love affair with castles, the more Harry Potter-ish the better. Classy - no, but it makes me happy! The castle museum features a ceiling designed and perhaps partially painted by DaVinci and it definitely beats the Last Supper in my book. On the walls great mulberry trees break through jagged boulders to entwine in intricate latticework overhead. It was like standing in a stream and seeing the trees curve in like a cathedral - always one of my favorite things.

Admittedly though (and I bet Heather will be proud of this) one of my first stops was the high fashion district. Within a few blocks all the major Italian designers have their stores, and it's fabulous just to wonder by because Italian women have no shame in window shopping. While the first site in the city to take away my breath was the Duomo and Galleria...the second was definitely the window of Cartier's - and I'm not even a jewelry girl! And just out of love of Audrey Hepburn, I ate a little brunch in front of Tiffany's. I had to clean up a little drool on the window of Valentino and Prada too, and it was very hard to contain myself from getting out my camera and taking notes on the couture hats at Alan Journo. Later on I ended up visiting the Rinascente, Milan's designer department store as well. Probably the first and last time I'll touch an alligator purse!

The highlight of the weekend, aside from getting to catch up with Rebecca of course, was the Duomo. An unearthly gorgeous confection of white and pink marble. The third largest Christian church in the world. Looking back over my photos, at least half are from the Duomo and I don't regret it a bit.

We wrapped up the weekend at the monumental cemetery, a jaw-droppingly beautiful necropolis of family tombs and heart wrenching statuary still covered in flowers from All Saint's. I'm bad about taking pictures in churches and cemeteries because I'm so hesitant to do anything that might be construed as disrespectful, but no photo could really capture anywhere near how beautiful it was anyway.

Well, since my boy doesn't read my blog I can admit it, I'm starting to dread leaving Europe from time to time! Much of today Krakow was shrouded in fog and as I walked to Massolit, the English bookstore, the hejnal and the dozens of sets of church bells rang through the mist and the city felt so still. The chimes ended and I could only hear the rustle of the dead leaves on the trees against the stone wall of the monastery and I felt terribly at home. Life is beautiful and I've fallen so in love with the old world. I know I'll be back eventually, I'll have no choice, I know a part of myself will stay here.