kaberett: Photo of a pile of old leather-bound books. (books)
From my mum, just now:
Grausi used to call gooseberries 'ogrosln'. I'm working on a Slavic etymological dictionary at the moent and on the very first page I've spotted something interesting 'Stachelbeere' leapt out at me and then I looked at the Slavic words agrestu etc.:
It gives: medieval latin 'agresta', modern German Austrian 'agras' (this in 1886), Hungarian egres, Slovenian agres. FUN!

Now back to finding out whether this publication ever had such a thing as
a title page or preface/list of abbreviations. This copy doesn't!
("Grausi" is my maternal great-grandmother.)
kaberett: a watercolour of a pale gold/salmon honeysuckle blossom against a background of green leaves (honeysuckle)
Item the first: I turned Rilke's Briefe an einen jungen Dichter into an ebook. Here's the epub; if you'd like other formats let me know, because I can trivially do conversions (with calibre) and upload. (There's a free translation into English as HTML; if you want that ebooked too, get the translator's permission and let me know and I can do that for you.) A favour request: Rilke's letters aren't up on Gutenberg, hence making the conversion myself. I'd offer my ebook to them but, er, they appear to require signing up to a forum to go "here I made you a thing", and I absolutely cannot face that, so if any of you are already involved with them, I'd appreciate it if you'd pass this on? (And, you know, if they wanted to compile it into a volume with the rest of his letters, that'd be nice too, but I'm not going to bother doing that til I've decided whether I get enough value out of this set for it to be worth it.)

Item the second: I've taken a small pile of not-terribly-good photos of entertaining/otherwise pleasing bits and bobs in my area. (I am... getting used to my point-and-shoot. The last one I owned took 35mm film, didn't have any ability to zoom, and I haven't used it in, er, A Very Long Time.) Seven photos below the cut. )
kaberett: Trans symbol with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
Tonight: pasta (tagiatelle?) with lightly sauteed courgette strips + lemon zest&juice + cheese of some description. Also salad.

In The Future )

marginalia

Mar. 31st, 2014 10:15 pm
kaberett: Photo of a pile of old leather-bound books. (books)
Via Captain Awkward, an essay on essays; for myself, I wish to preserve:
In his Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke writes that “a work of art is good if it has sprung from necessity.”

This makes me (1) wish to read Letters to a Young Poet (ah, super, except what the fuck people still use iframes?!) and (2) have a lot of my ongoing feelings about the poetry I write because I can't but write it, versus the poetry I write as practice (and as performative), which in turn leads into (3) my current attempts to articulate the ways in which I learn in public performatively, and how much I admire people who pull it off without the self-consciousness I don't seem to be able to help but drag with me.
kaberett: Toph making a rock angel (toph-rockangel)
Potatoes boiling in milk with black pepper, nutmeg, and bay from my mother's tree; the burnt-dust smell you get off Kenwood mixer motors; yeast beginning to do its thing in the bread; and Dundee cake finishing up in the oven.
kaberett: a patch of sunlight on the carpet, shaped like a slightly wonky heart (light hearted)
Give me, please, the strike that shatters
statt die Gefährdung des Giftes:
poison creeping, slow and steady,
erodes, corrodes, til nothing's left.
Shards can be rebuilt, with patience,
steady hands, and gold or glue:
crafted into strength and beauty;
reconstituted; made anew.
kaberett: a patch of sunlight on the carpet, shaped like a slightly wonky heart (light hearted)
This delicate sugar-spun skeleton-
leaf butterfly-wing trembling
delights and comforts and confuses,
all at once. (There is no hopelessness
in loving you. Precision, yes, and care,
finesse, but not -- never -- despair.)

Over and over, I find myself
gloriously stumbling, again afresh anew,
on ways to say:
I love you.

Fourteen jars of Apfelmuss.
Your public key. My breath
against your skin, or twisting
through my tongues. My words.
My whole. My Sinn.
kaberett: Toph making a rock angel (toph-rockangel)
+ my mother is home from a week hiking - I'd been really missing her - and she very nearly the first thing she did after getting in the door was go rummaging through her backpack to show me the rocks she'd brought back. And damn does she have good taste - in addition to a bunch of really pretty stuff, there were three that wouldn't be out of place in the reference specimens collection for second-years in my old department. (One garnet-bearing amphibolite - seriously, the whole bloody matrix was dark amphibole needles; one specimen of a unit boundary between calcareous deposits + mudstone, all heavily metamorphosed; and one staggeringly beautiful hand specimen-scale example of garnet pressure shadows - the garnet's fairly well developed, about two inches diameter, hosted in Glimmerschiefer [sorry, I've forgotten the English, it's one up from shale], with astonishing green chlorite in the pressure shadow to either side. I cannot even. Garnet pressure shadows happen because they're Really Bloody Hard and very difficult to deform, so you get little protected areas either side where the squooshier minerals have wrapped around 'em.)

+ my baby brother ran his half-marathon and finished in - I think I remember correctly - 1h52. Between them, they've raised very nearly £13.5k for the East Anglian Air Ambulance (and at least £250 of that has come in since they finished!). One of the team came in at 1h21, 19th (out of over 500 people entered)! This resulted in me giving him a foot massage at the dinner table, after dessert - he started out Deeply Sceptical, but ended up asking me to explain how I'd done it so that he could carry on with it himself...! (I get a lot out of physical contact, within certain parameters - hurrah autism, all else aside - and being able to make people feel better is a Really Big Deal to me, in this as in cooking.)

+ Papa - my maternal grandfather - phoned up specifically to ask if I knew about the big geological news this week, and to offer me the newspaper clipping on the topic. I jumped at the chance, and also at his offer to read the article to me - because he thought of me, and he phoned me, and he loves me for all that our last phone conversation degenerated into a monologue about The Awful Queers (no, I'm not out to him), and - I hadn't actually read any of the details yet, and the fact that I'd had the paper open in tabs since it went around the facebook geologists yesterday is really neither here nor there compared to the fact that he loves me. We've seventy years and a lot of life experiences and a good deal of politics between us, and yet-- and yet.

This got long. This is good. )
kaberett: Lin Beifong, looking hopeful (lin-hope)
These are the songs I listened to endlessly. This is the music that kept me safe through the nights. Content note: I spent a lot of my degree depressed, and in various states of suicidal. This isn't incompatible with me having had a fantastic and enriching time but it does mean that a lot of these songs aren't easy. Some of my accompanying writing gets quite graphic about this.

Content notes start applying here. )
kaberett: A series of phrases commonly used in academic papers, accompanied by humourous "translations". (science!)
I much prefer the German convention of e.g. LehrerInnen or Lehrer/innen to the common English convention more closely approximating "hero(ine)". Because, actually, I don't think heroines are parentheticals; and I prefer written habit that doesn't normalise masculinity and relegate women to an afterthought. So: hurrah heroInes and hero/ines, basically.

See also: my feelings on "he" as a "gender-neutral" pronoun.

This post brought to you by the speculative fiction I'm currently working my way through.
kaberett: Trans symbol with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
Here is what home tastes like: apricot jam and sweet Austrian butter on dark, dark, dark caraway-sunflower rye. Bilberries. Parsley. Fresh Mohnweckerl. Fresh Apfelstrudel. Zuckerschnecke. Parsley, raw and green and crisp. Ground walnuts. Motzah. Soured cream. Lovage. Alpine strawberries.

German feels different in my mouth as well: comforting, reassuring.

I don't understand how people who've never cried over Schwarzbrot - who've never stood forlorn & bereft by the spices in a supermarket, because Liebstoeck isn't there - can look at me & listen to me and say: yes, more than anything else - you are English.
kaberett: Photo of a pile of old leather-bound books. (books)
I am delighted to present to you today this account of our investigations on the subject of precipitation. The research team comprised myself, [personal profile] noldo and [personal profile] mustela_nivalis; I acted as primary fieldworker due to my ability to pass unsuspected among the natives, of both Angle and Saxon origin (though we note that our conviction that the custom of intermarriage has been carried out so assiduously that no real distinction between these groups can be made). In experimental design we took great care to avoid unduly biasing the result: our population surveys used such innocuous techniques as striking up conversations about the weather, making sure to employ only culturally-neutral terms such as "hot", "dry", "wet" and "pissing it down".

The Britisch institution of the "Met Office" (previously Meteorological Office, established in 1854) and the quasi-religious ritual of the "Shipping Forecast" form the focus of a cultural obsession. Indeed the Poet Laureate, one Carol Ann Duffy, was appointed to the post following publication of her poem Prayer: the final couplet references the aforementioned Shipping Forecast, reflecting a conservative and totalitarian attitude to religious praxis within this nation-state.

These observations indicate that the cultural pastimes of "discussing the weather" and "listening to the forecast", while superficially innocuous or secular, betray a deep and abiding preoccupation with the prevailing atmospheric conditions, with particular emphasis on the phenomenon of "rain". We draw this conclusion in part due to the wide range of biological terms used to describe liquid precipitation: ranging in intensity from "spitting" to "pissing", accompanied by a variety of descriptors less intensely focussed on bodily functions, we estimate that Britischers have in common currency as many as forty-two distinct words describing precipitation in its liquid form.

The verdant and misty island inhabited by these curious peoples possesses a maritime climate; ergo, runs the widely-accepted causal relationship, the unhealthy cultural focus on rain to be found among these natives. Naturally we do not seek to pass value judgments on the local customs; this notwithstanding, medical literature is filled with descriptions of the negative effects on childhood growth and lung development resulting from damp environments. We wish to highlight the famous case study of the man who was "not depressed, just British [sic]" (Utne Reader, 2005).

We propose a new sociological model in which rain plays a more nuanced role. In particular, we note that the prevailing mythology of the natives, Christianity (Anglicanism), contains a pivotal event in which a deluge floods the entire world; the receding of the flood waters is accompanied by a rainbow, which in other areas where this religion is practised is interpreted as a promise of hope for the future. Field work suggests that the common exegesis within the Britisch Islets differs significantly: in that it is not the rainbow that is the sign of hope, but the rain itself, delivered to wash away the sins of the world, in congruence with later imagery associated with baptism.

We here suggest that the Britischers have developed folk mythology that enables them to interpret local climate as an indication that they are "blessed by God" (c.f. Jerusalem, William Blake, 1804). We believe that this long-standing belief was in fact the driving force behind "missionary zeal" and "colonialism": the primary concern was clearly not Christianity per se, nor even natural resources (for many countries inconvenienced by the expeditions of these primitive folk are in fact arid), but rather the fervent commitment of the Britischers to spreading the Word regarding the power of rain.

This brief letter represents a significant step forward in understanding the feedbacks between behaviour, culture and climate within the Britisch Islets: we welcome further discussion on this burning issue.

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