Olav H. Hauge

A new poet I've found. Well, in fact, he's not so new. He wrote a while ago. Høgne introduced us to some of his poems in the nynorsk class. Here they are:

DET ER DEN DRAUMEN

Det er den draumen me ber på
at noko vedunderleg skal skje,
at det må skje --
at tidi skal opna seg
at hjarta skal opna seg
at dører skal opna seg
at berget skal opnsa seg
at kjeldor skal springa --
at draumen skal opna seg,
at me ei morgonstund skal glida inn
på ein våg me ikkje har visst um.

IT'S THE DREAM

It's the dream we carry in secret
that something miraculous will happen,
that it must happen --
that time will open
that the heart will open
that doors will open
that the rockface will open
that springs will gush --
that the dream will open,
that one morning we will glide into
some little harbour we didn't know was there.

**********

I DAG SÅG EG...

I dag såg eg to månar --
ein ny og ein gamal.

Eg har stor tru på ny-månen,
men det er vel den gamle.


TODAY I SAW...

Today I saw two moons --
a new one and an old one.

I have great confidence in the new moon,
but it is the same as the old one.

**********

KATTEN

Katten sit i tunet når du kjem.

Snakk litt med katten,
det er han som er varast i garden.

THE CAT

The cat sits in the yard when you come.

Speak a little with the cat;
it is him who's best acquainted with the farm.

Sullabullyam

This is a poem/song written by norwegian author Edvard Hoem. It talks about how everything passes and disappears from the world; even of the most sublime things that are, no traces will be left after a time... And yet, joyously, SULLABULLYAM!!!

Når vi har forlate den rullande jord,
og vatnet og vinden stryk ut våre spor,
når alt det vi sleit med er slutt og forbi,
høyr songen vi syng om den bortfarne tid.
Sullabullyam!

Lik lyset frå stjerner som ikkje fekk namn,
lik draumen om liv i den eviges famn,
slik styrer vår lengsel frå mørker og grav
til kystar ein stad bakom himmel og hav.
Sullabullyam!

Alt vakkert skal kverve i botnlause rom.
Den søtaste smak skal bli bitter og tom.
Og du som eg elska, skal også forgå!
Vi jublar mot vårar vi aldri skal sjå!
Sullabullyam!

Så lytt til ei nynning når natta er still,
ja, lytt til vår song når vi ikkje er til.
Høyr fuglar og harper og stigande song,
frå oss som gjekk bort, men som levde ein gong!
Sullabullyam!

Marble

What did Sabina think about Hadrian's relationship with Antinous? What were Hadrian feelings for each of them? How did they fill their days? What did they say to each other and what did they refrain from saying? Was there fear, love, submission, hate, pain, acquiescence, indifference? How were their lives like before they met? What were Antinous' expectations for the adulthood he never reached?

I'd love to know. These marble portraits, particularly Hadrian's, look so very lifelike and expressive. I know they do not hold the answers, but they must have been posed for, or been copied from posed-for originals. How much do these faces communicate of the thoughts that fleeted behind them when they were flesh? Antinous, idolized, was re-sculpted so many times after his death that he is somehow the least real to me, and thus the hardest to read. Sabina, on the other hand... did her bitterness and resignation and sadness truly pass into the stone, or am I just imagining them?

Armani Jeans Publicity

Here's a picture of a 5m x 5m poster advertising Armani Jeans at Termini Train Station in Rome. If you happen to go there these days, you'll see it still.
My thoughts (funnily, all questions) on looking at this add are:
1) Are these the jeans one buys when one is a drug addict and/or drunk and/or anorexic and/or suicidally depressed?
2) After the photo shoot, did the Emporio Armani people also provide the necessary medical care to these two girls?
3) If this is a jeans add, why didn't they include an image of the jeans in the poster?

Having acquired

Having acquired 60 minutes of internet connection at Oslo Airport, and with only 10 to go, i decide to write a few sentences here, after having skyped with my family in Argentina and facebooked a little with Liz, whom i'll be meeting in Budapest.

Weird to think that internet connection is bought, immaterial as it is. What is one buying? Bandwith... But really, there's no band, and the width we're talking about is not truly measurable in the metric system. What is the material make-up of what i'm buying?

What i'm really buying is the possibility of doing something. In the end, that's what it comes down to: when you buy food, you buy the possibility to continue to fuel your body. When you buy a car, you pay for the possibility to move faster and at your whim from one place to another. And so on and so forth.

Air will be paid for, also, when someone comes up with the idea of scrubbing all the shit we've put into it with factories and cars.

Steamer in a Snowstorm (1842, William Turner)

Franco Sacchetti (1330? - 1400)

Passando con pensier per un boschetto,
Donne per quello givan fior cogliendo,
"To' quel, to' quel" dicendo,
"Eccolo! eccolo!"
"Che è, che è?"
"È fior alliso."
"Va' là per le viole!"
"Omè, che 'l prun mi punge!"
"Quell'altra me' v'aggiunge."
"Uh! uh! o che è quel che salta?"
"È un grillo."
"Venite qua, correte:
Raponzoli cogliete."
"E' non son essi." "Sì, sono."
"Colei, o colei,
Vie' qua. Vie' qua pe' funghi."
"Costà, costà pel sermollino."
"No' starem troppo,
Chè 'l tempo si turba!"
"E' balena."
"E' truona."
"E vespero già suona."
"Non è egli ancor nona."
"Odi, odi:
È l'usignuol che canta:
Più bel v'è,
Più bel v'è."
"I' sento... e non so che."
"Ove?" "Dove?"
"In quel cespuglio."
Tocca, picchia, ritocca,
Mentre che 'l busso cresce,
Ed una serpe n'esce.
"Omè trista!" "Omè lassa!"
"Omè!"
Fuggendo tutte di paura piene,
Una gran piova viene.
Qual sdrucciola,
Qual cade,
Qual si punge lo pede.
A terra van ghirlande.
Tal ciò c'ha colto lascia, e tal percuote.
Tiensi beata chi più correr puote.
Sì fisso stetti il dì che lor mirai,
Ch'io non m'avidi, e tutto mi bagnai.

Cecco Angiolieri (1260? - 1312)

Incredible! Over 700 years ago! How did they let him live?

S'i' fosse foco, arderei 'l mondo;
S'i' fosse vento, lo tempesterei;
S'i' fosse acqua, i' l'annegherei;
S'i' fosse Dio, mandereil' in profondo.
S'i' fosse papa, sare' allor giocondo,
Che tutt'i cristiani imbrigherei;
S'i' fosse 'mperator, sa' che farei?
A tutti mozzarei lo capo a tondo.
S'i' fosse morte, andarei da mio padre;
S'i' fosse vita, fuggirei da lui;
Similmente faria da mi' madre.
S'i' fosse Cecco, com'i' sono e fui,
Torrei le donne giovani e leggiadre,
E vecchie e laide lasserei altrui.

If I were fire, I'd torch the world;
If I were wind, I'd storm it;
If I were water, I'd drown it;
If I were God, I'd send it to the deep.
If I were Pope, I'd then be happy,
To have swindled all Christians;
If I were emperor, do you know what I'd do?
I'd straight away chop everybody's head off.
If I were death, I'd go to my father;
If I were life, I'd flee from him;
I'd do the same with my mother.
If I were Cecco, as I am and was,
I'd take the women who are young and graceful,
And leave for others the old and the ugly.

La Compiuta Donzella (1250? - 1300?)

Not much is know of this poet; even her real name is lost. "Compiuta Donzella" means simply "Accomplished Maiden". She wrote in Toscanian dialect, which was later to became Italian, sometime during the second half of the XIIIth century. This sonet begins sweet, talking about lovers in spring. Then, on the eighth verse, it adds sadness to the sweetness.

A la stagion che il mondo foglia e fiora,
Accresce gioia a tutti i fini amanti,
Vanno insieme alli giardini allora
Che gli augelletti fanno dolci canti,
La franca gente tutta s'innamora,
Ed in servir ciascun traggesi innanti,
Ed ogni damigella in gioi' dimora.
A me n'abbondan marrimenti e pianti.
Chè lo mio padre m'ha messa in errore,
E tienimi sovente in forte doglia:
Donar mi vuole, a mia forza, signore.
Ed io di ciò non ho disio nè voglia,
E in gran tormento vivo a tutte l'ore:
Però non mi rallegra fior nè foglia.

During the season when the world leafs and flowers,
It brings joy to all pure lovers,
They go together to the gardens whenever
Little birds make sweet songs,
All free-hearted people fall in love
And every man brings himself forward to serve,
And every maiden lives in joy.
Except for me, for whom miseries and tears abound.
For my father has put me in a quandary,
And often keeps me in terrible pain:
He wants to give me, against my will, a husband.
And I for such have neither wish nor want,
And in great torment live I at all hours:
Thus, neither flower nor leaf gladden me.

The Day The Earth Stood Still, Version II

I've just gotten back from seeing this movie. As in the case of most modern Hollywood films, its 'message' is bland pap, tainted by big business interests (see how long it takes you to spot the windows logo). "Our species should not be destroyed. We ARE nearing a crisis moment, we have almost destroyed the Earth, but it is only in moments of crisis that intelligent species truly change and grow", says the big honcho Nobel price doctor. So what, change will just happen by itself, as if it were a simple force of nature? Who will tell us when the crisis is bad enough? What about intelligence, forethought? Aren't we supposed to be capable of planning and preventing? Isn't that what reasoning is for?

The only concession the movie makes to answering these questions is to casually mention that the big honcho doctor got his Nobel price for his work on the biological advantages of altruism. Some poor writer probably managed to sneak that in.

That we cannot change but in moments of crisis implies that we should wait for crises in order to change. As Naomi Klein says in her book "The Shock Doctrine", governments and powerful individuals have largely been using this idea to impose their own views on society, particularly in the last decade or two... The fact that they've been able to use this 'theory', however, goes to show that there is another side to it, because they had to plan and think ahead to achieve their goals. They PREDICTED what would happen, and even though they were not 100% sure as to what would happen if they tried this or that, they could guess.

So can we, when it comes to evaluating the effects our actions are having on the environment. We're in trouble now, and we're headed for even more. Species and ecosystems are disappearing as a direct consequence of certain of our actions and lifestyles. We must change those now! If we wait, it may be too late! There's too many examples of civilizations that carried on for too long with certain behaviors, as well as cases in which forethought and planning and a willingness to compromise saved the day. Take a look at Collapse, by Jared Diamond, for instance.

Maybe i'm exaggerating in taking this movie as an indicator of the mind frame of Hollywood movie makers. After all, this is not the first story, particularly in SF, where change is only brought on by the moment of crisis... I don't remember the author, but there was this one about a scientist who somehow, having access to a lot of resources, contrived to make it seem like Earth was being attacked by aliens. He sustained the illusion for decades, and in order to fight back the aliens all governments had to unite... By the time the lie was discovered, Earth had become united.

I have no patience with this stuff. It stinks of the "Deus ex machina" syndrome, the mark of really bad Science Fiction. Rather than characters failing or succeeding to solve problems thanks to or in spite of their travails, in the poopy section of the SF world problems get solved by themselves through some silly invention or device... In this case, the theory that we will somehow find a way to save Earth when we come to the edge of having totally trashed it.

It's real sad, though. I think many times people don't get involved in changing the world because they give themselves just this excuse: "things are not that bad after all". I know I've done it. Getting involved in change means giving up things, whether it be time, or goods, or convenience, or money, or power... How much are we willing to give up?

For Don M. - Banned

This is a poem by Mongane Wally Serote, a black South African author writing (mostly from outside his country) during the apartheid years. Poignant, and subtly rythmic, these few verses really caught my attention:

it is a dry white season
dark leaves don't last, their brief lives dry out
and with a broken heart they dive down gently headed for the earth,
not even bleeding.
it is a dry white season brother,
only the trees know the pain as they still stand erect
dry like steel, their branches dry like wire
indeed is it a dry white season
but seasons come to pass.

The pertinent coda seems, thankfully, to be: It did, indeed.

Monday, December 1st, 00:17

Does it signify anything?

Looking back

Look at these expressions, these facial traits. Did they exist only on the artists' mind, or are they an attempt to represent real people, two who once lived and breathed in this planet of ours? Why were they portrayed? What questions did they ask themselves, and what were their everyday concerns?

According to radio-carbon dating techniques, these two miniature human heads were carved on mammoth ivory around twenty seven thousand years ago. They were found at a site in the Czech Republic called Dolni Věstonice, also famous for being the place of origin of the oldest known ceramic in the world. A good example of the latter is the Věstonická Venuše or Venus of Dolni Věstonice. These rests of our deepest past move me deeply. I think of the hands that gave shape to these objects and the hands that may have touched them later. I know I'll never know those lives, but I like to wonder about them and the events that led to these figurines ending up buried in the ground for over 25 millennia.

In 2004 a tomograph scan of the Věstonická Venuše allowed researchers to reconstruct the fingerprint of a child between 7 and 15 years of age who had handled the statuette before the clay hardened and was fired.

The Rape of Children's Minds

That is what most religions must do in order to survive: force themselves on the vulnerable and defenseless minds of children.

A Question of Duration

Apparently senseless parallel lines within an oval of compressed silicate dust, almost like the fossil of an impossibly bloated protozoan. But no, we know better: it is the print a booted foot left on the pocked surface of the moon.

Only 40 years have passed and already we wonder, is this footprint still up there? Has it changed much?

We often read how in the absence of an atmosphere, and without neither weather nor tectonic activity, man made marks on the moon should last eons. Yet, apart from micrometeorites, there are all kind of atomic and subatomic particles colliding against the moon all the time. How long will it take those processes to erase even that tiny mark?

Who will know in ten thousand years the name of the man wearing the boot that made the print?

If it endures a million years, will anyone know the shape of the foot that filled the boot, or what species it belonged to?

Will anybody ever go back up there to see these prints again, or is this picture all we'll ever have? Are they ever to be anything else than the human equivalent of a dog pissing against a tree-trunk? A mere "we were here" sign?

Will they be engulfed by the sun when it goes nova?

Will they survive us, the last sign of our ever having existed, and then at the moment of truth be wiped out by the rocket exhaust of the next species that lands on the moon?

Will they be covered and preserved by a molecule-thick diamond film, on an inhabited moon seeded with sweeping seas of grasses and incredibly tall and limber forests?

Do the men who made them long for those few hours on another world, almost 40 years ago?

Records of Progress

Records of Progress, or RoPs, as we affectionately call them, are an expression of our innermost sadomasochistic drives. We might as well refer to them as RoPes and be done with it, for they tie us up and hopelessly bind us in a cycle of punishment and reward.

Rather than write a 600 character review of each of my students, it'd be great to just sit with each but for half of 600 seconds and tell them face to face how I feel about their performance, their behavior in class and towards their classmates, and what are the areas they can work on.

Lista de nombres

Ana Akari Åse Adrienne Anett Amelie Airiin Ailani
Andrés Amir August Aqqalukkuluk Atta Attila Alejandro Akamu
Bethania Benedetta Beatriz Bianka Borana Basha Buhle Bhudevi
Bogdan Banteaymolu Boris Bagdat Bhakta Bassiri Bunsuke Bane
Celeste Cecilia Camilla Chloé Carolina Cynthia Claudia Charumati
Charles Craig Carl Collin Cirilo César Cuauhtémoc Chandra
Daniela Deolinda Dandago Dubie Dawa Dinali Delisile Dhakshina
Doriyush Diego Dominik David Dick Dimuth Dlamini Deven
Eunice Ellie Elaheh Eva Emmi Enka Endora Eshe
Emiliano Esteban Erik Ezequiel Emmanuel Erlet Edin Ekon
Fabiola Fanele Filipa Fiorella Fátima Fumiko Fatoumata Falala
Facundo Francesco Ferenz Faaez Farhan Forrest Félix Fabumi
Gabriela Gjertrud Gili Guillermina Gro Gorreti Galilea Ghariza
Gerardo Gustav Giovanni Grzegorz George Göran Göksan Gamba
Hilda Hanna Herborg Harriet Heather HuiLing Haily Habika
Hans Håvard Hernán Horacio HaiDo Humberto Haden Hondo
Ingvill Ingrid Isilda Ingunn Irenea Itzel Iesha Isabis
Iván Ilias Isaac Ignacio Igor Itay Iain Issa
Jahnvi Jarmila Jodi-Ann Jacqueline Jariya Jigna Jacey Jendayi
Jorge Juan Jens Justice Jonathan Jim Jabari Jabulani
Kerstin Kaisa Katerina Kelli Klara Kübra Kadence Kainda
Klaus Kwasi Karamo Kaoru Kai Koketso Kadeem Kofi
Lucía Laura Linnéa Leila Liv Lorela Ladonna Lea
Leonardo Luis Lukas Lauge Luciano Lorne Lachlan Latif
Marina Margherita Mina Mette Mirza Monika Maeve Molara
Mads Mithat Marcelo Mahmoud Malthe Morten Magen Mikel
Nélida Nana Nuria Negar Nina Noelia Nakia Nekane
Natalino Neo Nareg Niko Nagi Noah Najee Naalnish
Olga Ortal Oumou Outi Octavia Otilia Oceana Oddveig
Omar Øyvind Osvaldo Oscar Oliver Otto Oakley Odakota
Pilar Palevi Paula Pia Pirita Phumzile Paloma Padraigin
Pedro Palden Philipp Per Pavel Pujan Paris Parounag
Qunchao Qin Qian Qingzhen QueThanh Qenehelo Quiana Qetura
Quentin Quinn Qiamuddin Qais Qwei Qaf Quillan Qabic
Razan Ruth Ragnhild Rochelle Rabia Rikke Rae Raysel
Raphaël Radigan Reginald Rudy Roman Rida Rahul Raimundo
Sonela Sabrina Saara Sandra SiJie Sumaya Sakura Sadaf
Sergio Shasanka Savant Seng Sebastian Søren Sameer Sachi
Tiina Taman Tania ThiQui Tamara Tekber Tabatha Taimi
Tsering Talha Tamim Tiziano Tien Tenzin Tad Taavetti
Upange Unity Umman Urška Ursula Uzma Ulyssa Upala
Umur Uldis Uros Ulrich Ugo Uzair Uriel Ulfmaerr
Volha Vera Vanessa Vaida Vivian Verónica Valencia Valechka
Valeri Vichetrath Ville Vedran Vítor Volkan Vaughn Vaclav
Wenao Wanwisa Wincy Wipawan Winda WunMin Wanda Wachiwi
Walter William Wonder Wendell Weston Wola Wade Wafiyy
Xiaohang Xilonem Xóchitl Xaina Xi Xuelan Xiomara Xuxa
Xiaolong Xianming Xiaochen Xavier Xan Xabiso Xander Ximun
Yara Yukiko Yaru Yfat YatMan Yenhy Yahaira Yaletha
Yilikal Yunior Youssef Yauheni Yiannis Yerzhan Yaakov Yahya
Zainatou Zeynep Zhenia Zaza Zuzana Zimasa Zaylee Zagiri
Zacharia Zweli Zmicer Zoran Zaid Ziv Zaire Zabdiel

Not necessary, but still

I love to be alive, even with headaches and fears and uncertainties and muscle aches, and awkwardnesses and whatever may come my way. I love to be alive.

Marked

Here at the college students continue with their midnight birthday celebrations. Not the happiest of traditions (nor the healthiest), but at least they now make a point of doing their baking before 22:30, which means that the number of fire alarms has really gone down.

In any case, tonight's celebrant, Amira, has a sister staying at my place for the weekend, and she herself happened to be here when the clock struck twelve... Students then came in, threw a coat over her head, and carried her out.

My mind flashed back to the argentinean dictatorship, instantly. I never experienced it myself, but from the Nunca Jamás reports i know that's the way the military did it, too: something to cover your eyes, and you didn't know where you were being taken.

I know nothing will happen to Amira, and that her friends probably had a very nice surprise waiting for her somewhere, but still, there was an instant when i wanted to yell at them, to ask roaringly how they dare play with actions that call back such horrors.

But then i thought, there's no action in our collective repertoire that isn't evocative of some tragedy or violation. Amira was smiling when they covered her face, she wanted to be floated away in her friends' arms. I should be smiling, too. They've managed to recast past actions in a new light. There's still hope of redemption for us all.

A poem by Sheikh Saadi (1184-1283)

بنی آدم اعضای یک پیکرند
که در آفرينش ز یک گوهرند

چو عضوى به درد آورد روزگار
دگر عضوها را نماند قرار

تو کز محنت دیگران بی غمی
نشاید که نامت نهند آدمی

Human beings are members of a whole,

In creation of one essence and soul.

If one member is afflicted with pain,

Other members uneasy will remain.

If you have no sympathy for human pain,

The name of human you cannot retain.

This poem used to adorn the entrance of the Hall of Nations at the UN building, in New York. What happened to it?