Academic drivel - part 2

I played this mental game after my first Danish husband & I split. If you’ve been divorced – especially if you occasionally ponder what you saw in your ex- in the first place – you have probably played it too. It’s called If I paid attention when he said/did … (fill in the blank) … then I wouldn’t have married him/waited all this time. It’s a useless game, truly a waste of energy, but like so much else that pops up in the rearview mirror, we can’t seem to leave it alone. Then of course sometimes we do pay attention & protest, but it never gets further than that. Maybe the ex- actually paid attention then, nodded sagely or repentantly & said you were right & it wouldn’t happen again. Often enough that was just to shut you up, but sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes we can almost take our words back, never quite. We all say really stupid stuff, & I groan to think of Mr. Past History playing the same game with things I said and did. (Less unsettling just to remember his.) His biggest pecking point was intellectualler-than-thou. The fact that I talked about feelings & ordinary happenings & people I knew meant I was not intellectual. Like the day I came home from a class where the lecturer got a discussion going on whether or not a book has a life on a shelf if it’s not being read. Now there’s a real milestone in intellectual history. All around me the discussion rambled for about half the class time & I practiced acting by looking halfway interested. When I got home I griped about the waste of time. Mr. PH answered by carrying on the important discussion right there in our kitchen. I got his point; didn’t look like he got mine. Some books I love, even when I’m not reading them. I quote them when appropriate to a conversation, don’t forget them even though I read on. Others I wouldn’t miss if they committed suicide because someone told them they don’t have a life. Still others are there mostly for show, because everybody’s supposed to own those particular classics & I can say I’ve read them but that’s as far as it goes. I guess they have a sort of life, rather like a piece of Royal Copenhagen porcelain you don’t really care about, but it looks cool on the windowsill.

But so what? It’s like that old – pardon the expression – chestnut: If a tree falls in the forest & nobody hears it, did it make a sound? C’mon. It would have to be one unusual forest if there were no birds, bugs or small animals around to hear – or did the inventor of this particular bit of academic drivel feel that only people had the right to determine whether or not there was sound?  And why should we care?

Of course it’s a terrific way to play clever & keep your feelings & anything that touches real life at bay. Might even be marginally less a waste of time than that divorcee game. But only just.

Melville, Michael & Literary Drivel - part 1

The illustration’s better than the article, but I appreciate both. In the book section of today’s Weekendavisen Danish author Ib Michael has written a mildly witty but timely satire on the current state of Danish/Western literature. The illustration shows an appalled Herman Melville watching as an editor at Glydendal, the largest Danish publishing house, hacks bloody chunks from his manuscript for Billy Budd with a scalpel.

“Redundant, Herman,” the editor brays as he hacks away. We can understand he has already reduced Moby Dick to a 70-page nonentity entitled From Roedby to Puttgarden, (the 2 ends of a popular ferry route) but tightened up – that it was.

I’ve never read a whole book by Ib Michael & do not feel the urge now, but an excerpt once printed in Weekendavisen impressed me. It is from his book The Midnight Soldier & describes how a Spanish soldier who is freezing his ass off on guard duty one night in March 1808 keeps building up the fire in the fireplace & ends up burning the castle of Koldinghus to the ground. It is doubtless the best description I have ever read of feeling chilled to the bone, simply unable to get warm. I guess Michael should know. He’s yet another Dane who heads south in the winter, like a gray goose, because he can’t deal with the cold dark months.   (see post from Feb. 2 )

Today’s book section essay is a bit disingenuous because nowadays Melville’s style would likely be tightened up by Random House too & abridged versions have been popular for ages, but I still appreciate the thought. Thank you, Ib. I have a problem generally with modern Danish literature, but it’s my problem. There are really a lot of good books out there, but even the chick lit sounds stylistically like Ernest Hemingway, short, tight & lacking in musicality. Partly the language, partly the national esthetic, wholly uninspiring to a rambler & lover of metaphor like me. Melville’s all over the place, a well of words overflowing its pool. Readers have to make an effort.

“Maybe it’s time for a new voice,” says my absolutely better half, whose generous soul can see beyond his own likes & dislikes. He couldn’t plow through Moby Dick, while I liked it even better on the 4^th reading because by then I had taught a few years of Maritime English at Svendborg’s maritime academy so I understood more of the sailor talk. (At my job interview I pointed out that the closest I had ever come to maritime anything was 3 readings of Moby Dick. They hired me anyway but I could not get one single student to tackle that wonderful book. Maybe I should have tried Billy Budd. I love it almost as much, but the hero is a midshipman who kills an officer with a single punch & hangs for it. How would a class of future junior officers take sides?)

I hadn’t realized the phrase ‘fit for (a) fight’ came from Moby Dick because it hadn’t become a catchphrase until my 4^th time around. I guess a modern editor would have left that scene in, not least because the speaker is a naked stud – Queequeg from the West Indies – posing harpoon in hand on the gunwale. Comments on religion & racial differences – tolerant & on the light side – would probably have made it too. They were ahead of their time. In sooo many words. Hee hee.

Melville, Michael & Litterære Nonsens - del 1

Illustrationen er bedre end artiklen men jeg sætter pris på begge 2. I Weekendavisens bog sektion idag har Ib Michael en mildt underholdende men relevant satire over den aktuelle danske/vestlige litteratur. Illustrationen viser en bestyrtet Herman Melville, der ser til mens redaktøren på Gyldendal hakker blodige lunser fra manuskriptet på Billy Budd med en skalpel.

”Redundans, Herman,” bræger redaktøren, mens han hakker løs. Vi kan forstå, at han allerede har reduceret Moby Dick til en ”70-siders sag med titlen Fra Rødby til Puttgarden, men stramt, det var den.”

Jeg har aldrig læst en helt bog af Ib Michael og føler ingen trang til det nu, men en uddrag i Weekendavisen for mange år siden imponerede mig. Den var fra bogen Den Tolvte Rytter og beskriver hvordan en spansk soldat der fryser på sin vagt en nat i marts 1808 fyrer op i kaminen og ender med at brænde Koldinghus ned. Utvivlsomt den bedste beskrivelse jeg nogensinde har læst af fornemmelsen af at fryse helt ind til benet, umuligt at få varmen. Det ved Michael sikkert alt om. Han er endnu en dansker der flyver sydpå om vinteren som en grågås fordi han ikke kan klare de kolde mørke måneder. (se post fra  2. feb)

Dagens avis essay er noget urigtig fordi idag ville Melvilles stil sandsynligvis blive strammet op hos Random House også og forkortede versioner har været populær længe. Alligevel påskønner jeg tanken. Tak, Ib. Jeg har et problem med moderne dansk litteratur i det hele taget, men det er mit problem. Der er rigtig mange gode bøger derude, men selv chick lit lyder stilmæssigt som Ernest Hemingway, kort, kontant og blottet for musik. Delvis sproget, delvis den nationale æstetik, helt uinspirerende for en som mig. Melville er over det hele, en fontæne af ord der flyder over sit bassin. Læseren skal gøre en indsats. Heldigvis har Melville en ny ildsjæl af en dansk oversætter -

”Måske er det tid til en ny stemme,” siger min absolut bedre halvdel, hvis rummelige sjæl kan se ud over egne præferencer. Han kunne ikke pløje sig igennem Moby Dick, mens jeg kunne endnu bedre lide den ved 4. læsning, fordi jeg da havde undervist et par år i maritimt engelsk på SIMAC så jeg fattede mere sømandssprog. Først da kunne jeg også se at frasen ’fit for fight’ stammer fra Moby Dick. Det ville en moderne redaktør sandsynligvis have bevaret, ikke mindst fordi de siges af en nøgen hug, Queequeg fra Vestindien, der poserer, harpun i hånd, på rælingen. Kommentarer om religion og race forskelle – tolerant og på den lettere side – ville sikkert også klare sig. De var foran for deres tid. På såååå mange ord. Tihi.

The Bravest Girl in the World

Time magazine’s special issue on the 100 most influential people in the world anno 2013 has reached Svendborg. The choice of cover girl is spot on: Malala Yousafzai, justly called the bravest girl in the world. Chelsea Clinton – no coward herself – wrote the magazine text & Malala is writing her memoirs, proving, says Chelsea, “She accepts that unasked-for responsibility as a synonym for courage & a champion for girls everywhere.”

When the Taliban shot Malala in the head last April, the bullet pierced a million hearts & ricocheted right back into the Taliban’s gut. The gunmen said they wanted to “teach a lesson” to anyone who dared stand up for education & girls’ right to same. Well, you’d have to say they succeeded. The lesson is, this time courage was rewarded & there will be no turning back, even though reform will not happen just this week or even this year, but …. Malala’s school now bears her name & that scared some students at first, but the decision stands. Malala is back in school in Britain & on the cover of Time, among others. Look into her big soft eyes that stare so directly at the camera & feel both admiration & relief. Maybe the world is not so hopeless after all. Malala made it back from near death & is just getting started.

Whenever I picture a Taliban fighter, I see a man with a long beard & a short cock. How else could they be so terrified of women? Of course that’s just an unfair stereotype. Some Taliban have nicely trimmed beards.

Den modigste pige i verden

Nyhedsbladet Time har udsendt årets særnummer om de 100 mest indflydelsesrige mennesker i verden. Forsidemodellen er lige sagen: Malala Yousafzai, med rette kaldt den modigste pige i verden. Chelsea Clinton – datter af Bill & Hilary – skriver i teksten at ”Malala har accepteret et ansvar hun ikke bad om, som symbol på mod og forkæmper for piger over hele verden.”

Da Taliban skød Malala i hovedet sidste april, rørte kuglen en million hjerter og slog tilbage i Talibans indvolde. Voldsmændene sagde, at de ville give alle der turde kæmpe for uddannelse og pigers ret til den en lærerstreg. Man må sige, at det lykkes. Læreren er, at denne gang blev mod belønnet og der er ingen vej tilbage, selvom reform kommer ikke i næste uge eller næste år, og dog … Malalas skole nu bærer hendes navn. Det skræmte enkelte elever i starten, men beslutningen består. Malala er tilbage i skole i England og på forsiden af Time, bl.a. Kig ind i de store bløde øjne der stirrer så direkte ind i kameraet og føl både beundring og lettelse. Måske er verden alligevel ikke så håbløs. Malala vendte tilbage fra døden og er lige ved at komme i gang.

Når jeg forestiller mig en Taliban soldat, ser jeg en mand med et langt skæg og et kort lem. Hvordan kan det ellers være, at de er så bange for kvinder? Men selvfølgelig er det bare en unfair stereotype. Nogle Talibanere har pænt trimmede skæg.

Chihuahua!

Chihuahua!

On the way home today I encountered 3 different people all walking little bitty chihuahua dogs. If you can call them dogs. I’m not sure I would even call them animals. They look like big-headed rats but would doubtless get their tiny asses kicked in a punch-up with same. I almost rolled my bike over the one & nearly stepped on the second. It would have disappeared without a trace under my cruel boot, its blood blending with the red leather. Do you suppose it would even have made a proper lubricant? Probably not. There would only be enough blood there to cover the toe, but that’s also what scuffs the most. It must be nippy for the little nippers in this climate. They’ve no more hair than a bat missing its wings.

(Do you know what the baby rat said when a bat flew over? “Look mommy – an angel!”)

Cudos to the guys out walking their chihuahuas. They must not have any doubts about their masculinity, in contrast to the tattooed types with the Dobermans. My son tells me chihuahuas have been in fashion for a while now. Well, so have hoop skirts & leeches over the years. See what the ingenuity of mankind can accomplish? By careful breeding we can create not only sweeter grapes & larger nuts, but also dogs that look like vermin. They’re supposed to be cool. Now the only question is why???

Chihuahua!

På vejen hjem i dag gik jeg forbi 3 mennesker, der alle gik tur med småbitte chihuahua hunde. Hvis man kan kalde dem hunde. Jeg er ikke helt sikker på, at jeg ville kalde dem dyr. De ligner rotter med store hoveder men ville utvivlsomt få deres bitte røv grundigt sparket i et slagsmål med samme. Jeg var lige ved at rulle min cykel over den ene og næsten trådte på den anden. Den ville være helt forsvundet under min barske støvle, mens dens blod løb over det røde læder. Tror du, den overhovedet ville virke som læderfedt? Sikkert ikke. Der er ikke mere blod end til at dække tåen – men det er også den, der bliver mest snusket. Det må være koldt for de små kræ i dette klima. De har ikke mere hår end en flagermus uden vinger.

(Ved du, hvad rottebarnet sagde, da en flagermus fløj forbi? ”Se mor – en engel!”)

Ros til de mænd der var ude at gå med deres chihuahua hunde. De er åbenbart ikke i tvivl om deres manddom, modsat de tatoverede typer med deres Dobermænd. Min søn fortæller, at chihuahua vovser har været på mode et stykke tid. Nå, det har igler & pudrede parykker også gennem årene. Bare se alt det, den menneskelige opfindsomhed kan udrette. Ved omhyggelig udvælgelse kan vi fremelske ikke kun sødere druer og større nødder men også hunde, der ligner skadedyr. Og det skulle være cool. Nu er det eneste spørgsmål hvorfor?? 

3 days in London

3 days in London

Just home from London for 3 days in Easter week – made a rash decision. I recommend both – London & rash decisions. This last is not the same as throwing caution to the winds, but can be necessary to break a cramped sort of mentality that develops when there’s too much to do & a lot of it doesn’t really work to anybody’s satisfaction. When you feel Easter would be better spent under the duvet with the TV on, get thee to London. The temperatures were the same as here in Denmark but felt even colder - probably the dampness & the fact that in rentals the heat comes on from 7.00 - 9.30 morning & evening & THAT'S IT!

Another aspect of the rash decision is no time to make meticulous plans. Better & better. The lovely people we went to visit arranged a bit, but mostly it was up to us. Just now there's an exhibit of Ice Age art on at the National Gallery & we were all enthused, but so was half of London as it turned out, so we saw an exhibit of paintings & drawings by Barocci instead. I had not heard of Barocci because he's almost unknown outside Italy & was overshadowed by contemporaries who became internationally known. When your contemporaries are Leonardo & Michelangelo it's not so strange. No matter - his work is wonderful, especially the sublime preliminary sketches for large canvases. Complete serendipity followed by lunch at a restaurant on the 32nd floor with London all around. Went book & food shopping, trolled the British Library so now we've seen the Magna Carta & First Folio, among other treasures, plus a small exhibit in alphabetical order – Murder in the Library A-Z – all about classic crime fiction. I don’t even read crime fiction & still thought it was cool, so if you’re a mystery fan you’d better get over there. Next time plan to catch a musical but we were too last-minute & budget conscious this time.

If you’re going to get a true impression of a place you have to either stay 6 months or really observe what’s going on around you on the way in from the airport – or take a 3-day trip. I had expected London to be dirtier than Denmark & to feel rushed. Wrong on both counts. It was amazingly clean, noticeably free from cigarette butts all over the ground like here. (When I got here in the 70s, Denmark was pristine & my native USA & London grubby by comparison. Now it’s just the other way around.) Yes, London felt rushed because of all the people moving in droves, rather like wildebeests, & they work much longer hours than here, but they did NOT look pinched or pursued. I did expect them to be more polite than Danes – don’t get me started – & that they are. They are, they are. What a pleasure in a city where so many people move at close quarters. What a pleasure, full stop. It never goes out of style.

Home to 2 more days of Easter holiday then back on the job tomorrow. I came home snotty & sleepy but energized. Big busy cities will do that for me. I love London.

3 dage i London

Hjem fra 3 dage i London – tog en rask beslutning. Jeg anbefaler begge dele – London & raske beslutninger. Det sidste er ikke det samme som at give slip på al fornuft, men kan være nødvendig for at bryde en krampagtig mentalitet, der kommer snigende når der er for meget at lave og meget af det ikke vil lykkes til nogens tilfredshed. Når du føler påskeferien burde tilbringes under dynen med tossekassen tændt, tag et smut til London. Temperaturerne var de samme som her med føltes koldere, nok på grund af fugtigheden & det, at i legeboliger varmen kommer på fra 7.00 – 9.30 morgen & aften & DET ER DET!

(Jeg skipper beskrivelsen af de ting vi lavede. De er kun på engelsk.)

Hvis man skal danne et sandt indtryk af et sted skal man bo der i 6 måneder eller jagttage nøje på vej ind fra lufthavnen – eller besøge i 3 dage. Jeg forventede at London var mere snavset end DK samt mere forhutlede. Forkert. London var forbløffende ren, især fri for cigaretskodder over det hele som her. (Da jeg ankom i 70erne var DK pæn ren mens mit hjemland USA & London var betydelig smudsigere. Nu er det lige omvendt.) Jo, London kunne føle forhutlede fordi så mange mennesker bevæger sig i flokke, ganske som gnuer, & de arbejder flere timer end her, men de ser ikke sammenbidt eller jaget ud. Jeg regnede med, at de var mere høflige end danskere & dét er de, ja de er. Men det ville være mærkelig andet. Sikken dejlig oplevelse i så stor en by. Sikken dejlig oplevelse, punktum. Går aldrig af mode.

Hjem til 2 dages frihed før arbejde i morgen. Jeg kom hjem snottet og søvnig men med ny energi. Store travle byer har den virkning på mig. Jeg elsker London.