[lit-ideas] Re: whatever
- From: Donal McEvoy <donalmcevoyuk@xxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: "lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx" <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 4 Apr 2015 15:26:21 +0000 (UTC)
Characters are not "ideograms" of anything. The phonemes are the same anywhere
and everywhere>
This was the received opinion in the West until "Bob Dylan at Budokan" was
issued.
Dnl
On Saturday, 4 April 2015, 8:48, Adriano Palma <Palma@xxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
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div.yiv3735957606WordSection1 {}#yiv3735957606 Characters are not “ideograms”
of anything. The phonemes are the same anywhere and everywhere From:
lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [
mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx]On Behalf
Of Donal McEvoy
Sent: 04 April 2015 09:30
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: whatever >Allow me to suspect that the mirror in
the Japanesey thing--people have lectured me on how the American version of
haiku misses what is essential about the form-- became deep because the shallow
one simply had too many syllables.> Is Japanese not ideogrammatic rather
than alphabetic? If so, do ideograms have syllables? "There was an old man
of Waiku Who thought he would write a haiku But found out he meant a limerick"
Dnl On Saturday, 4 April 2015, 7:20, David Ritchie
<profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx> wrote: Allow me to suspect that the mirror in the
Japanesey thing--people have lectured me on how the American version of haiku
misses what is essential about the form-- became deep because the shallow one
simply had too many syllables. I enjoyed the encounter poem's vividness: the
picture in my mind has lots of detail not mentioned. I do like ponies, so I
may be predisposed. Question for the assembled multitude: do dry swans bow
differently from wet ones? Why? Discuss on the back of a postcard... David
Ritchie, Portland, Oregong A strange old man Stops me, Looking out
of my deep mirror. -- Hitomaro And
this by James Wright: Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight
bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my
friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have
been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their
happiness That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the
young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one
in my arms, For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is
black and white, Her mane falls wild on her forehead, And the light breeze
moves me to caress her long ear That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s
wrist. Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into
blossom. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * I do truly
like these two -- among hundreds and hundreds hundreds of other. They add up
to nothing. That's OK, I hate algebra.
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