From Boris Lurie to the Grateful Dead to Wulf Wolodia Grajonca (Bill Graham) to Boris Lurie

While translating one prose text by Boris Lurie about his time in the Stutthof concentration camp and another about his complicated relationship to his languages (Yiddish, Russian, German, and English), I was listening to the Grateful Dead. When I noticed that juxtaposition, I remembered that Bill Graham, the promoter of concerts by the Dead and countless other bands until his death in 1991, was born Wulf Wolodia Grajonca in Berlin in 1931. In 1939, he was sent to France and then to the United States to live in a foster home in New York City. And like Boris Lurie's mother, grandmother, and sister, Wulf Grajonca's mother was murdered in the Holocaust. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 9 February 2023)

Translating and walking in Zollbrück in the Emmental

I'm spending six days in Zollbrück in the Emmental in central Switzerland to work on my project translating texts by artist Boris Lurie. I arrived yesterday at the apartment I'm renting from a couple I met at the Swiss Indoors in Basel last fall. After working for a while, I went across the Emme river and walked through town to go shopping. Today, I went shopping again when the sun came out at 3 pm. When I returned, I put the groceries in the apartment and went for a walk on a path along the Emme for forty-five minutes, just enjoying a sunny afternoon break in a day of translation work. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 8 February 2023)

 

View of the Emme from the path along the river

 

C. J. Dennis's "The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke", Raymond Longford's "The Sentimental Bloke", and Les Murray's "Fredy Neptune"

Before Fred Boettcher in Les Murray's 1999 verse novel "Fredy Neptune" ends up in Hollywood a few years later, he goes to the movies in Australia with his future wife Laura to see "The Sentimental Bloke." This critically and commercially successful 1918 silent movie by prolific Australian director Raymond Longford was based on Australian poet C. J. Dennis's equally successful 1915 verse novel "The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke", which was also made into a sound film in 1932 and has twice been turned into a musical. Murray's own verse novel has not made it to the screen or the stage yet, but its picaresque narrative would perhaps best be served by a television series. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 7 February 2023)

Thanking musicians

When I go to concerts, I like to thank the musicians, if the opportunity presents itself. This is especially possible at jazz concerts in small clubs like the Bird's Eye in Basel. When I thank jazz musicians, I always try to mention a specific moment I liked, such as a drummer's fills or a soloist's work on a particular song. When I mention such details, the musicians first thank me and then often ask if I'm a musician. While I am a "serious amateur" on guitar and mandolin, I play "psychedelic folk" (as I call it), not jazz. But after attending hundreds of jazz concerts, I've learned to hear the details. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 6 February 2023)

Images and abstractions in Denise Levertov's poems

In my daily reading of poems by Denise Levertov (which has been occasionally interrupted lately), I find myself quoting lines that seem most like what Levertov taught in her creative-writing classes: "No ideas / but in things", as William Carlos Williams put it. But Levertov was clear about how she understood Williams's point: not "no ideas at all", but only "ideas through things". Indeed, while her poems are full of vividly described images, they often build on that imagery to arrive at more abstract passages. When I quote the imagery, I leave out her ideas, but if I quoted her ideas, they would seem flat without the images that ground them. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 5 February 2023)

The overcast February sky over the highway from Zurich to Basel

Although it's overcast in most of northern Switzerland today, the sky over the highway as I drove from Zurich airport back to Basel late this afternoon had enough breaks between the clouds that I had to keep my sunglasses handy for the moments when I might suddenly be blinded by the sun bursting through. But then there'd be a tunnel, and I'd push the glasses up on the top of my head, and when the tunnel ended, the sky would be gray again. For the last half hour, the sky overhead was overcast again, but far in the distance on the horizon was a stripe of sunny blue to drive to. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 4 February 2023)

Listening to R.E.M. and remembering their debut "Murmur" when it came out in 1983

Today, my binge listening has been to R.E.M. First, my shuffle suggested their second album "Reckoning" (1984), then I turned to "Document" (1987) and "Fables of the Reconstruction" (1985). I also remembered how I first heard their debut album "Murmur" at KZSU, the Stanford student radio station. It came out in April 1983, according to Wikipedia, and I probably played and loved "Radio Free Europe" shortly after that, especially as it was very popular among my fellow student DJs. I finally heard them live at the Oakland Coliseum Arena on 13 November 1987 (a date I dug up on the internet recently), before they graduated to stadiums a few years later. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 3 February 2023)

Finding an English translation of the German word "Schnittchen" by going through French

In the early 1990s in Germany, I learned about "Schnittchen", which my future mother-in-law would serve, often quite spontaneously: a platter of single slices of bread with various toppings on them. I only thought about what else to call them today, when the word appeared in a poem I was translating from German into English. I first thought of "open-faced sandwich", which is more a description than a name and didn't fit the poem at all, so then I tried something I'd never done before: I used a German-French dictionary to see if there was a good French word. And when I saw it, I thought it was just right: canapé. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 2 February 2023)

"Messrs Achburn, Soulpetre and Ashreborn" and the ingredients of gunpowder in James Joyce's "Finnegans Wake"

In James Joyce's "Finnegans Wake" (1939), a minor figure is introduced with his occupation, nickname, and employer: "A dustman nocknamed Seven-churches in the employ of Messrs Achburn, Soulpetre and Ashreborn, prairmakers, Glintalook [...]" (59.16-18). In "Annotations to Finnegans Wake" (2016), Roland McHugh points out that "charcoal + saltpetre + sulfur = gunpowder", but our reading group was confused at first this evening: "Soulpetre" is saltpetre, but how do "Achburn" and "Ashreborn" correspond to charcoal and sulfur, respectively? Only later did I notice that McHugh's list of ingredients was in a different order than Joyce's names: I'm not sure why "Achburn" corresponds to sulfur, but "Ashreborn" is a good characterization of charcoal. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 1 February 2023)

Down a rabbit hole with Czech-American diplomat and professor Joseph Korbel

My rabbit hole today began with the childhood of Madeleine Albright, the first woman to be United States Secretary of State, and continued with her father, Joseph Korbel. Before World War Two, he worked at the Czechoslovakian embassy in Belgrade, and after spending the war in Britain (where he and his family converted from Judaism to Catholicism), he returned to Belgrade as Czechoslovakia's Ambassador to Yugoslavia. After the Communist takeover of Czechoslovakia, he received asylum in the United States, where he began a long career as Professor of International Studies at the University of Denver – and one of his students there later also became Secretary of State (from 2005-2009): Condoleezza Rice. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 31 January 2023)

Elton John's six albums in the four years from 1970 to 1973

This evening, I had one of my occasional urges to listen to Elton John. It started with "Bennie and the Jets" going through my head, so I listened to a few songs from "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" (1973), turned back to "Elton John" (1970), and dipped into the intervening albums, "Tumbleweed Connection" (1970), "Madman Across the Water" (1971), "Honky Château" (1972), and "Don't Shoot Me I'm Only the Piano Player" (1973). I don't listen to Elton John much, and today I only listened to about a dozen songs in all, but those six albums in four years make for quite a run, each with multiple hits and many other good songs. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 30 January 2023)

A memory of bowling from forty years ago

When my daughter Sara told me she was going to go bowling with friends this afternoon, I lamented that the problems with my right elbow that flared up when I tried to learn to juggle a few years ago prevent me from bowling anymore. I mentioned that my best bowling sequence was four strikes in a row, but only when she asked me when that happened did I remember that during my freshman year at Stanford in 1982-1983, someone in my dorm organized a bowling team, and I joined it. I was only an okay bowler, but we had fun, and once I actually did bowl four strikes in a row. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 29 January 2023)

"I want your eye, man": Jordan Peele's "Get Out" and the death of Black photographer Tyre Nichols

In Jordan Peele's "Get Out" (2017), blind white art dealer Jim Hudson (Stephen Root) explains to Black photographer Chris Washington (Daniel Kaluuya) why he wants his brain transplanted into Chris's body: "I want your eye, man. I want those things you see through." White America wants what Black America sees, but without Black bodies. This crossed my mind when I read Heather Cox Richardson's "Letter from an American" for yesterday, 27 January, which is unusually brief for her. After Black photographer Tyre Nichols was beaten to death by five police officers in Memphis earlier this month, she discreetly refrains from comment but provides a link to Nichols's website with his photography. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 28 January 2023)

 

Jim Hudson (Stephen Root) in Jordan Peele's "Get Out" (2017)

Reading Denise Levertov's "Settling" as "Seattling"

I bought Denise Levertov's "Evening Train" when it came out in 1992. I knew she had recently moved from Somerville, Massachusetts, to Seattle, Washington, so I misread the title of the first poem as "Seattling" instead of "Settling". I didn't notice my mistake until I'd finished reading the poem, whose reference to an eagle, a mountain, and "the grey foretold by all and sundry" were all consistent with "Seattling" down in Denise's new city. When I saw her again in Palo Alto, California, in 1993 and shared my misreading with her, she blessed me with her beautiful laughter for what turned out be the last time before her death in 1997. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 27 January 2023)

 

Settling

Denise Levertov, "Evening Train", 1992

"Collected Poems", 853

 

I was welcomed here—clear gold

of late summer, of opening autumn,

the dawn eagle sunning himself on the highest tree,

the mountain revealing herself unclouded, her snow

tinted apricot as she looked west,

tolerant, in her steadfastness, of the restless sun

forever rising and setting.

.                                        Now I am given

a taste of the grey foretold by all and sundry,

a grey both heavy and chill. I've boasted I would not care,

I'm London-born. And I won't. I'll dig in,

into my days, having come here to live, not to visit.

Grey is the price

of neighboring with eagles, of knowing

a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.

The rising price of quinoa and its effects in South America

The other day, an article by Daniel Strassberg in "Republik" included a passing reference to how the growing global popularity of quinoa has driven up prices so much that Andean quinoa farmers can no longer afford to buy their own crop. Curious, I found an article in the "Guardian" that said this wasn't true, and I posted it as a comment. Then Sabin Bieri of the University of Bern posted a link to her ongoing research on such issues. The farmers are actually doing quite well, but they've stopped eating quinoa because it's seen as "poor people's food". It's the South American urban poor who have suffered from the higher prices. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 26 January 2023)

 

Photograph: Tomas Munita/ITC. From the linked article in the "Guardian".

 

 

Guidelines announced by "Nature" for the use of Large-Language Models in scholarship

Yesterday, in response to the continuing development and growing use of text-generating large-language models (LLMs) like ChatGPT, "Nature" and other journals published by Springer Nature added two new principles to their style sheet for authors: first, "no LLM tool will be accepted as a credited author on a research paper"; second, use of LLM tools must be acknowledged in papers. These guidelines establish that LLM tools can serve the writing of scholarship but cannot replace the role of authors and the responsibility that they must take for their work. The editorial making the announcement is also pleasantly dry, without the undertone of panic that otherwise accompanies so much writing about ChatGPT. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 25 January 2023)

 

"My hand on chiseled stone": A touch across the centuries in Denise Levertov's "The Past (II)"

In her poem "Inheritance", which I wrote about the other day, a family story takes Denise Levertov back over a century to her grandmother's childhood. In "The Past (II)", which is also in "A Door in the Hive" (1989), Levertov touches a stone church and imagines the masons who built it: "My hand on chiseled stone, fitting / into the invisible / print of the mason's own [...]." Taking her even farther than that story, that touch guides Levertov across the centuries to imagine a scene from the age of the church's construction: "The new dust / floated past, his mate / from the scaffolding reached down / for the water-jug." (Andrew Shields, #111words, 24 January 2023)

 

The Past (II)

Denise Levertov, A Door in the Hive, 1989

Collected Poems, 842-843

 

'The witnesses are old things, undimmed, dense

With the life of human hands' – Czesław Miłosz

 

My hand on chiseled stone, fitting

into the invisible

print of the mason's own

where it lay

a moment of that year the nave

was still half-risen, roofless . . .

 

There's a past that won't suffice:

years in billions,

walls of strata. My need roams

history, centuries not aeons.

And replica is useless.

 

The new dust

floated past, his mate

from the scaffolding reached down

for the water-jug.

 

This stone

or another: no inch of all

untouched. Cold, yes,

 

but that human trace

will burn my palm.

This is a hunger.

Images of the Great Siege of Gibraltar and its aftermath

Recently, having read a reference to the Great Siege of Gibraltar of 1779-1783, I went to Wikipedia, where I found information, but also several dramatic paintings that depict the siege, such as John Trumbull's "The Sortie Made by the Garrison of Gibraltar" (1789), which is at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, and Thomas Whitcombe's "Destructionof the Floating Batteries at Gibraltar, 14 September 1782" (1782), which is at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich. But the picture that moves me most is from the aftermath, not from a battle: "Main Street after the Siege by Captain Davis looking South", from 1793, which is at the Gibraltar National Museum. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 23 January 2023)

 

"Main Street after the Siege by Captain Davis looking South", from 1793, Gibraltar National Museum.

Will Hunting and bullshit in "Good Will Hunting" (1997)

When Chuckie Sullivan (Ben Affleck) flirts with Skylar (Minnie Driver) in a bar in Gus Van Sant's "Good Will Hunting" (1997) and is challenged on his historical knowledge by Clark (Scott William Winters), Will Hunting (Matt Damon) defends Chuckie with his own knowledge of "the evolution of the market economy in the southern colonies". Will may namedrop James Lemon and Gordon Wood and identify Clark's plagiarism of a phrase from Daniel Vickers, but Clark doesn't challenge Will about an apparently non-existent historian, Pete Garrison. Clark bullshits Chuckie but can't tell when Will bullshits him, any more than many of us can when ChatGPT drops names and ideas in its algorithmic texts. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 22 January 2023)

 

"The smooth hands of the village woman": A century and more in Denise Levertov's "Inheritance"

 

In Denise Levertov's poem, "Inheritance", from her 1989 collection "A Door in the Hive", the poet remembers a story told by her grandmother: "Even in her nineties she recalled / the smooth hands of the village woman / who sometimes came from down the street / and gently with the softest / of soft old flannel, / soaped and rinsed and dried / her grubby face [...]." The grandmother's story is handed down to her granddaughter, who, now herself is in her mid-sixties, remembers something that happened over a century ago, and captures it in a poem that you can read now, over thirty years after the publication of the poem. (Andrew Shields, #111words, 21 January 2023)

 

Inheritance

Denise Levertov, "A Door in the Hive" (1989)

 

Even in her nineties she recalled

the smooth hands of the village woman

who sometimes came from down the street

and gently with the softest

of soft old flannel,

soaped and rinsed and dried

her grubby face, while upstairs

the stepmother lay abed bitterly sleeping,

the uncorked opiate bottle

wafting out sticky sweetness

into a noontime dusk.

Those hands, that slow refreshment,

were so kind , I too,

another lifetime beyond them,

shall carry towards my death

their memory,

grateful, and longing

once again to feel them soothe me.