Cartoonist Tunes Up to Words

click on cartoon to enlarge

Words Easily Confused with One Another

       I've seen and heard this happen with "prostate"  and "prostrate."  One is a male gland; the other is lying flat out on your stomach.  One has one "r"; the other has two "r"s.  They're easy to confuse by sight or sound, not likely meaning.

       Another pair of words is "theses" and "feces."  You hear them, and they sound very much alike, not because the first letters are similar but because the first sounds are.  [th] is made between tip of tongue and upper teeth; [f] is made between upper teeth and lower lip.  The sound in both cases is  frictional air going between related speech organs.

      I always find this one especially perilous:  The Ninety-Five Theses Martin Luther pinned up on the church door in Wittenberg.

Philip Schultz: Pulitzer Poet

       I read two poems today by Philip Schultz who won the Pulitzer for poetry in 2008. I could see why he won.

       Glancing into Schultz's memoir My Dyslexia, I read his wife is a sculptor; Schultz says artists don't think too much about money--he and his wife have a comfortable house that just meets their needs.

       You can discern the tone of Schultz's poetry by a joke he tells about himself and his accountant, discussing Philip's retirement. The accountant told Philip he'd be able to retire 10 years after his death, and Philip held out for 5.

    The fine poems I read today can be found at my daughter's blog for Wednesday, October 19, 2011. To read them, click here.

A Mouthful of Words

       My dentist was unfamiliar with the marvelous poem "Master of Instruments"; I emailed it to him.  From the list of instruments:

    the lovely burnishers to polish the amalgam,
    the double-notched cord packers plying thick tissue,
    flat spatulas for loading plumb
    and tapered flutes to tap the crown down solid
    and lute the inlay tight,
    curved chisels to mold the stubborn cusp ridges,
    gingival wedges and lariats of floss and smooth heron-billed                         pluggers
    and even the humble rubber dam and clamps
    to shield the tongue from the serrated forceps.

Finally:

    With the help of my instruments...
    I insert implants where none but Nature has ratcheted before.
    And I give you your smile and your bite back.

                    David Solway

Same Referent, New Contexts: New Names

       Burger King has come out with French Fries with less fat and salt and calls them "Satisfries."  Good old French Fries except tailored to consumer desire for healthier options.

  

       More than 50 percent of World Wide Web users now listen to Internet radio outlets of various kinds.   Growth of Web streaming doesn't mean traditional AM and FM radio is losing out.  "90% of [smartphone] participants listen to terrestrial stations."

       "Terrestrial stations."  There's a term that would not have been needed until recently.

       At a Dodger game last month, when checking over my tote before entry, the guy at the gate stopped and wondered about an item of mine:  "Oh, a radio.  I haven't seen one of those in some time."

Cartoonist Warns Us on Child Naming

click on cartoon to enlarge

"Remembering Makes Me Whole"

       It may have taken my maturer years and the death of my parents to appreciate the value of the Yizkor (memorial) service on Yom Kippur Day.  One year I was asked to write about "What Memory Means to Me" and to read it during that service.

       A dad who had died at 96 and a mom at 101 left me with much to remember and savor for its contribution to my own nature and life course.  This naturally brings tears to my eyes...knowing that could be maudlin and indulgent...yet my reflections before the audience ended this way:

                  Remembering to me is not self-indulgence in emotion;                 remembering  acknowledges the limits of my self and how much
             has fed into me to make me what I am.

                  In other words, remembering makes me whole.

              

 

"Homewords": Introduction, 4

       Words themselves are at home on this planet.  Where else do they acquire the images that are their roots?  What better word than "roots" to suggest how words belong here, grow here, thrive here, that their home and sustenance is planet earth?
 
       Words express a longing for what is absent and yearned for--the Silent Eloquence they emerge from; but words may also be as much as we get of home.  So check the attic and the cellar, under the eaves, and deep in the closets--you could find what you are looking for, even in exile.

"Homewords": Introduction, 3

       A professor retires and discovers an old bag in a closet stuffed with slips of paper--with words on them.  He is taken aback; there are 20 or 25 years of words that had caught his attention--but that he didn't have time to investigate while working.  He just stuffed them in a bag.

       Finding the way home seems to be what this writing is all about, getting to the source, the etymological root of the words, but also to a source in experience, to the point at which the words brushed against my life.

"Homewords": Introduction, 2

       How can one be at home with words and yet long to be at their source?

       It is not only thirteenth century Persian poets who ponder such thoughts.  Contemporary French writer and philosopher Edmond Jabes says "being Jewish means exiling yourself in the word and, at the same time, weeping for your exile."

       More broadly, we are all exiles:  from our childhood, often from the place we were born, from our grandparents' country or language or religion, from an earlier stage of our own adult lives.  Words can return us part way to those places, and we can reside in them, in the words.

"Homewords": Introduction, 1

       “All language is a longing for home.”  This is the way Coleman Barks speaks of the Sufi poet Rumi’s theory of words.         

       Rumi has it that we humans are like the reed flute cut from its reed bed.  Hollowed out and empty away from its source, the plaintive sound of the flute hearkens back to its origins.  So we make sound that both tells of our separation from the Source and our yearning back towards It. 

       Language is a longing to be home, a “belonging.”

       In this sense, all words are “home words.”

       In Persian bet means both “house” and “word.”  In Hebrew beth means “house” and is the second letter of the alphabet.  In Chinese shih means both “temple” and “word.”  Perhaps words are sacred, a place to dwell and find shelter and spirit . . . to be at home.

"Iterating"; "Reiterating"; "Constantly Iterating"

       Apple is introducing a fairly radical new operating system for its mobile iPhone, and app makers are scurrying to get their products in synch with it.  Soundwave is one of those apps.  It received favorable reviews when it came out in June, yet has elected to start from scratch to adapt to and take advantage of the new Apple iOS 7.

       Founder of Soundwave  Brendan O'Driscoll says, "We relish the challenge.  You've got to be constantly iterating anyway."

       "Iterating."  Comes from Latin iterum,  meaning "again."  I've heard "reiterating" fairly often, which I suppose then means "again and again."

       Let's see:  "iterating" is a repeat; "reiterating" has to be at least three times, yet it must be less than "constantly iterating."  This could get to be "irritating"!

Dis Cahtoonist Loves Woids 'nd Lettahs

"The Dome"

       Connie watches "The Dome" on TV.  I happened into the room last night when the dome was somehow being covered all over with huge black splotches, turning day into night, and the town's lights were coming on everywhere.  Fearful faces looked up, not knowing what to make of it or what to do.

       I leaned close to Connie, whispered, "Don't worry.  We got rid of DOMA earlier this year!"

Words That No Longer Work

       In today's Los Angeles Times, I found these two items:

Click on items to Enlarge

It's Time for a Favorite Quatrain!

                               The Turtle

               The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks
              
               Which practically conceal its sex.

                I think it clever of the turtle

                In such a fix to be so fertile.

                                        Ogden Nash

Yom Kippur Day

       I learned  two things in the course of this day: 

       1.  One phrase from the High Holy Day prayer book hit me where I live.  It all too precisely characterized my very worst fault of character:  "hiding from others behind an armor of mistrust."  Something to repent for and to try hard to eliminate.

       2.  In an entirely separate recorded talk today, I heard this wonderful line:  "Jews are like everyone else, only moreso."   Rob Eshman, Editor of the Jewish Journal, said it was by Mark Twain; checking it out, I found no confirmation about Twain online but someone citing the quote said it was by Chaim Weizman!    

An "Honor" Reading Still Takes Work, 3

       Floundering, but putting a lot of time in thinking and saying. 

       An important key, I'm finding, is a sense of direct petitioning of God, on behalf of the congregation and people, a sense of not saying it TO the audience, but, rather, for them to be able to overhear as a prayer in their interests.

       In a brief part asking God to be with those who suffer because they are Jews, I suddenly caught the ancient iconic reference in appealing to God to "lead them soon from bondage to freedom."

       Tomorrow I read on Yom Kippur morning.  Perhaps a chance to look it over one more time before the 9 o'clock service.



      

Names that Metamorphose

       I shop at "Tennis Doctor" in Glendale when I need to equip and outfit myself.

       I love shopping there and do so every year or two, but last time I was astonished to see the name was really "Racket Doctor."
 
       Don't know exactly how this process happens.  I spoke of my dad's clothing store for years as "Joe's Clothes" and couldn't believe it when I saw a photograph with the sign out front; it was "Joe's Store."  I was there many, many times in my childhood and growing up.

       Maybe in my dad's case it was the rhyme I wanted to give it for euphony's sake; maybe with "Racket Doctor," I knew I bought lots there besides just having my racket restrung.

An "Honor" Reading Still Needs Work, 2

       I'm reading from an older High Holy day prayer book, and the word "Lord" needs to be changed when I read it to "Adonai," the way the Hebrew word is read, partially due to more recent sensitivities to the masculine implications of "Lord," thus leaving the gender neutral.

       Basically, even though I read and re-read this prayer and try to understand it, I find myself at this moment at a total loss for how to say it.  It's a prayer for abundance, and happiness, and peace, etc., and it's asked for our congregation and maybe every Jew in the world, maybe (still) every person of  faith.  There's something selfish about it.

       I'm at pains with it, not knowing how to approach it, partly wondering how I can speak for the whole congregation, let alone, all Jews or all congregations of faith.   

      

      

My Kind of Sonically Sensitive, Punning Cartoonist

click on cartoon to enlarge

An "Honor" Reading Still Needs Work, 1

       I was asked to read a few paragraphs of the liturgy on Yom Kippur morning this Saturday.
 
       On my first familiarization reading a few days ago, one sentence caught my eye:   "Bless this holy congregation...together with all other holy congregations, in all lands near and far."  I thought it might refer to all religious congregations of any faith and have quite ecumenical implications.  But today I really registered the title of my passage, "FOR OUR CONGREGATION AND OUR PEOPLE," and realized it was speaking of Jewish congregations everywhere. 

       Today I picked up on a reference to "the blessing of Moses."  What was that and where was it in the Torah?  The computer suggested two possibilities but finally helped get me to the exact verse, Deuteronomy 1:11.   Ah, yes.

      
 

       

Cursive Handwriting and Penmanship

       The new "Common Core" curriculum doesn't require the teaching of cursive writing and penmanship.  The Core emphasizes critical and computer-based skills.

       Miss Evans came to our classroom once a week to teach us the Palmer method of penmanship.  We would marvel at her flowingly eloquent Spenserian handwriting as it swirled words across the blackboard.  My mouth would drop open as I compared my pinched, barely legible hand to hers.

       The ballpoint pen came in during those years; I fancied that Miss Evans would never use or approve of ballpoint with its intermittencies and fainter ink compared to inkwell and fountain pens.

       Ballpoints didn't put cursive handwriting and penmanship out of business, and I doubt that laptop and tablet keyboards are going to manage to do it either. 

Emerson and Nature

       Knowing the sadness and frustration I feel when I look at the tall city pine tree at our front curb entirely brown and dead (it all happened in the space of two or three months, inexplicably, while neighbors' pines still thrive), I am the more sensitive to this grand quote I found as a filler in the Sierra Club Schedule.

Said by Ralph Waldo Emerson during a conversation with John Muir:

              "The greatest wonder is that we can see these trees 
                                   and not wonder more."

              

"Eucerin," Pronounced??

       There's a skin moisturizer called Eucerin.   I hear it pronounced YOU-suh-rin, but ever since it was first given me at Kaiser Hospital, I've said it as YOU-kuh-rin--until recently.

       It looks like a Greek word to me.  And how do you pronounce Euclid?  Or eucalyptus?  Or Eucharist?  They're all Greek in origin.  All have the hard "c."

       And then I remembered the lesson I myself learned while tutoring 3rd graders in reading:  Use a soft "c" when it's followed by "e," "i," or "y."  When followed by almost anything else, it seems, "c" becomes hard, even the other vowels "a," "o," or "u":  "cat," "cow," "cut."

                    "Cindy ate cereal, cinnamon, celery, and apple cider.  Then                          she bicycled to the city to see the circus.  Animals pranced
                      and people swung from the ceiling."

"Oof-da"

       Last night, my neck was tight, tense.   That's where I  show my stress.  I asked Connie for a rub, which usually turns into a pummeling mixed with kneeding.  Connie was particularly thorough, giving me an "Oh, it hurts, stop / no, it's wonderful, keep going" response.

       When she was finished, I was finished.   I slid away with an involuntary "OOf-da" coming out of my mouth.  I hadn't uttered-muttered-breathed-sighed that in a long time.  It's Minnesotan, and Connie remembered it too.

       I knew it was Scandinavian, but that was about it.  Wikipedia filled in.  It's definitely Upper-Midwest, Norwegian in origin, spelled lots of ways, and is used as "a term for sensory overload."  I like that.

       An example of usage:  the logo of the Fargo Marathon includes the phrase "26.2 miles ... Uffda!"

"Holiday" / "Holy Day"

       This evening Rosh Hashanah began, and once again I think, in the corner of my mind, about the contrast between holidays and holy days.  The former have their source in the latter.  But the usage is quite different most times.

       To "go on holiday" quite simply means a respite from work, a break, a getaway, a vacation.  One doesn't hear the "holiness" in it any more.  Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are the "High Holidays" but you don't usually hear "High Holy Days" even though Yom Kippur is the holiest day in the Jewish year.

       Since apparently the root meaning of holy is whole, complete, "holiday" might not be so far away since, from a stressed and scattered state, it often puts one back together, makes one whole.

"One Boy Told Me": Naomi Shihab Nye

       The link below will take you to a delightful, brief performance.  My daughter Elizabeth and I witnessed it in person at the Dodge Poetry Festival a few years ago.

       What it took was one of the most wonderful people, one of the best poets, one of the finest teachers (all the same individual), and one of the most delicious little poems you will ever hear.

       This particular audience is high school English classes and their teachers.  I'm sure no one there that day left unaffected by Naomi Shihab Nye.  Elizabeth and I were blessed to have happened upon it as our first event at the biennial Dodge Festival of poetry and poets in New Jersey.         
                                                    Go here

      

"Speaking with Forked Silence"

       Poet Seamus Heaney just died, and Robert Faggen, professor of literature at Claremont McKenna College, who knew Heaney, wrote "An Appreciation" in the L.A. Times today.  He  said the poet didn't like to give pronouncements or judgments, though no doubt he was often asked to do so; so Heaney developed a way of responding that he called "speaking with forked silence."

       It's very funny to me, but maybe because I identify with it a bit.  While still teaching, I had sometimes to critique performances of literature at festivals, and would usually find favorable aspects of the presentation and give only slight demurs or suggestions.  A graduate student once challenged me, "I see how you're avoiding saying anything substantial" or words to that effect.  He'd caught me out in my own version of "speaking with forked silence."

How Do Old Songs Come Back?

       How do old songs come back?  My experience is, a relaxed state of mind, and some odd association either by a chance word or rhythm:

•  This morning I sat tired but at ease after tennis, thinking it was Sunday, and suddenly I was singing, "I want a Sunday kind of love, a love that lasts past Saturday night, a love that's more than just a love at first sight, I want a Sunday kind of love." 

•  My January 3, 2013 post told how saying the word "gorgonzola" at dinner time brought back a forgotten song with the same 4-beat meter and rhyming ending, "Amapola."

•  Once Connie asked me what was wrong with my pants that needed sewing.  I said, "The seams, the seams, it seems" ... "Seems Like Old Times, having you to talk with." 

"Awry"

       A newspaper story headline I read recently contained the phrase "intentions often go awry," and it reminded me of something.   I once heard intelligent radio-talk-show-host Dennis Prager use such a phrase, and he mispronounced "awry" AW-ree.

       That's when I knew Prager was probably a voracious reader but hadn't always picked up what a word sounded like.  He'd learned it from print before he'd heard it, figured it must be pronounced  AW-ree.

       You might say "awry" was part of Prager's reading vocabulary,  his speaking vocabulary (he knew what the word meant and could use it appropriately), but not his listening vocabulary.  Prager may not have recognized the word if he heard someone else say uh-RYE!