The leaves that hung but never grew [entries|friends|calendar] Gillian Spraggs   Wolfinthewood: profile   Index to entries   By way of preface   Gillian Spraggs: poems and translations   Outlaws and Highwaymen   Voices, passing     [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

To provoke the terms [1 May, 2008] ( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. ) 4 comments|post comment

Let me take care of your irregularities [30 April, 2008] ( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. ) 11 comments|post comment

A dangerous flaw [23 April, 2008] It seems that International Pixel-Stained Peasant Day has come round again. I don’t know whether this is really a suitable offering, but it was today’s bit of fun. That no one, but no one, encounters you gladly, that wherever you come there is hasty departure, and space all around you: Ligurinus, why is this? Are you keen to discover? You are too much the poet. It’s a dangerous flaw. Not a tigress stirred up by the theft of her cubs, not a basking snake in the noonday sun, nor a scorpion vile is feared quite like this. For who, I demand, can endure so much stress? You read while I’m standing, you read while I’m sitting, you read while I’m running, you read while I’m shitting. I escape to the baths: in my ear you are droning; I make for the pool: I’m prevented from swimming. I hurry to table: you grab me in passing; I arrive at the table: you hound me from eating. Exhausted, I sleep: you intrude where I’m lying. Do you want to be shown the harm that you do? You’re an upright, a decent, an innocent man: and how you strike terror! Marcus Valerius Martialis (c. 40–c. 104) Epigrams III. xliv. trans. Gillian Spraggs ( Original text ) translation © Gillian Spraggs, 2008 Edited to incorporate minor revisions, 28 April. <link> 4 comments|post comment

The mandrake [18 April, 2008] Last Week some Men being at work at Sir John Crelym’s, in Wotton-Park in Surrey, found under the Root of an Oak Tree a Mandrake, which was taken from thence alive, and lived about two Hours. A great Number of Persons of Distinction daily resort to Sir John’s Seat to see that great Curiosity, the like being never known in the Memory of Man. from The Daily Gazetteer, Monday 19th March, 1739 There is a splendid medieval picture of a mandrake on David Badke’s fine Medieval Bestiary site. tags: marvels <link> 3 comments|post comment

Shipping News [11 April, 2008] Gravesend, Feb. 20. This day came in the Diamond from Seville, Diligence Sloop from Rotterdam, and Anne-Galley and Industry, both from Dieppe. Deal, Feb. 19. Put back and came down the S. George, and William and Mary, both for Lisbon; Cane-wood for Barbadoes, Drake for New-England, John and Elizabeth for Jamaica, Hamden for S. Christophers, Sarah for Virginia, and Beckingham for Oporto. Deal, Feb. 20. The Outward-bound failed yesterday all to the Westward; but soon after came down the Nightingal [sic], Devonshire, and Enfield, all for the East-Indies and are still here. from The Post-Boy, Tuesday February 20 to Thursday February 22, 1721 It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good – English proverb tags: proverb | sea travel <link> post comment

The Baneful Habit; or, Keep taking the Nervous Cordial [9 April, 2008] SERIOUS AND IMPORTANT INFORMATION TO YOUTH OF BOTH SEXES A certain disorder which both sexes are strongly addicted to, which rages at the present period with dreadful violence, and that which renders it more lamentable is, its being of so particular a nature, that it will not permit the unhappy sufferers to discover their disorder, and often precipitates them to a very early age silently to the grave, i. e. Onanism, Genesis, chap. xxxviii. verse 9 and 10. “The Lord smote Onan with instant death.” ( More ) from The Courier and Evening Gazette, Saturday 1 August, 1795 Oh, I love research. And no, this wasn’t what I was looking for, at all. <link> 7 comments|post comment

More foolery [4 April, 2008] Following a query by artnouveauho I became interested in tracking down the earliest references to April Fool’s Day in England. (A nice frivolous little research project at the end of a hard week.) Right now the honour appears to fall to the anonymous author of S’too him, Bayes, or, Some observations upon the humour of writing Rehearsals transpros’d (1673), a polemical response to Andrew Marvell’s The Rehearsal Transpros’d: ‘Do’st thou take this to be the first of April when (they say) folks send fools of Errands?’ The parenthesis is interesting: it suggests to me a custom that is known but not universally established. Just over ten years later Miles Prance refers confidently to ‘the first of April (the day Fools are wont to be sent on Errands)’ (A Postscript to the Observators First Volumn (sic), 1684). Meanwhile the phrase 'April errand' had come into use, with the meaning of foolish or pointless errand; first reference 1681, in Notes upon Stephen College, a polemic by Sir Roger L'Estrange; later occurrences 1687, 1690. For what is apparently the first use of ‘April Fool’ see Congreve in 1687, quoted in the comments to my last post. In 1697 the satirist and hack Thomas Brown published a comedy, Physick lies a Bleeding, or the Apothecary turned Doctor, with the subtitle: ‘a Comedy, Acted every Day in most Apothecaries Shops in London. And more especially to be seen by Those who are willing to be cheated, the First of April, every Year’. In 1699 in A new dictionary of the canting crew (which covers slang as well as canting) the editor, ‘B. E.’, defines ‘Sleeveless-errand’ as ‘such as Fools are sent on, the first of April’. It’s clear from these last two records that by the end of the seventeenth century the custom of making ‘April fools’ out of people was very well known. The allusion in Brown’s title suggests that by that time, at least, it went beyond the practice of sending the gullible on silly errands, and embraced other ways of fooling them. It seems that in England fooling and the first of April became associated in the Restoration period. On the Continent it may well have had a longer history, but I don’t have the resources to check that up right now. At a guess I’d say it most likely came over to England with the members of Charles II’s court, returning out of exile. Update: Here’s a rather nice discovery. The 1702 edition of the almanac Merlinus Anglicus Junior, by Henry Coley, has under ‘Saints Days’ in April, 1: ‘All Fools Day.’ tags: folk custom <link> post comment

April Fools [1 April, 2008] Fooles Holy Day. Ovid’s Fastorum, lib. II. Lux quoque cur eadem Stultorum festa vocetur, [accipe].* We observe it on the first of April. And so it is kept in Germany everywhere. John Aubrey (1626–1697) from Remaines of Gentilisme and Judaisme (1688) *[Learn] why the same day (17th February) is also called the Feast of Fools. Ovid, Fasti, 2.513f tag: folk custom <link> 3 comments|post comment

The Corn Law Rhymer [25 March, 2008] A piece by Ian McMillan in the Guardian today mentions Ebenezer Elliott, the ‘Corn Law Rhymer’. I am not sure I have even heard of him before. A quick search on the web and two sites dedicated to him and his work pop up. This is the better one, with more of the poetry. I like this poem, from Corn Law Rhymes (1833): What is Bad Government? What is bad government, thou slave, Whom robbers represent? What is bad government, thou knave, Who lov’st bad government? It is the deadly Will, that takes What labour ought to keep; It is the deadly Power, that makes Bread dear, and labour cheap. Tells it like it is. The same issue of the Guardian tells me that ‘The price of food in Britain rose three times faster than the level of inflation last year.’ This is not a good time to be poor. The People’s Anthem When wilt Thou save the people? O God of mercy! when? Not kings and lords, but nations! Not thrones and crowns, but men! Flowers of Thy heart, O God, are they! Let them not pass, like weeds, away! Their heritage a sunless day!      God save the people! Shall crime bring crime for ever, Strength aiding still the strong? Is it Thy will, O Father! That man shall toil for wrong? ‘No!’ say Thy mountains; ‘No!’ Thy skies; ‘Man's clouded sun shall brightly rise, And songs be heard instead of sighs.’      God save the people! When whilt thou save the people? O God of mercy! when? The people, Lord! the people! Not thrones and crowns, but men! God save the people! Thine they are; Thy children, as Thy angels fair; Save them from bondage and despair!      God save the people! Ebenezer Elliott (1781–1849) <link> post comment

Hunting on Easter Monday [24 March, 2008] It had long before been customary, on Easter Monday, for the Mayor and his brethren, in their scarlet gowns, attended by their proper officers, in form, to go to a certain close, called Black-Annis’-Bower Close, parcel of, or bordering upon, Leicester Forest, to see the diversion of hunting, or rather the trailing of a cat before a pack of hounds: a custom, perhaps, originating out of a claim to the royalty of the forest. Hither, on a fair day, resorted the young and old, and those of all denominations. In the greatest harmony the spring was welcomed. The morning was spent in various amusements and athletic exercises, till a dead cat, about noon, was prepared by aniseed water, for commencing the mock hunting of the hare. In about half an hour, after the cat had been trailed at the tail of an horse, over the grounds, in zig-zag directions, the hounds were directed to the spot where the cat had been trailed from. Here the hounds gave tongue, in glorious concert. The people from the various eminences, who had placed themselves to behold the sight, with shouts of rapture, gave applause; the horsemen dashing after the hounds thro’ foul passages, and over fences, were emulous for taking the lead of their fellows. It was a scene, upon the whole, of joy, the governing and the governed in the habits of freedom, enjoying together an innocent and recreating amusement, serving to unite them in bonds of mutual friendship, rather than to embitter their days, with discord and disunion. As the cat had been trailed to the Mayor’s door, thro’ some of the principal streets, consequently the dogs and horsemen followed. After the hunt was over, the Mayor gave a handsome treat to his friends; in this manner the day ended. John Throsby (1740–1803) from The History and Antiquities of the Ancient Town of Leicester (1791) tag: folk custom <link> post comment

Mercury [23 March, 2008] So far 2008 has not been the best of years. January was bedevilled by distracting computer problems; much of February was spent trying to catch up with work that should have been done in January; then towards the end of the month my partner fell off a stepladder and broke her ankle. The hospital tells us it is healing well and straight, but she’ll be in plaster for several more weeks. A great deal of March has been spent running up and down stairs; also relearning to cook. (Left to my own devices, I tend to live on sandwiches, so usually my partner does the cooking.) A friend tells me that the trouble has all had something to do with Mercury turning retrograde in the early part of this year, and that things should be starting to look up. I guess I can see that if there is a god, or planet, in charge of computers it would be Mercury. I don't know about falling off ladders. Of Mercury, and his signification, nature and property. He is called Hermes, Stilbon, Cyllenius, Archas. … We may not call him either Masculine or Feminine, for he is either the one or other as joyned to any Planet; for if in Conjunction with a Masculine Planet, he becomes Masculine; if with a Feminine then Feminine, but of his own nature he is cold and dry, and therefore Melancholly; with the good he is good, with the evil Planets ill: in the Elements the Water; amongst the humours, the mixt, he rules the animall spirit: he is author of subtilty, tricks, devices, perjury, &c. Being well dignified, he represents a man of a subtill and politick brain, intellect, and cogitation; an excellent disputant or Logician, arguing with learning and discretion, and using much eloquence in his speech, a searcher into all kinds of Mysteries and Learning, sharp and witty, learning almost any thing without a Teacher; ambitious of being exquisite in every Science, desirous naturally of travell and seeing foraign parts: a man of an unwearied fancy, curious in the search of any occult knowledge; able by his own Genius to produce wonders; given to Divination and the more secret knowledge; if he turn Merchant, no man exceeds him in a way of Trade or invention of new wayes whereby to obtain wealth. [Manners when ill placed or dignified.] A troublesome wit, a kinde of Phrenetick man, his tongue and Pen against every man, wholly bent to foole his estate and time in prating and trying nice conclusions to no purpose; a great lyar, boaster, pratler, busibody, false, a tale-carrier, given to wicked Arts, as Necromancy, and such like ungodly knowledges; easie of beleef, an asse or very ideot, constant in no place or opinion, cheating and theeving every where; a newes-monger, pretending all manner of knowledge, but guilty of no true or solid learning; a trifler; a meer frantick fellow; if he prove a Divine, then a meer verball fellow, frothy, of no judgment, easily perverted, constant in nothing but idle words and bragging. … He generally signifies all literated men, Philosophers, Mathematicians, Astrologians, Merchants, Secretaries, Scriveners, Diviners, Sculptors, Poets, Orators, Advocates, School-masters, Stationers, Printers, Exchangers of Money, Atturneys, Emperours Embassadours, Commissioners, Clerks, Artificers, generally Accomptants, Solicitors, sometimes Theeves, pratling muddy Ministers, busie Sectaries, and they unlearned; Gramarians, Taylors, Carriers, Messengers, Foot-men, Userers. [Sicknesse.] All Vertigoes, Lethargies or giddinesse in the Head, Madnesse, either Lightnesse, or any Disease of the Brain; Ptisick,* all stammering and imperfection in the Tongue; vaine and fond Imaginations, all defects in the Memory, Hoarcenesse, dry Coughs, too much abundance of Spettle, all snaffling and snuffling in the Head or Nose; the Hand and Feet Gout, Dumnesse, Tongue-evil, all evils in the Fancy and intellectual parts. [Colours and Savours.] Mixed and new colours, the Gray mixed with Sky-colour, such as is on the Neck of the Stock-dove, Linsie-woolsie colours, or consisting of many colours mixed in one: Of Savours an hodg-podge of all things together, so that no one can give it any true name; yet usually such as doe quicken the Spirits, are subtill and penetrate, and in a manner insensible. Herbs attributed to Mercury, are known by the various colour of the flower, and love sandy barren places, they bear their seed in husks or cods, they smell rarely or subtilly, and have principall relation to the tongue, brain, lungs or memory; they dispel winde, and comfort the Annimall spirits, and open obstructions. Beanes, three leaved grasse, the Walnut and Walnut-tree; the Filbert-tree and Nut; the Elder-tree, Adders-tongue, Dragon-wort, Twopenny-grasse, Lungwort, Anniseeds, Cubebs, Marioran. What hearbs are used for the Muses and Divination, as Vervine, the Reed; of Drugs, Treacle, Hiera, Diambra. [Beasts.] The Hyaena, Ape, Fox, Squirrel, Weasel, the Spider, the Grayhound, the Hermophradite, being partaker of both sexes; all cunning creatures. [Birds.] The Lynnet, the Parrot, the Popinian,** the Swallow, the Pye, the Beetle, Pismires, Locusts, Bees, Serpent, the Crane. [Fishes.] The Forke-fish, Mullet. [Places.] Tradesmens-shops, Markets, Fayres, Schooles, Common Hals, Bowling-Allyes, Ordinaries,*** Tennis-Courts: [Minerals.] Quicksilver. [Stones.] The Milstone, Marchasite or fire-stone, the Achates, Topaz, Vitriol, all stones of divers colours. [Winds and Weather.] He delights in Windy, Stormy and Violent, Boistrous Weather, and stirs up that Wind which the Planet signifies to which he applyes; sometimes Raine, at other times Haile, Lightning, Thunder and Tempests, in hot Countries Earthquakes, but this must be observed really from the Signe and Season of the yeere. *Ptisick: phthisis, a wasting disease **Popinian: see below ***Ordinaries: eating-houses or taverns where meals were provided at a fixed price; men often met in them to do business, and/or engage in gambling games, both of which activities pertained to Mercury William Lilly (1602–1681) from Christian Astrology (1647) ‘Popinian’ is interesting. OED gives one citation only, from 1613: ‘I was loath such rare creatures should be ouer gudgeoned by so foule Popinians’, from an anti-Catholic polemic by Sir Edward Hoby, A counter-snarle for Ishmael Rabshacheh, a Cecropidan Lycaonite. OED declares that it is an obsolete nonce-word developed from ‘pope’ and meaning ‘A Roman Catholic’. The appearance in Lilly’s work shows it is not a nonce-word, and suggests that it is a name for some kind of bird, or, perhaps, insect. To ‘gudgeon’ is to cheat, defraud, trap; a creature that traps or tricks its victims would naturally be assigned to Mercury. Beyond this, I cannot go. tag: astrology <link> 2 comments|post comment

Mine spirits [2 March, 2008] Fascinating post by papersky on Thursday: The industrial ruins of elfland, about growing up in the post-industrial landscape of the South Wales valleys. In the woods, there were lots more ruins, much more ruined than the ironworks. We played that they were witch's cottages and giant's castles and fairy palaces and Hitler's last redoubt and the ruins of Angband. I still don't know what they were. They might have been eighteenth century workmen's cottages, but probably they were more ironworks, older ones. If they'd actually had magical inhabitants, they would have been kobolds. – papersky What she said reminded me of the following passage, but this has been a week of catastrophe and chaos and I have only just had time to look it up: We have in this County [Cardiganshire], several Silver and Leaden Mines, and nothing more ordinary* than some Subterranean Spirits, called Knockers (where a good Vein is) both heard, and after seen, little Statured, about half a yard long; this very instant, there are Miners, upon a Discovery of a Vein upon my own Lands, upon this score, and two offered Oath, they heard them in the Day-time. *ordinary: usual, common John Lewis JP, of Glascrug near Aberystwyth, writing in 1656 to Richard Baxter (1615–1691) from The Certainty of the Worlds of Spirits. Fully evinced by unquestionable Histories of Apparitions and Witchcrafts, Operations, Voices, &c. Proving the Immortality of Souls, the Malice and Miseries of the Devils and the Damned, and the Blessedness of the Justified. Written for the Conviction of Sadduces & Infidels. By Richard Baxter (1691) tags: folklore | apparition <link> 1 comment|post comment

The foundations of the earth shall be shaken [27 February, 2008] Concutientur fundamenta terrae. Confractione confringetur terra, Contritione conteretur terra, Commotione commovebitur terra; Agitatione agitabitur terra sicut ebrius, Et auferetur quasi tabernaculum unius noctis. * The foundations of the earth shall be shaken. The earth shall be shattered with breaking apart, the earth shall be pulverized with grinding, the earth shall be stirred into movement; the earth shall be impelled into motion, and move like a drunken man, and it shall be taken away like a tent that goes up just for one night. Isaiah 24:18–20 (Vulgate) trans Gillian Spraggs <link> post comment

Earth tremor [27 February, 2008] It’s two in the morning. I meant to go to bed about an hour ago. But at one o’clock, more or less dead on, the house began to vibrate, and then to shake, and shake worse, while I reminded myself that we don’t have serious earthquakes in England; but as the walls shook and the windows rattled and something fell off a shelf, I had to remind myself more firmly, and I was distinctly relieved when the juddering lessened and then quite rapidly died down. It was all over in less than two minutes, I should think. But after that, I didn’t feel sleepy. The BBC says that the epicentre was near Grimsby in Lincolnshire; that’s about 80 miles away, or a bit more. It was 5.1 on the Richter Scale; just slightly stronger than the 2002 tremor in the Midlands, which was 5. However, it seemed more violent than that one, and perhaps was, here. 5 comments|post comment

Sleep and love [25 February, 2008] When the lamp of Cynthia late Rises in her silver state, Through her brother’s roseate light, Blushing on the brows of night; Then the pure ethereal air Breathes with zephyr blowing fair; Clouds and vapours disappear. As with chords of lute or lyre, Soothed the spirits now respire, And the heart revives again Which once more for love is fain. But the orient evening star Sheds with influence kindlier far Dews of sweet sleep on the eye Of o’er-tired mortality. Oh, how blessed to take and keep Is the antidote of sleep! Sleep that lulls the storms of care And of sorrow unaware, Creeping through the closed doors Of the eyes, and through the pores Breathing bliss so pure and rare That with love it may compare. Then the god of dreams doth bring To the mind some restful thing, Breezes soft that rippling blow O’er ripe cornfields row by row, Murmuring rivers round whose brim Silvery sands the swallows skim, Or the drowsy circling sound Of old mill-wheels going round, Which with music steal the mind And the eyes in slumber bind. When the deeds of love are done Which bland Venus had begun, Languor steals with pleasant strain Through the chambers of the brain, Eyes ’neath eyelids gently tired Swim and seek the rest desired. How deliriously at last Into slumber love hath passed! But how sweeter yet the way Which leads love again to play! From the soothed limbs upward spread Glides a mist divinely shed, Which invades the heart and head: Drowsily it veils the eyes, Bending toward sleep’s paradise, And with curling vapour round Fills the lids, the senses swound, Till the visual ray is bound By those ministers which make Life renewed in man awake. Underneath the leafy shade Of a tree in quiet laid, While the nightingale complains Singing of her ancient pains, Sweet it is still hours to pass, But far sweeter on the grass With a buxom maid to play All a summer’s holiday. When the scent of herb and flower Breathes upon the silent hour, When the rose with leaf and bloom Spreads a couch of pure perfume, Then the grateful boon of sleep Falls with satisfaction deep, Showering dews our eyes above, Tired with honeyed strife of love. In how many moods the mind Of poor lovers, weak and blind, Wavers like the wavering wind! As a ship in darkness lost, Without anchor tempest-tossed, So with hope and fear imbued It roams in great incertitude Love’s tempestuous ocean-flood. from Carmina Burana (early 13th century) trans John Addington Symonds (1840–1893) in Wine, Women, and Song: Mediaeval Latin Students’ Songs Thanks to Project Gutenberg, without which I might never have stumbled across this fine translation of one of the finest secular Latin poems of the Middle Ages. (Latin text here.) <link> 1 comment|post comment

Some points in grammar [21 February, 2008] New York has been celebrating the semicolon; a development as welcome as it is unexpected. According to the New York Times, an announcement about the disposal of newspapers, posted on the city's subway, which was to have read: "Please put it in a trash can, that's good news for everyone" was amended by some scholarly hand in the marketing department to insert a semicolon in place of its comma. Congratulations have followed, and rightly; it is usually seen as bad practice to join two sentences together with a mere comma, that is something only the semi-literate do. — The Guardian Very neat. Very snide. I have to admit, it made me laugh. Among the signs that more particularly betray the uneducated writer is inability to see when a comma is not a sufficient stop. Unfortunately little more can be done than to warn beginners that any serious slip here is much worse than they will probably suppose, and recommend them to observe the practice of good writers. It is roughly true that grammatically independent sentences should be parted by at least a semicolon; but … there are very large exceptions to this … These we shall only be able to indicate very loosely. There are three conditions that may favour the reduction of the semicolon to a comma: (1) Those coordinating conjunctions which are most common tend in the order of their commonness to be humble, and to recognize a comma as sufficient for their dignity. The order may perhaps be given as: and, or, but, so, nor, for; conjunctions less common than these should scarcely ever be used with less than a semicolon; and many good writers would refuse to put a mere comma before for. (2) Shortness and lightness of the sentence joined on helps to lessen the need for a heavy stop. (3) Intimate connexion in thought with the preceding sentence has the same effect. Henry Watson Fowler (1858–1933) and Francis George Fowler (1870–1918) from The King’s English (3rd edition, 1931) Pronouns & pronominal adjectives are rather tricky than difficult. Those who go wrong over them do so from heedlessness … It is enough to state the dangers very shortly … 1. There must be a principal in existence for the pronoun or proxy to act for. 2. The principal should not be very far off. 3. There should not be two parties justifying even a momentary doubt about which the pronoun represents … H. W. Fowler from A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) tag: grammar <link> post comment

The apple of gold hangs over the sea [18 February, 2008] I came across this poem when I was about thirteen, and loved it. The longing to be Somewhere Else was very powerful then, and the Garden of the Hesperides was high on my list of desirable places. The Hesperides The Northwind fall’n, in the newstarrèd night Zidonian Hanno, voyaging beyond The hoary promontory of Soloë Past Thymiaterion, in calmèd bays, Between the Southern and the Western Horn, Heard neither warbling of the nightingale, Nor melody o’ the Lybian lotusflute Blown seaward from the shore; but from a slope That ran bloombright into the Atlantic blue, Beneath a highland leaning down a weight Of cliffs, and zoned below with cedarshade, Came voices, like the voices in a dream, Continuous, till he reached the outer sea. SONG   I The golden apple, the golden apple, the hallowed fruit, Guard it well, guard it warily, Singing airily, Standing about the charmèd root. Round about all is mute, As the snowfield on the mountain-peaks, As the sandfield at the mountain-foot. Crocodiles in briny creeks Sleep and stir not: all is mute. If ye sing not, if ye make false measure, We shall lose eternal pleasure, Worth eternal want of rest. Laugh not loudly: watch the treasure Of the wisdom of the West. In a corner wisdom whispers. Five and three (Let it not be preached abroad) make an awful mystery. For the blossom unto three-fold music bloweth; Evermore it is born anew; And the sap to three-fold music floweth, From the root Drawn in the dark, Up to the fruit, Creeping under the fragrant bark, Liquid gold, honeysweet thro’ and thro’. Keen-eyed Sisters, singing airily, Looking warily Every way, Guard the apple night and day, Lest one from the East come and take it away. ( More ) Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892) from ‘The Hesperides’ tag: Hesperides <link> post comment

I wish I were somewhere else... [17 February, 2008] January was not a good month. No catastrophes or serious disasters, but rather a lot of vexation, stress and hassle. (February has been better, though I have been struggling to catch up with Stuff.) Anyway, throughout January poetry about Wishing to Be Somewhere Else kept floating into the back of my head, and notably the following Chorus from Euripides’ Hippolytus. Which I have always wanted to translate properly, so this weekend I indulged myself. The Chorus of Women of Troezen see that catastrophe threatens: I wish I were up in the high cliffs hidden inside some secret hole: that God would turn me to a feathered bird among the flying flocks; and I would soar above the sea-swell of the Adriatic coasts and the delta of the Po, where, grieving for Phaethon, the Sun’s unhappy daughters drop amber-gleaming tears into the purple wave. And if I could I’d make my way to the coast of the singing Hesperides where the apples grow; beyond that point the lord of the purple sea gives sailors no further passage, but I’d press on and come to the awe-compelling boundary of the sky, held up by giant Atlas; springs of ambrosia flow past the couches in the house of Zeus, and there the hallowed earth, giver of life, bestows increase of blessings on the gods. Euripides (c. 485–c. 406 BCE) from Hippolytus (428 BCE) trans. Gillian Spraggs © Gillian Spraggs, 2007 By most people’s standards I am not well travelled; but long ago I saw the Aegean in the evening light, and at that time of day it is indeed purple, or so it seemed to me. tags: otherworld journey | Hesperides <link> 3 comments|post comment

The language of finance [3 January, 2008] Bubbles. Financial schemes resting on no solid foundation, which promise well for a time, and cause much money to change hands, till their rottenness is discovered, and the schemes collapse, involving their victims in irremediable loss and sometimes ruin. The South Sea Scheme, and John Law’s Mississippi Bonds are historical examples. The popular notion that schemes of this kind were called bubbles from their hollowness and unsoundness is a complete inversion of the truth. The word “bubble” or “bobbel” meant formerly to deceive, to cheat, to confuse, and the familiar soap-bubble derived its name from its inflated and bulky appearance, and because when pricked it proved itself a hollow cheat.* Run upon a Bank. When in times of civil commotion, or foreign complications, the masses of the people become alarmed for the safety of their money at the bank, or the convertibility of the notes issued by the bank, it is not unusual for them to rush panic-stricken and withdraw their deposits, or demand gold for their notes. When such a phenomenon occurs, it is technically called a “run” upon the bank. *False etymology. OED shows that bubble is onomatopoeic in origin, and what Bithell dismisses as ‘the popular notion’ is, in fact, correct. Richard Bithell (fl. 1882–1903) from A Counting-House Dictionary (3rd impression, 1892) <link> post comment

Levy dew [2 January, 2008] In my mildly obsessive way, I have continued to ponder the phrase ‘levez dew’ or ‘levez dew’. papersky in a comment on my last entry suggests it is French – well, in the earlier form it certainly looks very much like it – and interprets it as ‘levez d’eau’, lift the water. laughingmagpie came to the same conclusion independently, and gives an interesting link to an account of the New Year’s Day Levee celebrations held in Canada. artnouveauho has come up with an additional account of the rhyme and the associated custom, which mentions an attempt to find a Welsh origin for the phrase. My thanks to all of you. I do very much suspect that ‘levez/levy dew’ is a bit of corrupted Welsh. I have been thumbing through my Welsh dictionaries and grammars. Far and away my best guess is ‘llifo dŵr’, ‘the flowing of the water’, or ‘the welling up of the water’. But my Welsh grammar may be all wrong, or I may be assuming an unlikely pattern of sound changes. Now what, I wonder, are ‘the seven bright gold wires’ and the shining bugles? UPDATE: I talked to a native Welsh speaker on the phone last night (she was my English teacher in school, long ago): she wasn’t totally dismissive of my theory, but corrected my grammar. In modern Welsh, anyway, ‘the flowing of the water’ would be ‘llifo’r dŵr’. She suggested ‘llif y dŵr’, ‘the flow of the water’. (Now if you put ‘llifo’r dŵr’ into Google you don’t find any examples of it turning up; but there are over 150 instances of ‘llif y dŵr’, which is much closer to ‘levy dew’ anyway.) But papersky doubts whether the sound changes will work, and reminds me that the Normans colonised Wales and left Norman-French place names and other relics. She knows a huge amount more about this than I, who am just an English tourist and smatterer. The Welsh friend I talked to last night told me about lots of New Year customs that were in use when she was a child, many of which she still keeps up each year. Her brother did not carry round water from the well, but he did go out just after midnight and make useful amounts of pocket money as what the Scots call a ‘first-footer’. Meanwhile, she wasn’t allowed to go out until after midday, to ensure she did not inadvertently bring bad luck on a neighbour, being a girl. (This was in the forties.) Her grandmother used to put oranges or tangerines on three sticks and give one to everyone who was in the house as a New Year’s gift, a ‘calennig’; the shining golden fruit represents the sun, of course. My friend still does this every year, though she has lived in England for decades. (She may be one of the last people still doing this.) The boys like her brother who went round bringing luck sang songs at the doors, like Christmas carols; she translated a couple for me, but I didn’t note them down. She said sometimes whole groups went round, like glee parties. I wonder whether in the past they took instrumentalists with them? That would explain the shining bugles. One thing I thought was a bit of a pity: she knew the ‘levy dew’ song, of course, having come across it in anthologies. But she didn’t know till I told her that it had been collected in Wales, so thoroughly has it been separated from its roots and turned into a quaint, deracinated ‘traditional rhyme’. I didn’t know where it had come from myself, until I started digging into the matter on New Year’s Day. Anyway, she was intrigued and delighted to hear about its origins. 4 comments|post comment

New Year Song [1 January, 2008] Here we bring new water From the well so clear, For to worship God with This happy New Year. Sing levez dew, sing levez dew, The water and the wine; The seven bright gold wires And the bugles they do shine. Sing reign of Fair Maid With gold upon her toe,— Open you the West Door, And let the Old Year go. Sing reign of Fair Maid, With gold upon her chin, Open you the East Door And let the New Year in. Traditional Collected in South Wales and first recorded in 1848 The version above was published in Notes and Queries on 3 January 1852. The correspondent cites an article published in The Athenaeum on 5 February 1848. I haven’t had a chance to look up the Athenaeum article. The correspondent to NQ states that it is ‘a song sung by the children in South Wales on New Year’s morning, when carrying a jug of water newly drawn from the well’. A slightly different version was collected by the American folklore collector Wirt Sikes in Pembrokeshire and published by him in about 1880. He says: ‘As soon as it is light children of the peasantry hasten to provide a small cup of pure spring-water, just from the well, and go about sprinkling the faces of those they meet, with the aid of a sprig of evergreen. At the same time they sing the following verses’ &c. For Sikes’s version, see here. The only important difference is that the puzzling phrase ‘levez dew’ becomes the equally puzzling ‘levy dew’. The rhyme was popularised by Walter de la Mare, who included it in his popular anthology Come Hither (1923). He printed Sikes’s text, with a bit of tidying up, but gave no details of provenance. From there it found its way into innumerable poetry anthologies, in one of which I first read it, long ago. The folklorist Christina Hole has a long entry in her Dictionary of British Folk Customs (1976) under the heading ‘New Year Water’. She states that in many parts of Britain special qualities were attributed to the first water drawn on New Year’s Day from any well, pond or stream. It was supposed to be lucky, and people competed to be first at the well to obtain it. She gives a detailed account of the Welsh custom, and a text of the song that is close to that of Sikes, with very minor variants. She says the custom was in use in South Wales until almost the end of the nineteenth century, and that in addition to sprinkling people’s faces, as described by Sikes, the children (boys, she says) would take the water from house to house. If they were allowed in, they would sprinkle some of the water in every room, meanwhile singing their song. For this they were rewarded with money, often very generously. Nice. I didn’t know before that the song was about bringing luck for the coming year; or if I did, I had forgotten it. The water-sprinkling implies purification: that is, it brings luck because it purges evil, blight and bane. The rite seems to have pagan origins (much more clearly than many British folk customs that are commonly described as pagan). At least, it is hard to understand the Fair Maid as anything other than a goddess, reborn into youth and beauty at the turn of the year. The line ‘For to worship God with’ has clearly been introduced to the song to disarm the objections of parsons and puritans to a superstitious and heathen custom. The puzzling part is stanza two, with its ‘levez/levy dew’, gold wires, bugles &c. It is more or less meaningless, therefore it is corrupt, therefore at some point in the transmission the singers stopped understanding what they were singing and sang something that sounded vaguely like what they had received from earlier generations. I wish I knew what that was. tags: folklore | custom <link> 8 comments|post comment

They’re stealing our Christmas! [27 December, 2007] I came across this a few weeks ago and meant to post it on Christmas Eve, but as it turned out, Christmas Eve was Just One of Those Days. So I shall post it now. During the English Civil War, Parliament ordered an end to the church festivals, including Christmas and Easter: they considered them to be popish and heathenish observances, which had no place in a Christian commonwealth. Accordingly, in 1647 the local authorities in many parts of England made a special point of ordering that Christmas Day should be treated as an ordinary working day. This met with considerable resentment, and in some places with serious resistance; nowhere more than in Canterbury. (Note: ‘Major’ is a variant form of mayor.) Upon Wednesday, Decemb. 22. the Cryer of Canterbury by the appointment of Master Major, openly proclaimed, that Christmas day, and all other Superstitious Festivals should be put downe, and that a Market should be kept upon Christmas day. ... The Major being slighted, & his Commands observed (only of a few) who opened their Shops, to the number of 12 at the most: They were commanded by the multitude to shut up again, but refusing to obey, their ware was thrown up and down, and they at last forced to shut in. The Major and his assistants used their best endeavour to qualifie the tumult, but the fire being once kindled, was not easily quenched. The Sheriffe laying hold of a fellow, was stoutly resisted; which the Major perceiving, took a Cudgell, and strook the man: who being not puny, pulled up his spirit, and knockt down the Major, whereby his Cloak was much torne and durty, besides the hurt he received. The Major hereupon made strict Proclamation for keeping the Peace, and that every man depart to his own house. The multitude hollowing thereat, in disorderly manner; the Aldermen and Constables caught two or three of the rout, and sent them to the Jaile, but they soon broke loose, and Jeered Master Alderman. Soon after issued forth the Commanders of this Rabble, with an addition of Souldiers into the high streete, and brought with them two Foot-bales,* whereby their company increased. Which the Major and Aldermen perceiving took what prisoners they had got, and would have carried them to the Jayle. But the multitude following after to the Kings Bench, were opposed by Captain Bridg, who was straight knockt down and had his head broke in two places, not being able to withstand the multitude, who getting betwixt him and the Jayle, rescued their fellowes, and beat the Major and Aldermen into their houses, and then cried conquest. [The next day was Sunday, and things went quiet, but there was more trouble on the Monday and Tuesday. The mayor, among others, had his windows broken and several people were hurt. By Monday night the rioters were up in arms and in full control of the city. Peace was eventually made by some of the more moderate local notables, on a promise that none of the rioters would be punished. In the event, the puritans failed to honour this agreement and had some of the rioters tried at the assizes, but the charges were thrown out by the grand juries. However, the resentments aroused by the whole episode played a large part in sparking off the Kentish Uprising of 1648.] *footballs. A Citizen of Canterbury from Canterbury Christmas (1648) <link> post comment

Io Saturnalia! [19 December, 2007] Greetings of the season to my friends online. I am still passionate about calligraphy. In the last few months I have begun to use a quill pen – magic. I bought my first quill ready-made from Cornelissens’, the best art shop in London. In the last few weeks I have started making my own – our local farm shop has been most generous with turkey wing feathers – but I don’t think I have the manufacturing process totally licked just yet. It’s something to go on playing with in the New Year. The first line of the inscription was written with a reed pen (also bought from Cornelissens’) but though it is the authentic instrument for the script, it was a bit of a pig to write with; not like the quill, which is wonderfully responsive. Click on the image to see a larger version. 2 comments|post comment

In memoriam [16 December, 2007] In memory of Lance Corporal Henry Hoad (1897–1917): for whose short history see desperance’s journal here and here. ‘All the hills and vales along’ All the hills and vales along Earth is bursting into song, And the singers are the chaps Who are going to die perhaps. O sing, marching men, Till the valleys ring again. Give your gladness to earth’s keeping, So be glad, when you are sleeping. Cast away regret and rue, Think what you are marching to. Little live, great pass. Jesus Christ and Barabbas Were found the same day. This died, that went his way. So sing with joyful breath, For why, you are going to death. Teeming earth will surely store All the gladness that you pour. Earth that never doubts nor fears, Earth that knows of death, not tears, Earth that bore with joyful ease Hemlock for Socrates, Earth that blossomed and was glad ’Neath the cross that Christ had, Shall rejoice and blossom too When the bullet reaches you. Wherefore, men marching On the road to death, sing! Pour your gladness on earth’s head, So be merry, so be dead. From the hills and valleys earth Shouts back the sound of mirth, Tramp of feet and lilt of song Ringing all the road along. All the music of their going, Ringing, swinging, glad song-throwing, Earth will echo still, when foot Lies numb and voice mute. On, marching men, on To the gates of death with song. Sow your gladness for earth’s reaping, So you may be glad, though sleeping. Strew your gladness on earth’s bed, So be merry, so be dead. Charles Sorley (1895–1915) <link> 5 comments|post comment

Frost [13 December, 2007] There was a heavy frost last night. This afternoon, when I went walking in the fields and beside the canal, there was still thick ice in the ruts of the paths. I missed frost very much last winter. Frost at Midnight The Frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind. The owlet’s cry Came loud—and hark, again! loud as before. The inmates of my cottage, all at rest, Have left me to that solitude, which suits Abstruser musings: save that at my side My cradled infant slumbers peacefully. ’Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs And vexes meditation with its strange And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood, This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood, With all the numberless goings-on of life, Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not; Only that film, which fluttered on the grate, Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing. Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature Gives it dim sympathies with me who live, Making it a companionable form, Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit By its own moods interprets, every where Echo or mirror seeking of itself, And makes a toy of Thought.                                                 But O! how oft, How oft, at school, with most believing mind, Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars, To watch that fluttering stranger!* and as oft With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower, Whose bells, the poor man’s only music, rang From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day, So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear Most like articulate sounds of things to come! So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt, Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams! And so I brooded all the following morn, Awed by the stern preceptor’s face, mine eye Fixed with mock study on my swimming book: Save if the door half opened, and I snatched A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up, For still I hoped to see the stranger’s face, Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved, My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!       Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side, Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, Fill up the interspersèd vacancies And momentary pauses of the thought! My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart With tender gladness, thus to look at thee, And think that thou shalt learn far other lore, And in far other scenes! For I was reared In the great city, pent ’mid cloisters dim, And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars. But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds, Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible Of that eternal language, which thy God Utters, who from eternity doth teach Himself in all, and all things in himself. Great universal Teacher! he shall mould Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.       Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee, Whether the summer clothe the general earth With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall Heard only in the trances of the blast, Or if the secret ministry of frost Shall hang them up in silent icicles, Quietly shining to the quiet Moon. *alludes to a popular superstition: when a flake of filmy soot attached itself to the bars of a grate, it was called a ‘stranger’, because it was believed to foretell a visit by someone coming from a distance Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834) <link> 1 comment|post comment

Copyright [11 December, 2007] I became a copyright geek ten years ago when I edited a poetry anthology.* It was part of the requirements of the job at the time, but I found copyright law fairly interesting. Recently I have been noting signs that some authors are starting to get restless about the frequent breaches of their copyrights on the web. In October Ursula K. Le Guin took issue publicly with Cory Doctorow when he posted a short spoof by her on the site boingboing without asking her permission. Her complaint is here, his less than full apology is here, and the spoof (which is great fun) is still on her website here. Notwithstanding what Cory Doctorow says in his apology, he is legally entirely in the wrong and she is in the right. Under US law ‘fair use’ cannot be stretched to cover the unlicensed reprint of an entire short work: even a very very short work.** (The same is true of the equivalent concept in UK copyright law, ‘fair dealing’.) Meanwhile, some of the snide comments that were made about Le Guin in blogs around that time struck me as pretty disturbing. She has not been in any way unreasonable. She is just a writer keeping careful hold of her rights in her own creation. On Saturday the English poet Wendy Cope sounded off in the Guardian about people who post her poems on the web without permission. Once again, she is legally in the right. One of the tests of ‘fair use’ (or ‘fair dealing’) is whether the unauthorised reproduction of a copyright text damages its market value. If Wendy Cope's poems are all over the web for free, she is much less likely to be paid money by an anthologist or a magazine editor (say) for licences to reprint any of them. Wendy Cope is a freelance writer. Licence fees are a bread-and-butter matter as far as she is concerned. For quite a while now I have been expecting to hear that someone out there was starting to track textual copyright violations on the web using a dedicated program, with the aim of extracting licence fees from the (usually well-meaning and unaware) violators. Technically, it seemed such an obvious move. So I wasn’t surprised in September to read about Attributor, a company that is doing exactly that. If they get their business fully established, at some point there are going to be a lot of rather upset people digging into their pockets or going to court. Both as a writer and a reader I am not really happy about that idea. It will inevitably stir up antagonisms and suspicions between readers and writers that mostly aren’t there at the present. At the same time, I do think there are a lot of readers who need to educate themselves better on the legal principles, and grasp the fact that writers have property in the work they create. *** There is still another species of property, which, being grounded on labour and invention, is more properly reducible to the head of occupancy than any other; since the right of occupancy itself is supposed by Mr. Locke, and many others, to be founded on the personal labour of the occupant. And this is the right, which an author may be supposed to have in his own original literary compositions: so that no other person without his leave may publish or make profit of the copies. When a man by the exertion of his rational powers has produced an original work, he has clearly a right to dispose of that identical work as he pleases, and any attempt to take it from him, or vary the disposition he has made of it, is an invasion of his right of property. Now the identity of a literary composition consists intirely in the sentiment and the language; the same conceptions, cloathed in the same words, must necessarily be the same composition: and whatever method be taken of conveying that composition to the ear or the eye of another, by recital, by writing, or by printing, in any number of copies or at any period of time, it is always the identical work of the author which is so conveyed; and no other man can have a right to convey or transfer it without his consent, either tacitly or expressly given. William Blackstone (1723–1780) from Commentaries on the Laws of England (Book II, 1766) *Love Shook My Senses. Lesbian Love Poems (The Women’s Press, 1998). I recently exercised my contractual right as editor to buy and dispose of some remainder copies (I really didn’t want them to be pulped): enquire using this form here for the cheapest mint copies available (£5 including p&p within the UK; a bit more than that to send overseas, depending on destination). **There is a good statement of the US law on fair use here. <link> 4 comments|post comment

The pleasant Isle of Avès [8 December, 2007] Well, I find a small amount of reassurance in the fact that Samina Malik is not going to jail. Writing bad poetry about sawing people’s heads off and calling oneself the ‘Lyrical Terrorist’ might reasonably be regarded as offences against taste; the idea that they are enough to get you investigated by the cops – let alone convicted of a ‘terrorist offence’ – utterly appals me. Poetry is in the news this week. The school inspectors are concerned that English children in primary schools are ‘studying too many lightweight poems’. The article reminded me of a tattered treasure of mine which usually rests quietly on a high shelf: A Book of Verse for Boys and Girls. Compiled by J. C. Smith. Part III. I have owned it for more than forty-five years, and it was already about forty years old when I acquired it. I was in the first or second year of junior school (aged about eight) when the Headmaster decided it was time to clear the stockroom of textbooks that were no longer used. So they laid out all the redundant books on long trestle tables and we children, a form at a time, filed past and chose one book each to keep. (These days they would probably go for paper salvage, if not landfill; but that was a thriftier time.) As soon as I saw this single dirty, disintegrating paperback with the words ‘TEACHER'S COPY’ scribbled on the cover, my heart leaped up, and I grabbed it. Not that there was any competition for it, as I recall. It really is a scruffy, unprepossessing object. But it was the magic word ‘verse’ in the title – poetry! More poems! Over the next few years, I thumbed it and cherished it into further decrepitude. It was in this book I first found The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, which terrified and fascinated me, and entered deeply into my soul; also Kubla Khan, La Belle Dame Sans Merci, The Lake Isle of Innisfree, Tennyson’s Morte d’Arthur and Blow, bugle, blow; a good selection of border ballads, including Thomas the Rhymer and The Wife of Usher’s Well; a judicious choice of Wordsworth; quite a lot of Scott (but I liked it); Lord Macaulay – out of fashion now, but stirring stuff for a child: I liked the stirring stuff. A few of the poems are weak and long forgotten, but most are true classics. Some went way over my head; I don’t recall getting much out of Milton’s L’Allegro and Il Penseroso at that age. But I liked On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity. No one will love this book after me. My heirs will put it in the bin. The only reason to give it house room is the memories it holds. The Last Buccaneer Oh England is a pleasant place for them that’s rich and high; But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I; And such a port for mariners I ne’er shall see again As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main. There were forty craft in Avès that were both swift and stout, All furnished well with small arms and cannons round about; And a thousand men in Avès made laws so fair and free To choose their valiant captains and obey them loyally. Thence we sailed against the Spaniard with his hoards of plate and gold, Which he wrung by cruel tortures from Indian folk of old; Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts as hard as stone, Who flog men and keel-haul them, and starve them to the bone. ( More ) Charles Kingsley (1819–1875) <link> 7 comments|post comment

Society’s blueprint [30 November, 2007] I shall be at London Metropolitan Archives’ annual LGBT History and Archives Conference tomorrow. (I gather there are still some places, if anyone reading this is interested, though I realise that that is a very long shot. 9.30 at the St Bride Foundation, Bride Lane, Fleet Street; the fee a very reasonable £10.) The theme this year is families, and the title is ‘Let’s Pretend!’ – plainly an allusion to Section 28 of infamous memory, now repealed (‘A local authority shall not ... promote the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship.’) I am leading a discussion session, so to prepare for this I have been digging a little into some recent cultural history. The following is from the Gay Liberation Front Manifesto, London 1971: In our mistaken, placating efforts to be accepted and tolerated, we’ve too often submitted to the pressures to conform to the straightjacket of society's rules and hang ups about sex. ... We do not deny that it is as possible for gay couples as for some straight couples to live happily and constructively together. We question however as an ideal, the finding and settling down eternally with one ‘right’ partner. This is the blueprint of the straight world which gay people have taken over. It is inevitably a parody, since they haven’t even the justification of straight couples—the need to provide a stable environment for their children (though in any case we believe that the suffocating small family unit is by no means the best atmosphere for bringing up children). Monogamy is usually based on ownership—the woman sells her services to the man in return for security for herself and her children—and is entirely bound up in the man’s idea of property furthermore in our society the monogamous couple, with or without children, is an isolated, shut-in, up-tight unit, suspicious of and hostile to outsiders. And though we don’t lay down rules or tell gay people how they should behave in bed or in their relationships, we do want them to question society’s blueprint for the couple. The blueprint says ‘we two against the world’, and that can be protective and comforting. But it can also be suffocating, leading to neurotic dependence and underlying hostility, the emotional dishonesty of staying in the comfy safety of the home and garden, the security and narrowness of the life built for two, with the secret guilt of fancying someone else while remaining in thrall to the idea that true love lasts a lifetime—as though there were a ration of relationships, and to want more than one were greedy. Not that sexual fidelity is necessarily wrong; what is wrong is the inturned emotional exclusiveness of the couple which stunts the partners so they can no longer operate at all as independent beings in society. People need a variety of relationships in order to develop and grow, and to learn about other human beings. It is especially important for gay people to stop copying straight—we are the ones who have the best opportunities to create a new lifestyle and if we don’t, no one else will. Also, we need one another more than straight people do, because we are equals suffering under an insidious oppression from a society too primitive to come to terms with the freedom we represent. Singly, or isolated in couples, we are weak—the way society wants us to be. Society cannot put us down so easily if we fuse together. We have to get together, understand one another, live together. Two ways we can do this are by developing consciousness-raising groups and gay communes. Our gay communes and collectives must not be mere convenient living arrangements or worse, just extensions of the gay ghetto. They must be a focus of consciousness-raising (ie. raising or increasing our awareness of our real oppression) and of gay liberation activity, a new focal point for members of the gay community. It won’t be easy, because this society is hostile to communal living. And besides the practical hang-ups of finding money and a place large enough for a collective to live in, there are our own personal hang-ups: we have to change our attitudes to our personal property, to our lovers, to our day-to day priorities in work and leisure, even to our need for privacy. ---------------------------------------- H’m. After thirty-six years of organising and campaigning, where have we arrived? Civil partnerships legislation. Not, I have to admit, that I think I would be happy in a commune. I like private space, peace and quiet, and solitude – lots and lots of solitude. <link> 1 comment|post comment

And all to see what could be seen [23 November, 2007] The heron flew east, the heron flew west, The heron flew to the fair forest; She flew o’er streams and meadows green, And a’ to see what could be seen: And when she saw the faithful pair, Her breast grew sick, her head grew sair; For there she saw a lovely bower, Was a’ clad o’er wi’ lilly-flower; And in the bower there was a bed With silken sheets, and weel down spread; And in the bed there lay a knight, Whose wounds did bleed both day and night; And by that bed there stood a stane, And there was set a leal* maiden, With silver needle and silken thread, Stemming the wounds when they did bleed. *loyal Traditional Scots James Hogg (1770–1835) [‘the Ettrick Shepherd’] learned this from his mother and published it in The Mountain Bard (1807). It is derived from a sixteenth-century English original, ‘The Corpus Christi Carol’. <link> post comment

The curse of drinking tea [22 November, 2007] Before I proceed to give any directions about brewing, let me mention some of the inducements to do the thing. In former times, to set about to show to Englishmen that it was good for them to brew beer in their houses would have been as impertinent as gravely to insist, that they ought to endeavour not to lose their breath; for, in those times (only forty years ago), to have a house and not to brew was a rare thing indeed. Mr. Ellman, an old man and a large farmer, in Sussex, has recently given in evidence, before a Committee of the House of Commons, this fact; that, forty years ago, there was not a labourer in his parish that did not brew his own beer; and that now, there is not one that does it, except by chance the malt be given him. The causes of this change have been the lowering of the wages of labour, compared with the price of provisions, by the means of the paper-money, the enormous tax upon the barley when made into malt; and the increased tax upon hops. These have quite changed the customs of the English people as to their drink. They still drink beer, but in general it is of the brewing of common brewers, and in public-houses, of which the common brewers have become the owners, and have thus, by the aid of paper-money, obtained a monopoly in the supplying of the great body of the people with one of those things which, to the hard-working man, is almost a necessary of life. *** The drink which has come to supply the place of beer has, in general, been tea. It is notorious that tea has no useful strength in it; that it contains nothing nutricious; that it, besides being good for nothing, has badness in it, because it is well known to produce want of sleep in many cases, and in all cases, to shake and weaken the nerves. It is, in fact, a weaker kind of laudanum, which enlivens for the moment and deadens afterwards. At any rate it communicates no strength to the body; it does not in any degree assist in affording what labour demands. It is, then, of no use. *** I view the tea drinking as a destroyer of health, an enfeebler of the frame, an engenderer of effeminacy and laziness, a debaucher of youth, and a maker of misery for old age. ... The tea drinking has done a great deal in bringing this nation into the state of misery in which it now is; and the tea drinking, which is carried on by “dribs” and “drabs;” by pence and farthings going out at a time; this miserable practice has been gradually introduced by the growing weight of the taxes on Malt and on Hops, and by the everlasting penury amongst the labourers, occasioned by the paper-money. We see better prospects, however, and therefore let us now rouse ourselves, and shake from us the degrading curse, the effects of which have been much more extensive and infinitely more mischievous than men in general seem to imagine. William Cobbett (1762–1835) from Cottage Economy (1823) tag: social history <link> 4 comments|post comment

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