Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta months. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta months. Mostrar todas las entradas

lunes, 31 de octubre de 2022

ANALYSIS OF SPENSER'S MUTABILITIE CANTOS

 The first month to proceed is March, most closely affiliated with war, and hence with epic. He is armed as a warrior, yet curiously sows the earth as he proceeds, generating not the glory and heroism of epic, but rather the abundance and fertility of pastoral. April is happily dressed for love:

Next came fresh April full of lustyhead,
  And wanton as a kid whose horn new buds:
  Upon a Bull he rode, the same which led
  Europa floating through the Argolic floods:
  His horns were gilded all with golden studs
  And garnished with garlands goodly dight
  Of all the fairest flowers and freshest buds
  Which the earth brings forth, and wet he seemed in sight
With waves, through which he waded for his love's delight. (VII.vii.33)

The focus on dressing in this representation of April is interesting in that he is a stylistically embellished object of art (riding on a bull with varnished and gilded horns); yet April also gestures to epic in Spenser’s reference to the story of Europa. The other seasons are similarly dressed. May is also artistically adorned with flowers (as are the horns of the mount of “lusty” April). May is also generative, throwing flowers all around as she proceeds. She also inspires laughter in the living things that she passes: “Lord! how all creatures laughed, when her they spied, / And leapt and danced as they had ravished been!” (VII.vii.34). This construction is an interesting paradox in regards to the manner in which Dame Mutabilitie is construed earlier in the poem, as the agent of death. June is dressed as an actor on a stage (here, on the stage of Spenser’s poem): “All in green leaves, as he a Player were; / Yet in his time he wrought as well as played” (VII.vii.35). June’s status as both an artist and an actor gestures to the artistic subject of the poem, and comedy ensues as Spenser places him atop a crab (appropriate for the subsequent zodiac sign of Cancer) walking backwards in “crooked crawling steps.” 

July follows, similarly suggesting inspired creation in his generative virility, for he proceeds while ripping off his clothes (because of the heat of the month), and riding on a raging lion. August retains clothing, for he is “rich arrayed” in “gold” and foreshadows the coming abundance of the harvest, which September carries, as he walks behind on foot. October is “full of merry glee,” and November, as in the Shepheardes Calender, is the finest of them all – albeit the funniest:

Next was November, he full gross and fat,
  As fed with lard, and that right well might seem;
  For, he had been a-fatting hogs of late,
  That yet his brows with sweat, did reek and steam, (VII.vii.40)

Spenser’s representation of November, when considered in terms of both a neoteric aesthetic and Nature’s final ruling in Dame Mutabilitie’s trial, is the clearest indication (apart from the dramatic difference in tone) of Spenser’s satirical reprise of the Shepheardes Calender. The tone in the procession of seasons here is not only at odds with the Cantos initial meditation on death and decay, its rendering is nearly the antithesis of the stately “November” in the Shepherd's Calendar, the most finely wrought of the twelve eclogues (as E.K. points out in his initial “Argument”). In light of Nature’s verdict, in which a changed thing, or we might say, things crafted by the neoteric poet embodied in Dame Mutabilite, “by their change their being do dilate” is literally expressed here in the plump, sweaty, ostentatious and “dilated” figure which provides a satirical counterpart to the elegy of the “November” eclogue. 

(The analysis says nothing of the remaining months or signs)


In the voice of The Faerie Queene’s narrator Spenser, we might take the phrase ‘that plaine appeares’ as a hollow or ironic endorsement of how star-gazers observe that Aries (the Ram) has ‘shouldred’ or pushed against Taurus (the Bull). All the same, what is being described here is in marked contrast with Du Bartas’ account of how Aries moves in sequence alongside neighbouring signs of the zodiac:

De son estoillé vase une onde blonde-perse,
Et fait (qui le croira?) naistre de ses flambeaux
Pour les suyvans Poissons un riche torrent d’eaux.
Les alterez nageurs courent vers ceste source,
Mais le fleuve à plis d’or s’enfuit devant leur course,
Ainsi que les Poissons fuyent tousjours devant
Le celeste Bélier qui les va poursuyvant.

In whose [i.e. Aquarius’] clear channel might at pleasure swim
Those two bright Fishes that do follow him;
But that the Torrent slides so swift away,
That it outruns them ever, even as they
Out-run the Ram: who ever them pursues,
And by returning yearly, all renews. (trans. Josuah Sylvester)

Spenser matches Du Bartas’ precision, even though their cosmic visions diverge. He also adds references to classical mythology: to Phrixus and Helle (who were rescued from their stepmother Ino by a flying ram), and Europa (carried away by Zeus in the form of a bull). Consciously or not, he is also correcting the Fourth Day’s astrological knowledge. 

(For that same golden fleecy Ram, which bore

   Phrixus and Helle from their stepdame's fears,
   Has now forgot, where he was placed of yore,
And shouldered has the Bull, which fair Europa bore. )

It is not just the subject matter of the Mutabilitie Cantos that is familiar from Du Bartas (both the Fourth Day and ‘Columnes’ from La Seconde Semaine), but how astrological details are incorporated into his poetry. This stanza about February, the final month of the zodiacal year, merits comparison with the first passage from Du Bartas quoted above:

And lastly, came cold February, sitting
  In an old wagon, for he could not ride;
  Drawn of two Fishes for the season fitting,
  Which through the flood before did softly slide
  And swim away: yet had he by his side
  His plough and harness fit to till the ground,
  And tools to prune the trees, before the pride
  Of hasting Prime did make them burgeon round:
So passed the twelve Months forth, and their due places found.

There are technical similarities with the passage from the Quatrième Jour, especially in Sylvester’s translation: in how the fishes are given agency (to which Spenser adds personification of February), in the development towards a final line about how the cycle begins again (not in the French source text), and also the verbal resemblance in ‘slides so swift away’ in Sylvester’s translation and ‘softly slide | And swim away’ in Spenser.

AN ELIZABETHAN ZODIAC - MUTABILITIE CANTOS

This is my own translation of a snippet from the Mutabilitie Cantos, Edmund Spenser's Elizabethan epic. Here we have a parade of the months and Western zodiac signs, each sign with the month when it's in season personified. Astromythology is also woven within the mix as many of the signs are the same as their counterparts in classical mythology. There will be commentaries on each sign and tricky words, myths, and so forth, month by month. Victorian illustrations from Chambers' Book of Days, inspired by the poem, accompany my version. The poem starts in March because then comes Aries season and opens the zodiac:


These, marching softly, thus in order went,
  And after them, the Months all riding came;
  First, sturdy March with brows full sternly bent,
  And armed strongly, rode upon a Ram,
  The same which over Hellespontus swam:
  Yet in his hand a spade he also hent,
  And in a bag all sorts of seeds, the same
  Which on the earth he strewed as he went,
And filled her womb with fruitful hope of nourishment.

March is armed because he personifies the month sacred to Ares/Mars, the god of warfare. 

With that out of the way, the Ram which March rides is said to be "the same which over Hellespontus swam." The ram Chrysomallos, that became the Zodiac sign Aries, actually flew over the strait currently known as the Dardanelles (Spenser says "swam" to rhyme with "Ram") in order to save the royal children Phrixus and Helle from their cruel stepmother, who wanted to sacrifice them to Zeus. As they flew on the ram's back over that strait, however, a storm picked up and Princess Helle, still a child, fell off the ram and dashed herself to pieces against a rocky shoal on the coast, giving the strait the name Hellespontus.

March is portrayed as a sower of seeds because both nature and humans sow plant seeds at this time of year.

The womb of the Earth is a metaphor to refer to the soil as an incubator of plant life.



Next came fresh April full of lustyhead,
  And wanton as a kid whose horn new buds:
  Upon a Bull he rode, the same which led
  Europa floating through the Argolic floods:
  His horns were gilded all with golden studs
  And garnished with garlands goodly dight
  Of all the fairest flowers and freshest buds
  Which the earth brings forth, and wet he seemed in sight
With waves, through which he waded for his love's delight.

Lustyhead is obviously lust, the sexy kind of lust as in the deadly sin, and "wanton" here means randy or horny, like a goat-kid all hormonal when his horns are sprouting. The season of love for most species is springtime, which may be why April is portrayed as being so horny here.

The Bull of Taurus which April rides is surely Zeus in one of his many beastly guises, since he is "the same which led Europa floating through the Argolic floods," ie Zeus as the Albino Bull of Taurus carried the Phoenician Princess Europa, his umpteenth ladylove, from the coast of her homeland across the Aegean to Crete, which gave the naming to the European continent, as seen on the Greek and European Constitution 2-euro coins and in this fountain in Halmstad, Sweden. To hammer home the point, the Bull is not only decked with the flower wreaths and garlands of Taurus season which Europa put on it, but also wet with seawater, having waded (or rather swum) across the waves "for his love's delight."


Then came fair May, the fairest maid on ground,
  Decked all with dainties of her season's pride,
  And throwing flowers out of her lap around:
  Upon two brothers' shoulders she did ride,
  The Twins of Leda; which on either side
  Supported her like to their sovereign Queen.
  Lord! how all creatures laughed, when her they spied,
  And leapt and danced, as they had ravished been!
And Cupid 'self about her fluttered all in green.

Fair May is, unsurprisingly, the smurfette in this parade of mostly male months. Maybe (pun intended) this is because she is portrayed as a May Queen, the young girl crowned beauty queen and personification of Springtime in the traditional rural British May Day (1st of May) pageants which evolved from the Celtic Beltane celebration. A May Queen is typically given a wreath and bouquet of wildflowers of the season for a crown and sceptre, respectively.

The twin brothers who support May are "the Twins of Leda," ie none other than Castor and Pollux, the Gemini Twins, AKA the Diouskouroi (meaning Zeus' Boys, even though Zeus only sired Pollux, and Castor was sired by Queen Leda's human husband!). They hatched from an egg which Leda laid after having intercourse with Zeus as a swan (and oui, swans have penises, which are corkscrew-shaped: dare to google "swan penis!"). The Gemini Twins appear rather gentlemanly, making a throne with their arms (ruled by Gemini, btw) for May to ride in, which in Spanish is known as "la sillita de la reina", the little chair of the Queen.

All living things are in ecstasy upon seeing May, because the season of love which had begun with April and Taurus continues, as if they had been "ravished." I don't read this as "raped" as much as "possessed." And of course, if it is the season for hormones to go wild, Cupid belongs here rather than in February...

And after her, came jolly June, arrayed
  All in green leaves, as he a Player were;
  Yet in his time, he wrought as well as played,
  That by his plough-irons might right well appear:
  Upon a Crab he rode, that him did bear
  With crooked crawling steps and uncouth pace,
  And backwards went, as bargemen wont to fare
  Bending their force contrary to their face,
Like that ungracious crew which feigns demurest grace.

A Player, here, refers to a comedic actor. Remember the Ember Island Players?

If fair May is a May Queen, jolly June is characterised as a Green Man or Woodwose, a personification of the summer whom players/comedians dressed and performed as for midsummer fairs. The Green Man, or Woodwose, was allegedly a faun-like humanoid who lived in the woods and was one with the plant life of the place, hence the green costume and wreath of greenery with lots of leaves.

Nothing is said about the monster Crab which jolly June rides being the Lernaean Crab which was cast into the skies as the sign of Cancer, but still, due to the month accompanying it and their place in the parade, the identification with Cancer is crystal clear.

Bargemen refers here to ferrymen or boatmen, here those who drive their boats backwards, and "that ungracious crew which feigns demurest grace" refers to those old buzzkills the Puritans, whom Spenser rightfully paints here as hypocrites.


Then came hot July boiling like to fire,
  That all his garments he had cast away:
  Upon a Lion raging yet with ire
  He boldly rode and made him to obey:
  It was the beast that whilome did foray
  The Nemaean forest, till the Amphytrionide
  Him slew, and with his hide did himself array;
  Behind his back a scythe, and by his side
Under his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.

As fitting for the season, hot July is shirtless. (Dare I say naked or in underwear? Elizabethans had little to no underwear, but there should be a modicum of decency involved in any parade). 

July is apparently so hot (and even more so in his scant clothing) that he has contrived to tame the Nemean Lion, which became the sign of Leo. Sure enough, it's Leo season. The Amphytrionide is the hero Hercules, referred to by a patronym to fit the syllable count, and the "hide" of the Nemean Lion refers to the hooded pelt of the beast which Hercules skinned with its own nails and wore ever since the Nemean Lion was slain, becoming his mark of identity.

Sure enough, July carries those reaper's blades. The better to put them to good use when it gets cooler...


The sixth was August, being rich arrayed
  In garment all of gold down to the ground:
  Yet rode he not, but led a lovely Maid
  Forth by the lily hand, she who was crowned
  With ears of grain, and full her hand was found;
  That was the righteous Virgin, which of old
  Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound;
  But, after wrong was loved and justice sold,
She left this unrighteous world and was to heaven extolled.

August is arrayed all in cloth of gold to reflect the golden fields of grain and the gold of the summer sun. He appears as quite the gentleman, walking on foot to lead the Virgo Virgin by the hand as if walking his daughter's best friend down the aisle at her wedding.

There are several interpretations of who this Virgo Virgin might be, but Spenser identifies her with the Titaness of Justice, Astraea, who lived among the humans throughout the Golden Age, until Pandora opened her box and the decadence of humanity drove Astraea either to Olympus or to become the constellation Virgo, her scales becoming Libra. Others say Virgo is Persephone, hence why she appears in the summer sky and disappears under ground in autumn; and indeed, though her backstory identifies her as Astraea, Spenser portrays the Virgo Virgin with a wreath and sheaf of wheat, looking very like Persephone.


Next to him, September marched eke on foot;
  Yet was he heavy laden with the spoil
  Of harvest's riches, which he made his loot,
  And him enriched with bounty of the soil:
  In his one hand, as fit for harvest's toil,
  He held a knife-hook; and in the other hand
  A pair of Scales, with which he did assoil
  Both more and less, where it in doubt did stand,
And equal gave to each as justice duly scanned.

"Eke" means "also" or "as well." Like August, September walks on foot.

Of course September has to hold a pair of Scales, as his equinox opens Libra season. To "assoil" means to weigh. The emphasis on equality reminds us that, at this time of year, there is an equal amount of day hours and night hours.


Then came October full of merry glee:
  For, yet his noodle was totty of the must,
  Which he was treading in the wine-vats, see,
  And of the joyous oil, whose gentle gust
  Made him so frolick and so full of lust:
  Upon a dreadful Scorpion he did ride,
  The same which by Diana's doom unjust
  Slew great Orion: and eke by his side
He had his ploughing-share, and coulter ready tied.

The must here refers to non-alcoholic grape juice, which October has obtained by treading on the grapes. This time of year is traditional grape-picking and grape-treading season; though Britain has no endemic grape or wine culture whatsoever, this may have be an influence from France, a much more wine-rich country across the Channel, where this month-star-sign cycle appears to hail from. If October's "noodle is totty of the must," if his head is tipsy just from grape juice, he must have a pretty weak head indeed!

According to one myth, the one told here by Spenser, the monster Scorpion of Scorpio, which October rides here, envenomed and killed Orion on the orders of Artemis (referred to here by her Latin name Diana; Spenser, like many other early modern literati, uses the Latin names for the gods, as we shall also see later). However something that strikes me is Orion's death being perceived as a "doom unjust" by Spenser, when actually in most versions Orion forced himself upon the Pleiades, the nymphs of Artemis, and any helpless wild beastie that crossed his path, and was therefore worthy of his smiting by venom.

"Gentle gust" refers to the pleasant flavour of wine, or rather here of grape juice.

A coulter is a hunting knife (hence why a villainess in Philip Pullman's epic saga is called Mrs. Marisa Coulter). In Sweden, the moose hunt takes place during October, while in Britain, the traditional fox hunt begins in late October.


Next was November, he full gross and fat,
  As fed with lard, and that right well might seem;
  For, he had been a-fatting hogs of late,
  That yet his brows with sweat, did reek and steam,
  And yet the season was full sharp and breem;
  In planting eke he took no small delight:
  Whereon he rode, not easy was to deem;
  For it a dreadful Centaur was in sight,
The seed of Saturn and fair Nais, Chiron hight.

Hogs are pigs, which are sent into the woods to feast on acorns (and, in France, chestnuts) during this time of year, in preparation for winter. Lard is pork fat. Surely, given his girth, November has been butchering and devouring pigs as much as fattening them!

Breem means "piercing," maybe the piercing autumn air?

The centaur Chiron, the most likely candidate for Sagittarius, was the son of the Titan Kronos and the nymph Phyllira (referred to by Spenser by their Latin names, Saturn and Nais respectively). He was the wise and worldly mentor to all heroes and demigods worthy of notice in Greek antiquity, though a Hydra-envenomed arrow to the leg racked him with excruciating pain, leading him to sacrifice his immortality, after which he became the constellation of Sagittarius. Here, he must have a rather sore back from carrying the weight of obese November upon his equine flanks!


And after him, came next the chill December:
  Yet he through merry feasting which he made,
  And great bonfires, did not the cold remember;
  His Saviour's birth his mind so much did glad:
  Upon a shaggy-bearded Goat he rode,
  The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender years,
  They say, was nourished by the Idaean maid;
  And in his hand a broad deep bowl he bears;
Of which, he freely drinks a health to all his peers.

Apparently, Elizabethans lit bonfires for Christmas!

There are several origin stories for Capricorn, but the one given by Spenser is the one of the Nanny Goat Amalthea, kept by nymphs of Mount Ida on Crete ("Idaean maids"), who suckled and raised the baby Zeus (referred to here by his Latin name "Dan Jove"), who was hidden away, and whose horn, torn off by the suckling Olympian with already super strength, became the first cornucopia.

Is that deep bowl of mulled wine, eggnog, or another festive punch? So it appears...


Then came old January, wrapped well
  In many weeds to keep the cold away;
  Yet did he quake and quiver like to quell,
  And blow his nails to warm them if he may:
  For, they were numbed with holding all the day
  A hatchet keen, with which he felled wood,
  And from the trees did lop the needlesse spray:
 Upon an huge great Earth-pot Stein he stood;
From whose wide mouth, there flowed forth the Roman flood.

In midwinter it is best, in Britain, to wear many layers of clothing against the cold: "weeds" here does not refer to noisome plants at all, as you may have guessed, but to "garments, clothes." Read it as "layers."

Notice the many Qs with which Spenser describes the cold-induced shivers of Aquarius season in Britain: "quake and quiver like to quell..." And that in spite of all the layers (should have added some more?)!

If he blows his nails, January has no gloves on! What a stupid oversight! Or maybe it's so cold that his fingers freeze in spite of the gloves (what a hyperbole!)

Yes, Aquarius in this poem is an oversized beer Stein. Which January is sitting on and which moves, I presume, hopping about like Mrs. Potts and Chip in Beauty and the Beast. You can't have him on foot and leading the cupbearer Ganymede (the most likely candidate for Aquarius) with a pitcher, or in this case a stein, in hand in this case... because August is already doing that with the Virgo Virgin. So Spenser got creative and my sign got, as you see, to be the massive Aquarius Stein. The "Roman flood" which flows forth from it is the mythical river Eridanus, where Phaethon fell and which is actually a constellation pretty close to Aquarius on the night sky.


And lastly, came cold February, sitting
  In an old wagon, for he could not ride;
  Drawn of two Fishes for the season fitting,
  Which through the flood before did softly slide
  And swim away: yet had he by his side
  His plough and harness fit to till the ground,
  And tools to prune the trees, before the pride
  Of hasting Prime did make them burgeon round:
So passed the twelve Months forth, and their due places found.

If liquid were not constantly gushing out of the Aquarius Stein, the two Pisces Fishes that pull the wagon of cold February would not be able to move. Speaking of which, there is as little backstory given for these Fishes as for the Crab of Cancer we saw jolly June riding. Spenser doesn't tell us if they're Aphrodite and Cupid as fish or the two monster fish that towed Aphrodite to land on Cyprus.

February brings pruning tools before "hasting Prime," ie Springtime ("primavera" in Spanish) makes the treetops "burgeon," or bud, grow buds and shoots.

Interesting that the sequence is linear: "So passed the twelve Months forth, and their due places found," it ends. Cold February and his Fishes do not tail sturdy March and his Ram... however, the zodiacal year in real life is a cycle, isn't it? If I were Spenser, I'd picture myself these months and mythological zodiac signs more on a carousel or merry-go-round than in a parade...


martes, 2 de enero de 2018

TWELVE BY STAGECOACH

TWELVE BY STAGECOACH

An Andersenian Tale,
Retold for the New Year by Sandra Dermark
2nd of Jan, MMXVIII

It was a dark night not long ago, with a perfectly starry sky where there were no street lights or Christmas lights. There might have been frost on the windowpanes and snow on the windowsills, or there might have been not. "KABOOM" went a party cannon... or was it the cork of a champagne bottle? Fireworks wrote the number 2018 on the black canvas of the night sky!
Jingle bells and the tramp of horses could be heard by the guardhouse on the outskirts of Anytown. The sight of a stagecoach in these days is rather unusual, isn't it? There were twelve people in that carriage, not one less and not one more; six seats on each side and all places were occupied.
In this moment, the bells in the church towers had just given their twelfth peal, and the good folk of Anytown were raising and clinking and draining their glasses, having already consumed their twelfth grape, or orange segment, or spoonful of lentils. Some people were watching a show where a countess's butler had to pour, and then to drink, for four absent friends, getting gradually more and more intoxicated. Many adults were also getting gradually more and more intoxicated. They had drunk to wealth, to health, to absent friends, to last year's achievements, to hope, to love... While the two non-commissioned officers (carabinieri, or gendarmes, or maybe guardias civiles) stationed at the guardhouse gate had to stay sober on duty and endure the cold as they listened to their superiors' revels within; the colonel's wife flirting with a younger lieutenant, the nanny tucking the colonel's children into bed, a pair of lieutenants, both dapper young men, hiding behind the curtain in a half-drunken state to do their little things... While the non-coms on duty themselves stayed there as if rooted, yet warm and full of thoughts of friends and families. Right then, the stagecoach stopped at the gate of the guardhouse. That stagecoach, with a dozen strangers on board. Who were those travellers? Each and every one had their passport and their luggage, and all of them brought gifts for me and you and everyone else in Anytown. But who were they, and what did they bring? What were their intentions?
"Happy New Year!" a manly baritone sounded from the carriage, greeting the sergeant and the corporal on duty.
"Happy New Year!" the non-coms replied, then asked the first one to come forth, and for his name and profession, for it was a man, and a bear of a man, tall and strong, with a barrel chest and rippling limbs, clad in a shapka and fur coat and warm Uggs, and with a full hipster beard; there was something regal about him as well.
"Look into my passport. I am what I am! The one on whom countless people bestow their expectations. Come to me next week, and you'll get a surprise from the Good Witch or the three Wise Men! I give presents left and right through them, for they're my associates; I also host soirées and birthday parties; and, considering what happened for Christmas last year, I also host sales in every shop, so the price of the gifts is always right! My cargo ships may be braving storms in the tropical monsoon or icebergs in the Arctic Ocean, but my office is warm and cozy, and you are always welcome for a brandy. I am an entrepreneur, and you may call me Jenner. I also bring lots of bills to pay, and it might be a steep uphill climb; but there's nothing to worry about!"
Next up was a younger man, who was a real trickster, aside from the director of a theatre for comedies, a leader of celebrations and costume parades... long story short, the life and soul of every party. He wore a jester's hat and a Venetian mask, and his luggage consisted of a brightly-coloured piñata he carried on his back.
"This is the key to every merry-making; as I say, where there's a piñata, revels are never missed! For Carnival, this thing will go KABOOOM, indeed!! I want everyone to be happy... you and me and everyone else, for my life is a short trip, and I'm the baby of the bunch... usually twenty-eight, like this year, but within two years they'll add that extra day I don't give a hoot about! So: carpe diem, hakuna matata...! Hip hip hooooorrray! Get 'em tiger, get 'em tiger, hey hey hey!"
He was screaming very loudly and making dramatic gestures, and looked certainly flustered; the sergeant thought this lad was surely intoxicated.
"Not that loud; there are children fast asleep..."
"The more the merrier reason why I come, to express myself the prouder and louder! I am actually Don Carnal himself, travelling incognito under my artistic name, Februarius!"
Then came the third one; a slender fellow who was closely related to Old Mrs. Lent, and to Saint Joseph the carpenter, and he was a weatherman by profession; but since the weather was so wistful (now wild as a lion, now tame as a lamb) and his predictions rarely succeeded, he couldn't afford much food, and thus was thin as a rake, and looked as stern and bony as Stannis Baratheon. In fact, he mostly despised meat, preferring fish and seafood, and he turned strictly vegan on Fridays. His only ornament was a little posy of fragrant violets on his first buttonhole, to mask the scent of gunsmoke with the first flowers of springtime.
"March! March! March-two-three-four!", the fourth traveller, who was also the fourth male, nudged his predecessor. "Into the guardhouse; there is punch, and sangría, and sex on the beach..." he sniffed the air, whispering in the gaunt fellow's ear. But that statement was nothing but an April Fools' prank; thus did the fourth one begin his career, just like every year. He looked pretty merry, with those bunny ears on his raincoat hood and that umbrella for a walking stick, à la Singing in the Rain, and in those red Wellingtons: he was so carefree because he worked so little, and kept a fortnight of holidays!
"This world needs a little more stability, in my own humble opinion", quoth he. "One day there's a downpour so heavy we have to cancel that Easter egg hunt, or that picnic; the next day it's all suddenly sunny, isn't that ironic or funny? Rain and shine and storm and fog... no two days with me are alike! I do lots of things actually; I hide eggs in the gardens, indeed, and splash the morning dew with my umbrella on the clover... but I'm also a mortician, conveniently enough. There's a very important fellow who died an excruciating death, and it's mostly that bloke's funeral that sadly gives me employment. Depending of the moment, I smile or I sob, I shed tears of sorrow or tears of joy... See this li'l briefcase here? Full of springtime clothes; T-shirts and shorts and black tennis shoes... but I would be quite the fool to put them on, right? Here am I! When I dress up, I wear lace stockings and garters, Wellies with high heels, and tonnes of make-up!"
Now a young lady came out of the coach.
"Miss May!" she introduced herself. She wore a springtime dress of light silk, as green as linden leaves, with a pink rose (or was it a peony?) right on the cleavage, aside from a pair of flowered rose-pink sandals, and tucked behind her ears a wreath of daisies in her bright golden hair. She carried an intoxicating fragrance of mimosa, and the sergeant, who was allergic to the pollen of that species, began to sneeze into his pocket handkerchief.
"Gesundheit!" she greeted the non-coms with a friendly smile. How lovely she was, as a nymph or a faery! And she was a soprano, a primadonna; but not one that sang at the opera or in the cabaret. She was a woodland primadonna, one who sang her airs for pleasure in the fresh green Nature of springtime, with a chorus of songbirds, crickets, and frogs backing her up. In her little green silk handbag she carried a Grimm storybook, full of the wild woodlands of folklore, and the Fields of Castile by Antonio Machado, full of fresh and scented verses.
"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle is coming!" a chorus of male and female voices was heard from inside the carriage. And out came Mademoiselle Juno in her flapper evening wear, confidently sauntering forth with an aristocratic sneer on her lips and sparkle in her eyes. One could see, from a first impression, that she had been born to host Midsummer revels, and graduations as well. She held these celebrations around the summer solstice, so that all the students could be rewarded and all the merry-making could be had under as much daylight as possible. Of course she could afford a carriage, a limo, or a Lear jet of her own... but she still travelled by stagecoach with the other eleven, as a token of her humility and modesty. She didn't travel alone either; she was accompanied by her mother and by her younger brother, Ser Julius.
He was a dashing young man, well suntanned, his torso looking like a bar of chocolate, his limbs equally rippling; he wore nothing but a pair of swimming trunks and a boater hat. The hot sun makes all attire stifling. And for the same reason, his feather-light luggage consisted only of a towel within which a pair of flip-flops and a pair of goggles were conveniently packed.
"Children! Children! Mum finds it hard to catch up," a deep, warm contralto voice called after both of them. For now came the siblings' mother, Madame Augusta, the queen of aquaculture and of growing juicy fruit; her fish farms and her fruit harvests were legendary! She was as plump and red and sunny as the prized watermelons she grew, or as a lobster thermidor; dressed in green petticoats to reinforce her Rubenesque waistline, and constantly fanning herself with a hand-fan; in her other hand, she carried a large picnic hamper, through whose lid the handles of a tennis racket and a croquet mallet protruded. She was flustered with exertion, running to and fro and keeping an eye on everything, always ready with a cool drink and fresh fruit, which she brought herself to those who were thirsty in the middle of the day.
"As the Good Book says, by the sweat of our brow shall we gain our daily bread," she wiped the perspiration from her own forehead with a handkerchief. "Yet in the middle of the day, when our spirits falter, it's always good time to find some friendly shade and quench that burning thirst! Later on, at sunny-down, we can have a swim, or a luau, or a tennis match, or why not croquet... and, when night falls after the long afternoon, isn't it nice to lie down on the sand or on the grass and count those shooting stars?"
Out came now yet another male, an artistic painter by profession; the Master of Warm Colours, whom all the woods and all the parks and gardens know so well! The deciduous leaves, which are his canvas, change colour under his paintbrush so magnificently! This treetop would look red, this one golden, this one orange... and so did the sky of glorious evening sunsets, which are also his canvas, as well, in delightful, warm harmony, as the days got colder. The master artist, wearing a lumberjack shirt stained with those paints of fiery and earthy and sunset hues, whistles, like a starling that has just arrived by migration, twirling his fine auburn moustache; he sips now and then from a tankard of beer, around whose handle he has entwined khaki-green hop vines for decoration; he has an eye for aesthetic and weighs everything he does in the scales of beauty, light and darkness in equal proportion. And now he stood there with his artist's case, in which he kept his palette, his little pots of warm-coloured paint, his brushes, his little sponge, and his water-glass. That was all of his light luggage; after all, his main concern was that the students who returned to school and to University would stop, even if for an instant, to admire the works of art on his glorious treetop and twilight museums.
Next up was a gentleman in a deerstalker hat and overcoat; he thought of sowing and tilling the ground, and also maybe of gunning down some deer or some moose, or chasing the fox on horseback with the hounds in advance; hence the loaded shotgun flung across his shoulder and the foxhound pups he led by their leads. Every now and then, His Lordship took some nuts out of his pocket and snacked on them; "crunch crunch," his jaws made, and it sounded like the tread of feet on dry leaves. He brought a lot of luggage; a trunk full of autumn clothes, a clutter of leaf-rakes and shovels and chisels and pruning shears, everything topped with a lit jack-o'lantern, not to mention the hounds; and he spoke mostly about teaching his pups to chase the fox kits, and about economics and the current crisis, but his speech was suddenly interrupted, and there was not much to understand of it, because of all the coughing and throat-clearing and sneezing and wheezing behind him; for November was up next.
This bloke had such a case of the common cold, or surely it was the flu, that he used his long knitted woolly scarf, instead of a handkerchief, to cover his nose and mouth; all one could see of his face was a pair of gray eyes in that rosy, narrow slit between a floppy woolly hat and that scarf. "And surely the good folk will get in the mood for staying indoors all cozy!" he said. "But surely I will get at least slightly better when we remember the bloody plains of Lützen, or burn Guy Fawkes at the stake, or prepare all the firewood and charcoal that fireplaces need for the winter... There are also provisions that these humans have to gather for the winter, as the squirrels and the ants have already done: candied nuts and citrus fruits, plump pumpkins, here a goose or a turkey, there the aforementioned firewood..." And throughout the long, bleak evenings, he made skis and skates and snowboards and sleds snow-worthy, because of course he knew that the winter sports season was just beginning!
Now came the last passenger, the little old granny with her kettle full of warm spiced tea. She was shivering with cold, but the eyes of Mother Christmas shone as bright as two North Stars, and her face was as youthful as that of a child, and she was full of strength, though bent with old age. On her back, she carried a little evergreen tree in a plant-pot. 
"I'm tending to this little one with all of my care; so it will grow tall and strong on Christmas Eve; on the highest branch, the top of a star or an angel's halo will graze the ceiling; and it will grow decorated with shining lights in the winter night, and with baubles, gingerbread, hearts, fruits, pine cones, ice crystals... The fireplace or the central heating will warm the living room and make it all cozy, and that evening all the children, great or small, before they open their parcels, will be snuggled up in their covers as I take a storybook from the shelf, and I will read out loud, so that the children's voices are hushed, but the ornaments in the tree, and all over the room, will come alive... the nutcrackers and the horses and the tomts and the frost fairies will my tales breathe life into, and, right on top of the Christmas tree, the star shines as brightly as a summer sun, or the angel flaps their wings, flying from their perch to kiss children great and small, even the carollers who pass by outside on the street, in the crisp long night, singing Adeste fideles and the Carol of the Bells, and other such lively midwinter songs. Be it as star or angel, this spirit shall bring joy to the hearts of everyone!"
"Allons-y!" the sergeant said. "This stagecoach may proceed!" 
"One at a time; please entrust your passports to us," the voice of a younger man, the lieutenant on duty, addressed the twelve passengers. "Each and every passport is only good for one month, and, when that month has already passed, we shall write a report of their behaviour for this year, in general and of memorable events, on their passport. Herr Jenner, you may please proceed to step inside."
And the first passenger, dropping his shapka before the officer, went in.
Next year, at the start of 2019, we shall tell you, dear readers, what these twelve travellers have brought to all of us and to all of you. I swear, as sure as my name is Sandra, that I don't know it yet, and I am sure that neither do anyone of you. Soothly we live in interesting times!



lunes, 14 de agosto de 2017

TRADITIONAL CALENDAR MONTHS

Or should I say moon-turns? This post is about languages/epochs during which the month names have referred (and still refer, in the Finnish case), to events of the seasons in both nature and traditional farmer/artisan culture (and usually overlapping with zodiac signs; for instance now we're in thermidor, ie mid-July to mid-August, the Leo month; the Finnish months, however, overlap with those of our own calendar. So it's currently thermidor and fumihirogetsuki, but elokuu, ie August). I will open the list beginning with the spring equinox, as it is tradition. I will also provide translation of the names. And you will see that they reflect the customs and climate of their respective cultures.
In this order, I will give the archaic Japanese, 1790s French, and Finnish month names (the archaic Japanese names I learned from the anime Fruits Basket):


Springtime:
  • (Aries month) kurenoharu (late springtime) / germinal (of plant shoots) // (March) maaliskuu (ground moon, soil moon)
  • (Taurus month) konohatorizuki (leaf-feeding moon [to silkworms]) / floréal (of flowers) // (April) huhtikuu (wood-clearing moon)
  • (Gemini month) ayamezuki (iris moon) / prairial (of meadows) // (May) toukokuu (sowing moon) 

Summer:
  • (Cancer month) isuzukuretsuki (moon of the last cool) / messidor (when the grain is harvested) // (June) kesäkuu (summer moon)
  • (Leo month) fumihirogetsuki (publication moon) / thermidor (when it's the hottest) // (July) heinäkuu (hay moon)
  • (Virgo month) odakaritsuki (rice harvest moon) / fructidor (when the fruits are harvested) // (August) elokuu (harvest moon, life moon)

Autumn:
  • (Libra month) momijitsuki (maple leaf moon) / vendémiaire (of the grape vintage) // (September) syyskuu (autumn moon)
  • (Scorpio month) shigurezuki (drizzle moon) / brumaire (of the fogs) // (October) lokakuu (muddy moon)
  • (Sagittarius month) kagurazuki (sacred music moon) / frimaire (of the frosts) // (November) marraskuu (deathly moon)

Winter:
  • (Capricorn month) umehatsuzuki (plum moon) / nivôse (snowy) // (December) joulukuu (Yuletide moon, Christmas moon)
  • (Aquarius month) hatsuharu (first springtime, early springtime) / pluviôse (rainy) // (January) talmikuu (oak moon)
  • (Pisces month) kisaragi (clothes-changing) / ventôse (windy) // (February) helmikuu (dew pearl moon)

jueves, 18 de febrero de 2016

CONTRAST SETS: A CLOSER LOOK

Somehow, just like I prefer scientific/Linnaean/modern European taxonomy to folk taxonomies, I prefer contrast sets and command hierarchies (rank systems in organizations, lists of ranks) to taxonomies. contrast set is a bounded collection of items, each of which could fill the same slot in a given schema, syntactic structure, or other linguistic environment. Like: "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday." (Yes, I consider that the week begins on Monday --- due to my European birth and upbringing and to the ISO calendar [the I in ISO means International, if you care!]--- and I wonder why some Anglophones have to begin it on Sunday... it's like the specific use of "animals" and "plants", or the use of Imperial measures like feet, ounces, and degrees Fahrenheit, other things with the English language used outside academia that leave me flabberghasted... I think Monday at the start and Sunday at the end of the week makes far more sense. It's like having the moon and the sun on two matching bookends, and the books in between those bookends being stories on Tyr, Odin, Thor, Frigg/Frey/Freya, and Saturn/Surtur. Beginning with the moon and getting to know all the deities in between, then crowning it all with the sun at the end.) Or "Aries, Taurus, Gemini..." (reader, continue with the rest of the star signs up to Pisces, and, if you choose to pop Ophiuchus in, remember that it is located between Scorpio and Sagittarius). Or "one, two, three, four, five..." (you get the picture). Ranks... whether nobility (Western or Westerosi, not to mention my own fictive 'verses), organized religion, or the military within a complex human system is organized as a ladder, with or without the glass ceiling that prevents the commoners from breaking their limits by attaining a certainly high rank (the French ancien régime, before the Revolution; or Westeros, have got such glass ceilings), like Linnaean taxonomy and contrast sets, all of these provide order... A company with a rank ratio of one lieutenant or two, a half dozen noncoms, and twenty to thirty rankers makes it rather clear who are on top, like the tiers of a wedding cake. And so does a regiment led by a colonel and consisting of let's say a dozen or baker's dozen of such companies. Organizations like this one are instantly easy to grasp, when one knows the ranks and notices the rank ratio in numbers as well as the distinctives of the various ranks, more ostentatious the higher the position or rank and the more power that comes with it. A more extreme example would be the clergy of the Catholic Church: one single Pope, dozens of cardinals, oodles of bishops... down to the countless "rank and file." In addition to all that, there is something more I like that rank systems have got in common with scientific taxonomy and contrast sets: all of these language constructs are international and rarely vary across languages. After all, a scientific taxonomy is an inclusive strategy, designed for the purpose of analysis... and contrast sets and rank systems are so as well: international, inclusive strategies, that are as little ambiguous as possible and provide analytical inclusiveness

These many-member lexical sets are classified into:
1) Cycles (non-serially ordered): springtime-summer-autumn-winter, Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday-Thursday-Friday-Saturday-Sunday, the months, the zodiac... They're all ordered in terms of successivity. Unlike scales and ranks, cycles do not have extremes (circle vs. line), every member is ordered between two others. The fact that there is a conventional first and last member (springtime-winter, Monday-Sunday, Aries-Pisces, January-December) does not detract from their cyclicality.
2) Scales (serially ordered): temperatures (scorching hot, searing/blazing hot, hot, warm, lukewarm... down to absolute zero) or shades of colours (sky, cyan, cobalt, Prussian, navy...)
3) Ranks (serially ordered): like the ranks of the military (Commander-In-Chief, Field Marshal, four-star General, three-star General... down to private/ranker) or those of the Catholic Church (Pope, cardinal, archbishop...), or examination marks (usually marked with numbers, can also be letters). Numerals themselves also constitute a rank (one, two, three, four, five...), with the interesting property that they are an infinite set of lexically complex expressions (1999: try saying it as a year AND THEN as a number!).

Scholars agree that these sets form a category termed many-member sets, characterized by multiple incompatibilities, into which all of them (seasons, months, star signs, military ranks...) fall. Let's take the date of today for an example... If it's winter, it can't be springtime. If it's February, it can't be August. If it's a Thursday, it can't be a Tuesday.
These words are related by means of a semantic link: a sense relation holding between lexical items that are focal points on a semantic continuum.