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2004-04-30 fika (utc+1)
As part of its series of factfiles on the Newbies, the Grauniad has
been translating
the phrase "Welcome into the warm family of European nations, my
esteemed Xish comrade" into the prevailing languages and nationalities
of each of them, which I have aggregated for you:
Polandland:
Witamy naszych polskich przyjaci�l w europejskiej rodzinie
Cyprus:
Kalos orisate sti zesti oikogenia ton Evropaikon Ethnon agapite syntrofe apo tin Kypro
Hungary:
Kedves Magyar Baratom! Meleg szeretettel koszontunk az Europai Nepek
Csaladjaban!
Estonia:
Mu kallis eesti sober! Tere tulemast Euroopa rahvaste sobralikku perre!
Lithuania:
Sveikiname tapus siltos Europines seimos nariu, brangusis drauge
lietuvi
Latvia:
Esiet sveicinati Eiropas gimenu saime, dargie Latvijas draugi!
"Slovenia":
Dobrodosel v prijetno druzino evropskih narodov, spostovani slovenski
prijately
Malta:
Merhba fl-Ewropa, siehbi
(There's a shortage of Maltese translation talent, after all.)
Czechia:
Vitejte do rodiny evropsky ch narodu
Slovakia
Vitaj v priatelskej rodine europskych narodov, moj cteny slovensky priatel
(Comparing this with the Czech, it's fairly clear the former skipped
the last bit.)
Only Polandland managed to keep a single diacritic, sadly, but it was
a sweet gesture anyway, isn't it?
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2004-04-30 samwidge (utc+1)
Aftonbladet,
for example:
I morgon natt tar andra v�rldskriget slut. Efter 64 �r och nio m�nader
�r Europa till sist enat. �st och v�st finns inte l�ngre. Historiskt
�r ett missbrukat ord. Det anv�nds f�r alldeles f�r sm� h�ndelser. Men
n�r tio nya l�nder vid midnatt natten till l�rdag tar klivet in i EU
skrivs historia - p� riktigt.
Tomorrow night the Second World War comes to an end. After 64 years
and nine months, Europe will at last be united. No more east or west.
The word historic is often missused to apply to things of no great
importance. But when ten new countries take their place in the EU
history really will be made.
In celebration, we at this bladet will be hosting a ceremony in which
we formally acknowledge the existence of "Slovenia", although we
reserve the right to have our fingers crossed as the oath is sworn.
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2004-04-30 morning (utc+1)
I've neglected to link assorted articles in the Swedish,
Frenchy-French and even UKish* press on the plight of the Slovakian
Roma ("Gypsies"), but out in Czechia, where men are still real men
unless they're congenitaly idle semi-feral scroungers ("Gypsies")
they're having
none of your liberal do-gooding nonsenses about immigration:
"Few Czechs mind hard-working and diligent Chinese and Vietnamese",
[Czechbladet Lidove Noviny] says, but "Roma do pose a specific
problem". Those "from the poor Slovak shanty towns", it argues, "are
hopelessly trapped in their social situation" and, having "no working
nor civilized habits... are unable to instil them in their children".
But experts, the paper says, "assure the public that they are too
apathetic even to move to the Czech Republic".
I have some first stones I would very much like to be casting if my
own national press were without sin, which is by no means the case.
There is, sadly, no body of empirical evidence that ethnique tolerance
is greatly enhanced by a thorough slapping about the face and head
with a wet fish, but if I were the EU commisioner for minorities I
would currently be arguing vehemently that further field-trials are
desperately needed.
* That would be the Grauniad, of course. Filthbladets like the
Express and Mail have been doing their very best to whip up raciste
paniques about the Hoards Of Gyppo Scroungers that were poised to sweep
into our beloved land, until David "Security" Blunkett passed the much
needed legislation to prevent it.
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2004-04-29 fika (utc+1)
[via Birgitte, tak!]
A horse is a horse, or so I've heard;
To talk to a horse is quite absurd,
But if you need to use a word,
Use proper Danish wovels!
Neeeiiiighh!
Sprogforsker Anne Fabricius fra RUC har lagt m�rke til, at Mary
Donaldson bruger typiske danske udtryk, og at hun udtaler nogle ord p�
engelsk p� en m�de, som minder om danskernes typiske udtale af
engelsk.
[...]
I klippet fra rideskolen taler Mary Donaldson
til hesten, og her bruger hun flere "danske" vokaler i engelske
ord. Det er en uforpligtene snak, og hun leger lidt med sproget, mener
Anne Fabricius.
Sprogforsker Anne Fabricius from RUC has noticed that Knudella uses
typical Danish expressions, and that she pronounces some words in
English in a manner reminiscent of the typical Danish pronunciation of
English.
[...]
In the klip from the riding school Knudella talks to her horse and
she uses several "Danish" wovels in English words. It's informal
speech, and she's playing around with language, avers Anne Fabricius.
There's only a fortnight to go, Varied Reader; just two short weeks.
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2004-04-29 samwidge (utc+1)
�1. Words fail me
A giant sand
sculpture of Knudella and some bloke:
Nu dukker Frederik og Mary frem af en k�mpe bunke sand p� Langelinje i
K�benhavn. Danmarks mest ber�mte brudepar skabes af 15 kubikmeter
sand, og sandskulpturen skal st� klar den 5. maj, n�r forsvaret hylder
de to.
Now Kronprinsfred and Knudella beam down from a giant sandbank at
Langelinje [of all places!] in Shoppingharbour. Denmarks most famous
bridal couple are sculpted from 15 cubic metres of sand, and the sand
sculpture will be opened on the 5th of May when the armed forces
salute the couple.
�2. Vickan learns where prinsessor come from:
I g�r fick kronprinsessan l�ra sig allt om blommor och bin p� RFSU i
Stockholm.
- Det var oerh�rt intressant, s�ger hon.
Yesterday the kronprinsess got to learn all about the birds and the
bees at RFSU in Stockholm.
"It was immensely interesting," she said.
As a prinsess by birth rather than marriage the production of an heir
is only half of her life's work, but even so you'd think someone would
have briefed her on what happens when a prins and a prinsess love each
other very much...
�3. The king was in his counting house,
counting up his money...
P� 15 �r har Victoria, Carl Philip och Madeleine f�tt n�ra 1,5 miljoner kronor av pappa.
Men kungen har r�d. I fjol hade han en f�rm�genhet p� 173 359 121
kronor.
For 15 years, Vickan and Madeleine and some bloke have recieved nearly
1.5 million kronor [~0.1 million GBP] from their daddy.
But their daddy is the king! And he can afford it - last year he
had a fortune of 173 359 121 kronor.
I already loved Sweden for very many reasons, of course, but giving
the king's fortune to the last kronor is one reason more.
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2004-04-29 dry (utc+1)
Martin said to his man, fie, man, fie
Martin said to his man, who's the fool, now
Martin said to his man, Fill thou the cup and I the can
Thou hast well drunken man, who's the fool now?
Licensed in 1588 to Thomas Orwin.
God of the Machine anticipates
that Western ("Left") Blogistan is likely to call George W. Bush
stupid in the near future, and I, for one, agree that this would be quite
inappropriate.
While Mr Bush is no match for the later Reagan, say, as a
heavy-weight thinker, "stupid" is hardly the mot juste. I would say,
rather, that Mr Bush is a culpably incurious nincompoop who'd be out
of his depth in an intellectual puddle. But stupid? Certainly not!
Next week: Ashcroft - liberty-hating theocrat or big fat poopyhead?
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2004-04-29 wet (utc+1)
Crikey:
�Investments� est le dernier titre en date publi� dans la collection
�Que sais-je?�, des Presses Universitaires de France (PUF), et le
premier de la s�rie en anglais � destination des lecteurs fran�ais.
Investments is the latest title to appear in the collection
"Que sais-je?" from PUF, and the first title intended for French
readers to appear in ze Engleesh.
Qs-j is my favourite foreign imprint, so it's just as well I don't
want to study investments.
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2004-04-28 regn (utc+1)
If we'd wanted it rained off we could have had it in Blighty, dash it,
but we seem to have run into the rainy season in the Caribbean.
England's fourth one-day match against West Indies was abandoned
because of rain just after the scheduled start.
It is the third match of the series to have been hit by the
unseasonable bad weather sweeping the Caribbean.
Still, the Noo Zillun tour of England starts in a week or two, weather
permitting.
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2004-04-28 samwidge (utc+1)
�1. The Margrave of
Moravia
The 13th Margrave of Moravia
Was prone to eccentric behaviour:
He'd spice up a stew
With the sole of his shoe
On the grounds that it made the sauce gravier.
�2. The Great Voyvod of the Voyvodina
"O, what sort of Voyvod would that be, Mister?
We've Voyvods a-plenty; we've Voyvods to burn;
In this land the Voyvods roam free, Mister;
Which Voyvod d'you want - we are anxious to learn!"
"The Voyvod I'm after is great, Yeoman -
The Voyvod I seek is no Voyvodic whelp!
But the trail has gone cold and it's late, Yeoman;
Here's a shiny gold coin in return for your help."
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2004-04-28 morning (utc+1)
Vita� Lampada, isn't it?
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
The game, of course, is cricket. But h�las, there are among us those
who have never played up, played up nor played the game and wouldn't
know how to start. For those poor benighted souls, help is at hand:
Rob Eastwood's What Is a
Googly?: The Mysteries of Cricket Explained does a splendid job of
initiating the neophyte spectator into the mysteries of the noble
game. It is said that it has not proved to be without pedagogical
efficacy in the case of certain persons of the gentler sex and even
Americans! Wild as such claims seem, the author's mix of clarity and
gentle humour is to be applauded, and this book is the best chance
many of these unfortunates are likely to get.
The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
Those who already knew all that may prefer to turn to the admirable Social
History of English Cricket, by Sir Derek Birley. Cricket, here,
serves as a prism in which to scrutinise the social history of
England, from the 17th century onwards. Cricket is a very good way to
do this, partly because it is cricket (hurrah!) and partly because
even from the earliest times it was a game played by teams combining
the aristocracy (for whom it was mostly a matter of gambling) and
their hired staff of professional gamesters, so you get a ring-side
view of class relations throughout history and the running
gag of MCC (the game's governing body until late in the 20th century)
as a blundering bunch of magnificently blithering toffs and
nincompoops, which they certainly were.
In any case my grasp of English history isn't what it might be, so
this was an instructive read from that angle, but it's also valuable
for its demythologisation of various lost Edens of innocence, fair
play and gentlemanly conduct.
This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"
-- Sir Henry Newbolt
Till next time, Varied Reader, keep a straight bat and play up! play
up! and play the game!
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2004-04-27 14:52
A
Viking Voyage: In Which an Unlikely Crew of Adventurers Attempts an
Epic Journey Tothe New World, Hodding Carter.
I think I was hoping when I bought it that this was going to be like
Thor Heyerdahl only with Vikings. It isn't. (It is, however, now out
of print in paperback.)
It isn't a very good book, really - as a prose stylist Carter would
and probably did make a fine documentary subject, and the scholarship
is, um, less than fastidious:
Sagas were skaldic poems, recited to petty kings, earls, and lords by
skalds, historian-poets, who lived by their eloquence and wit.
p.8
The very first thing to know about the sagas, of course, is that they
were prose in a medieval Yoorp where poetry was the only game
in town; the very first thing to know about the Iceland of the sagas
is that it was a republic. So you can imagine.
Anyway, their are sponsers and adventurers' tiffs and reconciliations
and tribulations not especially galore, really, as our hardy latter
day vikings cross a modest stretch of sea in a boat in the summer, and
if you can't get enough of that kind of thing then this certainly that
kind of thing and more than enough of it for anyone else, I should think.
It does, however, answer one question I have been asked a few times:
Before serving the whale, Elias quizzed us, "Do you know what the
Vikings ate so that they did not get scurvy?" [...] He obviously
wanted to be the one to inform us, but I could not help blurting out
that they ate the skins of walruses and beluga, both rich in vitamin
C. Arctic explorers in the 19th century had learned about scurvy the
hard way, suffering and dying from the disease except when supplied
with walrus by the Inuit.
pp.226-7
For next week's Monday review of stuff, if there is one, I shall try
my level best to discuss something that is not out of print, I promise.
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2004-04-27 smawidge (utc+1)
I am reminded that I don't actually know any differential geometry,
and that that is a bad thing. I do now know latitude from longditude,
though.
(I am still working vair vair hard - expect sporadicities.)
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2004-04-27 morning (utc+1)
Chris von Timber is learning
German and someone in the comments mentions a directory of
streaming radio sites in a gazillion languages. Here it is. (I've
gone for the Yoorp page, but there are others.)
Inevitably, none of the 21 (!) stations from "Slovenia" actually work,
and not a few from other lands require Microsoft infestations, but
that's the InterWebNet for you.
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2004-04-26 bah! (utc+1)
Robert Potts, co-editor of Poetry Review, has noticed that poetry
isn't very popular. This is the fault of a diffuse and incoherent set
of causes, none of which is him or the poets he endorses, he'll
have you know:
Commercial British poetry, fostered by anthologies and writing
classes, focuses on autobiographical lyric, increasingly in prosaic
cadence and language, offering banal experiences and banal
thought. Individualism ("look at me!") and conformity ("relevant to
all of us") are elided in safe common denominators. If these poems
mention the political, they do so with gestures of wordly-wise
impotence, as if outside the problem, or ironised confessions of
complicity that seek to defuse the charge. This probably is the legacy
of Larkin, defeated and pessimistic, xenophobic and conservative, who
spoke so well and so lastingly to and for Middle England. Fifty years
on, in a situation of permanent war, what we need is less consolation,
and more concentration. But that's a hard idea to sell.
Ritual sneering aside, most of those bearing Modernisme's cudgels
spotted even at the outset that art that seeks to alienate and
bewilder ("challenge") its audience is apt to find itself in short
order without much of an audience to alienate and bewilder
("challenge"). Mr Potts's daring suggestion that he could have his
Ivory Tower and eat it if it wasn't for the fact he can't deserves
credit, however, for resolutely ignoring all other poetic traditions
and their market places.
Is French poesie just leaping off the shelves over there in
Franceland? And if not, is it Larkin's fault there, too? I have
heard rumours that poesie is still well-regarded in Portugal, and in
more than a few eastern and central Yoorpean countries - is this
because their publics are very much more anxious to be alienated and
bewildered ("challenged"), or is it that poets like the wonderful even
in translation Wislawa Szymborska managed to find a way of continuing
to write for an audience without degenerating into depressing
xenophobia?
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2004-04-26 power! (utc)
Things (assorted)
Does not the abyss between protons and the proletariat conceal an unacknowledged metaphysical conception of man?
Benedict Anderson Imagined Communities, p.11 n.
Oh, good grief. We have a visitor today and for the next couple of weeks, so I have much to do.
So, we also just had a spontaneous power cut in the building. Gah!
2004-04-26 samwidge (utc+1)
we didn't celebrate St Patrick's day in England, on account of not
being Irish. I still don't, since I'm still not, and I make a point
of not drinking Guiness if I happen to be out on the night.
It's about as Irish as
apple
pie, anyway:
The worldwide success of St Patrick's Day celebrations is based on
events in the US, which were imported back to Ireland and then on to
the UK.
"It's all to do with ex-pat communities," says Nick Bish of pub body
the Association of Licensed Multiple Retailers.
"We're absolutely in favour of a St George's Day holiday, but it would
take an ex-pat community to provide the push and I can't think of one
that's big enough."
This is all very well so far as it goes, but are Bastille day, the
FDRUSAian 4th of July and Norway's 17 maj (which, we should never
overlook an opportunity to point out, commemorates the handing over of
Norway from Denmark to Sweden) really all ex-pat innovations?
(Incidentally, the Amazon pixie delivered my copy of Imagined
Communities today, hoorah!)
[Permalink]
2004-04-26 09:51
To the 1st of May ("May 1st") that is, and that is when the New Jumbo
EU goes live, so we'll enjoy our nice Tower of Babel articles while
the enjoying is good or alternatively look forward to their presumable
updrying. Today's one is from the
Grauniad:
Here at the Cocobu session - whose proceedings are the setting for a
trial run of the full-blown new interpreting regime - not everything
is going smoothly. Twenty languages with a three- person team for each
means 60 interpreters for this committee meeting. But the Maltese,
Slovaks and Poles have downed tools because their booths have no
chairs.
("My booth has no chair!"
"Really, how does it sit?"
"Awful!")
Oh the hilarity:
Even the driest of eurocrats relishes the true story of the
interpreter who struggled with the leaden speech of a German
commissioner who had compared the pace of a negotiating session to a
hedgehog - and translated it as: "This meeting is slow, ponderous and
full of pricks."
And some incision, which is rare:
Globalisation and multinational companies have created expectations
that cannot be ignored: if Microsoft can publish its manuals in
Catalan, Europe's institutions look a bit flaky if they say they
can't.
"A foreign minister or a commissioner may be perfectly Anglophone, but
we can't expect that from the specialist in lawnmower sound levels,"
explains Ian Andersen, a Danish official in the commission's
interpretation directorate - upgraded, due to volume of work, from the
mere department it used to be. But it is precisely such specialists,
the nuts-and-bolts desk officers, who are working away in meetings
about basic things such as harmonising how the EU does business or
fairly applying its rules for agriculture and the environment. "Our
concern," says Andersen, who has been interpreting French, Italian,
Swedish and Norwegian into his native tongue for 18 years, "is that
people should be able to send their best specialists and not their
best linguists."
Of course, Microsoft was a bit shall we say slow off the blocks with
the i18n into smaller languages, but Catalan is an odd choice of
example since it is not small (the article later quotes estimates of
"at least seven million") and it has (as the article also remarks) no
official status within the EU. And Micosoft probably doesn't publish
1.4 million pages a year, either.
Still, as an EU citizen and tax-payer, I certainly consider this gravy
well-splashed - it's micropeanuts compared to the amount the UK spends
subsidising car drivers or farmeurs, after all.
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