Showing posts with label blog carnival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog carnival. Show all posts

Sunday, September 8, 2013

cutback / backcut

(originally posted in September 2010)

 

a home can be
a rounded piece of wood
___________________in an old tree
she realizes as she sits
with a cup of time
___________________in a garden

that dates back to the era
when gardens were cut in sizes
___________________large enough

to provide food
for a family & shelter
___________________for birds,

to encompass
in growing rings
___________________- the circle of life

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.. and more virtual tree notes. so good to return to this label.

(for the 'Festival of the Trees' blog carneval)

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

my place of inspiration

this post belongs to the upcoming language/place blog carnival #17: "Inspiration", hosted by Vivian Faith Prescott. the edition is still open to contributions! - guidelines



"Places speak to us. They inspire writing, thoughts, art, a personal change, & more. You return to that place over and over again because you know it has a language of its own and that the place will ‘say' something to you."

the line is from the introduction to the edition - and made me go and browse the places i feel drawn to, places i have blogged about before already: Mallorca. Lanzarote. and right now, the 100 days project. this place of shared creativity and inspiration. each of the images in the collage developed there, and my string of contributions there is very much about places i've been to, seen from a new angle (here's the blog link: 100 days of daily photos - p art ici patio n).

which place to pick? i went to the garden, to find the answer there, under the open sky, with the hands close to the earth, while tending to the flowers, while visiting the new petals. and then i knew: this place - right in front the door, part of every day here, small compared to the islands of Mallorca and Lanzarote, tiny compared to mountains, is actually the place that inspires me continually, on an unspectacular, but vivid and daily basis. here some moments from the blog:

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just this.
this moment.
this color.
at this time of day.

(March 2012)

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this morning, while taking the photo,
the tupils made me think of a quote from India
- an advice for life, symoblized by lilies:
open to the light. close to the darkness.

(April 2011)

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morning lig ht moment
lig......,,,....... h t garden moment
morning light garde n moment
morning ight gard e n moment

(April 2010)

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Some related links:

Friday, June 8, 2012

Antelope Summer + Europe today: rolling

June is flash fiction month in New Zealand, and in celebration of this, the Aotearoa Affair invited authors to send their stories for a "Flash Across Borders". This is mine, the memory of a summer that moved across borders. All 26 stories + reflections on flash are now online at Flash Across Borders.  
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Antelope Summer

It was the summer of vuvuzelas. The ball rolled on and on, down there in the South of Africa, between all those countries of the world. Huge screens glowed in the night, green reflections of success and failure.

Then suddenly, it was over. The TV channels returned to their normal daily and weekly schedules. The heat kept lingering, though. It turned lawns into patches of prairie: yellow and stubby the grass stood, as if waiting for antelopes and hyenas. Still hesitant, you went, and bought one of the last vuvuzelas on sale, and we finally learned to do the rain dance.

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meanwhile, in Europe today, the countdown is running:
at 5 pm the europan soccer championships will start, the first match is Portugal vs. Greece. it will be a weird championship - the ball rolling while the prime ministers keep trying to save the Euro from tumbling. 21st century reality, it is. 

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related links:
- more on the Euro crisis in this blog: Europe, Quo Vadis?
- Antelope Summer was first published in Dog Days of Summer 2010

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

The Things that Remain

This bilingual post belongs to the  May Aotearoa Affair blog carnival - a web initiative of Kiwi and German writers and artists. It's inspired by the theme "All things Bi" and explores the similarity of English and German words in a visual and poetic approach.

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I - The Things That Remain



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Many English and German words have the same roots, but are written and pronounced slightly different: for example, the English house turns to “Haus” in German, and is pronounced almost identical. Or, to pick a group of words that is mentioned in the poems. colors. In English, there is red, green, blue, white – in German, it’s rot, grün, blau and weiß. Of course, some colours are very different. But there also are some words that remain the same in both languages – and it was this group that inspired the creation of the visuals “The Things that Remain” – “Die Dinge, die bleiben”.

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II - Die Dinge, die bleiben



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Notes

the visuals were first published in Wordforword #19

& i tried to find the lingual term for those words, but didn't find it. the closes is:
  • Cognates: words that have a common etymological origin.
  • also, there are: False Friends: pairs of words or phrases in two languages or dialects that look or sound similar, but differ in meaning.
  • and there is: Homonym: a word that sounds or is spelled the same as another word but has a different meaning.

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Saturday, April 14, 2012

The Other Side

This post is inspired by edition #15 of the language/place blog carnival: "Encountering the Other in Language + Place", hosted by Abha Iyengar at Encounters.

Sometimes when I take a picture, I turn around and take a photo of the counterparting view. It's nothing new that each place has two sides. But it's something that stands out more poignant in photos. Here's an example, this is a place I arrived at after a winding drive along a forest road, which opened to a wide view. There's a parking spot right at the end of the forest, and just some steps from there, I took the pair of photos, wondering how it would feel like to live righ there, halfway between forest and sky:




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Those counterpart images also connect to the the saying "from my point of view" - which is almost identical in German: "Aus meiner Sicht" - "From my view". Whenever two people meet, and talk face to face, they automatically are standing in a (physical) counterpart view of their surroundings. Parallel to that, we all come from different places, and carry a different take on things, and sometimes wonder why others see the world in such a different, other way. And sometimes, when travelling, we find that our own take on things has changed in a different surrounding.

Following this thought, here's a second pair of images from Lanzarote island - a place where all ways lead to the water sooner or later. Lanzarote also is the place where I once wrote an island diary with this line on an "other" in it:

"Walking back, I followed my own trails for a while, and couldn’t help but wonder how it would have been to grow up here, on this island, surrounded by water. She would have been another I, that much was sure." (-La Isla)




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Yet in fact, to shift view, we don't even need to change place at all. A simple inversion of subject and object is all it takes to arrive in the same, other place.

It was in spring, while clearing the withered twigs and preparing the garden for the new year, that a surprising thought popped up. The moment, it turned into some lines, penned down on the backside of a bulb package:

symbiosis
in between tulips bulbs
the question:
am i growing this garden
or is this garden
growing me?


some days later, in a wordless encounter, a tulip opened. it was same like the others, and different at the same time:




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that was 2 years ago. since then, i wait for a tulip to open in this special way again. and recently, mailed with a friend about individuals who are different, who draw attention, wanted and unwanted, and are mocked by others. one of the key line of the conversation was this: “in so many ways, it can be uncomfortable to be different. it takes courage. there is a price to pay for it.”

the paradox seems to be that there is deep longing of the human psyche to be special. and at the same time, another part of us longs to be comfortable in ones surrounding, to be “part of the group/crowd”. and so many films are about people with special talents who are mocked first, and then find their way and are celebrated – but this mocking, it’s also a part of our social structure. and not all biographies lead to a happy end.




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in German, there is an own word for people who are following individual pathes that differ from the norm, or who have their own style - they are called "eigenartig", which literally translates to “Own-style”, but has the meaning of “strange”. which lead to this poetic wish from a German friend once:

“Eigenartig
wie das Wort eigenartig
es als fast fremdartig hinstellt
eine eigene Art zu haben“
ich wünsche dir
viel Freude und Glück und Eignenartigkeit"

„strange
how the word Eigenart („own-style“)
puts it as almost alien
to have an own style”
-i am wishing you
a lot of happiness and joy and eigenart

... and interesting that the German “Art” means style, way, approach – i wonder if it is connected to the English “art” for artistic expression. hadn’t noticed this.

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related links .. encounters with the other side
- bay morning, two sides
- Four Berlins, or: I am (t)here
- shores, migration, modern times + a better world
- East Wet Real Life

Saturday, April 7, 2012

"Those views are special - because they are ours."

this blog entry belongs to the upcoming blog carnival "View From Here" - it also is part of photo friday's theme "From my Window".









at the end of last year, photo friday asked to put one's personal "Best of 2011" photo online. which image to pick? i scrolled through files, and then found it. not 1 image, but 1 series: the sky diary photos i started a long time ago.

most of the photos are taken from the same window. that's also how the series started: the first photo of the series was inspired by a task/share thread in a web forum - Lonely Planet Travellers. the simple task back then: "take a photo from the window of the room you are in."

many responded, some with stunning city skylines. one posted a simple image of a small garden, with some houses and trees beyond. "Nothing special, just the view from the window here," she wrote. to which someone answered: "Those views are special - because they are ours."

i still remember that line: "because they are ours".

it's sometimes easy to get lost in the stream of media with all those stunning photos and spotless settings inhabited by perfect persons - and even though we technically know that a lot of the images and persons in TV and in magazines are set up, and heavily photoshopped, they leave their traces. a while ago, i read an interview of a photographer who said that during his first longer journey, he took lots of photos - and back home he realized he photographed it all in a way he was accustomed to, a way he had seen the places photographed before. 

maybe that's also where my fascination for online communities like photo friday and for blog-initiatives comes from: each is a celebration of "just the view from here".

and to add another layer to the views: maybe the sky series, it is also about exploring how many images one place holds. and how rich life is, everyday. 

here's the link to the whole series: life as a journey of changing skies.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

2 book fairs, 2 keys to twitter, 21 senses, and the world



2 book fairs in 1
one of the main themes of the last days was the Leipzig book fair, which happened just now, at the verge of spring. i visited the fair last year, and followed it online this year. it's a festival of books and all the themes they encompass. so many links, photos, comments, reflections - based on them, i put 2 articles together. one is for the German comics page (one of my freelance projects), and the focus thus is on comics and the trends in the German book market (where comics & graphic novels are seen as "not really literature" by some, but alas, they find more and more readers, and are one of the continuing focus themes in Leipzig with an own hall).

later, i put together a blog note about Leipzig for the New Zealand blog – piecing it together brought back even more memories of my own visits to the fair. the New Zealand article is about the visiting authors – but then rolls in a wider direction, and includes the history of the fair in a nutshell – which is so deeply connected to Leipzig and to the German history. it’s online now here: Impressions from the Leipzig book fair
working on both was like moving through the same fair, but in different worlds, probably best illustrated by the tweets with the links:

New Zealand authors at the Leipzig Book Fair & a walk through Leipzig city: newzealandgermany2012.wordpress.com/category/feature #lbm12

Comics, Graphic Novels & Manga auf der Leipziger Buchmesse: Clips, Links + geteilte Meinungen: mycomicsde.blogspot.de/2012/03/comics #lbm12

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a key to twitter
the "#lbm12" you see at the end of each tweet is the tag for the Leipzig Book Fair: "Leipzig Buch Messe '12". it's just a little addition, but it's like a link (or rather: it is the link) that connects your tweet to a virtual web catalogue. twitter has the function to create a whole twitterstream for an event or a theme with a tag, when clicking on the tag, it lists all tweets that include the tag - and in contrast to facebook, it lists all, and not only the ones you are friends with already. here's an example, and below a screenshot: twitter-hashtag #lbm12



a note: for large events, the stream often gets so busy that twitter just lists the "Top Tweets", but offers the option to switch to "All" on top of the list, which then lists the most recent tweets. .

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new blog carnival: language/place: "Senses"

parallel to all the book fair blogging, the language/place carnival went online, just in time for spring. and again, twitter was one of the places that spread the message beyond mail, here's the message from issue-editor Stella Pierides, with lots of tags included to help to spread the news:

Lang/Place #14 on The Senses in Language/Place is here!
http://stellapierides.com/blog/languageplace-14-locating-the-senses
#stories # #art #smallstone #greece #poem


the coincidence in time was especially beautiful as it actually was a visit to a book fair that brought the idea for the language/place carnival, which then later also sparked the New Zealand carnival. here's that story: When 2 Things Connect.

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a second key to twitter
you can also use twitter to search for a theme when the tweets don't include hashtags.
for example, if you go ahead and look for the "language/place" carnival on twitter, and enter the term in the seach field, this tweet-list pops up: twitter: "language/place":



so that's the second key to twitter: you don't need a hashtag to cross-connect, you can also just do a search by theme. but then, hashtags in tweets of course invite to click, while otherwise, it takes a copy-and-paste first. and if a lot of people use the same hashtag or the same terms in their tweets, a theme can go "trending" and will be listed in the sidebar next to the tweets (this happened with the book fair, both "Buchmesse" and "#lbm12" were listed as trending while the fair was on.)

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books, books & books
and finally, to round the book-blog-day up, i put a new book feature live in the blueprint book blog, which in time turned into a little book exhibition itself, with books that range from poetry to novel to non-fiction and art. here's the blog link: blueprint book + lit blog

and here's the note for the new book feature - the book? it's about walking into the world with an open mind and an open heart:

poetry meets philosophy:
Daniela Elza isn't afraid of the questions and answers
the weight of dew - Daniela Elza

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now, a new day. things to do, one of them: preparing the next pages of the blueprint issue. and some time off-line, with a book ... ("Journal of a Solitude" by Mary Sarton. talk about contrasts.)

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Once upon a time, an empty page

This post belongs to the Aotearoa Affair blog carnival - a web initiative of Kiwi and German writers and artists. It's inspired by the theme "Past Myths, Present Legends", moves from present to past to the now, and includes one of the oldest German literary works: a (anti)heroe's tale.



June, 2009, Konstanz
Together with a friend I walk through Konstanz - a city located at the edge of Lake Constance, which itself is an edge: the southern border of Germany. Neither of us has been in this place before. We walk through the old streets of the city centre, and arrive at a house with a large mural, like a memory of the past. We try to decipher the scenes, and notice the word: "Salve".

Our guidebook doesn't tell the story of the mural, but it includes a timeline. Turns out,  the history of Konstanz reaches back to Roman times. Back then, around the year 300 a.C., the settlement was named Constantia. So that's what the words "Salve" relate to: the Roman greeting. Now, if only those old stones could talk and tell the tales of those times.

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January, 2012, Munich
In many places, the old stones were lost: demolished, to make space for new houses. Or simply: built upon. Sometimes they appear again. Like in this construction site in the centre of Munich. Underneath the planned new buildings: the old foundations of houses forgotten a long time ago. Who lived there? And which tales were told in those old rooms? Nothing remains but the silent stones. And sometimes, a piece of paper.

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Year 900, in an unknown place
After 30 years of war and forced exile, as a German legend has it, an old warrior returns home. At the border, a young soldier stops him, and asks who is. The father realizes that the young soldier is his son - but the son believes his father is dead. He calls for a fight, in the honour of his father.

The story, it's the "Hildebrandslied" - "Hildebrand's song" - an old legend that points at the reality of the region that started to turn into "Deutschland" in the 15th century. Before that, Germany was a patchwork of changing borders, and endless wars. It's maybe not coincidence that the warrior legend is one of the earliest literary works in German, written in Old German verse, and with it, is the only surviving example of what probably was an oral tradition of the Germanic tribes.

Here's the original start, in Old German - which no one would be able to understand now, except of a few experts of old languages. The lines, they are like language fossils. But their sound still carries the tale, beyond understanding:

Ik gihorta ðat seggen
ðat sih urhettun ænon muotin
Hiltibrant enti Haðubrant untar heriun tuem
sunufatarungo iro saro rihtun
garutun se iro guðhamun gurtun sih iro suert ana
helidos ubar hringa do sie to dero hiltiu ritun

here's the German version:
Ich hörte (glaubwürdig) berichten,
daß zwei Krieger, Hildebrand und Hadubrand, (allein)
zwischen ihren beiden Heeren, aufeinanderstießen.
Zwei Leute von gleichem Blut, Vater und Sohn, rückten da ihre Rüstung zurecht,
sie strafften ihre Panzerhemden und gürteten ihre
Schwerter über die Eisenringe, die Männer,
als sie zu diesem Kampf ritten.

and here's the English translation:
I heard tell
That warriors met in single combat
Hildebrand and Hadubrand between two armies
son and father prepared their armour
made ready their battle garments girded on their swords
the warriors, over their chain mail
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Two Pages
1100 years is the age of the pages that carry the Hildebrand-text. It was written down in a monastery, on the first and last page of an even older biblical manuscript. The text is not complete - as the space on the last page wasn't large enough for all verses. Still, it survived. Was stolen, brought to another continent, brought back. Its story, it now is a fable in itself.

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2012, Überlingen
Tales told. Tales forgotten. Tales lingering.
And sometimes: tales turned into a fountain. Like here, in Überlingen - a place that also borders at Lake Constance. I walked around the fountain twice, but there's no plate, no hint at the tale itself. But it's there, wordless, rising.

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1885, Regensburg
A recent article in the Guardian: For years, a historian travelled a the region of Germany called Oberpfalz, to collect the local fairy tales, like the Grimm Brothers. But while the Grimm fairy tales got popular, the collected tales of Oberpfalz didn't gain much attention. The volumes were filed in the city archive, and forgotten, for 150 years. The rest, again, is a tale itself: a cultural curator looked for regional stories in the archive, and re-discovered the books that alway had been waiting there, carrying 500 tales.

One of them is online now in English: The Turnip Princess

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And to end these notes on tales with a beginning, here the starting words of fairy tales in German:
Es war einmal...
It was onetime...

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related links, myths, lines:

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

a dialogue across the ocean, a maori in Manhattan, a buddha in prison, and more crossings



An Aotearoa Affair: 24 crossings
the it was 3 months ago, during a mail dialogue across shores that Michelle Elvy (in New Zealand) and i (from Germany, but at that point in Spain), realized that New Zealand will be guest of honour at the big book fair in Germany in October. Which sparked the idea to create a virtual blog fest for writers and readers from both regions, or with some connection to it. a virtual space that invites readers and writers and bloggers to connect across those hemispheres.

in January, the base page went online, with some first, shorter entries. this month, a longer interview and a short story followed.

and today, the first New Zealand - German blog carnival is live. It includes 24 artists and writers. The theme is Crossings, here's the link: An Aotearoa Affair: Crossings

it starts with a wonderful piece by Keri Hulme, who received the Booker Prize for her novel „Bone People“ and writes about the story of us all in a blog entry.

another blog post that got under my skin is the one from Hinemoana Baker, which arrived just in time to include: a maori in manhattan – the blog reflection starts with remembering the earthquake in New Zealand, and still not finding the words:

I don't know how it is to live through what's happened in Canterbury, in Pike River, in Japan. But I know about grief. And I know how it can take the air out of a person's life, make you turn in smaller and smaller circles. 

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smaller and larger
maybe that's one of the impulses the carnival sparked from: in this time of overwhelming news streams, of new breaking headlines on daily basis, to create an open, slower, larger space to share small and large notes, reflections, moments, across hemispheres.

just like in this quote : "I think that’s what we all want: we want to feel alive. We want to feel like part of something bigger than ourselves. We want to care about something that excites us, intrigues us, and challenges us to reach deep down and be the people we know we can be." (from: Tiny Buddha)

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some coincidences
i came across while editing:  2 entries are including moths in poetic lines. 3 contributions are about Berlin. many of the authors crossed hemispheres at some point, for journeys, or for shifts of home. and there are a lot of river/oceans in the edition: from elements, crossing is like turning liquid for a while, moving, falling, streaming into another place.

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the photos
in the collage are from Michelle's entry Latitude Adjustment, from a maori in manhattan, from my own piece Four Berlins, or: I am (t)here, and from a hidden entry: if you follow Roucheswalwe's vocabulary notes, and keep scrolling, you arrive at the story of the Buddha: Glücksbringer - "Talisman":

"The wooden Buddha who is missing his right foot: My Grandpapa received him as a friendship gift from a Japanese soldier in the mid-1940's when they were both prisoners of war in Camp Hearne, Texas. In Japanese, frog is Kaeru. This word sounds exactly like the verb, kaeru, to return."

here's the blog carnival main link again: An Aotearoa Affair: Crossings

enjoy ~

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

A sense of place in time

This post belongs to the edition #14 of the language/place blog carnival, the theme of the edition is: "Locating the Senses"


(from the anthropological museum in Mexico City)

Steve
Last night we watched a Werner Herzog docu that here is called Cave of Forgotten Dreams, about Chauvet Cave in France where beautiful 35,000 year old paintings were discovered. It was during an ice age and there was an ice free corridor to southwestern Germany, to the Swabian Alb, which made me think of you. Here's more about it: wiki / Cave of Forgotten Dreams.

It is fascinating to see our history like this, these traces they left but with so many unanswered questions.

Dorothee
Thanks for sending the link to the Werner Herzog docu. I read about it during production, but then missed the film release. Now I looked up the place of the Chauvet Cave in France. Seeing it on the map, I realized we drove past the region last September: it is near Avignon, the city that is also close to Mount Ventoux, where we stopped on the drive back. So I actually crossed the region where the groups of people in former times lived. Here's an image from the drive:



In an article about the caves, the scientists stated that the paintings happened during a time span of six thousand years. And that the paintings were saved in time as a huge stone plate shattered down at some point, and sealed the original entry of the cave.

Steve
There are so many interesting artistic aspects to this time, 35,000 years ago or so. Just the fact that they used the caves for painting and whatever else they did there, maybe ceremonies, for thousands of years makes you stop and think about the short history of our culture. It was such an effort to get far back in these caves and provide light, and most of these drawings are so amazingly exquisite. It makes me wonder if they learned and practiced painting somewhere else, and only the masters of painting used the caves.

Then there was the ice free corridor to Germany, so there was connection there, flow. And in Germany they were doing beautiful carvings, like those little Venus figures, but also others. And making flutes, ones that use the same pentatonic scale that modern music uses. Yet at this same time there was another kind of humans, Neanderthals, who supposedly lacked this kind of art.

Dorothee
The little Venus figure found in Germany - I thought about it today when driving along the mountain plateau not far from here: the Alb. Which actually is the region the Venus figure was found. It's almost overwhelming, to think back all those centuries - all those years and generations.

And they found some other relicts in that area, just some months ago: 4 stones with tiny paintings. The stones carry the oldest painting found in Middle Europe so far - here's a screenshot of the article with photo:


One of the scientists explained that the dots on the stone might resemble a religious relict, or a menstruation calendar. They also look a bit like a code.

Steve
There is this heartbeat by heartbeat, breath by breath history that connects us so deeply under the surface of the moment. It connects us not just with others in this time but also back through time.

Looking at the stone painting, I had another thought about this, that to me it also relates to the draft of the poem I sent recently, Trillion Page Diary:

Through each day they endured, despite the dangers,
persevering until the mate was joined,
and particles of critical accumulated information passed,
a next generation conceived.

It is a diary of life,
of which she is the current chapter,

written in this living language
whose alphabet is said to have but four letters only.


Dorothee

The four letter gene code, and the painted code. And then: the code of a poem, the same words like the usual language, but another approach, speaking from and to another layer of our mind and soul.

And this now again relates to another text - the book that I was reading recently. It's from Sandra Davies. Maybe you remember her contribution to the “language/place on the edge” carnival edition: a story set in Neolithic time: Curve of Learning. That was the first part of a story-in-3-parts. I now read the whole work, it’s online with illustrations here: Edge: curve, arc, circle.

(Sandra Davies, from "Edge")

In the comments of the first publication of the "Edge" story, Sandra wrote: "This was a story I worked hard with to ensure that the antiquity of the voice came over as intended, and yes the rhythm was important too. I've been visiting Isbister since 1982 and Ronnie Simison, the farmer who put the ring together, told me the tale himself, as he told us of his discovery and initial excavation of the burial chamber. I've held the skulls and seen the bones and lain in the tomb, and stood by the hearth at Liddle - it's a deeply heart felt story, and was important to me to tell it."

Steve
This book looks very interesting, Sandra Davies' one. And it's so beautiful about the way Sandra connected, physically and on all levels, and it leads to her putting her heart into her writing. I find that so inspiring. It does connect directly to Herzog too. This is fascinating, the way all these seemingly scattered pieces connect just now. I really should not be surprised because it has happened so many times now, yet each time I am surprised (and delighted).

Dorothee
An afterntought: today, I put the call for the next language/place carnival online: Stella Pierides will host the March edition, she sent her call this yesterday, with the focus theme for the edition. It's "Locating the Senses in Language / Place - Does a place associate in your mind with a smell, an image, a sound?...", here's the full call:Language/Place Edition #14 - How to join

Reading her call, I thought: this also connects to Sandra Davies’ book, and to Herzog’s film. Both were sparked by a place. And both tried to share the experience of being in this specific place by creating a work that captures the sense of this place in time - and choose a combination of senses to communicate the place: Sandra with the story and her paintings, and Herzog through his docu film, which also is a combination of image and text. He used 3D technique to be able to capture the details.

We could create an e-dialogue again for it. Any chance you have a photo that connects to the theme as illustration, too?

Steve
I like your idea of collecting related things. I have some not very clear photos from Chaco Canyon of symbols scratched on rock, but let me see what else I can find....

[Later]
I put some images in the dropbox, in a new folder called cave of dreams. Maybe it should be cave of remembered dreams? : - ) Please have a look and let me know what you think.


(from the anthropological museum in Mexico City)

The photos, I really surprised myself when I started looking yesterday. All of those are from the anthropological museum in Mexico City. I am sure the first cave painting one is a reproduction of European cave art, but I don't know which one. Lascaux is the most famous, so possibly that is the one. And the second rock painting is a reproduction of Anasazi art, if I remember correctly.

There are many fascinating objects that were found there. And the span of thousands of years that these rituals or whatever they were had these people, whose lives could not have been easy, whose survival must always have been threatened, making time for creating musical instruments and carving figures and painting these dot codes, and going deep into caves with great difficulty to make drawings and paintings. It must have been very important to them for those thousands of years. It is so fascinating to look beneath the surface of now.

Dorothee
Wow, your images! The first one, with the animals – that almost looks like from Chavet. And yes, the span of thousands of years, it’s hard to imagine for our minds, even though we are surrounded by reminders of creation that took thousands and millions of years: the hills that surround us, the valleys, they all were shaped over long spans of time. But mostly we don’t see them as something that is in a long slow process – but rather something static.

[One Week Later]
Dorothee

Guess where I've been to today? In the past. Such a good coincidence: Last week, while driving through my hometown Esslingen, I noticed a poster with an artifact on it. Turns out, there is an exhibition on right now in the "Stadtmuseum" - the city museum. It'a about the neolithic artifacts that were found in the area in the last years. And of course, I had to go there now. Here's a photo of the museum, with the poster as flag in front:



The name of the exhibition is "Feuerstein  und Keltengold" - "Flintstone and Celitc Gold."

It’s a smaller museum, but carefully arranged. In a way, a really good home contrast to the Pinakothek Munich. A friend of mine was interested in the exhibit, too, and so we met up there. Temperatures were freezing, with the Siberian cold arriving, around -6° to 2°, but sunny. Inside it was warm, of course - but looking at the small artifacts on display: arrowheads and flintstones, pieces of vases and other tiny details - we couldn't help but wonder how those tribes made it through the winters of this region.

It was fascinating, to to walk through the rooms – starting long past, and then moving towards present. All the relicts are from this area, and we knew a lot of the places they were found. Two artifacts were especially stunning, vases with a face:



There aren't any notes delivered from the time they found the relicts - they didn't leave any written notes. "The first mentioning of the "Kelten" tribes and settlers dates back to Herodot in Greece, in the time of 6 centuries B.C. It seems the Kelten themselves avoided written documents," one of the museum guides explained to us.

The Stadtmuseum also has a floor where paintings, photos and everyday items of the closer past are on display. One of the paintings showed the old town hall, the one I walked past on the way to the exhibit - and looking at it, the outside reflected in layers:



The afternoon, it really felt like a bit of exploring time, like travelling at home.

Steve
Wow, this exhibit looks fascinating! And all the more so because it is from your area, from places you know. It is so personal, like the descendents of those people might be living there still.

Thanks for sending the photo. The artifacts are beautiful. Such artistry. It is like we discussed with the Indian baskets: art was important to these people. Theirs was a vibrant culture, not just survival skills.

I'm sure it was interesting to share it with a friend, too, as she is another artist.

Dorothee
Yes, it was interesting to visit together. And even though it was a smaller exhibition, it held so many things to see and learn and reflect on. Afterwards, we went for a coffee in a new place. My friend had brought a book about the history of Esslingen, and we browsed the pages of it - the book has photos included, but that also made us realize that photos of artifacts don't give an idea of scale. Like prints of paintings, too: You don't really know how small or large they are in reality. And standing in front of them, you get a different feel for them - a closeness, an idea of their fabric, their vibe. There's something about the physical character of things that you grasp with more than your visual sense. It's probably also where the desire to touch and connect come from.

"When I go for the next walk, I will take a closer look at the ground", my friend stated. Which also brought this different layer of place again: all the people who walked along the trails here before us, who rested and settled in places that now are marks on the map, even for our walks today.

"It would be fascinating to have a sense for that," I thought again on the drive back home. To be able to see those layers of the past, in a place.

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Some related links:

Thursday, January 5, 2012

Three Cups of Chai (Varanasi, India)

this post belongs to edition #13 of the language/place blog carnival - the feature theme is: "Lost in Translation", it's online now at I Must Be Off!



Varanasi, India
THREE CUPS OF CHAI


Some warned me that it would be terribly dirty, especially when it rains, with all the cowpats. Others explained that it is a magic place, and I just have to go there. My guidebook described it as the holy city at the Ganges River. Plus there was a night train, leaving Agra in the evening, to arrive in Varanasi in the morning. Thus, I said good bye to the Taj Mahal, packed my bags once more, and took a rickshaw to the train station, to wake up to a new place some hours and some hundred miles later.

It’s quite hectic for a holy city, was one of the first things I thought when I arrived there. Later I learned that Varanasi is only hectic from the outside. Once you made your way to the inner city, and found yourself a room, the place changes. Behind all those streets, beyond all those motion, there is – the reflection of water. And beyond that, nothingness. No bridges lead across the water. No buildings wait on the other side. It’s a free space, right next to the crowdedness.



At the river Ganges I sat, and watched the water float by. In my hands, a cup of chai, bought from a Sadu, a holy man. It became one of my favourite places, this river side café that consisted of nothing but the steps that had always been there, the teapot of the Sadu, and some glass cups for the tea. It was also the place where I met other travellers - like Mary and Jean, who were coming from Nepal and heading towards Thailand, where I'd been a year before. Sitting there, we exchanged travel tales and sipped tea.

Came the day the Sadu ran out of tea: “Three cups”, we said, like so often before. The Sadu nodded. Then he took his teapot, and walked down the steps. Towards the Ganges. The holy river. Also known as one of the dirtiest rivers of the world. When he reached the water, the Sadu kneeled down. And filled the tea pot with Ganges water. Then he walked up the stairs again, to prepare the tea. When he saw our startled looks, he lifted the teapot, and turned to us. With a gesture of reassurance, he pointed at the teapot. "Holy tea," he explained, enjoying our embarrassment in the compassionate way of a true Sadu: delighted by the experience his teapot held for us.



this is a true story. it's also true that all of us felt just fine after drinking the ganges tea.
another moment from there, in an image-text-installation: sometimes in Varanasi.
more "teacups" from India are included in Masala Moments, my travel novel from India. 


previous contributions to the language/place carnival ("Food Slurs", "The Art of it", "Home, the road, and the global village"..) can be found at: life as a journey of language and place

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

towards a tree / from a tree

this post belongs to the Festival of the Trees #66

it's Tuesday 4pm on the way back from the city. i stop and go, stop and go until i finally reach the turn to the old park and the villa merkel. a new exhibition is on there, sculptures and photos about "Raum" - "Space". i park the car, walk down the park trail towards the villa, and slow down after passing a huge tree. the slowing leads to a stand, and an inversion: i take steps backwards until i arrive in a different place, one that leads to walking towards a tree. from there, i take some more slow steps, and arrive at from a tree.

--
towards a tree




--
from a tree





--
a photo that gives a larger view of the park and the tree is online at tuesday 4pm.

more trees in this blog: life as a journey with trees

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Food Slurs: an e-flection on multicultural mockings

this post belongs to edition #12 of the language/place blog carnival, which is hosted by Linda Hofke at Lind-guistics and has the feature theme: "Food"



Food Slurs

An e-flection on multicultural mockings that starts with depictions of racism, and moves on to ethnical food, blacks and whites of thought and skin colour, to shades of political correctness and situational incorrectness.

Eric (Ohio)
Did you see this link on McSweeney’s? - "Conversations I've Had During A Normal Day In Los Angeles, Modified To Include The Shocking Depiction Of Racism Found In Paul Haggis's 2004 Film Crash, by Brendon Lloyd."

“CO-WORKER: I can't freakin' stand those Indians”
“ME: I'm part Cherokee.”
“CO-WORKER: Then why don't you go smoke a peace pipe and get the hell out of my country?”...

Dorothee (Southern Germany)
That’s rough. Do people really talk like this?

Okay. Ignore the question. It just sounds so weird to me because of the racial references that are uncommon here. I mean, there aren’t that many Cherokees living in Germany. But you might hear Turkish men being addressed with the line: “Was willst du, Knoblauchfresser?”—“What do you want, garlic-eater?”

Eric
Wait wait wait wait WAIT.... You actually hear people call Turks "garlic-eater?" And is that offensive to the Turkish man in this scene?

Dorothee
Yes, you sometimes hear people call Turks "garlic-eaters". Just as you sometimes hear people call Italians "Spaghetti-Fresser"—"spaghetti-devourer".
But I would suggest to not try this while visiting Germany. Or, if you try, then RUN — as yes, you bet that this is understood as offensive.

Eric
Spaghetti-devourer. I would be amazed when I hear it. Because I would be like, "you can't be serious, but you are." But then, sometimes Americans call Mexicans “beaners”. Not as much here, because there aren't many Mexicans around. But in places where more Mexicans live, there are those who talk like that.

Seen like that, it is a little amusing that racial/ethnic slurs are sometimes based on the food people eat - garlic-eater, beaner, kraut, limey (british). Actually, the more I think of it, the funnier it is, because it is so stupid that this is all the better we can do — to make fun of the food.

I don't know why they call the irish "micks." I think something more descriptive, such as "bog trotter" is funnier. Potato-eater would be the best food one.

Now this is making me hungry. (For colcannon.)

Dorothee
Krauts for Germans. I heard that before, but it’s still odd, as it’s really not very popular any more to eat kraut. Only in autumn, when there are some small towns who have a “Krautfest” with lots of food stalls.

More food-related slurs this made me think of: rice-eater (Chinese).
Smoerebroed-muncher (Swedens).
Vodka-drinker (Russians).

And it's true, it's really the cheapest way to mock someone from another culture, to make fun of their eating habits. But then, eating habits are a basic of daily culture. So this hits right in the daily habits of people.

Eric
About rice: I used to work with a guy who—this is lame—when we had to wait to hear back from a client, he would sometimes say, "we'll just let them stew in their juice for a while." Meaning wait and let them make a decision. But we had a Vietnamese client named Bau, and everyone liked him, so I don't think my boss meant anything bad when he said, "We'll just let old Bau stew in his rice for a while."

I'm going to make up my own random food-related slurs. "Ice cream eater!" "Get away from me, you milk-drinker." Or non-food related. "Belt-buckler."

Dorothee
Milk-drinker actually a teasing name here: “Milchbubi”—“little milkiboy.”
It’s tossed from the big muscle guys to those who are slim and don’t have muscles.

Was willst du, Milchbubi?”—“Got a problem, milkiboy?”

And some 2 or 3 years ago, there was a hype of teasing names that went along your ideas, to be tossed randomly at random people, without any further founding of fact and logic: „Bleistiftspitzer“—„pencil-sharpener“. Or things like "Fussföner".

Eric
I can't believe someone beat me to milk-drinker. Wouldn't be all that offensive, I guess.
But Fussföner. What does it mean? It sounds fun. "Listen here, Fussföner, I ordered a SOY latte!!"

Dorothee
That would make you a soy-latte-drinker: "Hey, soy-latte-drinker, you think you are somewhat cooler than a Fussföner? Well let me tell you the tough truth: you aren't."

Fussföner: someone who dries his feet with the hair dryer, to make sure they get all dry. Same category as the Duschgel-Anwärmer: someone who warms up the showergel before applying it on the skin.

I think it all started with an overload of political correctness that erupted into situational incorrectness on all levels. You didn't have that in Ohio?

Eric
Well, we certainly have political correctness that goes too far. But not so far as to have non-namecalling names. My kids do sometimes. "You eraser head." Things like that—it means nothing but sounds like something.

Oddly, it used to be that a man who draws engineering drawings and blueprints was a draftsman. Now it is drafter. That is fine. A policeman is a police officer—a patrolman is a trooper. Waiters and waitresses are servers. Stewardess is flight attendant. Those are all fine.

But to go so far as to make up the names. And then there are others like "mentally challenged," and differently-abled. And then some people call short people "vertically challenged." On the Ohio drivers license, on the back, there are special categories, and one is "shortness of stature," for short people. Some people are "beauty-challenged."

For the record, I wouldn't order a soy latte, for fear of being accused of being man-challenged. A girly man. And while I don't usually use the hair dryer for my hair, let alone my feet, I am not ashamed to say: I have been known to warm the shower gel. There's no shame in that. Is there?

Dorothee
I have been known to warm the shower gel, too. No shame, as long as no one gets to know about it.

“Vertically challenged.” This one I heard somewhere. It really left me clueless about its meaning at first. And another word I came across today, in the book I am reading right now—it's the yearly diary of Christa Wolf, a German writer who lived in East Germany until the reunion of Germany. It's a fascinating book, starting 1960 and ending 2000. Every year, Wolf described her current life by describing one day, the 27th September. But back to the word: in the diary entry of 1966, she mentions the race riots that happened in San Francisco at that time, and refers to them as: Negeraufstand. "Negroe-uprise". She didn't mean this offensive or negative, it was just the word used for the black people back then: Neger.

Even in the seventies, there was this creamy candy with chocolate cover called "Negerkuss” here in Germany—"negroe-kiss". Later they renamed it "Schokokuss"—"chocolate-kiss" to avoid any racial association. How are those called in the US?

Eric
I don't know what we call those kind of candies. Marshmallow cremes, or chocolate cremes. Maybe cordials, but that usually has fruit, like a cherry in the center. And chocolate kisses are like hershey kisses—you have those? They look like a drop, with a little curl on top.

There are a kind of nuts—filbert might be the official name, but some times they are called brazil nuts. They are bigger than the other nuts in a dish of mixed nuts. When my mom was little, they called them "nigger toes." But that was many years ago, now she would never say that.

Which makes me think of the time when I used to deliver furniture with this kid who was semi retarded, I mean mentally challenged. Slow. And we drove through a part of the city where there were a lot of black people standing around, working at a car wash—pretty stereotypical. And he said, "what do we call those people?" And I said “what people do you mean?” He said, "you know, the darkies." And of course I about died, and told him, "african american? or black? but not darkies." And all of a sudden he remembered, and beamed, and ROLLED DOWN THE WINDOW and waved, yelling, (cheerfully), "Hey, negrettes!"

We didn't wait around to find out if that was acceptable terminology.

That's interesting, the concept of Negeraufstand—race riots seem like such a far away thing, for people our age. But even in the early '90s there were the LA riots that were racial, over the Rodney King verdict. Do you remember that?

Right around then, I was painting a house where a crack dealer lived—Mad Maxx—and he was sitting on the steps telling me that he could beat me up and no one would care, since it would look ok that the black guy beat up a white guy instead of the other way around for a change. A couple days later, he told my brother Ian and me that "Jimi Hendrix was the baddest motherfucker to ever cut a record," and then went upstairs and threw a chair out the window at me. Actually it came through the window, glass flying everywhere. Then he came downstairs and took Ian's hammer and ran down the street, hitting street signs with it. Ian chased him and was all, "give me my hammer!" and Maxx gave it back. The next day he got kicked out of the apartment because they didn't want crack dealers throwing chairs at the white boys, I guess. Black rage, they called it back then.

Dorothee
That story about the negrettes is great—and the other one about the crack dealer is scary. I think what was so good about LA Crash that the film addressed the racial theme through different views, and there was none all-bad or all-good character. No black and white of thought, just different shades.

Which makes me remember something a Canadian said to me once, when we talked about travelling, and about options in life. He was still hurt from a relationship that didn’t work out, not because they didn’t love each other, but because they were from completely different backgrounds—she was European and worked in a huge company, he loved to be in the wilderness—and so they didn’t find a place and a way to make it work. That’s why he went to Asia, to get away from it, and also because he had this dream of doing canoe trips in the mangrove forest of Thailand. We talked about life, work, careers, travelling - at that time I was at a kind of crossroad, wondering which direction to take jobwise. And he looked at me, and said: "You are young, you are intelligent, you are white. How could you not be successful?"

This line, it remained with me. I think I never have heard anyone putting it as bluntly as that.

Eric
What an interesting equation: young, intelligent, white = success. I think looks and height play a part as well. If you have all those, then it is hard to fail. But the intelligence is important, to know how to capitalize on the other factors.

At the same time it’s true about race attitudes being grey. In Crash, you first see the Matt Dillon character as being a total jerk, but then come to see him in a different way, and you think, how can someone have both of those natures within themselves, but we all do in some ways. We're all a little grey.

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Notes & References

This essay is the slightly edited copy & paste of an e-mail conversation between Eric Wrisley, who lives in Ohio and is a contributing writer at Blueswax magazine, and me. "Food Slurs" went first online as part of the "Mulitcultural Minglings" issue of the magazine Sage of Consiousness.

The McSweeney piece is still online: Conversations I've Had During A Normal Day In Los Angeles..

Previous contributributions to the language/place carnival are gathered at: life as a journey of language and place

Friday, October 28, 2011

language place #11: Streets, Signs, Directions



One year ago, the first edition of the language/place carnival went live:
"> Language > Place: a joined blog cyber journey featuring international perspectives on language and place."

Since then, almost monthly, a new edition followed - each a journey in itself, hosted by different bloggers in places that reach from Hong Kong to Slovenia and New Zealand to the States.

Now, for the anniversary edition, the blog carnival returns to its place of origin in Germany - the "life as a journey" blog. The theme of this edition is: "Streets, Signs, Direction" - and following its own theme, this edition offers 3 ways to explore and visit the contributions:

> a found poem, based on single lines from each contribution
>> an itinerary: all contributions with notes and links
>>> a geographic map which also includes the former editions

enjoy the journey!
Dorothee




> Streets, Signs, Directions - a found poem

a sign of the times. a time of signs.
I am hunting the wild poetic in all its true, I walk
in a circle of simultaneous past and present,
here, there

and then on to Berlin for half a day,
too tired and in a hurry to bother stating that it felt weird to be back
wandering the vibrant neighborhoods
pulsing in different directions at the same time

fearful of being stuck there,
I close my eyes, hear the miles below the tyres
corrugated iron canopy steps telegraph wires
dog rebar water tank satellite dish

even time slows (like in a dream)
the world as I know it will end,
the day after tomorrow, and then it will restart

but not now and not here
old breath vision time and sensation
that is the only way I know where to go:
the necessary

not so long ago I was awestruck by the automation, the orderliness,
and the speed I saw all around:
there was always something happening

I focused on taking a lot of pictures
these photos served as a reference point
I am still processing

here we are standing, appropriately:
innuendos bubble champagne lipsticked rims,
sighs hopes promises unfurled
talk about crossing boundaries and borders

I hadn't expected to be so impressed by
the promise of what lays ahead -
this departure

we have a map drawn by the friend of a friend.
it evokes so many feelings
we thunder down the street
and the sensation is like flying

as we drive higher, deeper into the rolls of mountains
we have only the clouds for company.
who am I, I wonder, in this landscape?


>> Streets, Signs, Directions - an itinerary


A sign of the times. A time of signs.
For Swati Nair from India, a large part of her cherished memories lie in streets, signs and roads. "It brings this big swell of joy in my heart just thinking of the various places I have seen, the people I have met and the things I have experienced." - Signs from London

i am hunting the wild poetic in all its true, i walk
Inspired by the topic, Penn Kemp picked two poems from "Dream Sequins", a manuscript in process. Two other poems came from her travels, the first from Morocco, the second from a collection of artificial butterflies. Follow her Walking / Paraclete / From Dream / Travelling

in a circle of simultaneous past and present 
here, there
On the third day of her trip to Paris, Dorothee Lang arrived at a reflection pond in the middle of the city: "I walked through the glass lobby of the museum named by it's former use: l'Orangerie, then stopped in front of a sign with a suggested mode for visiting" - Paris dans le Calme



And then on to Berlin for half a day
Nine from Northern Ireland is skilled in the art of finding cheap ways to get from A to B via C, D and E. In March she arrived in Sweden, coming from Kurdistan, and heading to Berlin. Meet her Everywhere and all over

wandering the vibrant neighborhoods
A stroll through the memories of a journey to Portugal inspired Steve Wing to create a collage of sideway mosaics: Streets, Signs, Directions

pulsing in different directions at the same time
Siddartha Beth Pierce is a Mother, Poet, Artist, Educator and Art Historian from Washington, DC. Her contribution reaches out to Africa, Petersburg and to Ireland in artwork and poetry, online at buddhetat's Space



fearful of being stuck there
"With hindsight we certainly would have done," Sandra Davies explains and recollects a trip that was planned as a summer stay, yet demanded some pioneering spirit: Road to Spurn

i close my eyes, hear the miles below the tyres
Sheree Mack recently was at a workshop. "We just played with words, but other poets words and then made then our own. This is a mash up I’ve made which I think fits the theme this month ’street, signs and directions. The quote used here is something my mum once told me regarding childbirth" - The Sinking Road Remix

corrugated iron canopy steps telegraph wires
dog rebar water tank satellite dish

While in the Mexican town of Tecpán, Rose Hunter sat and wrote the first draft of this poem and took this picture at the same time, from a balcony At the Hotel Virrey, Tecpán




Even time slows (like in a dream)
Sometimes direction can be found in unusual things in our environment, notes Brigita Orel. "When I get lost and the road signs are too far away to read them properly, I strive to reconnect through words" - My road signs.

the world as i know it will end,
the day after tomorrow, and then it will restart

For Julia Davies, signs are reminders of the rules of how to live, tried and tested methods for avoiding accidents, mishaps, in getting things right. "But there are so many of them, it seems like every one of them, every combination of them tells a different story, sends you in a different direction." - the highway code




but not now and not here and not present
old breath vision time and sensation
Far away in a haze of mental distraction, local signage brings Karyn Eisler back home, and reminds her that elsewhere doesn't mean better: home sense memory.

that is the only way I know where to go:
"I am very bad at directions but use other senses in good measure to find my way to places and back," says Abha Iyengar. "Though this can be embarrassing , it has never stood in the way of my adventurous streak."  - With Due Respect to Those Who Eventually Find Their Way

the necessary
Peg Duthie appreciated a stranger's wordless annotation in Jerusalem: The Necessary. For more abroad signs, visit the next blog entry, too: Roaming Near the Read Sea.




Not so long ago
It rained the whole week Jean Morris spent Up North in August, "rather undermining my cherished personal ideal of rural Yorkshire, so the signs felt particularly poignant on that damp afternoon. In retrospect and in the photo, it looks a lot more Arcadian that it felt at the time" - Not so long ago

I was awestruck by the automation, the orderliness,
and the speed I saw all around:
Forced to commute to work for a few days by bus, Parmanu finds that a regular bus ride in small-town Germany can lead to surprising encounters and discoveries: The bus ride to work

there was always something happening
Wetteravia. Known to few. Rarely mentioned on the new, slick maps of the 21st century. Pockets of memory exist in the northern valleys of Wetteravia. There is a Hof there still - Let Roucheswalwe tell you of a time it was run by Hennis Lina: Gewürzkuchen und Schattenmorellen



I focused on taking a lot of pictures
Nine is currently staying in Barcelona, and sends a photo essay from sunday protests in Barcelona: taking to the streets! Somos los de abajo

These photos served as a reference point
"Signs, signs, every where a sign..." When Linda Hofke recently went through her summer vacation photos, this sign song kept running through her head, and she realized how many pictures of signs she had taken: The Value of Signs

I am still processing
Daniela Elza purposefully stumbled onto the Occupy Vancouver rally at the Vancouver Art gallery. "There were places one could make a sign if they did not have one" - pre.occupied: intersection, street, direction



Here we are standing, appropriately
Donigan Merritt lived in many countries - currently he resides in Argentina, and walks the streets of Buenos Aires almost everyday -  Another day in Buenos-Aires

innuendos bubble champagne, lipsticked rims,
sighs, hopes promises unfurled

Linda Wastila may live in Baltimore, but her soul lives in Boston: "There's an energy on the street, an excited chitter-chatter, it enervates and leaves me feeling oddly alone." - The City Street

Talk about crossing boundaries and borders
Michelle Elvy was out sailing last week, and following the nautic theme, together with her partner Bernard Heise contributed an adventure of the Bay of Islands: The (Road)way of the Orca



i hadn't expected to be so impressed by
Dave Bonta looked for a video poem: "I think this poem by Pablo Neruda, "Fable of the Siren and the Drunks," might fit your theme ("how to navigate in a foreign place and surrounding - what to do when we don't understand / or aren't understood..."): Lorelei

the promise of what lays ahead
Michael Solender reflects on the directions and streets of life in a flash story: Life is in the Right Always

this departure
Nicolette Wong sends a photo from her 100-day project; Le Bleu du Ciel blog: "...because all departures are forced.": Departure



We have a map drawn by the friend of a friend.
"One of the things i like so much about living where i do is that directions are vague and at once specific," notes Sherry O'Keefe from Montana. "We were given directions on how to get to a place to catch catfish. the place is called gritty stone, but instead of saying "drive out to gritty stone", a map of sorts was offered" - the not-a-problem hand wave

It evokes so many feelings
"I'm a sign enthusiast. Is there a word for this type of person? Here are 10 signs (from dozens) I've photographed this year. Signs are like a higher being talking to us, directing us, entertaining us. No one should ever overlook them," states Christopher Allen, and sends a Year in Signs

We thunder down the street and the sensation is like flying
Jonas Knutsson is preparing for the cold winter and long nights in Iceland, and sends a couple of connected/disjointed riffs from Rejkjavik - Street Scenes



As we drove higher, deeper into the rolls of mountains
we had only the clouds for company.
Uma Gowrishankar is a writer and artist from Chennai, India. In her blog, she recently explored how a place and the story attached to it rests on a terrain where history merges into myth and legend. - There was once this man called Parashara

Who am I, I wondered, in this landscape?
Not the same person, surely

Signage tells us a lot about culture, especially when we're being warned about what not to do. "I thought we were pretty laissez-faire here in Quebec, but a recent trip to Iceland revealed a new level of 'proceed-at-your-own risk," Beth Adams notes in Fire and Brimstone


>>> Language > Place - a world map

This map leads to the locations of the language/place carnival #11, marked with blue pins. Also included: the previous carnival homes, marked with yellow houses. Click the places on the map to enter. There also is a larger popup version of the map. (and if you are interested in creating an own map, there now is a quick guide on how to create a map)


Streets, Signs, Directions - larger version / größere Karte


The blog carnival and Edition #12: Food!

You can read more about this blog carnival on the >Language >Place info page, which includes guidelines, a note about the carnival, the list of previous editions and related links.

Previous host Parmanu added a reflection on the carnvial as it developed in his blog: "With age, the carnival begins to show its value as a concept. So much of individual writing on the Internet is buried under a tangled web that search engines can barely reach; a carnival like “Language-Place” offers a theme-based portal to navigate such writing." - the whole entry is online at: Parmanu/Language-Place blog carnival.

Some notes on how the three-pronged presentation appraoch are online in Karyn Eisler's blog Living ?s, starting with General Thoughts, and moving to The Map, The Poem, The Itinerary...: here's the link: Living ?s / Language/Place

Edition #12 will be hosted by poet & writer Linda Hofke. Though a Pennsylvania native, Linda has lived in Germany for over a decade. She blogs at Lind-guistics and Linda's Life on the Other Side. The feature theme for this edition is “Food" - but as always, a wide range of contributions is welcome. The edition is planned for late November 2011. Submissions are open November 1-20, more details in the guidelines, and a personal invite here: Food for Thought.

Thank you for visiting!