| Yes, the British are officially at the bottom of the list of energy-saving nations. The ramifications are that the journalists and broadcasters are trying to find out what to do to save energy. One Mancunian has told the Radio Manchester that he uses a torch to go from one room to another. While it’s very unlikely that many people will follow in his footsteps, most Mancunians are trying to save energy by boiling only so much water as they need to brew a nice cuppa.
In Russia (in case if you don’t know) – in Moscow, at the least – we have regular central heating from mid-autumn until mid-spring, none in summer, with a mandatory switch-off of hot water for a month in summer (for any necessary check-ups or overhauling of water supply system). So, yes, if you want to have a bath then you’ve got this beautfiul opportunity of visiting your friends on the other side of your huge capital city, providing they’re staying at home and don’t mind letting you share their bathroom. Alternatively, all you’ve got to do is to boil water, mix it with cold water to make it warm, and to keep yourself clean without leaving your abode. If this looks barbaric or too original to you, so does an English bath to me.
Like I said, however, I have acclimatised here, and I was wondering how I might feel if my plans work out and I go to visit my parents in Moscow, say, in February? It tends to be bitterly cold in February, so I’m just trying to figure out, how I’m going to feel there after three English winters. To be honest, however, I think I’ll be skiing in glee. :-))
Finally – I don’t know why I’m including this link in this post, with my energy efficiency capabilities and habits in life I would hardly stand the natural selection – the complete work of Charles Darwin are now available online. And as you navigate the site, just take a notice of how many people have visited it since its opening on 19 October 2006. So… viva Darwin, I guess. |
Month: October 2006
If I Could Tell You (W. H. Auden)
I know I’ve put up a lot of poetry here recently, and I’m just about to post more. The genre of villanelle was probably fixed by one French poet in the late 16th c. Every villanelle consists of five three-line tercets and a final quatrain. In addition, the first and third lines of the first tercet recur alternately in the following stanzas and form a final couplet.
I’ve been particularly fascinated by this poem by W. H. Auden, If I Could Tell You, which I happily share now.
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose the lions all get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Needless to say, for all its beauty, the genre of villanelle has through centuries retained the mannerist quality of the French Renaissance.
Wei Tai on Poetry
Poetry presents the “thing” in order to convey the feeling. It should be precise about the thing and reticent about the feeling, for as soon as the mind regrounds and connects with the thing, the feeling shows in the words. This is how poetry enters deeply within us (Wei T’ai, Chinese philosopher).
From Goethe (Poetry)
FOR woman due allowance make!
Form’d of a crooked rib was she, —
By Heaven she could not straight’ned be.
Attempt to bend her, and she’ll break;
If left alone, more crooked grows madam;
What well could be worse, my good friend, Adam? —
For woman due allowance make;
‘Twere grievous, if thy rib should break!
Form’d of a crooked rib was she, —
By Heaven she could not straight’ned be.
Attempt to bend her, and she’ll break;
If left alone, more crooked grows madam;
What well could be worse, my good friend, Adam? —
For woman due allowance make;
‘Twere grievous, if thy rib should break!
1819.*
[From Tefkir Nameh. Book of Contemplation, Western-Eastern Divan (1814-19). Those who know German, can read the original text. There is also a collection of Goethe’s works in verse, first printed in 1883, which you can find here. It contains English translation of the Divan. Finally, in Russian it is published at Lib.ru, but in fragments only].
Mother (and mama mia!)
It is no news that early Soviet films are well-known, treasured and studied in the West. Not only many of those films commemorated pivotal figures and moments in Russian history (Ivan the Terrible, Alexander Nevsky and The Battleship Potemkin by Sergei Eisenstein, Peter the First by Vladimir Petrov), they can also shed a lot of light on the early Soviet ideology. Cinema, as many statesmen of the time understood, possessed the immense importance as the way to disseminate ideas in the form of art.
[I have to put in a historical note: unlike the 16th zealous European Reformers, Soviet leaders understood very well that to educate a then largely illiterate population, they had to make emphasis on artistic representation, of which cinema and posters were the most straight-forward. Having said that, one shouldn’t be too hard on the 16th c. people – after all, they did have engravings].
So, here is a very good article by Cara Marisa Deleon about one of the best-known films of the era, Mat’ (Mother) by Vsevolod Pudovkin. You can check the film’s details here, as well as Pudovkin’s filmography, which includes several historical films, Admiral Nakhimov (he was the hero of the Crimean war, 1853-56), and Suvorov (this outstanding soldier was awarded with the title of generalissimus and had crossed the Alpes in 1799, at the age of 70!).
And if you are interested in the history of Soviet Russia and want to read a novel that inspired the film, you’re very lucky because The Project Gutenberg has got an English translation of this famous novel by Maxim Gorky. I hope you have a pleasant reading. If you wish to know which of Gorky’s works to read next, don’t hesitate to ask – he’d written loads, and I’ve read at least a half.
And as I was writing this post I received a voicemail from a friend of mine. He’s been a volunteer with the Red Cross since early this year, has been to many duties, and was interviewed for The LOOK. Now he rang to invite me to appear as a casualty extra on an educational DVD. Things would be as realistic as possible, he said. Which, knowing my luck, might very well turn into a real casualty. I know, Paul, you mean well, but… sorry, no!!!
Update (01 October 2008):
Recently I was researching in the library and saw a book Berlin – Moskau, 1900-1950. This was an extensive exhibition covering the cultural relations between the two capitals throughout the first half of the 20th c., and I attended it at the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts in 1996. The book, which is not only an exhibition’s catalogue, but also a collection of essays (in German), sheds more light on the intercultural dialogue between Germany and Russia. One particular article that I read was about the mutual reception of German and Soviet films; the “German” part having been written by Ulrich Gregor. Gregor speaks extensively about the anticipation and reception of Sergei Eisenstein’s Battleship Potemkin among the German film enthusiasts, critics, and intellectuals, but a few words are also spared for Pudovkin’s films, Mother (1926) and The End of St Petersburg (1927).
“A similarly powerful reception was bestowed on Pudovkin’s films… Rudolf Arnheim wrote in Stachelschwein about The Mother: “This film is in the range of Potemkin and is also similar to it in many ways… Pudovkin’s film is so full of ideas that one’s heart doesn’t want to stop throbbing (Pudowkins Film ist so voll von Einfaellen, dass sich das Herz klopfen gar nicht legen will)”.
Above is the poster to the 1926 German premiere of The Mother.
A Day in the Life Campaign Raises Awareness Of Personal History
Of course, you know this famous Beatles song. At least, I hope you do. And today you can add your own verse (or a passage in prose) to it by going here. History Matters is a campaign to raise awareness of history in Britain, supported by such organisations, as The National Trust, The English Heritage, The Council for British Archaeology, and by the leading British historians, politicians and men-of-arts (names include Dr David Starkey, Tony Benn and Boris Johnson MPs, and Stephen Fry).
The Future of a Thriller
This year I’ve read at least two legendary film makers predicting the end of cinema: Peter Greenaway and David Lynch. They obviously don’t say that cinema is going to die altogether. Simply, the way films are being produced, their promotion and, consequently, our relation to and understanding of them will have been changed profoundly in the near future.
I’m not going to expand on this any further, as I decided to post one link here and to ponder on how technical innovations may change the future of the thriller genre. I mean, the technique you are about to see is not innovative in itself. However, I thought: what would it be if the entire film was produced like this? You might say that, unless the emerging images were as intriguing or captivating, as this one, you’d fall asleep long before the drawning ended. But in the world where there are many dull blockbusters and pathetic action thrillers, to see something like this unravelling in front of your very eyes would be rather exhilirating (at least, the first time round). And then people would begin to mass-produce such films. Imagine the remake of Oldboy, in which the producers used this technique.
In short, I think, this is a very productive way to add some fresh blood to the thriller genre. At any rate, the level of suspense should be sky-high.
Nobel Prize in Literature
This year’s Laureate in Literature is to be announced on Thursday October 12, at 11 am GMT (1 pm CET). You can watch the live internet broadcast here.
And today I was woken up in the most unusual way, by thunderbolt. The strike was very violent and loud, but I don’t know if anything was actually destroyed. That was in Manchester. And in the Lake District our intrepid photographer Tony Richards, who’s been documenting the beauties of the Lakes for several years by now, took this photograph:
© Tony Richards, www.lakelandcam.co.uk
“Too late to be ‘frightened’ by it, I just wondered at the power of Mother Nature!!!”, Tony wrote on his website. In my turn, after listening to my local thunderbolt, I was too wide awake to fall back to sleep.
Quiet Flows the Don
Many thanks to an IMDb.com user who’s posted the link to this article, printed in The Moscow Times in February this year. Unfinished Business is about the process of completion of the last film by the Oscar-winning Russian director Sergei Bondarchuk, Quiet Flows the Don. I’ve already written something about it, but now you can read the article for yourself.
I cannot tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this picture! Which is why I’m digging information about it from everywhere, and I do hope it gets finished soon. As a matter of fact, 9th Company (Devyataya Rota), a film by the late director’s son, Fyodor Bondarchuk, is Russia’s official entry to the Oscars’ long list for 2007.
In the Mood for Reading (Eco, Murakami, Sueskind…)
I shall start reading Murakami as soon as I finish Umberto Eco’s new novel, The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana. It is a story of a man in his 60s (very much resembling the Master himself), who after an accident lost his explicit memory, i.e. the one associated with emotions. As a result, he remembers everything he’s ever read and speaks in quotes, but when looking at a wedding photo of his parents, he doesn’t remember who they are. All feelings brought up by drinking hot tea and brushing teeth are new (although he’d definitely experienced those before). The book, hence, is the story of a man in search for his lost emotional memories (shall we call it experience?)
Although I already find the book interesting, I couldn’t help pitying myself that I’m reading it in English translation. I should’ve read it in Italian. The problem with translation of this particular text (or rather, its first chapter) is that all characters speak similarly. Now and again I was catching myself on a thought that there’s not much difference between how a doctor, the protaginist (an antique book dealer) and his wife (a psychologist) speak. It’s like one person talking all the time. The wife is particularly disturbing, her speech is so scholastic and unnatural, I began to ponder if I might sound like her at times – which, if I do, is pretty dreadful. [I’m also absolutely sure that I never sound like her, but literature has indeed manifested its power by confusing me]. Anyway, I’m looking forward to next chapters. Oh, there are many illustrations in the book, some in colour.
The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana is published by Vintage Books (London, 2006), translation by Geoffrey Brock.
For some reason, I wasn’t impressed with anything I saw on the ‘Recommended’ bookshelf in the new Waterstones in Manchester. I know I nearly bought a little book by Jerome K. Jerome, but put it on the shelf, went elsewhere, and eventually forgot to buy it. But the books on the ‘Recommended’ stand didn’t hook me. Ten years ago, when I was attending an English class with a native speaker (twice a week, in addition to my normal school hours), one of the topics we once discussed was our reading habits. One member of the group, a medical student in his final year, said that he’d normally read first 10 pages, and if they failed to impress him, he’d put the book back on the shelf.
Back then, being incorrigibly romantic and untarnished by much experience, myself and two other students protested ardently against this student’s ‘erroneous position’. Ten years later, and especially after visiting Waterstones last week, I’ve begun to feel that 10 pages is sometimes too long. Needless to say, when you read exclamations like ‘I couldn’t put the book down!!!‘ coming from a critic writing for a very old and respected edition, you kind of feel confused and even disturbed, if you fail to appreciate the book’s ingenuity. But it’s not my fault that of about seven books that I went through five (!!!) started with a similar exposition. I know definitely that in two of them a protagonist found himself waking up, and in another two the protagonist was riding or driving somewhere.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that before an author writes the first sentence, s/he has to go through their entire library, to check if this first sentence is totally original. Equally, I don’t know why those phrases and even styles in which they are written look and sound so similar to one another. I’ve recently gone through several publications of the new Russian poems, and I couldn’t help noticing that most of them are even written in the same metrical foot. This is something I have to say about The Da Vinci Code – although it was a dull and dragging reading at times, it was at least captivating in the beginning.
So, I’m looking for originality, and whilst I’m looking for it, I’m also engorging on the good old classics. I’m going to reread Das Parfuem by Patrick Sueskind. I read the novel ages ago, when I was still a student, and I know it impressed me a lot, and I’d love to read it again before I watch the screen adaptation by Tom Tykwer. I have to say, few adaptations impressed me in the past, the most disappointing being One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Milos Forman. Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange also wasn’t particularly pleasing.
I guess it has to do with how we read books. Speaking of A Clockwork Orange (which deserves a different chapter altogether), for me the most important part in the book is when Alex leaves prison. Everything before the book’s final is important, of course, but Alex’s rampages and his time in prison are not what the book is about. It is about human violence, insincerity and indifference, which start in the family and society and the physical expression of which is only the tip of the iceberg. Burgess’s novel (like all good works of literature) depicts – sometimes in a very detailed and painful way – the tip, but the base of the iceberg is always to be found by the reader, providing s/he is attentive to the hints and keys scattered by the author throughout the book.
So, I’m going to reread Das Parfuem, I’m reading the new book by Eco, and I’ll be reading Murakami. And I’ll also be keeping my fingers crossed for Mario Vargas Llosa who, as some tabloids have reported, is in the long list for the Nobel Prize in Literature. I’ll be way over the Moon (and over Aisa Tanaf, perhaps), if he wins it.
Also, this Sunday I’ve been to my first rugby match at the Halliwell Jones Stadium in Warrington. I’ve seen lots of rugby on TV since 2003, but I’ve never been to the rugby stadium before this Sunday. Both teams for which I was supposed to cheer (one of them was a local team, Swinton Lions) lost, and I left half-deaf, without finishing watching the second game. Well, hopefully next time it’ll be better. In the meantime I’m following the football leagues and championships – sporadically, when I decide that the only thing I want to do in my free time is to knit and to listen to the TV.