Archive

Posts Tagged ‘fun’

Tablet 11 & Other News

March 29, 2017 2 comments

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The fast and furious transformation that has overtaken RT since his mother’s death continues apace. He will start by mentioning that he has recently bought his first smartphone. That’s right, he just dictated, not typed, the previous sentence. And it was a lot easier than typing the current one.

On top of that, RT has recently moved, though not terribly far afield. His new digs are far larger and more comfortable than the old and not terribly more expensive. He has also been luxuriating in his new computer chair, which leads him to his next topic.

Tablet 11 of Gilgamesh is done. Yes, you heard that right: the tablet that RT started work on in October 2000 is finished, right down to the very last frisson of its apocalyptic vision. Chew them beans.

By way of celebrating  (insofar as one can celebrate the Flood), RT offers below a snippet of the great  catastrophe that inaugurated (at least in part) Western religious experience.

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iii. Warning

“Of gods most shrewd, Enki, Lord of Waters,

Schemed to save a man.  He spoke to me:

‘Reed hut, reed hut, wall, wall! Hear your father:

man of Shurrupak, son of renowned strength—  

abandon your house, renounce your wealth.

The life of all human flesh is forfeit!’

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“Urgent, he whispered news and secret guidance:

‘Build the boat a cube: a mile each side. 

Roof her straight and strong like heaven’s house.’

Appalled, I understood and pledged my part.

And still I recognized a flaw in the plan:

‘What will I tell my neighbors and the people?’

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“‘With these words you will quiet their speculation:

“Enlil of thunderbolts has condemned my life:

I escape into the waters, enjoying the deep,

Enki my compassionate father’s kindness.’ 

Say also: ‘To you Enlil sends true wealth,

a day of bright blessings and rich feasting.

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“‘The morning showers down angel’s bread;

the dusk bestows a rain of shining wheat.’

The god left me then, unseen as he had come.

I paused, reflected, planning this thing—

seven days was all I had to save our kind,

seven days to rescue our mortal wisdom.”

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iv. Ship

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“When dawn, when Utu climbs above the earth,

the skilled craftsmen assembled at my gate:

The carpenter carrying his hatchet and chisel, 

the shaper of reeds with his flattening stone,

the ingenious shipwright wielding his axe.

The children carried pitch; the women cooked.

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“The boat’s design was unfamiliar, elaborate;

the hull was immense, enclosing a perfect cube.

I built the vast decks, seven in number, 

six to store the seed of all the world’s life.

Partitions, exactly nine, each a shelter,

each to hold a different kind of beast.

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“In five days I finished, pitched and plugged the boat.

 I provisioned the ship with gear of every kind—

punting poles beyond count, ropes and blocks, 

pots and jars—endless quantities—of pitch,

and food for all—oil fresh-pressed and fine,

every kind of forage and meal for the beasts.

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“Sunset of the last day saw the boat complete. 

To launch her needed straining, stretching strength; 

in dark she floated. I set a table for our men:

ale, oil, wine flowed as if at New Year’s.

After plate I brought on board beast and plant,

also my family and treasure we might require.”

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Copyright 2017, Eric Quinn

Image: Protective Geni, WikiCmns, Public Domain.

Sifaka!

An upright Coquerel's sifaka hops sideways with its arms at chest height.

In the midst of a serious life transition, RT takes time out for a bit of beautiful whimsy from Madagascar

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Photo: Sifakas are especially adapted to… Neal Strickland. WikiCmns. CC BY 2.0.

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incipit, a poem

August 24, 2015 2 comments

Church,_Frederick_Stuart_-_The_Mermaid_-_1887wikiPD

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what to do when the to do list gets too long?

write down a few words, of course.  RT

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Incipit

i should have been smarter. not

that the moment was easy. i was

avoiding her, as i usually do, or at

least the possibility of happiness.

which isn’t always so pretty.

not to mention the guilt,

which pursues me like a poem…

but this was about her, wasn’t it?

insipid, some might say, but

the beginning keeps repeating itself,

longing to distend into a middle.

distill itself  still? that can’t be

right… Milton, million? weathercocked or not,

i called.

it’s up and striding among the billions. horse marine.

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copyright © 2015, The Rag Tree

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Drawing: The Mermaid (1887). Frederick Stuart Church, WikiCmns; Public Domain.

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Albert Eckhout and Dutch Brazil

August 7, 2015 2 comments

Readers may recall that RT was born in Brazil 50-odd years ago. He considered himself fairly conversant in Braziliana, at least in its 1950s and 1960s aspects, but confesses that he had never heard of Albert Eckhout when he stumbled on his work a few days back. Such things happen of course, especially when the painter in question lived hundreds of years ago, but RT was also ignorant of the fact that the Dutch established a colony in northeastern Brazil, New Holland, and held on to it for a couple of decades before being forced out by the Portuguese. The Dutch incursion might seem trivial, except that Brazil apparently owes the origin of its national consciousness to this struggle with a European competitor.

And then there is the question of Mr. Eckhout’s work; African Woman, to RT’s eye, anticipates the paintings of Henri Rousseau by several centuries. What an achievement…and if that were not enough, Mr. Eckhout has a minor planet named after him. But now we have entered the realm of true trivia.

Last but not least among RT’s recent discoveries concerning Latin America is the artistic movement known as Costumbrismo, which flourished during the 19th century. Hardly a minor movement, Costumbrismo counted adherents in every Latin American country and in Spain as well.

Who’d’a thunk it? RT is more than satisfied with the results of his latest wanderings…

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Painting: African Woman. Albert Eckhout (c. 1610–1665). WikiCmns. Public Domain.

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A Daughter’s Song and Dance–Reader’s Copies

July 25, 2015 2 comments

 

MomGradu-1

Folks, this has been a long time coming, but RT can safely say that A Daughter’s Song and Dance, his mother’s childhood memoir, is nearing publication. Reader’s copies of the text are due on Monday. The book isn’t quite print ready (among other things, the front matter must be paginated and some passages need tweaking) but the next hurdle is getting the book out in paper and on e-book reader. To whet the appetite, RT offers this brief extract from chapter 23:

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My mother may not have understood me the way I wanted her to, but she did understand certain of my needs, as for instance, when I needed to, in her words, “get out of myself.” Others might say that I was moody and introspective, but it came down to the same thing: I needed periodic vacations from the serious business of being me. What’s more, she was good at turning vacations to practical advantage.

So towards the end of my year at Wright-McMahon, Mama had an inspired moment. One day after I had returned from classes, she invited me into her office. Nothing unimportant ever happened during our office conversations, so I sat down with a certain apprehension. This wasn’t another dispensation from on high, was it?

After some pleasantries about my school day, Mama got down to the point: “If you could go anywhere in the world for a visit,” she asked, “where would it be?”

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More on all this soon…  RT

Photo: Mom’s High School Graduation portrait.

Worth It

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nh_01_stern_05_pluto_hazenew--NASA-PD

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Wow! Sometimes traveling 4.67 billion miles (or getting up at 4 in the morning) is worth it…  RT

Photo: Pluto Backlit by the Sun. NASA. NASA website. Public Domain.

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The Nitrate Angel–A Snippet

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Recently RT was inspired to do a little more research on his grandfather the actor. He didn’t turn up any new information, but he did manage to compose this brief bit for his tentative biography/novel, The Nitrate Angel. (And here is more on Coxey’s Army.)

Panic and poverty—those early memories stayed with him. His father had joined Coxey’s Army, that assemblage of the ill-used, tramping and wending, surging and weaving its way down to Washington. He was too young, even by the standards of the time, to go himself, but the listless eyes and growling stomachs of the other boys, those things he remembered. Later, much later, when his friends, appalled by his grueling schedule, urged him to have some fun, he told them the truth: there is never enough work.

Never enough. He turned his eyes from the Mirror, folded the newspaper under his arm and shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and continued on his way. The day was bitter under a raw December sky, and still the avenue bustled. The terror of war and flu had gone.

“Edward!” someone called out, followed by a clap on the shoulder. It was Hanum.

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Photo: Madison Square, New York City, 1908. LOC Prints & Photos Online Catalog. WikiCmns. Public Domain.

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