Archaeologists of the far future sifting through America’s plastic ashes will peg the collapse of its civilization to two insidious language events:
(1) When America dissolved “talking about problems” into “having conversations around issues.”
(2) When America demoted “national” security to “homeland” security.
***
~ “Write beautifully what people don’t want to hear.” (Frederick Seidel)
Quedo de Vds. S.S.S.Q.E.S.M.
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
This passage from a fellow blogger (cap doff to) caught my eye:
Reality? Well it starts to mock back at your face, you get surrounded by the clouds of regret, cry on the ashes of your pretentious bliss and feel agitated on being abandoned by the people you highly think of.
(Shubhi Rawat, “The City Dwellers,” Perception, shubhangirawat.wordpress.com, May 2, 2021)
The passage dances with an out-of-kilter vivacity that mocks back at my face. I like it, and it made me rise from the ashes of my pretentious bliss to ponder adverbs.
What’s exotic about “highly think of” versus “think highly of”? No obvious rule leaps to mind.
Most adverbs are flexible as to where they may occur in the sentence: “I think deeply about the problem”; “I think about the problem deeply”; etc.
What’s in play, as I see it, is that in the formula “think highly of” the adverb is a cloaked adjective. It confers the attribute of being estimable on the object of the preposition rather than commenting on the nature of the thinking. It says, sneakily, “In my thoughts I attribute to the following entity an elevated status.” That message is puckishly flustered in “highly think of.”
Where they’re actually being themselves, adverbs almost always weaken an argument. They’re the Angostura Bitters ™ of style; use them by the drop, if at all.
Quedo de Vds. S.S.S.Q.E.S.M.
~ “Write beautifully what people don’t want to hear.” (Frederick Seidel)
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
Use a semicolon to separate two independent clauses — i.e., two sentences that work on their own — which are closely sequential:
“I finished a painting today; it went better than I thought it would.”
Or in order to separate items in a series that would be particularly unwieldy with only commas, often because the items contain commas:
“Today I ate three desserts: a tiny cookie, which was free with my espresso; a bigger cookie, which was unfortunately a little dry; and a milkshake, which maybe took things too far.”
(Adapted from Lauren Oyler, “The Case for Semicolons,” NYTimes, 2-9-21)
“Write beautifully what people don’t want to hear.” (Frederick Seidel)
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
For fanfaronnish, pharaonic, peerlessly peeraged personnages kitted, kilted, severely coiffed and balconic in presence, shod and booted in besotted opulence, blackamoorian brooched, got up in splendid headgear, lorded lads and ladied dames garbed in emblazoned berobement, none…
For sherlockian, sherwoodian, agathonian, haddlepudlian, level-uppity, ‘ello gaffer, day at the races, should I make a cheeky bet, dear olde — you know — not to make a fuss about but, end of, if-I’m-being-honesty, none…
For acid, Mr. Speaker-ish, his-honourable-gentlemanly annunciatory promulgations, retortive denouncements huffed in receivedly syllabic oratory bespoken to bewigged and vested Etonians lounged and draped and clubbed in hoary, leathery chambers and halls amongst antique appurtenances and shafty lighting, none…
For weather reports of “windy everywhere,” none…
… but the English.
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
[Translator’s note: The blog of Andrés Cifuentes — Eco Social…Ojo Crítico (doff of cap to) led me to this poem by Miguel Hernández. It doesn’t soar as poetry, but it does register a raw and memorable cri de coeur. All translations fail, and mine does so by indulging in flights of paraphrase to offset the flatness of affect of the literal English. JMN]
Cowards
Men I see who of manliness
have none but what they flaunt,
the look and the Marlboro,
the britches and the beard.
At heart they are bunnies,
chickens in their guts,
hounds quick at crapping,
barkers in peace time
who in cannon season
vanish from the map.
These macho cottontails,
commissars of retreat,
hearing miles away
the thunder of bullets,
like matchless heroes
cut and run for the hills,
shitting explosively,
hair standing on end.
Bravely they take cover,
gallantly abandon
the blast radius,
these turds on the run
who’ve kicked for ages
my soul in the balls.
Where will you end up
that’s not dead, paleface rabbits,
untrustworthy curs
with extra paws?
Aren’t you ashamed to see
to this extent in Spain
so many steady women
under so much threat?
A bullet for every tooth
is what your life deserves,
cowards wearing coward hides
with reeds for hearts.
You tremble as if gripped
by a century’s worth of frost
and fade from sun to shadow
quaking in your boots.
For you a basement’s
undefended by its house.
Your yellow streak begs everyone
for battalions of walls
and lead barriers rimming
cliffs and trenches,
saving our threadbare lives
mired in gore and dread.
Not enough for you, defense
by showers of noble blood
shed unstintingly
abundant and warm
day in, day out,
onto Castilian clod.
You’re senseless to the calling
of the splattered lives.
To keep your pelts intact
burrows and dens won’t do,
not rabbit holes,
not toilets even, nothing will.
You flinch and flee, which gives
the people you turn tail on
just cause to drill
your disappearing backs with lead.
Only men alone remain
in the heat of battle,
and you, from far away,
try to rouge your infamy,
but the pallor of cowardice
will not wipe off your faces.
Keep standing your pathetic posts
over your pathetic cobwebs.
Swap your weapon for a broom,
and sweep with your ass cheeks
the caca you leave behind
wherever you set foot.
Wind of the People, 1937
Miguel Hernández
English version by JMN
Los cobardes
Hombres veo que de hombres
solo tienen, solo gastan
el parecer y el cigarro,
el pantalón y la barba.
En el corazón son liebres,
gallinas en las entrañas,
galgos de rápido vientre,
que en épocas de paz ladran
y en épocas de cañones
desaparecen del mapa.
Estos hombres, estas liebres,
comisarios de la alarma,
cuando escuchan a cien leguas
el estruendo de las balas,
con singular heroísmo
a la carrera se lanzan,
se les alborota el ano,
el pelo se les espanta.
Valientemente se esconden,
gallardamente se escapan
del campo de los peligros
estas fugitivas cacas,
que me duelen hace tiempo
en los cojones del alma.
¿Dónde iréis que no vayáis
a la muerte, liebres pálidas,
podencos de poca fe
y de demasiadas patas?
¿No os avergüenza mirar
en tanto lugar de España
a tanta mujer serena
bajo tantas amenazas?
Un tiro por cada diente
vuestra existencia reclama,
cobardes de piel cobarde
y de corazón de caña.
Tembláis como poseídos
de todo un siglo de escarcha
y vais del sol a la sombra
llenos de desconfianza.
Halláis los sótanos poco
defendidos por las casas.
Vuestro miedo exige al mundo
batallones de murallas,
barreras de plomo a orillas
de precipicios y zanjas
para nuestra pobre vida,
mezquina de sangre y ansias.
No os basta estar defendidos
por lluvias de sangre hidalga,
que no cesa de caer,
generosamente cálida,
un día tras otro día
a la gleba castellana.
No sentís el llamamiento
de las vidas derramadas.
Para salvar vuestra piel
las madrigueras no os bastan,
no os bastan los agujeros,
ni los retretes ni nada.
Huis y huis, dando al pueblo,
mientras bebéis la distancia,
motivos para mataros
por las corridas espaldas.
Solos se quedan los hombres
al calor de las batallas,
y vosotros, lejos de ellas,
queréis ocultar la infamia,
pero el color de cobardes
no se os irá de la cara.
Ocupad los tristes puestos
de la triste telaraña.
Sustituid a la escoba,
y barred con vuestras nalgas
la mierda que vais dejando
donde colocáis la planta.
Viento del Pueblo, 1937
Miguel Hernández
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
Sé breve en tus razonamientos; que ninguno hay gustoso si es largo.
Be brief in your remarks; none is pleasurable if it’s long.
(Don Quijote)
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
In 1922, Lin Shu translated the first part of “Don Quixote” into classical Chinese. It was published as “The Story of the Enchanted Knight.”
Lin Shu knew no Spanish, nor any other western language. A friend who had read two or three English translations of Cervantes’s novel helped Lin make his version.
In that version, Don Quixote is more learned than crazy. Sancho Panza is his disciple. Dulcinea, the knight’s fair maiden, receives the epithet “Jade Lady.” All reference to God is excised. Rocinante is promoted from nag to “fast horse.”
Fast forward to today.
Alicia Relinque, professor of classical Chinese literature at the University of Granada, has translated Lin Shu’s Chinese version into Spanish for publication in China as a dual edition.
Relinque looks on her translation of Lin’s translation as the newest link in a long and ancient chain, and as a means to share a book that says as much about early 20th-century China as 17th-century Spain.
(Sam Jones, “Chinese Don Quixote is translated into Spanish after 100 years,” theguardian.com, 4-22-21)
I dream of translating Relinque’s Spanish version of Lin Shu’s Chinese version of several English versions of Cervante’s version into a Texas English version, furnishing yet a newer link in the long and ancient chain.
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
Behold and lo. What?
Fire. Ready. Aim. Oh my god.
Turn on body cam.
Versión castellana:
¿Qué es esto? ¡Coño!
Balazos. Hostia.
Ponte las gafas.
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
La Ribera.
Ni pintado.
La luz cae y se levanta una ligera brisa. Solo se escucha el sonido de la corriente y el alboroto de las ranas.
This goes out to those tadpoles in your pond, Alba. “Luz, brisa, sonido, corriente, alboroto, ranas…”
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved
EthicalDative 
‘A Fisherman Holds Up a Trout He Caught’
El hijo de su madre has stumbled upon an El Dorado of found poetry in the “Outdoors” fishing column of a local newspaper. Bink Grimes’s lavish rundown of the piscatory scene pulses with staccato verve, inside lingo, and riptide granularity. I’ve cherrypicked it for its sparkle. The title “Gone Fishing” is my contribution, but the catch is Bink’s.
GONE FISHING
The topwater bite has been good early over sand and grass.
Back lake areas are holding good numbers of trout
on soft plastics and scented baits under corks.
A mixture of mud, shell and grass has been even better
along the south shoreline with the stiff winds.
Sand and grass humps are holding lots of little minnows,
and being about to work the moon and tide has led to good catches.
Big trout have been caught and released while drifting.
Tides have ushered in streaky green water on the east end
and the fish have been hanging on the color change.
Wading back lakes with gold spoons and small topwaters has paid off for reds.
The stirred-up, off-colored water actually gets reds going.
Anglers anchored on the edges of flats have caught reds on cut shad or skip jacks.
It’s hard to talk about anything but red snapper.
Kingfish are just about everywhere.
The jetty out to 200 feet of water is holding kings
while drifting ribbon eels and trolling divers.
Cobia continue to impress around rigs or any other shady structure.
Lots of ling have followed red snapper to the surface around wrecks.
Captains have had a rod ready to pitch to a fat ling when it appears.
Please enjoy yourself on the water
while treating our bays and estuaries like the upmost respect.
(Bink Grimes, “Good catches despite rains and high tides,” Victoria Advocate, 5-24-21)
(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved