So I am leaving for France tomorrow, which makes tomorrow Day 0 or The Day You've All Been Waiting For. Therefore today and tomorrow now count as 1.5 days each. Otherwise I'd leave on Day 1 and...then there would be no update and no "today's the day!!" payoff. Sad!
Anyway, the poem I'm posting below probably doesn't seem very related to France (especially because of the title), but I think it's related in a way that explains more about my desire to go there. I love language, any language (not that I really know that many), thinking about how it shapes what we observe and express about the world around us. People who speak multiple languages must find themselves at an impasse at times, because they want to share a common thought with people of one language, but they're unable to express it with all the cultural history or nuance of another. I could talk forever about how interesting I think all that is, but it would probably be boring...and this poem is waiting to be read! (Also, I know that I kind of went off on a tangent and the poem is also about power and history...all fascinating stuff. To me. :))
"why we speak english," lynn pedersen
Because when you say cup and spoon
your mouth moves the same way as your grandfather's
and his grandfather's before him.
It's Newton's first law: A person in motion
tends to stay in motion with the same speed
and direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force—
scarcity or greed.
Is there a word for greed in every language?
Because the ear first heard
dyes furs pepper ginger tobacco cotton timber
silk freedom horizon
and the tongue wanted to taste
all these fine things.
And when my son asks why his father speaks Danish
and he and I speak English and Carlos—
at kindergarten—speaks Portuguese:
because Denmark is and has always been.
Our ancestors tracked north and Carlos'
tracked south. What's left in their wake
is language.
Because it comes down
to want, to latitude and longitude as ways to measure
desire, invisible mover of ships—
great clockwise gyre of water in the sea—
like some amusement park ride where boats seem to sail
but run on tracks under the water.
Because to change course now would be like diverting
the Arno, this centuries-long rut we've dug ourselves
into, and how would it be to wake up one morning
with bird oiseau or another word entirely?
your mouth moves the same way as your grandfather's
and his grandfather's before him.
It's Newton's first law: A person in motion
tends to stay in motion with the same speed
and direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force—
scarcity or greed.
Is there a word for greed in every language?
Because the ear first heard
dyes furs pepper ginger tobacco cotton timber
silk freedom horizon
and the tongue wanted to taste
all these fine things.
And when my son asks why his father speaks Danish
and he and I speak English and Carlos—
at kindergarten—speaks Portuguese:
because Denmark is and has always been.
Our ancestors tracked north and Carlos'
tracked south. What's left in their wake
is language.
Because it comes down
to want, to latitude and longitude as ways to measure
desire, invisible mover of ships—
great clockwise gyre of water in the sea—
like some amusement park ride where boats seem to sail
but run on tracks under the water.
Because to change course now would be like diverting
the Arno, this centuries-long rut we've dug ourselves
into, and how would it be to wake up one morning
with bird oiseau or another word entirely?
"Why We Speak English" by Lynn Pedersen, from Theories of Rain. © Main Street Rag, 2009.
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