Hai's and Lows


It's possible, I think, to have an entire conversation in Japanese saying nothing but "hai," but of course the better half has to supply the impetus for the conversation to continue. I know this is possible in German, though more commonly in triplicate, "ja ja ja." And that would seem peculiar to our resident Hispanistas, who may or may not have read that as laughter. But yes men in Japanese have the pleasure of throwing out their affirmations in single bursts, much more like semi-automatic weapons. German machine guns were more efficient.

It's impossible to describe how happy Hamamatsu makes me. It has one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, a yearly kite festival I can't miss, and generally speaking better weather. Sure it gets hot there, but the humidity isn't as oppressive as here, and the constant rain seems more a logical result of living by der river Ocean (der, because Okaianos is masculine, Mike, not because Fluß is). Rain here in Three Rivers (i.e. Mikawa) makes it seem as if it has always been raining and will continue to until the end of time. It's funny you guys should comment on my paleness in that photo Colleen took of me on the beach, as I left that day with a pretty wicked sunburn. Even painfully ruddy skin can't detract from my paradisal vision of Hamamatsu.

It seems I was pretty down on poetry today:

"I can't shake the the notion that poets are compensating for something; and it seems bold poets, err... "strong" poets are the worst perpetrators. if I were one to guess, I'd call it a foolish attempt to beat back the suspicion that poetry is truly insignificant.

The power to destroy or remould is freely used by the greatest poet, but seldom the power of attack. What is past is past. If he does not expose superior models, and prove himself by every step he takes, he is not what is wanted. The presence of the great poet conquers--not parleying [sic], struggling, or any prepared attempts. (Whitman from the preface to the first edition of Leaves of Grass)

Whitman is a specter who looms just as hauntingly over lyric composition (Pound) as he does over lyric criticism (Bloom). The great poet celebrates himself, and sings himself, and what he assumes you shall assume, for every atom belonging to him as good belongs to you. The strong poet is overbearing, a bully, the kid in your 3rd grade class who acted out for the sole purpose of stealing attention from you and your genius. The strong poet refuses to concede that the poem lost out to the song a long time ago, in fact that the former was never ascendent over the latter; the poem has never been much more than the song's ponderous, inbred cousin. Of course, this distinction only holds so long as you believe lyric and lyrics name fundamentally different things. Whitman didn't."

And yes, that is going in my topics paper.