Fascinating--I was vaguely aware of the story, but I didn't know some of the details. Particularly that her great-uncle had named Deimos and Phobos. Thank you for sharing it.
"Mr. Madan gave his granddaughter a five-pound note, and the family added yet another feather to its cap: in 1877, Mr. Madan’s brother Henry, a housemaster at Eton, had successfully proposed that the two dwarf moons of Mars be named Phobos and Deimos, two attendants of the Roman war god, whose names mean fear and terror."
And I note that she went to Downe House, which was once Charles Darwin's home.
I observe that not only did Venetia Phair, née Venetia Burney, choose the perfect name for Pluto, she had a more than splendid name herself. Venetia Phair, Venetia Phair: how redolent of vanished aristocracies that name is! How perfectly it scans! I think of Heyer's Venetia and L'Engle's Dragons in the Waters, and I find myself almost unable to believe there existed a person with such a perfect name as Venetia Phair.
It's from Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer's "Merlin's Lament":
In a castle keep, in a vault of stone In a house at the end of the lane An old man weeps in his door alone And he sings out this mournful refrain
She will not come back, she will not come back Though the mountains fall down to the sea And the sky burns to cinders and the rivers run black She will not come back to me
No lightning rede from his books of lore From the staff in the corner, no fire And the crystal ball, always bright before Is grey as the dust of desire
She will not come back, she will not come back Though he call on the powers that be They will cipher this message in his cold zodiac She will not come back, she will not come back She will not come back to me
And joy, my love, was a dancing spring And life was the touch of her lips And a brook ran mad to my cave downstream From the miracle hills of her hips
She will not come back, she will not come back Though the stars hang their tears in the trees And tireless Orion lies spent in his tracks She will not come back, she will not come back She will not come back to me
I have not your practised gift, I fear: but a poemlet, since it is 4 am (I'm shifting to night mode for an observing run tomorrow). I think my near-sleeping mind instead drew out the cultural bedrock for which to me every one of these names is a key, rather than the poem I meant to write, the one for the people who chose those keys.
In this way come the names. The kete of knowledge, grasp them, word-woven. The stars were not spilled from them to scatter - they are taonga, treasured a sorrowed son's gift to his father the Sky.
In the spaces between the great river of the goddess of the north, cloud-shadow, counter-clear, in the south strides the Emu. Rifted, reflected - the same place holds the great waka, star-spanned and the leaping maw of hammer-headed mangopare earnest enemies of fishes.
Some names are found from the quickness of birds (all the kindness of Tane; leaf-shadow and branch-shiver, fern-frond unfolded), even in the tired patience of the frigatebird's long arc, soaring the Pacific, once seen from a small bark off the isles called Galapagos;
and some from the long slow vastnesses the patience of ice, the presence of the All-Frozen, seal-teared children of unknowing oceans.
If I could have chosen where God would hide his heaven, I would wish for it to be in the salt and swell of the ocean. Carried by the currents to all continents' shores. Reaching into depths where the sun’s light has never shone. Mixed with algae and coral. Breathed in by sharks and dolphins. Sailed by tanker ships, private yachts, swam in by tourists. Working its way up through inlets, lakes, and rivers, swamps, and estuaries. Down through limestone into the aquifer. Purified by the county, pumped through pipes and out faucets. Filled into a glass to meet the thirst of our children.
If I could have chosen, I would have been born a woman. My mother once told me she would have named me Laura. I would grow up to be strong and beautiful like her. One day I’d find an honest man to make my husband. We would have two children, build our home on the Gulf of Mexico. Our family would spend hot summer days at the beach together. The sun would kiss our skin as we played in the sand and water. We would know we loved each other without having to say it. At night we would sleep with the windows of our house left open. Letting the cool ocean air soothe the sunburned shoulders of our children.
There is an ocean in my soul where the waters do not curve.
(Yeah, the second verse not so much, though it's amusing and intriguing. Also, let us just gloss over the fact that dolphins do not breathe ocean water...)
I have not your practised gift, I fear: but a poemlet, since it is 4 am (I'm shifting to night mode for an observing run tomorrow).
Your idea of a poemlet is extraordinary. I will wait for the poem about those who choose the names proper, but this is beautiful. Please send it somewhere.
Completely OT, but if I had the chops for writing historicals in the appropriate era I'd have to write a secret history about how Swift actually knew that Mars had two moons.
People who change the shape of the skies should be remembered.
That they should. The namer of Vanth comes to mind. (And I second nineweaving's wish that she live as long and as well as Venetia Phair.)
And he's the "F. Madan" of the old Summary Catalogue descriptions, which are not always complete or invariably correct but are definitely the result of so much hard work, omg. What a family.
Please send it somewhere. Well, since you think it's worthy, then I'll give it a go :) I have no idea where a good place would be to send it; not sure if the references would make as much sense for the normal kinds of N. Hemisphere places?
I have no idea where a good place would be to send it; not sure if the references would make as much sense for the normal kinds of N. Hemisphere places?
Keep in mind that I'm familiar mostly with speculative markets, but I would first try places like Mythic Delirium, Goblin Fruit, Not One of Us, Strange Horizons, and Lone Star Stories, all of whom work well with combinations of mythology and astronomy. There is also a website devoted specifically to stars and poetry, which I do not know as much about, but it might be worth looking into. But if you have favorite journals or magazines already, feel free to send the poem there first!
I think my near-sleeping mind instead drew out the cultural bedrock for which to me every one of these names is a key, rather than the poem I meant to write, the one for the people who chose those keys.
I know it's literally years, but if you never sent this anywhere, then I think Stone Telling might be a good place to start. I still think of this poem occasionally.
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Fascinating--I was vaguely aware of the story, but I didn't know some of the details. Particularly that her great-uncle had named Deimos and Phobos. Thank you for sharing it.
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"Mr. Madan gave his granddaughter a five-pound note, and the family added yet another feather to its cap: in 1877, Mr. Madan’s brother Henry, a housemaster at Eton, had successfully proposed that the two dwarf moons of Mars be named Phobos and Deimos, two attendants of the Roman war god, whose names mean fear and terror."
And I note that she went to Downe House, which was once Charles Darwin's home.
May the namer of Vanth live as long and well.
Nine
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Yes. When I discovered she existed, I thought the same thing.
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It's from Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer's "Merlin's Lament":
In a castle keep, in a vault of stone
In a house at the end of the lane
An old man weeps in his door alone
And he sings out this mournful refrain
She will not come back, she will not come back
Though the mountains fall down to the sea
And the sky burns to cinders and the rivers run black
She will not come back to me
No lightning rede from his books of lore
From the staff in the corner, no fire
And the crystal ball, always bright before
Is grey as the dust of desire
She will not come back, she will not come back
Though he call on the powers that be
They will cipher this message in his cold zodiac
She will not come back, she will not come back
She will not come back to me
And joy, my love, was a dancing spring
And life was the touch of her lips
And a brook ran mad to my cave downstream
From the miracle hills of her hips
She will not come back, she will not come back
Though the stars hang their tears in the trees
And tireless Orion lies spent in his tracks
She will not come back, she will not come back
She will not come back to me
The last chorus stays with me.
--and I've thought, he's tired.
You should write of him.
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There needs to be a poem about the names of namers.
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Will you write it?
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She was ninety; which is a good excuse. It still feels like losing light from the world.
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yeah.
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Yes. I would like her to be remembered into the future: for making simultaneous the earth and the stars, different kinds of otherworld.
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I had either not known or forgotten that myself.
Thank you for sharing it.
People who change the shape of the skies should be remembered.
not quite what was intended
In this way come the names. The kete of knowledge, grasp them, word-woven.
The stars were not spilled from them to scatter -
they are taonga, treasured
a sorrowed son's gift to his father the Sky.
In the spaces between the great river of the goddess of the north,
cloud-shadow, counter-clear, in the south strides the Emu.
Rifted, reflected -
the same place holds the great waka, star-spanned
and the leaping maw of hammer-headed mangopare
earnest enemies of fishes.
Some names are found from the quickness of birds
(all the kindness of Tane; leaf-shadow and branch-shiver, fern-frond unfolded),
even in the tired patience of the frigatebird's long arc, soaring the Pacific,
once seen from a small bark off the isles called Galapagos;
and some from the long slow vastnesses
the patience of ice, the presence of the All-Frozen, seal-teared
children of unknowing oceans.
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Here's one for you, which the ninja girl brought back from college with her. As soon as I heard the first verse, I thought you should have it:
The Ocean, by Against Me!
If I could have chosen where God would hide his heaven,
I would wish for it to be in the salt and swell of the ocean.
Carried by the currents to all continents' shores.
Reaching into depths where the sun’s light has never shone.
Mixed with algae and coral.
Breathed in by sharks and dolphins.
Sailed by tanker ships, private yachts, swam in by tourists.
Working its way up through inlets, lakes, and rivers, swamps, and estuaries.
Down through limestone into the aquifer.
Purified by the county, pumped through pipes and out faucets.
Filled into a glass to meet the thirst of our children.
If I could have chosen, I would have been born a woman.
My mother once told me she would have named me Laura.
I would grow up to be strong and beautiful like her.
One day I’d find an honest man to make my husband.
We would have two children, build our home on the Gulf of Mexico.
Our family would spend hot summer days at the beach together.
The sun would kiss our skin as we played in the sand and water.
We would know we loved each other without having to say it.
At night we would sleep with the windows of our house left open.
Letting the cool ocean air soothe the sunburned shoulders of our children.
There is an ocean in my soul where the waters do not curve.
(Yeah, the second verse not so much, though it's amusing and intriguing. Also, let us just gloss over the fact that dolphins do not breathe ocean water...)
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Your idea of a poemlet is extraordinary. I will wait for the poem about those who choose the names proper, but this is beautiful. Please send it somewhere.
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Completely OT, but if I had the chops for writing historicals in the appropriate era I'd have to write a secret history about how Swift actually knew that Mars had two moons.
People who change the shape of the skies should be remembered.
That they should. The namer of Vanth comes to mind.
(And I second
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Nine
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Please send it somewhere.
Well, since you think it's worthy, then I'll give it a go :) I have no idea where a good place would be to send it; not sure if the references would make as much sense for the normal kinds of N. Hemisphere places?
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Keep in mind that I'm familiar mostly with speculative markets, but I would first try places like Mythic Delirium, Goblin Fruit, Not One of Us, Strange Horizons, and Lone Star Stories, all of whom work well with combinations of mythology and astronomy. There is also a website devoted specifically to stars and poetry, which I do not know as much about, but it might be worth looking into. But if you have favorite journals or magazines already, feel free to send the poem there first!
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I know it's literally years, but if you never sent this anywhere, then I think Stone Telling might be a good place to start. I still think of this poem occasionally.