If you leave them, ships are going to wreck

[sovay]

1. kraada mondegreened the title of my last post into "Restricted, living in a lighthouse," which then gave him the image of a lighthousekeeper who is also a siren, guiding ships to safety to atone for all she drowned. I think this is brilliant. (And for some reason YA, although this might just be because I picked up a Mollie Hunter I hadn't read at the Harvard Book Store yesterday. I was looking for The Mermaid Summer (1988), but The Walking Stones (1970) will still make a good present.) He gave it to me, but all I'm thinking about today are autumn and ghosts. I'm not sure I do safe harbor.

2. There's no getting away from dybbuks. I don't mean that metaphysically. I mean that I was reading Shirley Kumove's introduction to Drunk from the Bitter Truth: The Poems of Anna Margolin (2005) and ran across the statement: "I came to the poetry of Anna Margolin as a member of the Yiddish Women Writers' Study Group in Toronto. We began by reading poetry in Yiddish, and Anna Margolin's poems made an immediate powerful impression on me: her images possessed me like a dybbuk. Margolin haunted me for the better part of five years as I tried to understand her work." So she becomes a translator, giving the restless spirit new body in English. It is a bilingual edition, though, so you can still hear Margolin speaking in her own voice. Which is, in some ways, the thing that dybbuks really do: your lips, their words. Their melodies.

3. The seasonal impostor syndrome, the sense of dislocation and futility crashed back in about a day ago; I appreciate that it held off through my birthday, but I don't like that it's been here since. I had lunch with Dean yesterday and dinner with rushthatspeaks and gaudior, after which I showed some more Legend of Korra to the latter and then met the former at the Diesel on my way home. I couldn't find my gloves after half an hour of going through my closet and so my hands are freezing, typing with a quite warm cat beside me. I feel like I'm going to have to fight for this season. I was hoping it would just be good.

Comments

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

I think this is brilliant.

You're right to think so. It is.

Which is, in some ways, the thing that dybbuks really do: your lips, their words. Their melodies.

Yes. There's something about translation that you've captured here. I'd never thought of it in exactly that way before.

The seasonal impostor syndrome, the sense of dislocation and futility crashed back in about a day ago; I appreciate that it held off through my birthday, but I don't like that it's been here since.

I'm glad it held off that long, but I'm sorry for its return.

I praise the cat for warming you and censure the gloves for hiding from you.

I feel like I'm going to have to fight for this season. I was hoping it would just be good.

I wish you strength and success and strong allies' aid in the fight, but I'm sorry you have to fight at all.

[sovay]

There's something about translation that you've captured here. I'd never thought of it in exactly that way before.

Thank you! Credit to the dybbuk. They are an endlessly resonant metaphor, when they are being a metaphor in the first place.

I wish you strength and success and strong allies' aid in the fight, but I'm sorry you have to fight at all.

Eh. I have some good people on my side.

[ap-aelfwine.livejournal.com]

Thank you! Credit to the dybbuk. They are an endlessly resonant metaphor, when they are being a metaphor in the first place.

Most welcome! I thank the dybbuk as well.

Eh. I have some good people on my side.

I'm glad for that.