Ridiculous

I walked into class yesterday morning and Renzo, one of the (obviously troubled) Scudder veterans, told me that he had seen my picture on one of the screens around campus. Of course, my response was something like, "Why are you causing mischief, miscreant?" Oddly, he was correct, as I went out into the hallway and saw the following. Clearly, this is a product of some sort of Brandenburg/Kelly machinations. Beyond all that is holy, apparently this is going to be on a continual loop for the next couple weeks. Obviously, I have many enemies.

Like a Chinese ghost, apparently I'll be trapped inside the halls of campus at night, haunting any soul foolish enough to be out and about at night.

Saudade

 Saudade - "Longing, melancholy, nostalgia, as a supposed characteristic of the Portuguese or Brazilian temperament." Oxford English Dictionary

"Saudade is a word for a sad state of intense longing for someone or something that is absent. Saudade comes from Portuguese culture, and it is often expressed in its literature and music. Saudade is described as a king of melancholy yearning. . . In Portuguese literature and music, saudade is used as a theme or a motif . . . Saudade is most often discussed in terms of its importance to Portuguese culture and for the supposed difficulty in translating it to English." Dictionary.com

"The famous saudade of the Portuguese is a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present, a turning towards the past or towards the future; not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent dreaming wistfulness." A.F.G. Bell (from James Cave)

The concept of saudade popped up to me a couple of times yesterday, in the strange interconnected ways that only happens in Dickens novels and reality.  I completed, clumsily and painfully (my legs are not getting any better), a forty minute hike through Jerash on our NordicTrack. Experiencing Jerash made me happy (I've been there many times), but the experience also made me sad, not simply because I may never make it back to a country that I love so dearly, but also because my declining health is increasingly limiting what I can do, even much closer to home. Then, through mere happenstance, YouTube offered me up a Portuguese language series from Sandra Carapinha (which is one of the precious few things of value that YouTube has ever given me; I'm going to start following her videos, and see if she actually has a Portuguese language course). The first video of hers I saw was her description of saudade. I was already familiar with the concept (as all Lusophiles are) but her discussion was lovely (and I shared it with my students). Later I shared the entire story with some of my Jordanian veterans, and my wonderful former student Michael Manfredi sent me this picture:

I'm not certain when this was snapped, but it must be going on ten years ago. Obviously, saudade went into overdrive. 

My Factless Autobiography

 I envy - but I'm not sure that I envy - those for whom a biography could be written, or who could write their own. In these ransom impressions, and with no desire to e other than random, I indifferently narrate my factless autobiography, my lifeless history. These are my Confessions, and if in them I saw nothing, it's because I have nothing to say.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet, text 12

Since I referenced Pessoa's notion of a "factless autobiography" in the previous post I figured I go ahead and include the original passage. I don't read many biographies or autobiographies, but one of the reasons why I think they sometimes fail is that they include way too much information. Recently I read three massive biographies of Marcus Aurelius, Marcel Proust, and Fernando Pessoa. I was not not sold on the first two, whereas I thought the Pessoa one (Richard Zenith's) was extraordinary. One of the reasons why Zenith's was so good was that I think it, while providing outside events and movements as context, it didn't get lost in them, which allowed the reader to truly immerse themselves into Pessoa as a writer and thinker. The others were almost too crowded with events, whereas Pessoa's, partially because while he led a busy life he didn't go far beyond the outskirts of Lisbon itself, we could get more into his inner life. In the same way, one of the reasons why The Book of Disquiet works as an autobiography of a sorts for Pessoa is that it is told through the heteronym (of in the case of Soares a partial heteronym) so the facts, like trees, don't block out the sun.

Oitava visita a Portugal, mesmo?

 I'm in the process of making plans to head back to Portugal for a quick visit in June. I found a conference in Lisbon and I'm in the process of putting together a paper. There is an inherent danger on presenting on Fernando Pessoa in Portugal, clearly, but I obviously don't have the sense that God gave a goose (as we'd say in Indiana). The last heteronym that Pessoa created was Maria Jose, a nineteen year old hunchbacked girl who was dying of tuberculosis. All she produced was a love letter that was never sent, telling of her love for a strong worker who routinely passed beneath her window. It is devastating in its sadness, but it's also very beautiful; my students read it on the first night of class this semester and they really liked it. I want to view the letter in relation to Pessoa's concept of a "factless autobiography," which he tells through the lens of Bernardo Soares in The Book of Disquiet. Doubtless, I'm in over my head, but I love to give myself new challenges.

Obviously, I'll have to head back to the Fernando Pessoa Museum.

This is the astrological chart that Pessoa created for himself. He did ones for his major heteronyms as well (or course, he also identified Fernando Pessoa as a heteronym - this is destroying my students even as we speak); unfortunately, the pictures I snapped on my last visit are pretty blurry, although, happily, not the memory itself.

Happy Birthday Kerry

 As is well-documented, 1960 was the last good and dependable year for the production of excellent human beings (don't blame me, blame science). Yesterday was the truly excellent Kerry Noonan's birthday (she's much, much younger than me). A group of us gathered at the Burlington Beer House to celebrate her general and sustained excellence, and a great time was had by all.

Janet and my Folklore Cards and Namaste Squid gifts were, happily, a big hit.

2025 Readings 9

 OK, so this one is completely silly, but, as a historian I feel the need to provide, as much as possible, a realistic historical portrayal of my readings for 2025. Plus, I should be honest: I don't only read books by/about Fernando Pessoa and Marcel Proust and about religion or death. This morning I finished Rachel Quinney's Cryptids, Creatures & Critters. Beyond my obvious love of cryptids I mainly bought this book as part of creating a storehouse of cryptozoological-related swag to send to Andy Burkhardt. In the Twin Peaks Football League there are  certain matchups which have a theme. My regular season game with Cyndi Brandenburg's Mojo Nixons is the Fried Chicken Bowl, while the game with Katheryn Wright's Colchester Hep Aliens is the Key Lime Pie Bowl. In both instances the loser must provide the winner with either fried chicken or key lime pie. This year we've added the Cryptozoology Bowl between the Springfield Buffalo and Andy Burkhardt's Shackleton Shockers, with the loser providing the winner with some sort of cryptozoological swag (Andy received a t-shirt from the Mothman Museum this year). so, I was in a store the other day and saw Quinney's book, so I purchased with it the intention of setting it aside in my cryptozoology storehouse to send to Andy in future seasons. Of course, I picked it up and read it, and thus I am honor bound to record it here. It was fun and I was introduced to some cryptids that I had never heard of. Plus, it has this promotional quote - "A fantastic book with top-notch information and some of the best cryptid illustrations I have seen!!!" - from Jeff Wamsley, the owner of the Mothman Museum. Seriously, how could I not love it? I will miss it after next year's inevitable loss to the Shockers when it will be in the mail on the way to Michigan.

2025 Readings 8

 Last night I finished Yoko Tawada's Scattered All Over the Earth, which I liked a lot but didn't love. It did make me want to read her novel The Emissary. Scattered All Over the Earth felt like one of those novels that is based on an interesting and strange notion, but in the end wasn't fully realized; the end felt a bit like a more intelligent Friends episode where we'll reminded that while you can't choose your family you can choose your friends (that's more critical than I mean it to be). An odd but engaging crew of characters is drawn together by a love of languages, and the mystery surrounding the fact that Japan has seemingly disappeared. No one can really remember Japan or what happened to it, and all the aspects of Japanese culture are all now associated with other cultures.  Hiruko, in an attempt to try and find someone else in the world who speaks her language, is the engine that quietly drives the story forward. It hints at profound issues related to language and culture and cultural diffusion and is well worth the read. I think it was another book that I picked it at Northshire Books down in Manchester.