Bla bla bla

[nooj]

This song, put to song by the Galician singer Rosa Cedron and accompanied by Cristina Pato (who I've talked about before), is taken directly from a poem by the mother of Galician literature, Rosalía de Castro. For a wonderful analysis of the poem in Galician, see here. The speaker of the poem is a man, talking to his lover who has betrayed him.

It was also one of the songs chosen by Sabela for Operación Triumfo, thereby introducing one of the greats of Galician literature to an audience of millions of Spanish speakers who would probably never have read a single one of her works, and in the contrary case, only in a Spanish translation.

Así che falín un día
camiñiño de San Lois,
todo oprimido de angustia,
todo ardente de pasión,
mentras que ti me escoitabas
depinicando unha frol,
porque eu non vise os teus ollos
que refrexaban traiciós.

I spoke to you thus one day
The little road of San Lois
Completely overcome by anguish
Completely burning with desire
While you listened to me
Plucking the petals of a flower
So that I would not see in your eyes
Eyes that reflected betrayal.

frol - it's interesting that Castro uses the medieval form, frol instead of the modern form flor.

“Quixente tanto, meniña
tívenche tan grande amor,
que para mín eras lúa,
branca aurora e craro sol;
auga limpa en fresca fonte,
rosa do xardín de Dios,
alentiño do meu peito,
Ai vida do meu corazón”

(This is what I said)

"I loved you so much, my dear
I had such a great love for you
For me you were light
White dawn and clear sun
Fresh water in a fresh spring
A rose from God's garden
Breath in my breast
Ay, life of my heart."

Dempois que si me dixeches,
en proba de teu amor,
décheme un caraveliño
que gardín no corazón.
¡Negro caravel maldito,
que me fireu de dolor!
Mais a pasar polo río,
¡o caravel afondou!…

After you told me yes,
As proof of your love
You gave me a carnation
That I kept over my heart.
Damned black carnation,
That wounded me with pain!
But in crossing the river
The carnation sank!

“Quixente tanto, meniña

Repeat.

Tan bo camiño ti leves
como o caravel levou.

I hope you find as good a road
As that carnation found.

[nooj]

I'm not sure what came first, me listening to the group Triana and then finding this movie, or the other way around.

Either way, a truly unforgettable scene marked in my memory from a beautiful movie called Manuela (1975), by the director Gonzalo García Pelayo.

Triana is the greatest example of the genre of 'rock andalúz', the fusion of rock and flamenco from the 70s and one of their songs 'Abre la puerta' is used here for this scene when the eponymous Manuela dances over the grave of...well, you'll have to see the movie.

Most of the time I talk about the Catalan speaking lands, the Basque Country and Galicia. But I have always had a deep love for Andalucia, even if I don't show it often. And the Spanish varieties spoken in Andalucía are my favourite of all Spanish varieties on the Peninsula, and perhaps in the entire world.

The economy of the Balearic Islands and the Pitiuses Islands were until the middle of the 20th century, fundamentally based around agriculture, fishing and primary industries like that (prior to that, slavery and salt mining!). The Franco government converted the islands into a tourist hotspot starting from the 60s. Thousands of poor Andalucians, Murcians and other people looking for service jobs came to these islands to work, often receiving a pittance for their crucial work, and many settled here to build a life.

This fundamentally changed the linguistic demographics of the islands, which was essentially monolingual at that stage, as the combination of massive immigration and tourism firmly implanted Spanish. Which until then was the language of a certain elite. There are still many Andalucian immigrants who come here. I've met people from Cordoba, Sevilla, Malaga.

Wonderful people to have a chat to. But they generally don't learn the language. I was having a discussion with this guy from Cordoba who had been living here for over ten years. He said to me Mallorcans are quite cool and distant at first in comparison to Andalucians, but once you are taken to be one of them, Mallorcans fully accept you with no reservation. Of course these are generalities: there are shy Andalucians and immediately friendly Mallorcans. In general though, I don't think it's wrong to say that people are more 'open' and 'touchy feely' in the south. Other Andalucians have complained to me that they have no Mallorcan friends at all!



If you want to hear the entire song:

[Saim]

I wonder what kind of inciatives could be done specifically targeting immigrants so that their kids are Catalan dominant, instead of Spanish. As well as of course their native languages.

I don't know what can be done because it's a broad social issue that interacts with a lot of different factors. There's really no domain where Catalan is dominant outside of primary schooling (and there only the medium of instruction), so we're really running uphill.

I guess they would need to establish more social relationships with Catalan-speakers, but I'm not sure what the best way to promote that would be. I have the feeling many children of immigrants only start interacting with more Catalan-speakers at university, if they make it to university at all.

Here's an interesting article on the subject, maybe you've already come across it: www.diaridelallengua.cat/com-mes-necess ... ns-lacces/ .

Like you said, the context is sometimes much more important than any amount of schooling. A son of Moroccans who grows up in my town is much more likely to use more Catalan than a son of Moroccans who grows up in a Spanish-speaking neighbourhood of Barcelona.

Of course, there are towns in Catalonia where the vast majority of children of immigrants end up Catalan-dominant.

An anecdote on that point: once I went to Banyoles with a close friend who was also my flatmate (his hometown). He himself is a native Catalan speaker who only became comfortable speaking Spanish after moving to Barcelona to study. We went to a gas station with one of his highschool friends (who was studying in Girona), and the guy working there was a black African (I don't know what ethnicity for sure although I do know Banyoles has a large Sarahule/Soninke population).

The guy working at the gas station spoke perfect Catalan, albeit with an accent indicative of his West African background, but the high school friend spoke insisted on speaking to him in Spanish. My friend was shocked: "però tiu per què li has parlat en castellà? si sap català!". It seems that he picked up this practice in Girona.

I'm a Korean from Sydney.

Cool! How's your Korean, do you use it often?

[nooj]

I hardly ever use Korean. Only with my family. I don't socialise with other Koreans. Well, very rarely.

My parents are both Koreans and my mother barely functional in English, she mostly speaks to me in Korean, but my sister is fluent in both (it's not a heritage language for her). She came to New Zealand when she was 10 whereas I came when I was 5. And she speaks to me mainly in English, which annoys me to no end! I half jokingly blame her for my current atrocious state of Korean.

I say half jokingly because I know it's mostly my fault.

This is my sister and my mum (you can hear me speak Korean at the end, but my sister switches to English with me...like I said, she does that a lot with me):



https://vocaroo.com/i/s0GWLdXdDDwG

I understand it obviously, and they talk Korean around me, but talking Korean back to them is arduous (for me and for them!).

[nooj]

Joseba Sarrionandia

ESKLABO ERREMINTARIA

Erromara ekarri hinduten,

sartaldeko oihanetan gatibaturiko

esklaboa.

Erremintari ofizioa jaso

eta, aginduak obedituz,

kateak egiten dituk.

Arragoko burdin goria

nahieran molda hezake,

aitzurrak eta ezpatak egin ditzakek

kateak hausteko. Baina hik,

esklabo horrek, kateak egiten dituk,

kate gehiago.

The Blacksmith Slave

They brought you to Rome
In the western forests, held captive
A slave

They gave you the job of a blacksmith
And obeying their orders
You made chains

The red steel from the furnace
You could mold to your will
You could make swords and picks
To break the chains. But you
The slave, you make chains.
More chains.

[nooj]

I don't know what can be done because it's a broad social issue that interacts with a lot of different factors. There's really no domain where Catalan is dominant outside of primary schooling (and there only the medium of instruction), so we're really running uphill.

I guess they would need to establish more social relationships with Catalan-speakers, but I'm not sure what the best way to promote that would be. I have the feeling many children of immigrants only start interacting with more Catalan-speakers at university, if they make it to university at all.

Here's an interesting article on the subject, maybe you've already come across it: http://www.diaridelallengua.cat/com-mes ... ns-lacces/

What a wonderful article, thank you for that. I had not read it before. The problem is indeed tricky and I can't help but think that Catalan independentists (as well as Basque, Galician etc) are fundamentally right in thinking that in a Europe of nation-states (as Europe is currently organised), only a nation-state of their own will be powerful enough to ensure that their language survives and thrives.

What the linguist says about foreigners who are married to this conception of nation = language and how it is difficult for them to shake that off, she doesn't say the nationalities of these people, but I wonder if she means Europeans. Given that on the ground in many African countries, despite the fact that they may only have one official national language, there exists a situation of practical multilingualism, I wonder if an immigrant from Senegal who speaks four languages would be better disposed to learning and using both Catalan and Spanish, than an immigrant from France or Italy.

[nooj]

Street art



Erantzun means 'response, answer' in Basque.

Wearing poetry as jewelry



The poem is by Qeysar Aminpour. The earings were made for the Edinburgh Iranian Festival fashion festival.

دل داده ام بر باد، هر چه باداباد
del dādeh am bar bād, har cheh bādā bād

I gave my heart to the winds
Whatever will be, will be.

Note the assonance: del dādeh am bar bād, har cheh bādā bād

But also note the word play. bād is a homophone in Persian for the noun 'wind', but it also forms part of the optative verb bādā bād. In full, har cheh bādā bād is an idiom meaning 'what will be, will be'. Like the Spanish que será, será.

[nooj]

Utilitza la llengua
Use the tongue/language

A helpful message from the activist organisation Plataforma per la llengua, which aims to defend and promote the Catalan language.



Fes-t'ho com vulguis, però fes-la córrer
Do it whatever way you want, but use it (the language)!

A condom dispenser in Gandia, a city in Valencia, distributed by the Plataforma per la llengua, the Valencia branch. The words all have to do with the sexual act, gathered from a variety of dialects across the Catalan speaking regions. For Valencian in particular, see here.



Os mellores bicos son con lingua
The best kisses are with tongue/language

A helpful message on the occasion of a previous Día das Letras Galegas, Friday May 17th of every year. It celebrates the Galician language, its speakers and its literature. A bico is a kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the lips etc in Galicia.

CAREFUL - in European Portuguese, a bico is something COMPLETELY different from a kiss. A kiss in European Portuguese would rather be a beijo.

Galicians who go to Portugal, beware. Or Portuguese who come to Galicia, don't be shocked if people propose to give you bicos.

[nooj]

This has nothing to do with languages but today there was a terrorist attack in New Zealand against the Muslim community. Words I'd never thought I had to say about my country. I haven't cried in years but this morning I wept for my country, for the victims, for innocence lost.

[nooj]

Una descoberta recent que m'agrada molt és el cantautor valencià, Ovidi Montllor (1942-1995). Va crèixer a la ciutat alacantina Alcoi. Heus aquí una de les seves cançons que descriu com vivia la seva infantesa a una escola durant l'epoca franquista. Li va resulta dur a un al·lot com ell. El seu pare fou anarquista i es seus propis sentiments politics s'alineaven amb el comunisme o el socialisme. Formava part de l'escola musical que li diuen 'Nova Cançó', molt popular durant les decades 60-70. No hi veus una certa similitud a George Brassens?

L'escola de Ribera
The school of Ribera

La suma era
dos més dos.
El resultat era
quatre.
La pregunta era
Qui és?
La resposta era:
Deú.
La consigna era:
Pàtria.
La resposta era:
alçar el braç.
La classe era
a les nou.
El mestre era
a les deu.
El "water" era
al fons.
La merda era
a l'entrada.
Els amics érem
tots.
Els enemics érem tots.
Els diplomes eren
grocs.
Els diplomats eren
verds.
El Crist era
de fusta.
Els cristians
de cartó.
Els pupitres eren
bruts.
Els que sèiem érem
pobres.
La regla era
per la mà.
La mà era
per tancar-la.
El càstig era
sever.
El castigat era:
Por.
La missa era
molt sèria.
Els assistents
no ho sabíem
el capellà era
vell.
Els nens
tampoc ho sabíem
Els corredors eren
llargs.
Els que corrien
fugien.
El rellotge era
bonic.
Les hores eren
llargues.
L'ensenyança era
com era.
Els ensenyats
el què som.
Ni més ni menys que el què som.
Els mestres.
El Crist.
El capellà.
El pupitre.
Els companys.
El llibre.
La pissarra.
La infància.
La tendresa.
La fe.
La por.
L'estima.
Tot perdut
per sempre,
El resultat era un,
la jugada era
perfecta.

The sum was two plus two.
The result was four.
The question was
Who is it?
The answer was:
God.
The order was:
Fatherland.
The response was:
Giving the salute.
The class was at nine o'clock.
The teacher was there at ten.
The toilet was at the back.
The shit was at the entrance.
All of us were friends
The enemies were all of us.
The graduation certificates were yellow.
The graduates were green.
Christ was made out of wood.
The Christians were made out of paper.
The desks were dirty.
Those who sat at them we were poor.
The ruler was to strike the hand.
The hand was for closing.
The punishment was harsh.
He who was punished was:
Fear.
Mass was very serious.
We who went did not know that.
The priest was old.
The kids, we didn't know that.
The corridors were long.
Those who ran,
fled.
The clock was
Pretty.
The hours were
Long.
Teaching was what it was
Those who were taught,
we are who we are.
Neither more nor less.
The teachers.
Christ.
The priest.
The desk.
The mates.
The book.
The blackboard.
Childhood.
Tenderness.
Faith.
Fear.
Love.
All lost
For ever.
There was one result
The game was
perfect