Devenish

Happy New Year — If you have been, thank you for reading: I resolve to write more in 2014. In the meantime, I'll steal some more half-forgotten lines from Rilke. Und das geht hin und eilt sich, daß es endet, und kreist und dreht sich nur und hat kein Ziel. Ein Rot, ein Grün, ein Grau vorbeigesendet, ein kleines kaum begonnenes Profil -. Und manchesmal ein Lächeln, hergewendet, ein seliges, das blendet und verschwendet an dieses atemlose blinde Spiel...   Click for passable translation ... Und manchesmal ein Lächeln .... hergewendet,  

Even before reading this article earlier this morning, I'd been worried about ignorance of different kinds. It started with my sharing on Facebook an article (that was shared with me) about a mother in Waco, Texas, who dramatically removed herself and her children from a guest lecture given by Bill Nye, "The Science Guy", when he asserted—contrary to fundamentalist Christian doctrine—something that most people have surmised for centuries: that the Moon does not itself emit any light, but merely reflects the light of the Sun. "We believe in God" she is supposed to have declared, as non-sequitur justification for her protest-ant departure. My Facebook friends' reactions to this news story, which had come to me via an activist-atheist website , ranged from the smug "Waco, where else?!" to the defensive-sarcastic "of course, [you think] all Christians are stupid, right?" Whatever the agenda of the website on which this piece was posted

This will not be news to those of you who had a decent mathematical education, but it was to me. After 51 years, thanks to Sean's science homework, I've just learned that there is a difference between precision and accuracy . Really, I had no idea... (Accuracy, it seems, is only for realists: but even relativists can be—relatively—precise.) Now for some catch-up. (Same series, though mine is an earlier edition) A few months ago, I picked off the shelf a copy of Rilke's ' Der augewählten Gedichte, anderer Teil . (I don't have the erster Teil , unfortunately). This undated Insel Verlag edition was published in Leipzig, either just before or during the War, judging from the cover, and must have belonged to my uncle Kenneth, as do all of the few decent German books I now possess—including an early copy of Hermann Paul's Prinzipien der Sprachgeschichte , the translation of which will be on my to-do list, probably for ever. It won't happen today, tha

Click to play ( Click for lyrics ) A good blog piece is like a good piece of pop music: essentially trivial, it still contains just enough wit and glimpses of interest to keep the reader coming back. The main difference is that you cannot always rely on a catchy tune to save the day (unless you click to play!): a few cute pictures must needs go, that the devil drives. With this thought, but accompanied by the excellent Mr Lloyd Cole (1984, 2011), I announce a return to Devenish... I have really no idea what has kept readers coming back to a blog that has lain dormant for three months or more: in the last month this blog has received nearly 300 hits: in its heyday, it never exceeded 700. Go figure, whether this is good or bad news, whether I should bother. At all. events, I really appreciate those returning visitors, wherever and whyever you are... this is for you. 'Shame on you, you've got no sense of grace, shame on me ah just in case I might come to a conclusion oth

I just wondered... Click to play " Whole-life jail terms without the possibility of review amount to a breach of human rights, European judges have ruled . The European Court of Human Rights has said that the sentences amount to inhuman and degrading treatment of prisoners, after an appeal by convicted killers Jeremy Bamber, Douglas Vinter and Peter Moore." This just and humane decision handed down by the ECHR, and decried by the British tabloids, leaves me with only one question: why are convicted murderers and terrorists treated more leniently under the law than parents, whose love condemns them to life without the slightest possibility of parole?

Click to pl a y "Do muß doch irjendwo 'ne Usswääsch sinn", säät dä Hofnarr zo dämm Dieb." ... Rare group picture—thanks to our American guest Ariane Wolf, of whom very sadly we have no good photos—complemented by an equally rare (indeed unobtainable) piece of music: Wolfgang Niedecken's version of Dylan's All along the Watchtower , which I came across the other day. We are all so pleased that she came.

Click to play Before the operation: Sean's knee-cap in two It was about a month ago then that things started to go badly wrong. If I can still correctly order the events: first, I was hospitalized for three days with some severe (but still undiagnosed) stomach-bug; Then I lost my wallet: for the second time in three years it was left on the roof of the car when I drove off. Then, on the morning of my conference-trip to Vietnam, Julian fell at school and cut open his eyebrow, which required 5 stitches. So far, so bad, until last Tuesday, when Sean fell on?/off?/by? his skateboard, and broke his knee-cap into two irregular pieces. He had surgery on Wednesday: in the best case, he'll be back to normal...in six months. Not counting a minor car crash on Saturday and a sprained ankle from running, either one of which events might have seemed significant in other months, but which now pales by comparison. Repaired! It surely could be worse, but it still seems that this

Click to play (Peter Gabriel) Peter Gabriel was surely thinking of a different kind of love when he wrote this song, one of his most moving. Still, it expresses better than anything I can think up how much of a saving grace Justin is for me, and for all of the family. Being a parent is the hardest thing I have ever done, not least because—whether for personal reasons, or reasons of gender, or of age or socialization—I am not able to see parenting as an achievement of any kind: no matter that it takes 85% of my energy and effort, I cannot measure or register any success, but only the many times I fall short. 'I get so lost, sometimes...' Looking into Justin's eyes does not validate my role, but it does give me the strength to go on, to ignore what Kahneman calls 'the remembering self' (so concerned with legacy and achievement), to 'reach out from the inside.' Thanks, Peter! Love I get so lost, sometimes days pass and this emptiness fills my heart

The nymphs are departed, it seems . The previously regular readers of this blog. Gone. And so it must be to the 'loitering heirs of city directors' that I should explain the reasons for my failure to continue writing. It is not that family life in the interim has become dramatically more or less interesting or noteworthy than it ever was. There has been precious little drama, and what drama there has been has been less than precious. Until a few weeks ago, though, the lack of newsworthiness did not prevent me from devoting an hour or so to the remembrance of things just past (lost, before they could be forgotten). One of the reasons for not posting was a sense that there were other things—beyond the regular 6:30am-10:30pm schedule of domestic and teaching chores—to attend to first. I had invested time in two other projects: too much time in a job application that didn't pan out, and a judicious and ultimately rewarding amount preparing two talks for a conference in Hano

As mentioned in another post, one of the classes I teach at Konan is called Kiso ensyu I , which roughly translates as Introductory Seminar , or so I'm told. There is no prescribed curriculum or syllabus for this course: it is intended an introduction to academic studies for incoming students of English, who until just a few weeks ago were still in high school. The gap year is still alien to most Japanese students, more's the pity. In the absence of a fixed curriculum, I am free to do "pretty much what I like." Since the intersection of [the set of activities covered by this expression] and [the set of legitimate and appropriate things to do with a class of slightly post-adolescent teenagers] includes listening to and talking about English songs—and not much else—that is what we are doing. Beginning next week, the course will introduce students to singer-songwriters that, but for this course, they would never, ever, listen to: Harry Chapin, Ralph McTell, Joni M

After a colder- and wetter than average Japanese winter, Sean, Julian and I left early last Wednesday morning bound for 10 days in N. Ireland via Seoul and London. Just in time: we might have enjoyed Spring had we stayed a day or two. Instead, we arrived in the UK just before a cold front brought snow drifts, powercuts and general misery to all parts of Britain and Ireland, especially the North West! Brilliant timing... Four days in, and it's still hovering around 0 with dead skies. Just as well I'm back in a country that accepts all this disruption with only slightly more than average grumbling: indeed, it's a great opportunity — for "a really good whinge", something that would be completely lost on the inhabitants of my adoptive country.

If you drink, don't drill . Similar advice applies to listening to Scott Walker 3,  when feeling depressed: http://lyrics.wikia.com/Scott_Walker:Rosemary That's what I want A new shot at life But my coat's too thin My feet won't fly And I watch the wind and I see another dream blowin' by Rosemary, Scott Walker 3. No matter that Spring has finally come, there's something devastating about turning fifty-one: fifty at least had some symmetry and sense of achievement about it... And again...

Click to play  Yesterday afternoon, I dropped off Ayumi and Julian at the station for the ferry shuttle to Kansai airport. This morning (Japan time), after an overnight flight to SFO, they arrived in Davis, CA, where Ayumi is conducting some research, and Julian is finding out something new. Something really new. For this is the first trip, the first experience, that he will have that his older brother has not already known, and cannot be wiser about. It must be hard to be a second child, I think. Clothes are not the only hand-me-downs, events and situations can come pre-worn as well, minus the cellophane wrapping, the gloss that attaches to an experience when you are the first of your siblings to touch or taste ir, see and hear what you have only previously known from tv. When Julian comes home, and says "Sean, Sean, you'll never believe .....", there can be no deflationary "Yeah, I know, so what...". I guess I was like Sean too: I never realized u

Saturday day-trip to Awaji-shima: in retrospect, he wasn't looking too well! Sick infectious child? Have to work? No available family members? Who you gonna call? — Kupu Kupu When we were living in the UK, one of us would probably have had to cancel classes. Even here, this is normally what we would do, but this week—exam week—is different: both Ayumi and I really have to turn up for work. So when, at 2am on Saturday morning, I was told by the duty doctor at the 24-hour children’s clinic in HAT Kobe, that Justin had Influenza A—the result from an on-site diagnostic test that took 10 minutes—and that he wouldn’t be allowed to return to nursery for at least five days, I was stumped. But Ayumi had the answer: at least, the Internet did, and she found it. By lunchtime on Sunday, she had contacted a local nursery/hospital (hospital/nursery?), had made an appointment on line, had taken Justin over for a preliminary assessment, and booked him in to this special nurse

Click for Justin on New Year's Eve Generally, I try these days to separate my posts: Devenish (this blog) for family-related material; Inishmacsaint , for other writing. But time constraints—as well as the subject matter of this post—force me to merge and be done with it. If you only want to read family news, look away now; the same applies if you don't like opinion pieces informed by personal details. It's Friday afternoon, and I've allocated just one hour for this piece, so the results may be patchy and loose-ended... Over the last few weeks, especially since the school shootings in Newtown, CT, I've been continually troubled by some aspects of that particular tragedy that seem to have gone unreported and so un-discussed. No, that's wrong, for it is the reporting itself, and the associated commentary, which bothers me as much as the deaths of so many children. What upsets me is what seems to be a kind of pressure for moral equilibrium in many people&