AesaLina's Final Posting

JEGER = description
My fingers wiggle against the back of my neck as I lay on Ground watching Sun streak across Sky. The southern breezes ruffle my hair; I shiver. When Sky blankets itself in a chasm of blackness, I climb to my feet. Grass beneath my toes bends under my weight; I listen as they snap toward Sky again when I pass onward. Their whispers sound different though I do not know how.
I wander the garden: Perhaps I will speak to him.
ADEGAN = dialogue
“Adam.”
He looks up from an armful of leaves gathered tenderly in his arms, “Eve.”
“Grass speaks differently to me. I do not understand.”
He tilts his head downward.
I cannot see his face in Moon's milky mist and Star's silhouettes as I whisper, “Trees are dropping their leaves.”
“Why would they give up their voices?” He asks.
I take some leaves from his arms then look around us. The forest behind our temple thickens with the eldest of Trees—many branches slice naked through Stars, leaves clutter Ground.
“I do not know,” is all I can say.
He carefully lays the leaves he cradles back on Ground, his hands hover above them for a moment. We wait to hear their words, but the leaves speak silence now. Adam walks away, deeper into the forest.
I press my own armful of leaves against my breasts, smelling for life, but all the smell I sense is rot. Suddenly, Air catches in my throat and I run toward our temple. Through the arches, down the hallways, until I reach the front courtyard where Soul grows. Was his voice lost? Were his words fallen?
Soul is a slender tree—white bark, silver leaves, golden fruit, tender voice. I enjoy listening to him the most of all Trees; he speaks of things I do not understand, but they feel calm and soft inside my mind, not harsh and dark like the way Grass speaks. I do not want Soul's voice to fade, for who will tell me stories? Certainly not Adam. He has no stories.
I fall against the trunk of Soul, hugging, allowing Soul to gather me inside his branches—his voice tickles against my skin. His leaves still flutter in the southern breezes.
“Soul, why does Grass speak differently? Why do Trees let their voices fall to Ground?”
Soul fades from white and silver to pink and purple as Sun flies up from behind Mountains. His fruit, though, still gold. I caress my cheek against one perfect golden sphere.
Keeper comes. Tell him your story.
Soul’s branches lift to embrace Sun and I slip away from his hold and hurry down the steps leading to the road in front of our temple. Keeper pulls a cart behind him as he approaches me. He looks different—his head closer to Sky, thin lines of shadow below his hands and next to his lips. I look for his smooth skin and find not what I seek.
“Keeper.”
“Eve.” He sets the cart down, presses his hands against his back and leans toward Sky.
“I have a story. Grass speaks different. I asked Adam why, he did not know. Trees are dropping their voices to Ground. Soul told me to tell you my story. I do not understand. It is thick and hard in my mind.”
Keeper’s head snaps toward me like Grass does after I move off them. His eyes round like Sun. “You spoke to Adam?”
“Yes.”
He turns from me and runs down the road. His cart sits quietly, just like the fallen leaves. I watch him until Dust stops dancing and sleeps again on Ground. I close my eyes, my head hurts with so much to not understand! I want to understand. I want to know!
Reaching for the cart I slide my hands into the treasures piled inside. I brush, press, and grab each item trying to guess what Keeper has brought without using my eyes. I feel beads along a thread. I hold soft strips of cloth. I tap the smooth glass of many, many bottles. I caress—
“Eve.”
My eyes open and I turn.
“Adam.”
“Where is Keeper?” He asks.
“He woke up Dust when he ran down the road.”
“Why did he run?”
“I told him about Grass and Trees.”
He stands next to me, his left hand picks up a bottle. “What is this?”
“A bottle, so Keeper says. My treasure.”
He looks at my face. He puts the bottle back into the cart and reaches to hold my hair instead. Sky darkens and I cannot see his face, but I feel his knuckles as they slide down my arm until his hand falls from my hair. Rocks gossip beneath his feet as he walks away. I shiver once, twice, and once more. I wrap strips of cloth and beads on a thread around my neck, waist, and arms until Sky pales enough for me to collect my bottles.
I carry my treasure into our temple.
PERANG = action (battle)
Keeper ran until his heart pounded against his ribs so hard he bruised, and still he ran until he reached the tiny village seven miles below the temple of Eve and Adam. Wild chickens gobbled out of his way as he reached the main road. The children playing in the street screamed with excitement at his reddened face and picked up pace alongside him, kicking rocks and throwing handfuls of mud to one another.
“Look at your red skin!” One squealed.
“Red like the backside of a pig!” Another shrieked.
They cackled with laughter and continued their sport of throwing various items.
Upon reaching the Chief’s door, the Keeper bent over his knees to lick breath back between his lips before pounding against the wooden door. The children jumping around him quieted down at such an improper gesture.
“What’s he doing?” One wondered.
“Trouble like the beginning of a storm!” Another whispered.
When the Chief flung the door opened with a snarl of disbelief the children dropped their mud mounds and slowly backed away before running to tell their mothers of Keeper’s unbelievable behavior.
Before the Chief could say anything Keeper broke all rules of propriety and clutched the Chief’s hands in his own as he whispered harshly, “Eve has spoken to Adam.”
The Chief’s grimace turned upward into surprise mingled with joy and anxiety, “Finally.”
As the Chief led the Keeper inside with a smile, the Keeper’s face hardened with duty.
He saw himself . . .
He holds his wife close against his neck. He pulls his daughter against his waist. No words can make room in the impregnated surrender. The inevitability of death slithers around their farewell; the hiss of responsibility scrapes at his ears. He lets his family go and with a hunch of the head he leaves his home and starts up the path to the temple.
The road forks and as he veers to the right he slips on some mud and lands hard, his hands sinking into the sticky liquid. Nothing moves; no sound. Just breath.
“I can’t accomplish such a task,” he sighs into the silence.
“Of course you can’t,” comes a voice, sneaking from the shadows of his soul. “Sacrificing oneself, and one as noble as yourself, why . . . what a waste, what a squander. And who even asked you anyway?”
“I volunteered,” Keeper answers the voice.
“Precisely,” the voice hisses, “You were wise in volunteering, for a volunteer is never fettered by a contract. And when you are not fettered you cannot be fritted away. So go back, back to your wife, your child. A man as talented as yourself does not need to be sacrificed for the forgotten dreams of some strange old man who claimed to be.”
“But I have a duty.”
“Your duty is to live.”
“And I have,” Keeper’s legs feel too weak to walk; he begins a crawl.
“Not if you keep heading toward that temple. Your life is over when you touch that fruit. You are dead—”
“A death providing the immortality for my culture,” Keeper feels strength returning to his muscles, “For my country, my kin. Immortality for thousands and thousands. I cannot turn away from this.” He presses onward.
“I see. I see how easy it was for you to turn away from your wife and child.”
Keeper pauses in agony, “Never easy.” He inhales, the choice to stay or leave riots within him.
“Go back to them. Go back,” the voice urges.
“Here am I. I am already here. I will go,” Keeper silences the snake within his heart.
“You are a failure if you leave them now!” The voice screams.
“I will see my wife and child again.”
The beauty of the past and the weight of the future met perpendicularly, cross his shoulders. And each pebble cuts into his palms, but onward, onward he crawls to the temple.


Sea of Galilee
Individual breezes glazed over the water,
Catching the tips of waves,
Thinning the molecules so
Sunlight bleached out blue.

My toes sank beneath the surface,
I studied the sand.
My pants rolled up mid-calf,
One hand held a white hat on my head
An unseen movement
Rippled across my light blue T-shirt
And short brown hair.

I raised my head
To the yellow blindness
Hazing from the heavens and
Thought of a Son even brighter
More glorious.

Once upon a time
A storm raged upon this very sea.
A boat tumbled
In these very waves.
Men tasted the very salt
I now licked from my lips.

Once upon a time
A man awoke.
A miracle wrought.
A step taken.
A test of faith.

My fingers slide the hat from my head.
The wind makes a halo of my hair,
Wings of my limp arms.
I lift a foot—
Droplets dripping down,
Back into the sea,
Making ripples of their own amidst
The mass of liquid movement.

Faith is a breath
Caught on your lips
Just before you take a step.
Will you sink?
Will you glaze across a glassy surface?
Faith is a step.
I lifted my foot.

I took a step.

Once upon a time
A man with weeping pores
Healed a bandaged world.
Once upon a time
A Son rose
To shed a little light on a field of shadow.
Once upon a time
A man took a step,
Walking across tendrils of sun-bleached waves
To lift me higher.

Lines of Fortune

eg welmi, linces apo bhers ghreibenti
I walk, lines of fortune clinging

me bhrater, eg spenmi
my brother, I ponder

kos bherom, skerom eueom
his fortune, circle voids

skerom me, me sweghs
circle me, my sorrow

eg ghreibmi
I cling

bhrater ne sagt me
brother not forsake me

eg ne sagm bhrater
I not forsake brother

Student Evaluation

Dear Famous Four:

Will ye please fill out the online Student Evaluation of the course and instructor? Your comments, observations, and constructive suggestions will be read and greatly appreciated by me and by the BYU administration.

Thank you,

Sister Hallen

GOOD NEWS and Last Assignment for L&L

1. Read at least one blog post for each of the class members.
2. Make a constructive thoughtful response to the blogspot by clicking on the "comment" icon at the bottom of the blogpost.
3. Read my comments for one your own blog posts, and then reply to my comments on one of your blog posts.
4. Finish reading Becker and Watkins.
5. Finish the Dickinson-Webster project before class on Thursday. If possible, email me the completed spreadsheet, so that we can use it in class.

GOOD NEWS: The EDL website is now running at normal speed again, thanks to Devin Asay of our Humanities computing staff. So you should be able to access it for the project. But don't wait until the last minute.

Pride and Prejudice, by Laura

One interesting thing to point out is how marriage is referred to in "Pride and Prejudice".

Sir William Lucas describes his daughter Charlotte's marriage to Mr. Collins as "an alliance".

After Charlotte's engagement to Mr. Collins is announced, she describes that she has a good chance at happiness "in the marriage state."

Jane and Elizabeth call Charlotte's and Mr. Collins's upcoming marriage as a "match".

Lady Catherine de Bourgh talks about Mr. Darcy's supposed arranged engagement to Anne as a "match".

Other adjectives used throughout the book:

Charlotte is at least twice described as "amiable". "Their amiable neighbor" and "his amiable Charlotte"

When Mr. Collins goes back to Kent: "After a week spent in professions of love and schemes of felicity"

About Mr. Bingley's perceived affection for Jane: "I never saw a more promising inclination."

How Lady Catherine first refers to Elizabeth:

"...and who she observed to Mrs. Collins was a very genteel, pretty kind of girl."

She doesn't even speak to Elizabeth! She just tells Charlotte what she thinks.

Mr. Darcy's infamous first marriage proposal. He says that he has "struggled" "in vain" and that his feelings will not be "repressed". He has found it "impossible" to "conquer" his affections for her.

I suppose that an Indo-European theme would apply to Darcy here, though not in the traditional sense. He has been trying to overcome his affections for Elizabeth, which by his society's standard, would be unwise. However, it is his pride that he must overcome--he cannot care about what other people may think if he marries a woman of a lower social class. His pride is the dragon, and in the end, he does overcome it and he loves Elizabeth and her lower status is of no consequence to him.

Amanda's Novel

For this blog post, I decided to analyze a small portion of one of my favorite books, Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. I only used pages 89-91, the part of the book when the story of Jean Valjean's past is unfolded. There wasn't any special reason that I chose this specific part, I just opened the book and this is where I landed. I decided to analyze it using the techniques that we learned in class last Tuesday, and here is what I came up with:

1. I did a verb analysis and found that this section of the book is mostly a narration, or a story. This makes sense because the author is describing Jean Valjean's past and is telling the background information so the reader can understand why Valjean ended up in prison. In this section, the author uses verbs such as "was," "had not been taught," "chose," "has lost," "died," "was killed," "earned," "hired out," "had taken care of," and "was bleeding." I knew that this was a narration because of the past, preteret, and past progressive/perfect tenses that were used. I also noticed at the end of my section that the author started using other verbs such as "approaches," "dwells," "produce," "render," and "develop." Because these verbs were in the present tense, I knew that the author had changed from a narrative to a description. The author was reporting about the prejudices that the people had against the poachers. The author also describes the difference between the poacher and the smuggler. Therefore, I can say that this section that I read was both a report and a story.
2. The following are some of the references that the book made to Jean Valjean:
• born of a poor peasant family
• grown up
• of a thoughtful disposition
• he/his/him
• not in love
• rough and grumbler
• reaper, workman, teamster, labourer
• the thief
• something of a poacher
3. Just for fun, I tried to think of some of the Indo-European themes that happened throughout the book. Here are a few of them that I came up with:
• Jean Valjean overcomes the dragon (himself) when he decides to leave his life of crime and to become a new man, or be "reborn"
• In the end of the book, the hero, Jean Valjean, overcomes the dragon, Javert, who has been chasing him throughout the whole book.
  
• There are many others that I have thought of, but I think these are a few examples that there are indeed IE themes throughout this book. It would be interesting to see how many more there are (especially in the original French).
  

Checklist and Rubric for the Final Exam

Thursday, August 13, from 7-8:50 a.m. in B140 JFSB

“For the final examination, students will use language figures and linguistic details to write an original 10 page literary text and share a portion of it with class members in an oral presentation.”

1. Content Guidelines (12 points).
· Choose a literary genre of your choice: poem(s), short story, personal essay, proverbs, hymn lyrics.
· Create ten full pages of text, double-spaced: 10 poems, one page each; 2 poems, five pages each; 1 poem, story, or essay, ten pages; ten pages of proverbs; and so forth.
· Weave the text(s) with linguistic features and poetic formulas that we have studied or that you have discovered.
· Provide a paper copy of the text for the instructor and post a copy for the class at our blogspot.

2. Presentation Guidelines (10 points).

· Be prompt in arrival to the exam and stay for the whole time.
· Be respectful and attentive for all of the presentations.
· Read and comment on selections from your ten-page original text, taking no more than 20 minutes.
· Respond to comments and questions for no more than 5 minutes.
· Invite at least two people to attend the final: family, friends, roommates, teachers, or others. You receive points for inviting them, even if they cannot attend.

3. Purposes of the Final Exam.

· To consolidate the learning exercises and experiences that we have shared this semester.
· To apply some of the language features, poetic conventions, and philological traditions that we read about in the Watkins and Becker textbooks.
· To enhance writing skills and future writing projects by consciously using linguistic features in an original text.
· To “sing unto the Lord a new song” (Psalms 33:3; Isaiah 42:10; Revelation 5:9, 14:3)

Announcements

I have a seminar on W and Th this week, so tomorrow I don’t have office hours, but I can see you on Friday or Monday. We have voted not to have class on Thursday, so that there is time to work on the Dickinson project and the final exam creative works. We are training in class today for the final exam and Dickinson project (see Becker, p. 336)

Right now, class members are writing a kinanthi, based on Becker, p. 338, to practice for the final exam creative works. Although we use often use poems in class as practice examples, because they are short and holistic, the word “poetry” is a metonymy for all forms of literature for our class purposes.

So far we have examined Shakespeare plays (Lear), Emerson essays (Nature, The Poet), Dickinson poems (various), and Scripture texts (Revelation), as well as Becker’s shadow plays & proverbs, and Watkins’ formulas & figures.

Today we are moving into prose fiction, beginning with the short stories of Isaac B. Singer. The blog post homework for next time is to choose your favorite novel, and analyze it, or a section of it, with principles that you are learning about this semester. Finish reading the Watkins and Becker readings and read ahead for next Tuesday according to the syllabus. See you next Tuesday at 1:00 when we will have class again.