Wet thought

 

 

 

 

 

 

My early-ish swim in the community pool continues, as I find an alternative to my local pool that is closed for annual maintenance.  Apart from two Dutch visitors who looked shocked to be at the pool so early in the morning and equally shocked to find someone else there, I have swum alone.  Which is good.  Not because I am misanthropic, but because the pool is too small to do reasonable lengths and the only way to get value for money for your effort is to swim in circles.  When you are swimming in rapid circles in a smallish pool, there really isn’t room for anyone else, not that that would stop me, as avoiding people gives an added interest to the almost terminal boredom of straight-line swimming.

     And, I’m saving money!  My original plan was to go and swim in the municipal pool in Gavà, where you have to buy a pre-paid card for a certain number of swims.  This plan may yet come into operation as I am watching the temperature and the weather: I don’t swim in the cold or the rain.  I may be a dedicated swimmer but I am not fanatical!

 

 

 

Yesterday evening was another meeting of the Barcelona Poetry Group.  This time we had two Americans, two Indians, a Catalan and a Welshman and a dog.

     I had a relatively clear run through from Castelldefels to get to the meeting and, arriving early I was told about the medical issues that have recently been affecting the dog.  Today a further visit to the vet and hopefully some good news about how to proceed with her treatment.  She is now 11 years old, but looks younger and is still spritely.  We live in hope!

     The next meeting will be in October (we have a meeting a month, though a few years ago they were weekly) and I am responsible for choosing the topic and selecting a couple of poems for reading and discussion.

 

 

 

 

 

      

 

 

 

 

 

“Dreams and Nightmares” was the theme for last night’s meeting and the discussion was wide ranging, thoughtful and thought making!  I realise that this group is the only opportunity I have for an in-depth consideration of literary topics, and I truly value it.

     The poems we read were “Let America Be America Again” by Langston Hughes – a fairly famous poem and one surely known by generations of American school children – and “Scarecrow on Fire” by another American poet called Dean Young.

     The title of Young’s poem was immediately arresting and put me in mind of Dalí’s painting “The Burning Giraffe” which haunted my as a kid after seeing it in (I think) The Story of Art for the first time, and Hughes’ poem has Surrealistic touches throughout.  It may also be significant that the image of the scarecrow is often used as a metaphor for Man, “an empty coat upon a stick” in Yeats phrase, a worthless thing unless “soul clap its hands and sing” to give meaning to existence.

     There is a great deal of negative language in this poem: disappearing, alleyways, small, graveyard, black angel, goodbye, last, winter, nothingness, stitching, vomiting, nightmare, illusion, dirt, wound, but there is also the assertion of “Hell, even now I love life” and the last words of the poem “This is my soul, freed.”  But there are no exclamation marks after either statement and that omission lessens the force of the positive.  And his freed soul is linked to water boiling, to evaporation, to vapour, just like his line where he says that “Maybe poems are made of breath” an exhalation into emptiness, just as earlier in the poem he asserted that, “We all feel / suspended over a drop into nothingness.”

     This is a dense poem, rich in images and associations from a poet about whom I want to know more!

     A key part of the evening is a short meditation on the theme, accompanied by a randomly chosen essential oil.  This is a nod to Californian Hippydom and was instituted by the founder of the group as a defiant reminder of her home state, and is continued because, well, it’s a nice idea.

     After the meditation there is a period allocated for writing.  This can be one the theme or not as the individual desires, and the end results of the writing can be shared or not again as the individual decides.

     I wrote on the theme and came up with the following.

 

 

The Dream

 

It is unnoticed ease,

a facile roll of incidents,

a wave of disparates,

that link and coalesce to make

a comfort carapace

that frames fragile reality.

A passageway located

Nowhere and yet Everywhere.

A known unknown.

A shell, a wall, a hill –

and all, yes all,

within a moment’s touch;

though sense is different.

 

Dimensions wax and wane

to morning’s death.

 

 

Something to work on!

 

     And now to start thinking about the theme for the next poetry meeting.  Among my first thoughts were “Courage” “Fear” and “Food” – gives great scope for the poems that we can talk about.  I will think on!

 

 Barcelona Poetry Group can be reached via this website:

 

 

https://www.meetup.com/es-ES/barcelona-english-speaking-poetry-group/?_cookie-check=XfrmrxLlMnboHNW7

 

Write on!

 

 

How easy it is to let a few days slip by without putting finger to keyboard!

     As a person who actually enjoys writing, there must be something deeply sinister in an attitude that will wilfully lapse into indolence rather than do something that he enjoys.  Obviously, there are excuses, the first and foremost being courtesy.

     This weekend we had an old friend to stay, and we dutifully and willingly ate (and drank very little, sigh!) with her until she left on the train for the bus for home.  And we talked.

     There is something about talking with a friend that is intoxicating.  Everything, even the stupidest of small talk becomes imbued with significance when there is history to make even the most casual of comments chime with conversations past.

     It is as this point that I recollect a colleague who had had a fascinating life: world travel, a variety of jobs including working in an Adult Book Store, an easy and friendly approach – and yet his conversation, even (or especially) when talking about overtly interesting things, was boring in the extreme.  He was one of those people who, for reasons not entirely clear, drained interest from the content of his talk.

     I often tried to analyse just what it was that made him so oddly boring but, alas, I rarely found myself concentrating enough on what he was saying to give myself enough evidence to draw conclusions!

     And yet, I have had conversations, even whole evenings, of inconsequential chatter that was forgotten almost as soon as the evening was over, but whose warm memory of friendship and communality lingers longer.

     Is all of the preceding an extended excuse of inaction?  Probably.  And in justification, I am writing now.

 

 

 

 

Duolingo, the languages teaching app, is still exerting its siren-like grip over Toni and myself.  We have, wholeheartedly, bought into the idea, nay the concept, of progression “to the next league” as something which is self-evidently availing to good, even though our present position commanding the heights of our respective The Sapphire Leagues has brought us nothing apart from a number next to our names: the first three places on the list having a more elaborate number decoration than those lower down.

     As with any system, part of the learning process is working out how to play that system.

     The whole motivating process of the learning on this app is fuelled by the acquisition of points that give you your place on the list. 

     The points can be earned by successfully completing lessons and, as you progress within a lesson group you can gain crowns to show your position within that topic.  As you move from one level to another, you are given the opportunity (for 15 minutes) to gain double points for any lessons that you complete.  You can also buy your way into high paying (in points terms) exercises by using up some of your gems that you also earn as you progress.

     Some people manage to accrue thousands of points, and as the usual pay-out for a lesson completed is about 20ish, you either have to devote yourself all day to using the app or, you pay to buy the professional version of the app which gives you unlimited lives and free opportunities to the higher scoring exercises.

     If you have read up to this point, then you are either a devotee of Duolingo or you are an ‘outsider’ waiting to see what the pay-off of all this writing is.

 

 

 

If there is a conclusion that I can draw from all this, it is that the app is using tried and tested approaches to involve the user in the program in the hope that they either watch and respond to the adverts that litter the before and after of the lessons, but also feel frustration about the ‘free’ version because it is too limiting.  I can feel myself becoming more and more drawn to paying money for this ostensible ‘free’ app because I want to get rid of the adverts and I want to be able to make simple errors without losing a precious life.

     The app has encouraged me to do more work on my Spanish for a longer sustained period of time than mere physical lessons with a teacher have ever managed to get out of me!  In that sense, the ever-present phone and the easily reached app are providing a positive boost to my learning.

     And learning a foreign language, any foreign language, must be a good thing.

     But, exactly the same techniques with lives, points, hearts, animations, questions and responses, musical accompaniment, leagues, positions, congratulations etc etc etc can be used for much more pernicious reasons.

     Toni and I are working at our respective language courses for a chunk of time and are putting ourselves out for a position in a randomly constructed hierarchy of attainment, and we feel gratified by our placement within that arbitrary ranking.  We take the automatically generated congratulations and animated celebrations at our successes as something real and something to stimulate us to continue and to progress.

     We are gaining knowledge, and anything that gives me the impetus to make an effort has to be a good thing.  But it does make me look at the way that advertising is presented, and the same techniques are used in game playing and I’m sure in gambling.

     Just because you can sense that you are being manipulated, that does not protect you from manipulation.  In the Duolingo app I welcome the encouragement to participate and to progress and I am willing to accept the digital ‘payment’ the app supplies as something real to keep me at it.

     Even if I succumb and pay the monthly rate to upgrade my experience, I can still tell myself that it is a small price to pay to speak the language by which I am surrounded.

     And I am far to digital savvy to be seduced by tempting pixels.  Aren’t I?

     When I started typing this, I was First in my League.  I am fighting the temptation to check on my position now to find out if I need to a bit of emergency lessoning to restore my pre-eminence.

     In fact, I can’t check immediately, because my phone is downstairs recharging after all the use that I have made of it today.  But I do want to check!

     The app is working!

Speak out!

 

I think that Toni and I are both now officially addicts to Duolingo, the language learning app.  Not content with Italian and French as his chosen languages, he branched out today on a series of lessons in German.

     I am sticking, one might say severely sticking, to ‘only Spanish’ in an increasingly desperate attempt to get the rudiments of the language to stick, somewhere, in my brain.  Considering that I am a retired language teacher, English admittedly and usually Literature, but a language none the less, it is astonishing how little I have assimilated of either of the languages from the multitudes of native speakers who surround me.

     Don’t get me wrong.  I can find my way around and usually I am able to talk and bluff my way through most situations ranging from official business with the city hall and the notorious Iberian paper-pushers that inhabit them, to getting my car seen to by technicians who defiantly do not speak English.

     Still, my fluency in English is a constant accusation against my enforced Trappist approach to general conversation in Spanish.  Somehow or other Spanish is simply not ‘taking’ with me, and it is constantly frustrating.  There is only so much that a slight smile and a depreciating hand gesture can convey: communication needs words placed in a firm grammatical structure.  And that is something that I am still working on.

     Though, come to think of it, although I have been to Spanish (and indeed Catalan) lessons, there are still basic piece of linguistic information that slips through my brain with the accomplished ease of a Johnsonian lie.  I have not been truly serious about learning the language, and perhaps Duolingo is the sort of mechanical relentlessly repetitive emphasis on the essentials is the thing that I need to get me truly started (after all of my time in Catalonia) in acquiring proficiency in a foreign tongue.

     Both of us are well and truly caught up in the striving towards the next level and competing against named but unknown people arbitrarily placed with us in our respective leagues.

     Absurd that it might be, I was inordinately proud to have come first in the 'starting' Bronze league and to have been promoted to the Silver league where, coming in the top three I was then promoted to the Gold league.  Apart from being told that such progress is found in a fraction of the percentage of learners in the app there do not appear to be any tangible gains from such exertions, except for the kudos of being at the top.  But, by golly, Toni and I are putting in the lesson time to gain points so that we can stay in the upper reaches of our respective leagues.  So, however futile the status, there is a real gain in the amount of time put into the hard slog of repetitious learning.

     It is far too soon to know if we are going to keep the effort up.  But I have to admit that I have done more work on my Spanish over the past ten days that I have done in the past embarrassingly large number of months!

     We are both still very much in the present tense of our languages, and I like to think that I am capable of attempting past and future tenses in Spanish if the mood takes me, but there is a sort of grounded satisfaction in regressing to simplicity and convincing yourself that ‘this time things are being done thoroughly’ and ‘every little helps’ and ‘anything is better than nothing’ so that in Ruskin’s words I will be able to see whether my efforts are ‘availing to good’ – whatever that means

 

The Saga of The Christmas Meal continues, with The Family finding out that many of the suggestions that they have come up with are all fully booked!  To the surprise of no one.  However, in spite of it being late (far too late) to find anywhere decent, we (or rather they) have found a place which has dropped like Manna from Heaven, or via a cancellation and another venue has been found.

     This Wednesday, we two are going up to Terrassa to have a menu del dia to find out the worth of the place, but in late November, we do not have the luxury of being able to be picky about the place that we finally decide on.  And what can one really judge from a normal menu del dia compared with what they might offer for a significant meal like the Christmas Repast.  Still, I maintain my rigid optimism and look forward to being pleasantly surprised next week.

Next week is also my blood test as part of the preparatory work for Doing Something About My Knees.  I am not sure how much further forward knowing about the composition of my blood will advance repairing the bone of the knees, but I await medical enlightenment, that might come the week after next.

     Since Christmas is horrifyingly near, it is obvious that nothing of any import will happen until the New Year and my hobbling will have to suffice until more specific descriptions of what can be done and how long it might take.  Something, neither the waiting nor the actualité, that I consider with anything approaching equanimity.

     But, there again, all personal conflict has to be seen as grist to my literary mill.

     If nothing is done, I shall write.    

   And if something is done, I shall write.   

     Hardship is a double-edged sword to someone who writes!   

And I’m not sure that that image works.  And I do know that I don’t care.