the soil of language

America is in such close proximity to many different languages. Spanish & French are huge, not to mention the many Chinese and Vietnamese languages that exist in abundance in so many regions of the U.S. There are also many Native American languages that can be embraced or at the very least mentioned in public education. (There is NO reason not to acknowledge Native American language given the US’s history)

Yet America is the one of the only countries that doesn’t actively promote multi-lingualism. If anything they look down on it as if speaking anything other than English is a sin on US soil. Like America has the potential to be a good mine for languages yet they ignore it for blind patriotism and conflate language with intentional diversion from the “American norm,” which God fordbid that ever happens

In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs, in spite of things silently gone out of mind and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all time. The objects of the Poet’s thoughts are everywhere; though the eyes and senses of man are, it is true, his favorite guides, yet he will follow wheresoever he can find an atmosphere of sensation in which to move his wings. Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge—it is as immortal as the heart of man.
—  William Wordsworth, Preface to Lyrical Ballads
The wet earth. I did not imagine
your death would reconcile me with
language, did not imagine soil
clinging to the page, black type
like birds on a stone sky. That your soul – yes,
I use that word – beautiful,
could saturate the bitterness from even
that fate, not of love
but its opposite, all concealed
in a reversal of longing.
—  Anne Michaels, from Correspondences
West Flemish - Nature

NATEURE (nature)

Originally posted by slk-t

‘t bus - forest

d‘n bôom - tree

de blomme - flower

de plante - plant

de struke - bush

‘t ges - grass

de zji - sea

de stjin - stone

de zunne - sun

de skowwe/schowte - shadow

‘t woater - water

‘t ys - ice

d’eirde - soil, earth

‘t vier - fire

de môze/’t slyk - mud

buutn - outside

Himmel und Erde

The name of this dish can be translated either as Heaven and Earth, or as Sky and Soil, as the German language does not have different words for these things.

It is a mixture of apples (growing up in the sky) and potatoes (growing down in the soil), the pale mash on the picture above. Mashed potatoes are mixed with apple puree, seasoned with pepper, salt, and nutmeg. In this case, it is served with fried onions and blood sausage, but it may also be served with other types of meat, such as liverwurst, bratwurst, liver, or a steak.

Gardening in Turkish 🌱

garden - bahçe

tree - ağaç

flower - çiçek

parasol - güneş şemsiyesi

patio - veranda, teras

lawn - çimen

BBQ - barbekü

fountain - fıskiye

flower bed - çiçek tarhı

bin - çöp kutusu

shed - ahır, kulübe

flowerpot - saksı

gate - bahçe kapısı, çit kapısı

fence - çit

water tank - su deposu

dirt - toprak

water - su

watering can - bahçıvan kovası

gloves - eldiven

compost - gübrelemek, kompost, 

greenhouse - sera

soil - toprak

mulch - malç

weeds - yabancı ot

Asianizing English or Anglicising (Americanizing) Asia? Implications of Globalization and Culture dominated ELT in the Asian Context

Conference Paper · August 2008 DOI: 10.13140/RG.2.1.4690.4482 

Conference: The 2008 6th Asia TEFL International Conference


English Language has spread its roots in Asia so strongly that the native languages have taken a back seat and the native cultures are fast waning. Referring to English in Asia, Canagrajah (1991:1) says that, “…the English language has become too deeply rooted in their soil, and in their consciousness to be considered alien.”

In India education is seen as synonymous with English and it is ‘India’s obsession number one’ (Chaudhary, S 1998). In China, ‘knowing the world without knowing English’ is impossible (Hui 2001). As far as the Arab world is concerned, English language is being taught at a feverish pitch. 

Never has there been such an emphasis on and clamour for teaching and learning English in the Arab world as can be seen now. Zughoul (2003) sees English in the Arab world ‘getting entrenched’ and ‘taking more territory from the native language.’ In the erstwhile Soviet Republics the interest in English is gaining ground. In Japan the English language had seen a tumultuous period since 1868 where it has been seen ‘as representative of a threatening form of globalization….and also of beneficial globalization’ (Naoki Fujimoto-Adamson 2006). For the last 25 years Japanese government has been responding to the practical needs of the business community’ in encouraging English Education (ibid). In Iraq (and also in Afghanistan) the language of the conqueror will be firmly established so as ‘to reshape education from kindergarten to university’ (Templer, 2003 in Hadely, G 2004). 

The spread of English in Asia has its colonial roots and now it is a ‘done deal’ (Graddol, D. 2006) in most parts of the world and English is there to stay which made Fishman (in Hadely, G. 2004) claim that “the sun never sets on English.” 

The spread of English is closely linked to Globalization, the foundations of which were laid with the establishment of the East India Company in 1600s. 

In fact, globalization and the spread of English are the two sides of the same coin, i.e., imperialism of the dominant societies and cultures, particularly the Anglo-American. Globalization has now come in handy to sustain the linguistic and cultural dominance by the British, and now most prominently the American.

 Such a dominance of English language and the culture of the speech community over the people of less developed nations threaten their linguistic and cultural identities. Phillipson (in Pennycook 1999) calls Crystal’s description of global spread of English as an uncritical endorsement of, among other things, the “Americanization and homogenization of world culture, linguistic, culture and media imperialism.” (p9) This paper will focus on how globalization and the spread of English with its culture are changing the face of the Asian nations with special reference to India and Oman and suggest the ways and means to minimize the effects on the native languages and cultures.

Ancient peoples of Italy

The future of the southern Italian peninsula was shaped by the different peoples who inhabited it between the years 800 and 200 BC. These include the Etruscans, Greeks and the many  Italian tribes such as the Latins, Campanians, Samnites, Sabines, etc.  Such tribes had spread out much earlier into Europe from the east and southeast both as invaders and, more gradually, as farmers, giving up  hunting and gathering for the more efficient process of tilling the soil. In the process they developed  towns, government and written language. This slow process started before 6,000 BC.

By 1000 BC early Italic peoples were in place on the peninsula; these are the peoples who would become the Latini, Sabines, Oscans, etc. etc. They were in place as a result of the Indo-European population diffusion, Indo-European being a term that declares common origin (3,000-4,000 years ago) of peoples as different as Swedes and Iranians or Punjabis and Spaniards. These pre-Italic Indo-Europeans can plausibly be figured to have started trickling onto the peninsula around 2500-2000 BC. There were, obviously, already some non-Indo-European inhabitants of Italy, just as there were elsewhere in Europe.

We wil talk about Etruscans later. Let’s see now some other smaller peoples.

  • Many peoples lived along the Tiber river; among these were, of course, the Latini. There is confusing historical overlap of Latini and Romans. Traditionally, Rome is said to have been founded in 753 by descendants of Aeneas, a refugee from the Trojan War. Archeology places Latini culture as early as 1100 BC. True imperial expansion of Rome starts in 295 BC when the Romans, at the Battle of Sentium (near modern Ancona), put an end to the competition in Italy by defeating a combined force of Samnites and Etruscans.
  • Along the Tiber, too, were the Sabines. The proximity of the Sabines to Rome has made it difficult to identify their ruins with certainty, although there are some from as early as the 9th century BC. The Sabines were related to the Samnites to the south, and they adopted writing from the Etruscans.
  • Other neighbors of the Romans in central Italy were the Volscians and the Equians. Most knowledge of them comes from later Roman historians complaining about these piddling little peoples getting in the way of real empire! They were Indo-European and spoke languages closely related to Latin.
  • The Samnites were an important sister tribe of the Latins. Their capital was modern Benevento in the  rugged terrain east of Naples. At the time of the first contacts between Roman and Samnite (around 350 BC), Samnium was larger than any other contemporary state in Italy. For almost two centuries, the Romans and Samnites fought for control of South/Central Italy. As warriors, the Samnites were ferocious, and some say they were the ones who gave the Romans the idea for those gruesome gladiator fights to the death.
See, this is not a nation-state. America is not a nation-state, and Europeans have a hell of a time to understand this simple fact which, after all, they could know theoretically. It is…this country is united neither by heritage, nor by memory, nor by soil, nor by language, nor by origin from the same…there are no natives here. The natives were the Indians. Everyone else are citizens, and these citizens are united only by one thing–and that is a lot. That is, you become a citizen of the United States by simple consent to the Constitution.
—  Hannah Arendt
Jorge Luis Borges wrote a parable about some cartographers who eventually created a map that was 1:1 scale and covered much of a nameless empire. Even at 1:1 scale, the two-dimensional map would be inadequate to depict the layers of being of a place, its many versions. Thus the map of languages spoken and the map of soil types canvas the same area differently, just as Freudianism and shamanism describe the same psyche differently. No representation is complete. Borges has a less-well-known story in which a poet so perfectly describes the emperor’s vast and intricate palace that the emperor becomes enraged and regards him as a thief. In another version the palace disappears when the poem replaces it. The descriptive poem is a perfect map, the map that is the territory, and the story recalls another old one about a captive painter who at the Chinese emperor’s dictate paints so wonderful a landscape that he is able to escape into its depths. These parables say that representation is always partial, else it would not be representation, but some kind of haunting double. But the terra incognita spaces on maps say that knowledge also is an island surrounded by oceans of the unknown. They signify that the cartographers knew they did not know, and awareness of ignorance is not just ignorance; it’s awareness of knowledge’s limits.
—  Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost, pp. 162-63
[RotG] Oh Dear

*writes 8,500 words of fic for Jack Frost day today, only to realise it’s not going to be done in time because Bunny’s a nutter.*
*Opens new doc* “North, Talk to me, Santa Baby.” 
1,340 words, Temporary Dismemberment, Fluff, and Dad Jokes. Yes, really.

“Yes!” North gave a jubilant cry as he looked on in wonder as for the first time in over a decade, Jack Frost opened his eyes.

 Next to him, Sandy and Toothiana gave their own hip wiggling dances of excitement. Bunny, the one who had worked the hardest for this, was the only one of the Guardians not to join in the celebration. 

“Easy there there, lad.” Bunny’s voice was gentle, almost tender, as Jack’s blue eyes flickered between the faces above him, confusion evident on his face. “You’ve had a bit of a shock, let’s just take this nice and easy, yeah?”

Jack took a deep breath and nodded, the dark rich dirt of the Warren crumbling away from his face. “What’s going on?” 

Keep reading

And he loved that her eyes matched the waves that brushed against their late night walks on beaches that taste of salt, but it was the kind that made the blood pressure settle and rip all at once. And he loved that her hair came from halos and a bit of afternoon sunlight, but sometimes the devil is alive.

If he could hold her and breathe without a sudden impulse to let go, maybe he could; I’m sure none of us would ever leave if that was the case.

But he met someone who melted the ocean into a pill for his swallowing. He’d soon forget about forget-me-nots; he’d soon lose touch with her stolen sun colored eyes. And the earth speaks loudly within the newspaper soaked with muddy soil; this one could tear the language of his mind. A spell, a pull from the most ancient magic: something new.

We’ve all had this before. In with the new and out with the old. It’s always a bit backwards, right? Loving you was like that. A clock in rewind. A heart that was never truly mine because I could not give you what you need.

And her cracked flowerpot strands filled his fingertips and the lover of yesterday was faded. A photograph, a disposable camera; she was lost. Not at sea, but in his smile with her.

We both knew that day was coming, we just didn’t think it would happen so soon. Not like this, please.

—  No, not like this. // because sometimes the flowers of tomorrow finds a way to drench the beauty of yesterday. hair color, eye sparkles, soulmates? what is love if we remove the physical aspects? i guess we’ll all see one day.
No matter how much one wanted to claim … that the society ought to be color-blind, since there were no differences among people, still one felt the need to hold onto some claim of distinctive Negro character. Abandoning all distinction was a total rejection of the past, a kind of self-obliteration. Those qualities of American life which had germinated in black soil had to be explained. The spiritual, the music, the dance, the language, were distinct because they were from a Negro source. Without Negro character, there could be no Negro genius.
—  Nathan Huggins

anonymous asked:

I'm sorry, but poaching is a horrible, horrible profession

Hello there! I did not mean “poaching” in the literal sense (which I agree is horrible).

The inspiration for the name of this blog is a text called Reading as Poaching by Michel de Certeau, in which he discusses the differences between writers and readers of literature, comparing readers as (metaphorical) poachers of sorts (it was actually the first quote I posted on this blog!)

Here’s the quote:

“Far from being writers — founders of their own place, heirs of the peasants of earlier ages now working on the soil of language, diggers of wells and builders of houses — readers are travellers; they move across lands belonging to someone else, like nomads poaching their way across fields they did not write, despoiling the wealth of Egypt to enjoy it themselves.”

— Michel de Certeau

“Far from being writers -founders of their own place, heirs of the peasants of earlier ages now working on the soil of language, diggers of wells and builders of houses- readers are travelers; they move across lands belonging to someone else, like nomads poaching their way across fields they did not write, despoiling the wealth of Egypt to enjoy it themselves. Writing accumulates, stocks up, resist time by the establishment of a place and multiplies its production through the expansionism of reproduction. Reading takes no measures against the erosion of time (one forgets oneself and also forgets), it does not keep with what it acquires, or it does so poorly, and each of the places through which it passes is a repetition of the lost paradise.”

-Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life

In the night, we breathed our lies and lives into each other’s open wounds and open mouths. Our language was spoken in sighs and moans, in our ever-so-cautious sideways glances and silences that spanned across the dinner table, in apologies and thank-yous said for the sake of continuing a conversation that had already been wrung out and sun-dried. This was our language, composed of the stories we told ourselves, the doublespeak of our daily lives.

We don’t talk. Not really. We were never very good at it. Our words were always just a way to say nothing at all. Nothing kills a conversation faster than “I’m fine,” and some nights I wonder how many deaths we’re responsible for. The silence that lingered after those two words hung like one of those cartoon storm clouds that always followed you around. You whispered them like they were a secret, a truth, but really the truth was somewhere between us, inside us, and we clawed at our insides to find them.

I always hated the way you handed out our half-truths to every saint and sinner who walked through the door yet turned away from the truth of how you felt the night when we played with ambiguity like fire until the burns stretched across our skin.

I tried to trace the ruin of you and I in our handwritten letters. Yours were always just vague enough to give me hope and vague enough to take it away. Mine were always religiously self-edited, conservative to the point where any truth, any honesty rested not in what I said, but in what I didn’t say.

This wasn’t always bad. Sometimes we were the most honest in our silences, in our gaps, our pauses, when our lungs would shrivel and expand. Our vocal cords always did betray us in the worst ways, so we would stand next to each other, hoping our closeness would be enough. But only so much can be accomplished in silence and it’s only so long before it turns toxic, before we yearn for an honesty that is clear, an honesty not marred by euphemisms and ambiguity, not soiled by language that is twisted and distorted to suit our own foolish selves.

—  Our Daily Doublespeak
i, am mama africa.
mother to love,
that cover each
my limbs.
my language is spoken
distant children, each
with different
construes and rhythms, but all with the
same heart.
my heart.
is why i am
center of
—  mama africa, melissa m.