In a couple of days we will reach the milestone of 80,000 visits to this blog. I no longer call it a poetry blog, because the poetry has long been inseparable from the photography, and both are now accompanied by prose writing on several subjects that are close to my heart.
I would like to thank each and every one of you, my loyal readers, for your continued interest and enthusiasm. Please feel free to comment on the blog posts themselves, or to send me your comments by e-mail: exolinguist at gmail dot com.
Once again, thank you, merci, gracias, obrigado, grazie, wadó, ꮹꮩ.
In the meantime, here we are, living in very strange times, eerily reminiscent of the fourteenth-century Black Plague. This is the time to create our masterpieces, should we be given sufficient time. It is also time to unite as a planet, and care for each other.
If it is something that you do, it may also be time to pray. In fact, it may be time to say Kaddish every day (not the beautiful song linked below, but the actual prayer) for those we have lost and are losing. Forget about having a minyan (prayer quorum). Just shoulder the responsibility for our sisters and brothers and do this, whether you think they are related or not (they are), and do whatever else you may be able to do. The doing will be its own reward.
Ofra Haza: Kaddish
Text © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler.
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Every Morning I Greet the Sun (+fr, es, pt, it)
Every morning I greet the sun
that gives us life.
Naked before the source of life,
I give thanks for another new day.
I do this for myself,
I do it for us all.
May the Mother of sun and stars
remember all her children.
Chaque matin je salue le soleil
qui nous donne la vie.
Nu devant la source de la vie,
Je rends grâce pour une autre nouvelle journée.
Je fais ça pour moi,
Je le fais pour nous tous.
Que la Mère du soleil et des étoiles
se souvienne de tous ses enfants.
Todas las mañanas saludo al sol
que nos da la vida
Desnudo ante la fuente de la vida,
doy gracias por otro nuevo día.
Hago esto por mi mismo,
lo hago por todos nosotros.
Que la madre del sol y las estrellas
se acuerde de todos sus hijos.
Toda manhã eu saúdo o sol
o que nos dá vida.
Nu diante da fonte da vida,
Agradeço por mais um novo dia.
Eu faço isso por mim mesmo,
Eu faço isso por todos nós.
Que a Mãe do sol e das estrelas
lembre-se de todos os seus filhos.
Ogni mattina saluto il sole
che ci dà la vita.
Nudo davanti la fonte della vita,
ringrazio per un altro nuovo giorno.
Lo faccio per me stesso,
lo faccio per tutti noi.
Possa la Madre del sole e delle stelle
ricordare tutti i suoi figli.
that gives us life.
Naked before the source of life,
I give thanks for another new day.
I do this for myself,
I do it for us all.
May the Mother of sun and stars
remember all her children.
Chaque matin je salue le soleil
qui nous donne la vie.
Nu devant la source de la vie,
Je rends grâce pour une autre nouvelle journée.
Je fais ça pour moi,
Je le fais pour nous tous.
Que la Mère du soleil et des étoiles
se souvienne de tous ses enfants.
Todas las mañanas saludo al sol
que nos da la vida
Desnudo ante la fuente de la vida,
doy gracias por otro nuevo día.
Hago esto por mi mismo,
lo hago por todos nosotros.
Que la madre del sol y las estrellas
se acuerde de todos sus hijos.
Toda manhã eu saúdo o sol
o que nos dá vida.
Nu diante da fonte da vida,
Agradeço por mais um novo dia.
Eu faço isso por mim mesmo,
Eu faço isso por todos nós.
Que a Mãe do sol e das estrelas
lembre-se de todos os seus filhos.
Ogni mattina saluto il sole
che ci dà la vita.
Nudo davanti la fonte della vita,
ringrazio per un altro nuovo giorno.
Lo faccio per me stesso,
lo faccio per tutti noi.
Possa la Madre del sole e delle stelle
ricordare tutti i suoi figli.
Text © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler.
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Journal of a Naked Poet XXIV - Willie and Deborah
Life is uncertain at the best of times, and these are probably the worst, not seen since Dante's time. We are fighting a war against a pandemic, and lacking leadership because we have a moron in the White House. I am vulnerable, and my wife, Sandy, is far more so. All we can do is self-isolate and wash our hands well and frequently, and we are doing those things. I (perhaps unreasonably) believe that my habitual nudity and frequent exposure to the sun offer me a little extra protection.
If I do not accomplish a single great thing in this life, it will be because I have lacked discipline. If, on the other hand, I accomplish many pretty-good things, it will be for the same reason.
Sandy and I lived in Pacifica, CA, for many years. I spent many happy hours poking around in Mary Florey's wonderful bookstore, especially the huge and chaotic back room. There I found a new friend, though he had been dead since 1945: William Buehler Seabrook. He was both an adventurer and a writer, and his pattern was to seek out incredible adventures and then write about them. But the greatest adventure of all was his own personal life. That is why, although I used to have all eleven of his books, the only one I brought back in our few huge suitcases from South America was his autobiography, NO HIDING PLACE (1942).
In the appendix to another of Seabrook's books, WITCHCRAFT (1940), he relates a very seductive bondage scene, in which his submissive partner, whom he called "Deborah Luris," essentially proved the non-linear nature of time and the accessibility, under certain conditions, of the future. I should say, " . . . if true, essentially proved . . ." Seabrook was not a liar, but his relationship to truth was extremely complex.
Anyway, Willie (so I shall call him, because in the course of my research he became like family to me) was obsessed with the above-mentioned event for the rest of his life. In fact, it seems to me that the strange phenomenon, in combination with his alcoholism, impaired his later ability to write, and thereby hastened his end.
I researched Willie and his wives (who also became like family, and whose books I also had) for several years. An aid in this research was another biography, THE STRANGE WORLD OF WILLIE SEABROOK (1966), by his second wife, Marjorie Worthington. I have her personal copy of the book, containing a telegram to her from the publisher, announcing that they would be publishing it. Needless to say, this also went into the suitcases from Uruguay
A focus of my research was an effort to discover the true identity of the mysterious "Deborah Luris."
In 2006, while I sat in the waiting room of a hospital in Portland, Oregon (Sandy was getting a knee replacement), reading a music magazine I subscribed to but seldom read, several facts, including a clue left by Willie, came together in my mind, and I suddenly knew who "Deborah Luris" was. I spent the next several years trying to prove it. For a while I even hired a researcher in another country.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I had come into contact with a small Internet group of other people who were also researching Seabrook. I shared my new knowledge with only one of them, whom I most trusted, my friend (now sadly departed) Mike. I gave Mike periodic progress reports by e-mail. Another member of the group tried to use his girlfriend to get the information out of me; it didn't work.
While Sandy and I were still living in that floating home in Portland, we had a short-notice visit from Mike and his lovely wife, Monica. It was a relatively short visit, but we "talked shop" about Willie quite a lot. Mike had found Seabrook's son (by his third wife, Constance) and had brought a cassette tape (made from an old disc recording done by a radio station a year or so before Willie's death), so I was able to hear Willie's voice (he spoke with a tidewater accent). Mike also gave me a memento that I won't reveal, because some secrets should be kept.
During the course of that visit I mentioned that my research had revealed the state that Constance and Willie's son had moved to after Willie's death. Mike hastily said that it was wrong, and Monica looked at him questioningly. I knew that Mike was lying, and so did Monica. I'm sure that his intention was to protect the privacy of Seabrook's son. Some privacy must be protected.
A few years later, when I was up to my ears in the project to translate the works of Maria de Naglowska (which also grew out of the Seabrook research), Mike asked me to give him the names of my informants in "Deborah Luris'" country, and I told him I couldn't do that. Some privacy must be protected. Besides, I knew that any further information had been intentionally burned, and I knew who had done it.
My friend Mike passed away in 2010. A couple of other people involved in Seabrook research, one of whom wanted to make a movie about Willie's life, have also died. William Seabrook does not want his story to be told. Neither does "Deborah Luris." I, for my part, have other, safer projects to work on.
The world is dangerous enough, as it is.
Text © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler.
If I do not accomplish a single great thing in this life, it will be because I have lacked discipline. If, on the other hand, I accomplish many pretty-good things, it will be for the same reason.
Sandy and I lived in Pacifica, CA, for many years. I spent many happy hours poking around in Mary Florey's wonderful bookstore, especially the huge and chaotic back room. There I found a new friend, though he had been dead since 1945: William Buehler Seabrook. He was both an adventurer and a writer, and his pattern was to seek out incredible adventures and then write about them. But the greatest adventure of all was his own personal life. That is why, although I used to have all eleven of his books, the only one I brought back in our few huge suitcases from South America was his autobiography, NO HIDING PLACE (1942).
In the appendix to another of Seabrook's books, WITCHCRAFT (1940), he relates a very seductive bondage scene, in which his submissive partner, whom he called "Deborah Luris," essentially proved the non-linear nature of time and the accessibility, under certain conditions, of the future. I should say, " . . . if true, essentially proved . . ." Seabrook was not a liar, but his relationship to truth was extremely complex.
Anyway, Willie (so I shall call him, because in the course of my research he became like family to me) was obsessed with the above-mentioned event for the rest of his life. In fact, it seems to me that the strange phenomenon, in combination with his alcoholism, impaired his later ability to write, and thereby hastened his end.
I researched Willie and his wives (who also became like family, and whose books I also had) for several years. An aid in this research was another biography, THE STRANGE WORLD OF WILLIE SEABROOK (1966), by his second wife, Marjorie Worthington. I have her personal copy of the book, containing a telegram to her from the publisher, announcing that they would be publishing it. Needless to say, this also went into the suitcases from Uruguay
A focus of my research was an effort to discover the true identity of the mysterious "Deborah Luris."
In 2006, while I sat in the waiting room of a hospital in Portland, Oregon (Sandy was getting a knee replacement), reading a music magazine I subscribed to but seldom read, several facts, including a clue left by Willie, came together in my mind, and I suddenly knew who "Deborah Luris" was. I spent the next several years trying to prove it. For a while I even hired a researcher in another country.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I had come into contact with a small Internet group of other people who were also researching Seabrook. I shared my new knowledge with only one of them, whom I most trusted, my friend (now sadly departed) Mike. I gave Mike periodic progress reports by e-mail. Another member of the group tried to use his girlfriend to get the information out of me; it didn't work.
While Sandy and I were still living in that floating home in Portland, we had a short-notice visit from Mike and his lovely wife, Monica. It was a relatively short visit, but we "talked shop" about Willie quite a lot. Mike had found Seabrook's son (by his third wife, Constance) and had brought a cassette tape (made from an old disc recording done by a radio station a year or so before Willie's death), so I was able to hear Willie's voice (he spoke with a tidewater accent). Mike also gave me a memento that I won't reveal, because some secrets should be kept.
During the course of that visit I mentioned that my research had revealed the state that Constance and Willie's son had moved to after Willie's death. Mike hastily said that it was wrong, and Monica looked at him questioningly. I knew that Mike was lying, and so did Monica. I'm sure that his intention was to protect the privacy of Seabrook's son. Some privacy must be protected.
A few years later, when I was up to my ears in the project to translate the works of Maria de Naglowska (which also grew out of the Seabrook research), Mike asked me to give him the names of my informants in "Deborah Luris'" country, and I told him I couldn't do that. Some privacy must be protected. Besides, I knew that any further information had been intentionally burned, and I knew who had done it.
My friend Mike passed away in 2010. A couple of other people involved in Seabrook research, one of whom wanted to make a movie about Willie's life, have also died. William Seabrook does not want his story to be told. Neither does "Deborah Luris." I, for my part, have other, safer projects to work on.
The world is dangerous enough, as it is.
Text © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler.
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Chakras (en, fr, es, pt)
Chakras . . .
energy centers . . .
they are lotuses
floating in a pond,
islands in a stream
that flows upward.
Chakras. . .
centres énergétiques. . .
ce sont des lotus
flottant dans un étang,
îles dans un ruisseau
qui coule vers le haut.
Chakras . .
centros energéticos. . .
son lotos
flotando en un estanque,
islas en un arroyo
que fluye hacia arriba.
Chakras. . .
centros de energia. . .
eles são lótus
flutuando em uma lagoa,
ilhas em um riacho
que flui para cima.
Text and image © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler.
energy centers . . .
they are lotuses
floating in a pond,
islands in a stream
that flows upward.
Chakras. . .
centres énergétiques. . .
ce sont des lotus
flottant dans un étang,
îles dans un ruisseau
qui coule vers le haut.
Chakras . .
centros energéticos. . .
son lotos
flotando en un estanque,
islas en un arroyo
que fluye hacia arriba.
Chakras. . .
centros de energia. . .
eles são lótus
flutuando em uma lagoa,
ilhas em um riacho
que flui para cima.
Text and image © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler.
Friday, March 20, 2020
neyehiya? / Native?
neyehiya? v:,
utseli unasdetlvdi gesvase hia equa-elohi hawina.
danvtisanv? tlahv,
atsvyai tla gesvase utloyi.
atsvyai anelvdodose
adasdelvdi utseli etsine,
elohi.
ᏁᏰᎯᏯ? Ꭵ:,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᎤᎾᏍᏕᏢᏗ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎯᎠ ᎡᏆ-ᎡᎶᎯ ᎭᏫᎾ.
ᏓᏅᏘᏌᏅ? ᏝᎲ,
ᎠᏨᏯᎢ Ꮭ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎤᏠᏱ.
ᎠᏨᏯᎢ ᎠᏁᎸᏙᏙᏎ
ᎠᏓᏍᏕᎸᏗ ᎤᏤᎵ ᎡᏥᏁ,
ᎡᎶᎯ.
Native? Yes,
his roots are in this world.
Civilized? No,
he is not the same.
He will try
to protect his mother,
the earth.
Text and image © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler ꮨᏺꭽꮅ.
utseli unasdetlvdi gesvase hia equa-elohi hawina.
danvtisanv? tlahv,
atsvyai tla gesvase utloyi.
atsvyai anelvdodose
adasdelvdi utseli etsine,
elohi.
ᏁᏰᎯᏯ? Ꭵ:,
ᎤᏤᎵ ᎤᎾᏍᏕᏢᏗ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎯᎠ ᎡᏆ-ᎡᎶᎯ ᎭᏫᎾ.
ᏓᏅᏘᏌᏅ? ᏝᎲ,
ᎠᏨᏯᎢ Ꮭ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎤᏠᏱ.
ᎠᏨᏯᎢ ᎠᏁᎸᏙᏙᏎ
ᎠᏓᏍᏕᎸᏗ ᎤᏤᎵ ᎡᏥᏁ,
ᎡᎶᎯ.
Native? Yes,
his roots are in this world.
Civilized? No,
he is not the same.
He will try
to protect his mother,
the earth.
Text and image © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler ꮨᏺꭽꮅ.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Mt. 6:28-29 (heb, en, fr, es, pt)
א“כ על מה תדאגו בלבוש ראו חבצלת השרון החומש׃ 28
ואני אומר לכם שהמלך שלמה בכל כבודו לא היה מלובש כמוהו׃ 29
If this is the case, why are you anxious for clothes? Behold the lilies of Sharon (in growing they neither spin nor weave).
But I say to you that King Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like these.
[Translation by Professor George Howard.]
Si tel est le cas, pourquoi êtes-vous inquiet pour les vêtements? Voici les lis de Sharon (en grandissant, ils ne filent ni ne tissent).
Mais je vous dis que le roi Salomon dans toute sa gloire n'était pas habillé comme ceux-ci.
Si este es el caso, ¿por qué estás ansioso por la ropa? He aquí los lirios de Sharon (al crecer no hilan ni tejen).
Pero te digo que el Rey Salomón en toda su gloria no estaba vestido así.
Se for esse o caso, por que você está ansioso por roupas? Veja os lírios de Sharon (no crescimento, eles não giram nem tecem).
Mas eu lhes digo que o rei Salomão, em toda a sua glória, não estava vestido assim.
Note:
חבצלת השרון
is the exact same phrase that is used in the Masoretic text of Song of Songs 2:1. It means "lily of Sharon," and has nothing to do with "field," which is the translation in the Greek manuscripts. This is easily explained: "Sharon" (שרון) in Hebrew has a superficial resemblance to two Hebrew words (שדה and שדמה) that mean "field." It is thus a translation variant in Greek, and is further proof that Greek Matthew was translated from Hebrew Matthew. This particular translation variant is not mentioned in Professor Howard's book.
Text and image © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler.
hia itse adanilohisdi / This New Illness (Udugi / English)
hia itse adanilohisdi gesvase vdatinohisedi etsi elohi nidvlenvda. aquatseli etsi kanohedase itsulv hena usganoli, hena ahida, ale uha gohiyuhine, igvnisisgi uduladase igohidane kanvwodi. nigadv anelanvhidi equa-elohi hawina gesvase uduladita ale uduladase alenidohi. itsula ase gohiyuhi nigadvne, hia-iyv itsula yeliquase alenidohi tsilv saquu sidanelvhi. hia equa-elohi gesvase saquu: nigadv itsula gesvase diligotanv, ale itsula uduladase siyvwi soi.
ᎯᎠ ᎢᏤ ᎠᏓᏂᎶᎯᏍᏗ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎥᏓᏘᏃᎯᏎᏗ ᎡᏥ ᎡᎶᎯ ᏂᏛᎴᏅᏓ. ᎠᏆᏤᎵ ᎡᏥ ᎧᏃᎮᏓᏎ ᎢᏧᎸ ᎮᎾ ᎤᏍᎦᏃᎵ, ᎮᎾ ᎠᎯᏓ, ᎠᎴ ᎤᎭ ᎪᎯᏳᎯᏁ, ᎢᎬᏂᏏᏍᎩ ᎤᏚᎳᏓᏎ ᎢᎪᎯᏓᏁ ᎧᏅᏬᏗ. ᏂᎦᏛ ᎠᏁᎳᏅᎯᏗ ᎡᏆ-ᎡᎶᎯ ᎭᏫᎾ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎤᏚᎳᏗᏔ ᎠᎴ ᎤᏚᎳᏓᏎ ᎠᎴᏂᏙᎯ. ᎢᏧᎳ ᎠᏎ ᎪᎯᏳᎯ ᏂᎦᏛᏁ, ᎯᎠ-ᎢᏴ ᎢᏧᎳ ᏰᎵᏆᏎ ᎠᎴᏂᏙᎯ ᏥᎸ ᏌᏊ ᏏᏓᏁᎸᎯ. ᎯᎠ ᎡᏆ-ᎡᎶᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏌᏊ: ᏂᎦᏛ ᎢᏧᎳ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏗᎵᎪᏔᏅ, ᎠᎴ ᎢᏧᎳ ᎤᏚᎳᏓᏎ ᏏᏴᏫ ᏐᎢ.
This new illness is a message from Mother Earth. She is telling us to slow down, go easy, and respect her, because she needs to heal. All creatures in the world are needed and need to live. We must respect all of them, so that we all may live as one family. This world is one: we are all connected, and we need each other.
Text and images © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler ꮨᏺꭽꮅ. Non-commercial use is permitted.
ᎯᎠ ᎢᏤ ᎠᏓᏂᎶᎯᏍᏗ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎥᏓᏘᏃᎯᏎᏗ ᎡᏥ ᎡᎶᎯ ᏂᏛᎴᏅᏓ. ᎠᏆᏤᎵ ᎡᏥ ᎧᏃᎮᏓᏎ ᎢᏧᎸ ᎮᎾ ᎤᏍᎦᏃᎵ, ᎮᎾ ᎠᎯᏓ, ᎠᎴ ᎤᎭ ᎪᎯᏳᎯᏁ, ᎢᎬᏂᏏᏍᎩ ᎤᏚᎳᏓᏎ ᎢᎪᎯᏓᏁ ᎧᏅᏬᏗ. ᏂᎦᏛ ᎠᏁᎳᏅᎯᏗ ᎡᏆ-ᎡᎶᎯ ᎭᏫᎾ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᎤᏚᎳᏗᏔ ᎠᎴ ᎤᏚᎳᏓᏎ ᎠᎴᏂᏙᎯ. ᎢᏧᎳ ᎠᏎ ᎪᎯᏳᎯ ᏂᎦᏛᏁ, ᎯᎠ-ᎢᏴ ᎢᏧᎳ ᏰᎵᏆᏎ ᎠᎴᏂᏙᎯ ᏥᎸ ᏌᏊ ᏏᏓᏁᎸᎯ. ᎯᎠ ᎡᏆ-ᎡᎶᎯ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏌᏊ: ᏂᎦᏛ ᎢᏧᎳ ᎨᏒᎠᏎ ᏗᎵᎪᏔᏅ, ᎠᎴ ᎢᏧᎳ ᎤᏚᎳᏓᏎ ᏏᏴᏫ ᏐᎢ.
This new illness is a message from Mother Earth. She is telling us to slow down, go easy, and respect her, because she needs to heal. All creatures in the world are needed and need to live. We must respect all of them, so that we all may live as one family. This world is one: we are all connected, and we need each other.
Text and images © 2020 by Donald C. Traxler aka Donald Jacobson Traxler ꮨᏺꭽꮅ. Non-commercial use is permitted.