Hello all, I accidentally posted Penny's recent message before excising her
prefatory question to me, just as a few weeks ago I forgot to excise a similar
prefatory question from the subject heading to one of Jansy's messages.
Accidents may become major or simply minor incidents
and as we all know, redundantly, they are bound to happen unexpected!
I hope this message now may become attached to other shorter ones I sent before,
but there will be no great harm if it goes as it is.
The words are mainly Nabokov's, quoted from Bend
Hamlet and Danish verbal instruments abound in B.S,
since "As with all decadent democracies, everybody in the Denmark of the
play suffers from a plethora of words". Mixing doubting Homais we
get "that is the question" with a legend: "Ink, a
Drug", which in turn takes us to Grudinka ("which means 'bacon' in
several Slavic languages" (and not Shaks) to break the eggs to be
fried in a "Homelette au Lard". And Ink, a Drug is not
so distant from Paduk's Mugakrad, Gumakrad, Gumradka Mad
But before and after paronomasia and
reversions, there comes a wonderful coment about
From the "plethora of words" we
reach "an Englishman whose domed head had been a hive of words; a man who
had only to breathe on any particle of his sutendous vocabulary to have that
particle live and expand..." and to another man, three centuries later, in
another country "trying to render these rhythms and metaphors in a different
"It was as if someone, having seen a certain oak tree
...growing in a certain land and casting its own unique shadow on the green and
brown ground, had proceeded to erect in his garden a prodigiously intricate
piece of machinery which in iteself was unlike that or any other tree as the
translator's inspiration and language were unlike those of the original author,
but which, by means of ingenious combinations of parts, light effects,
breeze-engendering engines, would, when completed, cast a shadow exactly similar
to that...[individual oak] - the same outline...The greatest masterpiece of
imitation precupposed a voluntary limitation of thought, in submission to
another man's genius... Could this suicidal limitation be compensated by the
miracle...or was it, taken all in all, but an exaggerated and spiritualized
replica of Paduk's writing machine?"...
" 'Never in my life' , said Krug, 'have I seen two
organ-grinders in the same back yard at the same time... An organ-grinder is the
very emblem of oneness. But here we have an absurd duality."
As I see it, "translation" is here described as the
endproduct of a twin shadow that moves according to the
clues of differential calculus or in the beehive of modern computers.
Some kind of mechanical grinding monster...
Somewhere VN spoke of "shadows of words", of "meeting in
silhouette"...but I haven't yet placed these lines to compare them with the
strange reality that prompts words...