LL-L "Literature" 2009.02.22 (02) [E/LS]

Sun Feb 22 18:50:52 UTC 2009

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L O W L A N D S - L - 22 February 2009 - Volume 02
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From: Roger Lass <lass at iafrica.com>
Subject: LL-L "Literature" 2009.02.20 (06) [A/E]

 Dear Richard,

You're very good at this. The translation is free but accurate, and I think
rather better than the original. The one place where it's not quite accurate
is 'vullis' as 'poo'. It's all right as a kind of extra meaning, but it
actually means garbage (you're asked not to throw it out of car windows).
It's sort of like the extended meaning of drek in Yiddish; I don't know
quite how this works for native speakers, but at least historically the
sense is 'useless stuff'; German Dreck is the lees of wine, or the mash that
remains in beer-making after you've poured off the liquid beer. Poo in
Afrikaans is kak or stront. (Poep is fart, as in Dutch.) Vullis contains the
root vuil which is of course 'foul'.

The Dutch word for 'poem' is gedicht. Litterally 'that which has been
poetised', from dichter 'poet'. The prefix ge- can often add the sense of
'product or result of the root'.

Good to hear from you again. You always seem to find such nice things. I've
been having gastritis and a cold and allergies, which does not put me in the
most cheerful mood, and trying to complete a very complex assignment which
will be assigned to a class of students at Edinburgh before I arrive on the
15th of March, and which I have to do well because I have to teach the class
brilliantly being an advertised guest sort of. (I'm a 'Professorial Fellow'
of the Department of Linguistics and English Language, whatever that
precisely means. Well one thing it means is that my publications are counted
as part of their output, so I do earn my way a little bit. Unfortunately
position is honorary, which everything seems to be at my age, so I get only
hard work, pleasure, and no fucking money.)

Just found a  new GP, who I went to see for my gastritis. Got tired of
schlepping to my old one and waiting half an hour (her surgery was first
come first serve), and this one is five minutes walk from home, so even if
I'm dying I can get there. She looks about 12 (every doctor does these
days), but is charming and very careful, has a sense of humour (which I
value almost more than competence) and treats one like an adult. She spent
half an hour taking my full history on the first visit, and that's uncommon.
And best of all (when having one's tummy poked and prodded and one's liver
poked) she doesn't have cold hands. She insisted I have a bunch of bloods
done, and it turns out that though I have one raised liver enzyme it's not
the one concerned with alcohol metabolism, so I show at the moment no signs
of alcholic liver damage. Neither of us is quite sure how this is possible.
I really didn't want to know, but she talked me into it. Rather die suddenly
than sit around expecting it. Blood pressure is a little raised, but not
quite enough to medicate, and I'm taking so much shit for my mind who knows
what the interactions would be. But at 72 a diastolic of 80 while taking an
antidepressant that usually raises BP about 2-4 mm is I suppose reasonable.
I don't know what's the treatment-point in the US -- SA is a bit laxer on
some of these things, though as nanny-state as the US when it comes to
what's characterised as 'dangerous' drinking. According to the official
guidelines I drink 7 times the recommended maximum. We didn't do a
cholesterol, because I wasn't fasting. I suspect my blood is pure pizza-fat.

So yet again, aside from depression and anxiety and insomnia, I live.

Jou oue vriend (soos man se^ in Afrikaans)

R

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From: R. F. Hahn <sassisch at yahoo.com>
Subject: Literature

Hello, Roger!

It is a joy to be able to welcome you amongst the talkers. Surely I am not
the only one that is familiar with your splendid publications on historical
linguistics and on Old English specifically.

Oh, yes! "Serpents' poo" was definitely a case of poetic license, mostly
meant to be a comic stamp added by yours truly. Our Mark, his Ruth and I
have a bit of a banter situation going.

Roger, I feel worried about your health. I hope you are being treated
adequately. It sounds like you need a hefty immune system boost. Have you
considered naturopathic treatment in addition, the way I am doing? I hope
something significant can be done before your departure for Scotland and all
the teaching work waiting for you there. Going from Cape Town to Edinburgh
in March? Shucks! In the meantime I and others will be happy to cheer you up
with comic relief, even if this entails poetic license.

Oh, yes! I remember the days when all doctors seemed ancient. These days
most of them look like children to me ... and I sometimes refer to them as
"child doctors" or "infant doctors" (not to be confused with pediatricians).
I know just what you're talking about. But you seem to have lucked out with
the "12-year old". So let's hope for the best! Just keep your chin up! But
-- hey! -- I sense an underlying solid sense of humor there. That'll carry
you through. Also feel free to come kvetching to me (sassisch at yahoo.com)
when all else fails, and we can commiserate and search for comical angles.

Please let us know how things unfold in Edinburgh!

Hang in there, Roger! You certainly have my best wishes.

Jou oue vriend
Reinhard/Ron
Seattle, USA

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From: Hannelore Hinz   <HanneHinz at t-online.de>

Subject: LL-L "Literature" 2009.02.21 (04) [A/E]

Leiw' Ron,

nu gäw ick as Frugensminsch ok noch mien' Semp  hentau.

 - Up Mäkelborgs', Germany -

       UP ÜMMER EVA

 De Snak wiest sick mit Fründlichkeit,

de tücksch' ut ehr ruug' Schuppen sleiht:

"Kiek dor, de Appelbom, mien Diern,

de will, man hett 'n Minschen giern."

Un Eva's Snüting kümmt in'n Rappel,

frögt em: "Hest du dor  ok ' Appel,

du sühst as annern Bom so ut, -

hest woll de Pocken, quest ehr Snut."

"Oh nee, mien Leiden ein säut' Qual,

wat dükert mi so deip Schicksal.

Ick mücht' woll dit un weit nich wat,

bün giern bi di, mien Appel-Blatt."

"Dien Pocken stinken", kreiht's up em dal,

"as Snakenmess", - un denn mit'n mal

in't Gräun. Oll' Eva-Plietsch möt sien. -

Wat is mit Wohren de Eden fien.

Un so as ümmer mien best' Gräuten!

Hanne

•

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