Fin again..

i suppose i shall end this brief trip into oral traditions on a more pleasant note. "a world of sound and sound alone" His dark materials, seven liberal arts, nine muses, fifty discrete items, parataxis, flyting, Finnegans wake, mememoreme, Remember Me, epithets,memory theatre, repetition, Nietzsche, Lull, immortality, ineluctable modality, the grotesque, the unfrequented church, esoteric, Yates, cliche, pathetic fallacy, w.r. Ong, nine necessities, memory, imagination, soul, Kane, tradition, drums in the deep, the god in me, the god i am, Aristotle, Plato, Freud, Jung, anamnesis, recollection of the forgotten, alithiometer, gnosticism, neoplatainism, hamlet, Krishna, bagavagita, Augustine, myth, literature, simonedes, rhetoric, Shahar Azad/sherezade, collective/personal unconscious, solipsistic, grammar/grimoire, "inspired gibberish", Lolita, three taps upon the tongue, carnival-carne val- carne- flesh, names, words, power, magic, tempest...
Gossamer Von Goss, Mnemosyne

it shall not come to pass, it shall not end

A Strong Memory

here's something i wrote in my journal a few weeks ago that i've been thinking over. it's, i suppose, a grotesque memory. i suppose i could have focused my essay on something like this but it didn't occur to me til just now.

blood on white wool.

Valentines day. Today was a strange day. Headed up the west fork, I came around the first bend to an interesting sight. A truck turned on it’s side, one child in a ditch and three standing on the road. Two older men helping. They waved me by yet I pulled up ahead of the accident and started my flashers.
I grabbed my jackets. Three freezing children standing alone one buried in blankets on his stomach, "keep still." children, that’s how I thought of them. They were … young. I’m only twenty.
First sight, the image of her, the girl’s, April’s, right hand pinky dripping slightly-darker-than-cherry blood. Blood is not cherry red. It’s slightly-darker-than-cherry. My old denim and wool jacket goes over her shoulders as she cries into the phone to the police dispatcher. Second sight, slightly-darker-than-cherry blood against white wool. Will need bleach. The boy is tall and I see dark-cherry running down behind his ear. Its there on the up and right side of his black haired head. The hair is slightly ruffled and dipped in dried blood. He is silent and too still but standing. Head injury? He is out of it and silent. My red out layer goes over his shoulders. "It’s not much but it’s heat. "
The girl, April, April Blackwell- I didn’t know her name till later, is crying "I don’t knows’ into the phone for her little brother(?, yes, littlest Brandon Blackwell) heading towards hysterical. My last gray under layer goes over the younger’s shoulder- he cant be twelve, Taylor Blackwell. She’s maybe fifteen, fourteen going on fifteen I later learned, and the boy not much older, 16, Dusty McKee. T
A bloody cell phone is shoved into my face. "Here, please!"
"Hello?
You were in the accident?
No, I just showed up on the scene.
All right, can I have your name?
Joan. Joan Goss.
How do you spell Goss
G-O-S-S
thank you, and the accident is by Connor?
Yes
Go by way of the connor store? The girl gave us the address there.
Yeah or you can just go straight up the West fork, we’re just past the fourth mile marker.
Really?
Yeah just go straight up the west fork towards the fourth mile marker and you’ll see a line up of trucks with their flashers on.
Tell me what’s happening. Can you smell smoke or gas?
No, no smoke or gas and I don’t see any heat rising. The truck is on it’s side in the ditch and the little boy is laying next to it. The three children are up on the road with me.
Is there anyone else there with you.
Yeah two other men.
And the accident was on the right side of the road
Yeah right side headed south.
It’s in the road?
No, the truck is in the ditch on the right side of the road headed south.
All right and the boy?
He’s there too. He’s on his chest facing up hill in the ditch.
On his chest (sounds worried)? Was he thrown from the truck
To the girl- was he tossed out the truck\
No he just kinda slipped out and the truck landed on him. He was halfway under the truck.
The boy- it wasn’t even really on me.
To the Dispatcher- apparently he slipped out and ended up under the truck
Do you have any emergency medical experience.
No I don’t
All right we can work with that just make sure he doesn’t move and keep an eye on his breathing can you do that.
Yeah I can definitely do that.
To the boy- you breathing ok?
Yeah just cold and my arm hurts.
(yeah I can bet)
He says he’s breathing fine we’re piling stuff on him to keep him warm.
Alright we’ve got people on the way so I’m going to leave you. You think you can handle this?
Yeah, I got it.
Uncertainly I stare at the phone finally closing it and handing it back. Keeping an eye on the boy, tucking the jackets back around the kids. Watching the old fellows and waiting. The girl calls family. She had calmed down clinging to the boy. Now she’s getting scared again. The twelve yr old’s fine, Taylor, the older boy worries me. Too damn still and silent.
EMT and truck. Younger dark haired fellow. Immediately check the ones with me with a glance and then the youngest. Dunno his name, Niles? , things move Darby ambulance arrives, the kids on the backboard and into the ambulance. Brandon. His name is Brandon. Taylor demands to go with, doesn‘t want Brandon alone. He does.
A woman has showed up (Karen? No, Mindy McKee) I know her, short brown-red-silver streaked hair, (where from?) she hugs me she knows me and wishes we had met at a better time. Her son, the oldest boy (I think, yes) doesn’t remember the crash. He did a few minutes ago, concerned. He caught the shoulder and hit the brakes. They flipped a few times. No seatbelts.
Not good, shock? Head injury. EMT, what month is it?
March…
The girl, April, goes hysterical. I hug her. Let her cry on me, she‘s short below my nose, dark brown hair, pretty even with the blood on her face and in tears. Gotta be Dusty’s girlfriend (she is). Say nothing. "he thinks its March, he doesn’t remember, oh my god!!" sobs. The woman goes following the boy kissing me on the cheek twice huggin me thanking me. A cousin shows up, Angel(?), Angela(?), for April. Grandmother is headed to the hospital. April’s in shock. EMT’s want her on a back board. She struggles weakly to get to cousin. Hysterical women… glad it’s not me.
The coat re-draped, new shoulders. "Talk to her, keep talking to her."
They leave. Awkward silence. What do I do now? They keep asking if I was in the accident. I am not hurt; no, I wasn’t; no, I’m not family…
I leave. My hands are numb but I’m still calm(always calm, always calm, "about as emotional as a doorknob," flat smile, you don‘t know how right you are Rodger Brown.) Wish I could have helped more. Call mom and dad. I’m gonna be late, love you. My hands are numb all the way home.
Ah, 10:00pm that night. Called Niles, Kent Niles, first EMT on the scene, young dark haired fellow, he knows who. Wolf lane family, McKee’s… ah got it. Mindy McKee. Kid’s are gonna be fine. Dusty knot on his head, Taylor fine, April cuts and bruises, Brandon a broken pelvis but fine. Good.
Apparently, people have been thanking me or trying to. Not sure why, didn’t do much. Just stood there and hugged people, kept my head. Apparently was "good" or "did good" and "stayed calm". or something like that. Mr. McKee says "Thank you." Huh. Well, you’re welcome.

Fathers and Tellers

Like Chris's father, my father is also an excellent story teller. i think it might simply be a gift of theirs. i also think it might have something to do with parental instincts and a need to connect with children and to pass on something. most of my fathers stories are based around his youthful follies and mine. motor bikes and horses come to mind a lot.
people, especially, parents have a need to raise their childred to connect not only on the heart-scape, or because of biological reasons, but also on the mind-scape. people want to understand each other and through stories these connections are possible. stories say personal things that cannot be put into a few words. there is a deep personal connection.

Passing

Check mark Parker and Charlie talked about passing down and words in their presentations Parker's was concerned that if we keep passing the same things down that culture/society would stagnate but that events and changes in society helped keep the words changing thus chaos destroys stagnation. Charlie talked about the practice of passing down the Torah orally.

personally i think that no matter if we are an oral or literate culture it cannot truly stagnate. yes it can last for hundreds of years but that's just a blip on the time scale. besides, humans are far too chaotic to ever truly settle into stagnation. words always change in circumstance and humans get too bored to settle

Artists are...

Earlier in the year we discussed the idea of the artist/poet and what/who they are. eventually i came to the idea that Artists are... obsessive compulsive, anal, micromanaging, copycatting, control freak, directors with their heads in the clouds high on something. whatever it is they're on i want some. an artist has mere moments, especially in an oral culture, to present his art to the world. they must know, be creative as hell, and be in perfect control. if they slip they are soooooo screwed it isn't even funny.

oh, yeah, i forgot to add that they are glory hounds on a quest for immortality

Presenting

OK since I'm obviously terrible at getting up in front of the class and saying anything I'll try to explain what i meant.

words are powerful. they are events. they are cause and effect. a word causes a reaction internally, an understanding.
words are formulaic. requests are, usually, filled out, demands too. power of politeness in request, in words. conditioning i suppose.
names are difficult to resist. they cause things to become personal. especially full names...

i had this thought out so much better last night. and it still doesn't make much sense

Mute Poet

the mute poet fades out of existence, of memory without immortality if he cannot write his words. it destroys him in such a manner as his mind shatters and his soul withers away into void. this is the same for any artist, any person with something they love. whatever it may be, being unable to do it is destruction.

i suppose he could always take up interpretive dance

Runes are one of the more interesting writing styles i came across in my study of literature vs orality.
the Rune represents a sound but it also represents an idea. the anglo-saxon rune 'eh' stands for the sound [e] but it also represents the animal 'horse' and it's not just horse, having a horse is a sign of both wealth and warrior prowess, a pleasure and a mark of pride, a horse is friends, adventure and travel.
so runes are extended metaphors... interesting.

Traditions

forgot the blurb about our chapter on Traditions.

The chapter on Traditions in Kane explains that the moment in which mythological tradition is most active is the moment when its orders of knowledge are most focused. That moment is the actual telling of a story. The traditional act of storytelling involves different aspects that make a story more powerful. These include the voice of the narrator, its polyphonic form and the effects that nature, people and the surroundings have on a story, consistency and the replication of the essential patterns of mythology, and finally, improvisation. The main instrument in any story is the voice, which brings the listener away from their current state of reality to the unseen worlds of tribal memory. For our oral presentation, we have each selected various short stories that derived from oral cultures where the tradition of storytelling created a bond between humanity and our relationship with the earth and the world we live.

Blind poets

yes we hear about the verbose and articulate blind poet, but what about the fellow with a lisp? what about those wordy geniuses who can't speak or can't speak well? what about those who have so much to say but are to shy to do so? well maybe you got over stage fright back then because there was no writing but still... writing and literature helps/ed those brilliant people with speaking impediments even though it does nothing for those great blind speakers.

Final Essay...?

The Power of Words in Oral Traditions
Words are ephemeral and insubstantial, not eternal and concrete. You cannot reach out and grasp a word. Like sunshine, it slips through fingers, untouchable only heating the palm but leaving no real trace of it. If you do manage to capture the sensation of a word in your mind its meaning streams from hands like rain, the harder you squeeze the faster it slips out. But, as with all things, especially man and word, it returns to nature, a mere sound. Or is it? "Oral peoples commonly and with all likelihood universally consider words to have magical potency[, this] is clearly tied in… with their sense of the word as necessarily spoken, sounded, and hence power driven" Ong comments (Ong 32). The sound drives, is driven by a power, a belief that it can movemakedestroyact in some manner to change something or someone.
In Harry Potter a few words of Latin defy the laws of physics, in Good Omens The Word told a story that never happened, by using a true name one can control or be controlled. A sphinx’ riddles can save a life or end it depending on the answer. Each of these examples is a story, a tradition that demonstrates the power that words have. This power is still in common usage in modern times. For Example, arguments give weight to each person’s words to convince or encourage the other side to surrender, speeches are meant to bind people to a cause, contracts are binding law.
But, really, this is oral and imaginative, we don’t need no stinking literature… which completely destroys the point of actually writing this essay… *shrugs*, oh, well. The point that I am trying to get to is that all words have power.
Words of Magic:
"Words [being] primarily oral, as events, and hence as necessarily powered" (Ong 32-33). J.K. Rowlings uses Latin for her magic words, Vainamoinen and Ilmorinen sing in Old Norse to gain immortality. Each word is an event, a happening, a force in and of nature. These examples lead me to the conclusion that it is not the language that gives the power so much as the inherent meaning behind the words. Words are sound set loose but the meaning and the intention of the words is where the strength and force come from. Djinni only need the words "I wish…" to make any dream come true once a person has rubbed their lamp.
Flyting is a Scottish tradition of a word battle consisting of insults. "Flyt" is Scot’s Gaelic for "quarrel" or "conflict." I suppose it is something like a battle of bloody knuckles where the first person to flinch looses or who gave the last or best insult wins. The point is to have more power over the judge and the enemy. This dueling of words much like the traditional weapons dueling is an exchange. First one will go followed by the other etc., etc., until someone dies or yields (which is why I have always found pistol duels exceedingly pointless)
Kotodama/Kototama:
The Japanese have a theory that they call Kotodama which is heavily involved with Aikido, a from of martial arts. From what I understand, each word has power and that once the word is spoken the power is released into the world to spread. Like a physical force, it affects every thing around it moving outward like bad gossip, or if you want to stick to orientalism, like ripples in a pond, reaching out and then bouncing back, again and again until there is no more power to the word spoken. The words drive the strength of the fighter or the fighter him/herself. Or the word is the strength of the warrior who is fighting. Basically the word drives the opponents strength/magic/will away from the fighter leaving the opponent open to an attack wither physical or other.

Okay, so, duh! Words move men and armies, so of course they have power. Say family and you get warm fuzzies, beloved and you turn into a sap. It’s just the way it goes. But words only have the power people give them. You can only be hurt by an insult if you believe it or it comes from someone important to you, but from a stranger… meh. Let them talk, after all it’s only words.
The words hold power, and every word of every story I tell is true and real according to this theory. No, words of power. The belief alone will kill you. The belief in the strength of the words that are spoken drives the speaker and the listener.
Names:
Rumplestiltskin’s name freed a girl from being forced to give up her first born child. "Names (one kind of [word])… [convey] power over things," giving the one who hols the name a power over the other (Ong 33). By knowing a name you have a certain influence to encourage or drive the person or thing with the name. One example is Adam’s naming of the animals in Genesis. By doing so he gained power over them and ruled them and nature until he and Eve were kicked out of the Garden of Eden. And let’s not get started on the part about man naming a woman and gaining power and absolute control over her. That is just picking a fight.
I also have the theory that epithets were used not only to remember a person by but a way to avoid giving away their name (full or portions) and thus the entirety of who they are which gives control to any who may or may not have it i.e. the government in modern consideration.
We use names to make requests or orders. There are formulas in the form of words or strings of words to gain certain reactions such as "Please…?" or "Would you mind…?" Words hold more power over us than we like to think and humans put more stock in words than they think about.
The power of a sound, the strength of an intention, the magic of a word. Words are one of the most powerful forces on this earth. All words are insubstantial and carry the weight of ages. They are most powerful when first spoken but that power does not fade out as the sound itself fades. No, words stay with us. "Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation," "When in the course of human events it becomes necessary to dissolve the political bands," "Give me liberty or give me death" "I have a dream…"
"But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here… and that… shall not perish from the earth." Lincoln, Gettysburg Address 1863
Powerful words, whether written or spoken do not truly fade. They are captured in time, in space, by people like a dragonfly in amber. You can only look, no touching, lest you mar the trapped thing and the molten gold of history.

Echo

today during classy i had a epiphany that basically wiped out a good chunk of my paper. part of it happened this morning while i was inking in Runes for another essay that was due in a half an hour and the other part was during Christine of the Laughing Rats speech. so now I'm feeling a little like Echo wailing plaintively back whatever anyone else has said so far. its a little... redundant but this is an oral traditions class so i suppose i can be redundant.

Traditions

The tales told on this day were: How Coyote was Moon, How Spring Defeated Winter, The Earth On Turtle's Back, The Creation Story of the Apache(?), and the Tale of the Tanada Lake Monster.

Each of these tales is from a different Native American Tribe; Cherokee(?), Apache, Ahtna... Each of these tribes have different traditions.

With a wooden flute, drums and a voice rising in the background we, as tale tellers, tried to connect with our audience. The polyphony of the act; the voice, the audience, the culture, the music, the times, all of these things come together to adjust a tale.

I first heard the story of the Tanada Lake Monster from the first woman to pioneer the Wrangell Mountain area around Tanada Lake. The lake itself is surrounded on all sides by mountains and dormant volcanoes. Black, volcanic sand beaches and clear green water. One mile across and six miles long the lake is somewhat oblong. The village that this particular story comes from was called Batzulnetas by the Ahtna or as they are also known, the Nabesna, "People of Ice," or the people of the Copper River. The Ahtna had settled the area over 7,000 years ago, apparently, and left the village around the time of the Russian settlement.

The only place the legend is written down, that I know of, is in a book by Conkle called "The Wind on the Water" which is what Tanada means in Athabascan, which is the Ahtna language. As I said in class i was dumped off on Tanda lake, accessible only by float plane, with my family when i was about nine years old. He vaguely commented that there was a monster in the lake and then left us there. I didn't sleep that night. That week was spent fending off moose, grizzly- which tore out our doorstep, and eyeballing the lake for monsters. It was fun!

Mrs. Conkle, whose family settled the area and still remains there today, told me the legend of the lake monster that she had heard from the tribes people when we went to visit her after the week was over. She dedicated her book to them as well. Apparently the Monster is supposed to be a Giant Lake Trout. She, her husband, my family and other visitors have seed it with our own eyes. One lady visitor hooked a ten inch trout that was swallowed by a fourteen foot one(no, it was not a pike.) The thing I and my father saw had to be at least that if not bigger. Needless to say I refused to get in a boat after that. I'd rather contend with the grizzlies.

But here is the story as I remember it.


In a place far to the north where the winter is a one great night and the summer one long day the Nabesna, or ahtna, the “People of Ice” watched from their village of Batzulnetasas on the southern shore of the copper river as their chief returned from peace talks with a neighboring village. Their princess would marry the other tribes chief’s son the messenger had said. As the chief crossed the Tanada, “Wind on the water,” in it’s clear green depths the great monster that had lived there quietly for so long stirred and with a heave of its great tail sent the waters rising and crashing to all shores, tipping the canoes tossing the men and their chief overboard. They drowned. The waters quieted.

The villagers wailed their grief and searched the shores for days for their bodies but they were never discovered. The people believed that the monster, the great lake beast, had eaten their chief and his men in revenge for having been ignored and insulted by the people for so long.
The new chief, son of the old chief consulted with the shaman who stated that the wedding between the princess and the neighboring prince would occur, that the monster of “wind on the water” was appeased by his father’s death.

But it was not.

The princess and her guards set out on a great canoe to cross the lake that her father had died in. She knew that she would not survive the crossing but wished for her guards to. She prayed to the creator that they might be spared if she went to appease the beast. The creator, knowing that she was much beloved by her people, answered her prayers and called up a great mist. In that mist she stepped from the boat and was greeted by the Tanada beast. “In exchange for their lives you will give yours to me.” The beast demanded. She agreed immediately and was dragged into the clear green depths of the lake.

Once the mist cleared the warriors realized that their princess had vanished from the canoes. They searched the waters, they searched the shores and the woods and the mountains and the rivers but found no sign of her. Like her father they believed that she too had drowned and died, the Tanada monster having stolen her from the canoes.

The young chief grieved and forbid all of the tribes people from ever crossing the lake of the “wind on the water.”

It holds true to this day.


Some facts about Tanada and the people.

“Wind on the Water” = Tanada in Athabascan which is Ahtna lang.
Lake is clear green water, 1 mile wide and 6 miles long, 180 ft. deep
Lake Monster large enough to slap its tail and have the waves wash out the shores
It ate those who crossed that it dumped
A chief who crossed and a princess who was going to be married to another tribe on the other side of the lake
Her village of Batzulnetas on southern of the copper River shore
Nabesna People, also called Ahtna or “People of Ice”

Essay part 2

Kotodama/Kototama
The Japanese have a theory that they call Kotodama which is heavily involved with Aikido, a from of martial arts. From what I understand, each word has power and that once the word is spoken the power is released into the world to spread. Like a physical force, it affects every thing around it moving outward like bad gossip, or if you want to stick to orientalism, like ripples in a pond, reaching out and then bouncing back, again and again until there is no more power to the word spoken.
Okay, so, duh! Words move men and armies, so of course they have power. Say family and you get warm fuzzies, beloved and you turn into a sap. It’s just the way it goes. But words only have the power people give them. You can only be hurt by an insult if you believe it or it comes from someone important to you, but from a stranger… meh. Let them talk, after all it’s only words.
The words hold power, and every word of every story I tell is true and real according to this theory. No, words of power. The belief alone will kill you. The belief in the strength of the words that are spoken drives the speaker and the listener.

Help Essay

Well, since we're required to beg for help i might as well do so know.

I don't think my essay has much of a thesis at this point. also i tend to ramble and go off on tangents. help please.

Joan

Essay... sorta

Oral Traditions: Word Magic
32-33 ong
In Harry Potter a few words of Latin defy the laws of physics, in Good Omens The Word told a story that never happened, by using a true name one can control or be controlled. Each of these examples is a story, a tradition that demonstrates the power that words have. This power is still in common usage in modern times. For Example, arguments give weight to each person’s words to convince or encourage the other side to surrender, speeches are meant to bind people to a cause, contracts are binding law.
But, really, this is oral and imaginative, we don’t need no stinking literature… which completely destroys the point of actually writing this essay… *shrugs*, oh, well. The point that I am trying to get to is that all words have power.
Spells/Spell Battles/Word Battles/ Flyting
J.K. Rowlings uses Latin for her magic words, Vainamoinen and Ilmorinen sing in Old Norse to gain immortality. These examples lead me to the conclusion that it is not the language that gives the power so much as the inherent meaning behind the words.
Flyting is a Scottish tradition of a word battle consisting of insults. “Flyt” is Scot’s Gaelic for “quarrel” or “conflict.” I suppose it is something like a battle of bloody knuckles where the first person to flinch looses or who gave the last or best insult wins. The point is to have more power over the judge and the enemy.
Kotodama/Kototama
True Names/Soul Names