Sīzdah-not-be-dar
Jun. 14th, 2008 09:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turbogrrlI spent the 13th not outdoors but inside, variously asleep or aimless. Not doing homework.
Sīzdah-be-dar (13th-out-of-doors) in reality is a holiday on the 13th day of Favardin, which begins on the Vernal equinox. So, long past this year. The Iranian holiday has its roots in ancient Iran, in Zoroastrianism (good thoughts, good words, good deeds), but maybe earlier. The Philosopher said that the 13th is bad luck, a day of destruction, after the 12 days of creation celebrated during Nowruz, but these things are not written in English. Some have said that the 12 days stand for the 12,000 years of the universe, which are ruled by the 12 signs of the zodiac, and which are named for Angels, and that after the 12,000 years there is destruction and liberation from the material world. And so 13 is ominous, and nothing constructive should be done, and one should be out-of-doors.
I bought and read the latest Jacqueline Carey book. Eh.
Someone recommended Pynchon's Mason & Dixon to me, so I bought it. I am starting to suspect that Pynchon is actually the bastard child of Emily Dickinson and James Joyce, and I'm only on page 5. I have to admit I find myself in agreement with Nick's dad– the prose is just exhausting.
...
Having another person in the class unfortunately keeps the Philosopher more on track. B, poor B, does not seem to follow any of it. We had a quiz on Thursday, and despite his having taken Modern Islam last semester, he didn't even know what year the Islamic calendar starts. So I think I got everything right, and B... maybe one or two questions right. This is painful, this uneven yoking.
We were required to find poems by Omar Khayyám, and bring them to class and discuss them. The Fitzgerald interpretations were the easiest to find (though I enjoyed several sites that compared various revisions of his translations next to other more literal translations).
B chose this one, but couldn't explain why he did or what it might mean:
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
Whereas this one caught my fancy:
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end in — Yes —
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be — Nothing — Thou shalt not be less.
I think the first one might be a favorite of the Philosopher, as he asked me to re-read it after B butchered it terribly.
This heat is depressing me terribly. At least we will have some storms to-day.
Sīzdah-be-dar (13th-out-of-doors) in reality is a holiday on the 13th day of Favardin, which begins on the Vernal equinox. So, long past this year. The Iranian holiday has its roots in ancient Iran, in Zoroastrianism (good thoughts, good words, good deeds), but maybe earlier. The Philosopher said that the 13th is bad luck, a day of destruction, after the 12 days of creation celebrated during Nowruz, but these things are not written in English. Some have said that the 12 days stand for the 12,000 years of the universe, which are ruled by the 12 signs of the zodiac, and which are named for Angels, and that after the 12,000 years there is destruction and liberation from the material world. And so 13 is ominous, and nothing constructive should be done, and one should be out-of-doors.
I bought and read the latest Jacqueline Carey book. Eh.
Someone recommended Pynchon's Mason & Dixon to me, so I bought it. I am starting to suspect that Pynchon is actually the bastard child of Emily Dickinson and James Joyce, and I'm only on page 5. I have to admit I find myself in agreement with Nick's dad– the prose is just exhausting.
...
Having another person in the class unfortunately keeps the Philosopher more on track. B, poor B, does not seem to follow any of it. We had a quiz on Thursday, and despite his having taken Modern Islam last semester, he didn't even know what year the Islamic calendar starts. So I think I got everything right, and B... maybe one or two questions right. This is painful, this uneven yoking.
We were required to find poems by Omar Khayyám, and bring them to class and discuss them. The Fitzgerald interpretations were the easiest to find (though I enjoyed several sites that compared various revisions of his translations next to other more literal translations).
B chose this one, but couldn't explain why he did or what it might mean:
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
Whereas this one caught my fancy:
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end in — Yes —
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be — Nothing — Thou shalt not be less.
I think the first one might be a favorite of the Philosopher, as he asked me to re-read it after B butchered it terribly.
This heat is depressing me terribly. At least we will have some storms to-day.
