dagleg

gnomic nonsense

[dagleg]

happy new year from here to there it's been some time so here's what's new snow is melting just since friday it piled up over thanksgiving (thanks) and lingered more or less til now temperatures above zero celsius that is though no one's promising it will stay but one thing is sure lengthening day six minutes a day makes a difference in   the afternoon by which i mean evening even at six there is something left of today still morning is dark no dawning clue til nine but there is comfort and cozy secrecy drinking coffee with warmed milk knowing there's nowhere to be except tuesday or thursday i leave for grammar under starlight on the footpath between ring road and airport the seagull who died there in autumn unearthed from the snow preserved by the snow halfway decayed maybe one day it won't be there maybe it's healthier not keeping time with decay.

i stopped savoring loneliness at least i try being busy helps invested the better part of the last two weeks looking ahead i mean grad school who knows what's next i'm back in now in a coffee shop where they know i've shaved the sides of my head there's comfort in strangers noting change i'm not alone and never have been talk is smaller closer when you speak the language two conversations on either side in rapid reykjavíkish i know what they're saying no less since english idiom weaves in and out one keeps saying “anyways” and “i dunno” i'm trying not to listen but her tongue's seamless weaving is hard not to notice “there are no words” i'm no longer outside of icelandic eavesdropping still takes effort but english keeps drawing me in “anyways that's settled then.”

among others some new years resolutions were to put spring in my step use less punctuation and see a dead whale i'm pleased to say that those are done or in progress i'd hoped to collect a whale vertebra but spoiled life still clung to bones smelled putrid even in winter's scentless sterility as for punctuation i want to use rhythm to string words together perhaps it's dumb but worth a try springing my step i'm pleased to say puts a smile on my face people smile back i'm realizing that what i thought was judgment is only curiosity with a straight face i know this since they smile when i smile.

there's no end to this missive but the end of your patience and i sense i'm drawing near so. from here and now to you in another now another here thanks for your eyes and do say hi and tell me what's new.

.e.

[dagleg]

101615

not sure which, but one of these past few days marked the longest i've been away from the us; so it feels like an apt enough time to (re)start a log.

missing the places i have been up to now; not with sadness or bitterness, but with a nostalgia that seems to accompany the changing of the leaves from green, thru brilliance, to brown.

life, in case you were wondering, looks like this: weekdays i wake up to a slightly darker morning, make a strong cup of coffee and take my time before cycling to the university - a 15 minute ride along soccer fields and the domestic airport to the south, the southern edge of downtown reykjavík to the north.

grammar starts at 8:20 and guðrún will glare at you if you walk in 5 minutes late, singling you out with a "góðan daginn." i play it safe and come early. others find this class dull, find guðrún dry. i find peace in the unpacking of paradigms; find humor in guðrún's dryness (i know it's there because she smiles and smirks.)

my icelandic language class has me thinking back to elementary school: reading short stories with long glosses, talking about reading strategies. maybe it's because maría, wide-eyed, always smiling, has an elementary school teacher aura about her.

in conversational icelandic, i fear i'm exposed as an utter impostor; in small practice groups with other students, answering banal questions like how we find iceland, i reach for complicated sentiments but find myself lacking the words, leaving my mouth gaping, my sense unexpressed. i still struggle with learning a living language—i actually have to speak it?

old icelandic is my only class taught in english; an elective for me, it's required for students in the viking and medieval norse studies masters program. in a sense, these are my people—medievalists—but i enjoy being an outsider. i have neither neckbeard, nor thor-hammer pendant; that sets me apart from about half the room. haraldur, as it turns out, is one of the most effective, engaging professors i've known, conveying complicated phono-/morphological concepts clearly and humorously. he calls the letter "j" by an anglicized form of its icelandic name: "yod." it's unclear whether this is calculated, humorous, or entirely incidental.

i'm done by early afternoon each day and am left with an overwhelming expanse of time i've not yet managed to organize. often i'll wander the woods on the hill a few minutes' walk south of my house. it's easy to spend hours here without seeing another human. here and there small bunkers remain from the world war ii era american presence in iceland. older structures, large stone walls, whose former function i can't quite deduce, grow mossy.

friends visit and i escape the city. drove around the country once, and up into the remote west fjords. there's longer stories there, that don't lend themselves to summary. by now i'm getting tired of writing and you of reading.

the days' narrowing is clear at morning and night. as of next week, my earliest classes begin after sunrise. next week, the daily decrease in daylight hours reaches its maximum: six-minutes, twenty-nine seconds fewer per day.

iceland is and has always been a place of savory loneliness for me (and for the 8th century irish monks who came to live and die in the caves here). i don't plan to die in the caves here, but maybe i seek the contentment and intentionality of those bygone troglodytic eremites: at peace, on a rock, in a cold sea, alone.

you're missed, i'll say, but warmly, happily. i'll try to bridge the gulf with words; feel free to reach out and do the same. expect more dispatches soon.

until then,

e

[dagleg]

071315

weak coffee and heavy breakfast with doris

...

who would have thought that summit, new jersey would be my point of departure? - ‘uncanny’ - the word she uses, walking beneath star-spangled flags on the small town main street

...

bring it all; it’ll cost more here - the gist of the fulbright commission’s advice for packing; an imperative i’m following: trail mix, coffee beans, granola bars, hair clippers, trail mix, coffee grinder, shoes, gold tights, trail mix, old high german primer, notebooks, bleach, trail mix, hot sauce

...

off to iceland for a fourth time

...

and you return when? - the call representative at my credit union.

say, may, maybe later

okay.

[dagleg]

beneath an oak (part two) a version/translation of the old english poem known as the wife’s lament

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beneath an oak (part one)

a version/translation of the old english poem known as the wife’s lament

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my secret place

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pitmyn street

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mid-century american ruins

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view from suðuroy - southernmost of the faroe islands - towards lítla dímun (far right), stóra dímun (middle), and skúvoy (left) with sandoy behind it

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bonfire stages

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hello

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colorado river sun ring

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mountain giant

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the dreary regions of the dead where all things are forgot