August 27, 2009
Nearly Christmas ...
Although it is only late August, I can see from my office window that the leaves on the sycamore outside are turning yellow, and that, of course, leads me to think about Christmas. So I thought I'd share with you a few unusual Christmas carols I've sung over the years ...
The words are 12th century Latin, the tune German, ca. 1360. The whole thing, when done correctly, is guaranteed to send a shiver up your spine.
Personent hodie
voces puerulae,
laudantes iucunde
qui nobis est natus,
summo Deo datus,
et de virgineo ventre procreatus.
In mundo nascitur,
pannis involvitur
praesepi ponitur
stabulo brutorum,
rector supernorum.
perdidit spolia princeps infernorum.
Magi tres venerunt,
parvulum inquirunt,
Bethlehem adeunt,
stellulam sequendo,
ipsum adorando,
aurum, thus, et myrrham ei offerendo.
Omnes clericuli,
pariter pueri,
cantent ut angeli:
advenisti mundo,
laudes tibi fundo.
ideo gloria in excelsis Deo.
Attributed to Richard Smart, Rector of Plymtree in Devon some time in the mid 15th century, this is, apparently, the first known Christmas carol to personify Christmas ...
Nowell, Nowell, Nowell, Nowell,
’Who is there that singeth so?’
’I am here, Sir Christëmas.’
’Welcome, my lord Christëmas,
Welcome to us all, both more and less
Come near, Nowell!’
“Buvez bien par toute la campagnie,
Make good cheer and be right merry.”
A perennial Danish favourite, it was composed in 1848, with music by Emil Hornemann and words by Peter Faber. Faber was an interesting character, being a poet and scientist, and had worked with H C Oersted (who established a link between electric current and magnetic fields, among other acheievements). He was appointed Director of Telegraphy in Denmark in 1852 when a project to lay a line between Elsinore in Northern Sjaelland and Hamburg was initiated, and before telegraphy had much of a hold in the country. He remained in the post for 25 years as the length of telegraph line grew to 2,800 km and the number of stations to 200. He died in 1877 of pneumonia contracted during a tour of inspection. Faber was also, apparently, Denmark's first recorded amateur photographer.
Højt fra træets grønne top
stråler juleglansen
spillemand, spil lystigt op
nu begynder dansen.
Læg nu smukt din hånd i min
ikke rør ved den rosin!
Først skal træet vises
siden skal det spises.
(High up on the tree's green top
gleams the Christmas star
Let the music play loud
and the dancing begins.
Put you hand nicely in mine
Don't touch that raisin!
The tree must be admired first
before that can be eaten!)
Se, børnlil, nu går det godt
I forstår at trave,
lad den lille Signe blot
få sin julegave.
Løs kun selv det røde bånd!
Hvor du ryster på din hånd
Når du strammer garnet,
kvæler du jo barnet!
Peter har den gren så kær,
hvorpå trommen hænger
hvergang han den kommer nær
vil han ikke længere.
Hvad du ønsker, skal du få
når jeg blot kan stole på
at du ej vil tromme
før min sang er omme.
Anna, hun har ingen ro
før hun får sin pakke
fire alen merino
til en vinterfrakke.
Barn, du blir mig altfor dyr
men da du så propert syr
sparer vi det atter,
ikke sandt, min datter?
Denne fane ny og god
giver jeg til Henrik.
Du er stærk og du har mod
du skal være fændrik.
Hvor han svinger fanen kækt
Børn, I skylder ham respekt
vid, det er en ære,
Dannebrog at bære.
O, hvor er den blød og rar
sikken dejlig hue!
Den skal sikre bedstefar
imod frost og snue.
Lotte, hun kan være stolt
tænk jer, hun har garnet holdt!
Det kan Hanne ikke,
hun kan bare strikke.
Børn, nu er jeg bleven træt
og I får ej mere.
Moder er i køkkenet,
nu skal hun traktere.
Derfor får hun denne pung,
løft engang, hvor den er tung!
Julen varer længe,
koster mange penge.
Posted by daen at 04:08 PM | Comments (0)
July 30, 2009
The increasingly inaccurate ...
June and July have been ... interesting times.
June was spent getting my feet under the desk at the Paris branch of the Magic Tablet Factory where I now work ... and watching the relationship I came to Paris for begin to go wrong. Notions of riding into the sunset in a "and-they-lived-happily-ever-after" context were overly naive from both our perspectives, and she rapidly realized (actually, remembered) that living in close quarters destroys any romantic notions. Not having lived with anyone full-time for many years made her forget that Prince Charming can sometimes appear to be Alf Garnett (I exaggerate for dramatic effect here). So she is looking forward to a solitary life and I'm trying to disentangle my emotions and be all grown-up and rational about it, which is a little tricky, seeing as I bounded halfway across Europe in a hormonal blur like a lovesick puppy. Part of me knows that what she says makes sense, that it could have worked out worse, that we'll still be friends and go and do stuff together and have a laugh and meals and drinks, and another part of me wants to get in a sack along with a couple of dozen breezeblocks and jump screaming down the nearest well (I exaggerate for dramatic effect here). My mum is baffled - she thinks I'm mad to throw myself into these romantic adventures the way I do. What can I say? Maybe next time I won't feel the urge to commit so totally to a relationship. But then again, if I didn't feel like that, I wouldn't really want to *be* in that relationship. Isn't the point of falling in love that you act like a complete wally? That the two of you giggle and smile and blush and coo at each other and do other silly things and make everyone else around you wish either that they'd brought a bucket to throw up into, or that the pair of you would clear off and get a room? I don't think I want to be cynical or rational about my relationships. If declarations of commitment scare the other partner away, so be it. It hurts like hell at the time, but ultimately you're better off without them. But in recent weeks, my ego feels like it has been gutted, filletted and laid out on ice like a fresh cut of fish.
Which brings me to July. Three weeks of holiday - one week with my soon-to-be-ex (we'll call her E) and her very-much-ex-husband (who, by the way is a super bloke who we'll call D) on their annual motorcycle trip to the Languedoc in the South of France. They biked it down (from the UK - two stages for E - UK to Lille - which I joined her for - then D came over to Lille and they rode down together, which took them three days!) and I got the TGV from Paris to Narbonne, which took four and a half hours in relative comfort, but also relative boredom. Long train journeys always sound exciting and redolent of 1930's epic trips on the Orient Express, but the reality is that, regardless of how beautiful the countryside is outside, you're chuffing across it in a straight line without much to do. Anyway, it was fun to join them, even if I was a little confused and up and down (sorry D&E). The Corbieres and Pyrenees-Orientales mountains were beautiful to ride in on the back of E's Harley-Davidson SoftTail Deuce (yes, you can see why I like this girl, can't you?). Then I returned to Paris on Monday 13th, and enjoyed the company of a bunch of mad ex-pats of various countries on the lawns outside Les Invalides for July 14th (Bastille Day) ... much wine, and food, and watching helicopters of various branches of the military and police take off over us, then watching fireworks over by the Eiffel Tower (which was also celebrating its 120th anniversary). Then on the 15th, I headed to Spain to celebrat my mum's 65th birthday, swim in the pool and join the Spanish neighbours for the local feria ... All good fun, and I need another holiday to recover!
Now, back in Paris, feet under the desk again, I am trying, with the aid of caffeine and music, to jog my memory about what it was I was supposed to be doing here. Some of it is coming back. Slowly.
E and I are still sharing her apartment in the 17th, and we'll be going back to England a couple of times together over the next two months, which is fine. Her contract ends tomorrow, and she'll probably head for Lille sometime next week. It's all very cordial, and polite, and for some reason it bothers me enormously. I would, perhaps, have seen an outpouring of emotion, regret, guilt - anything, I guess, other than this very rational approach. I don't have a sense of closure or even much of an understanding of what happened, other than I can see that what she says makes sense. I don't understand, really, how it's possible to go from rapture to indifference in a couple of weeks ... or rather, I can think of a number of explanations, but I don't want to believe any of them, because they will leave me utterly destroyed.
Enough self-indulgent clap-trap - get back to work, you slackers!
Posted by daen at 02:12 PM | Comments (0)