a negative capability scrapbook
The conference I’ve just attended was at the Hotel Club Tihany on a little peninsular jutting into Lake Balaton. It was absolutely brilliant and I feel totally energised and excited. But before I get into the conference itself tomorrow / later today here is a slide show of a non-work-related nature – press play to set it going:
Have you even seen one of these red and white threads tied to a tree? I find them occasionally in London tied discretely to branches in bushy parts of low-hanging boughs. I probably only spot them because I spend so much time looking to take photographs. The one above is on a tree in Budapest.
I have a Bulgarian friend who introduced me to the interesting and, as far as I can tell, almost exclusively Bulgarian custom of the martenitsa. The origin of the ritual seems to have a number of different explanations but the outline of the custom is pretty standard.
On the 1st March, deemed the beginning of spring, Bulgarians adorn themselves with amulets made of red and white thread – a martenitsa.
There is an ancient saying that “If you don’t wear your martenitsa, Baba Marta will bring evil things to you”. The mythical character of Baba Marta personifies the spring, the sun that can easily burn the fair skin of people’s faces.
According to the national belief Baba Marta is an old lady. She is an old lady and she is limp. That’s why she carries an iron stick to learn on. The national beliefes define the temperament of Baba Marta as very unstable. When she was smiling the sun was shining; when she was mad st somebody cold weather was firming the ground. The majority of the rituals aim to make her happy and merciful…
Baba Marta was very favorable towards the people that wear martenitsa. Usually they were made from wool, silk and cotton yarn by women. The basic colors used were red and white. The threads are woven together. Traditional martenitsa can include other elements such as silver coins, beads, garlic, snail’s shells, horse’s tail hairs, etc. Together they formed an amulet.
People give martenitsi to family and friends – it’s particularly important that young children have them and even farm animals sometimes wear them – but only for a limited length of time:
Usually the end of the period is connected with the first signs of the coming spring – blossomed trees, meeting of the first spring birds like storks, swallows or cranes. Then people remove their martenitsa and tie them to a tree…
When the martenitsa is taken off according to all rituals its special spiritual purposes are over. This marks an important transition – the end of the winter and a tansfer to positive changes.
The tree is such a powerful symbol of spring, renewal and fertility. But also at this time of year a symbol of the cycle of birth and death. I like the juxtaposition of the martenitsa still tied to this branch as the leaves turn and close the circle.
Don’t forget – only two weeks to go before entries close for this month’s Festival of the Trees. If you have a link to submit please send a mail to festival [dot] trees [at] gmail [dot] com.
I was bitterly disappointed (geddit?) to discover that coffee in Budapest is served with little sachets of sugar crystals. Not a lump in site.
However there were the delicious and not-sickly-sweet Hungarian pastries to give solace
at the beautiful Callas café near the opera house.
Coffee drinking time was initially severely curtailed by the necessity to visit shopping malls in the vain search for a travel adapter. What kind of idiot whose life and work is centred on their laptop forgets to bring one of their dozen or so UK-3-pin to European-2-pin adaptors with them thus ensuring they cannot recharge their computer? Yes, this kind of idiot.
Luckily I was meeting up with Maria who both knows the city and speaks Hungarian so eventually bacon was saved in the Apple store and, as this post attests, contact with the world was re-established.
The bits I’ve seen of Budapest are wonderful – a mixture of architectural styles and a wonderful attention to detail in the 19th and 20th century fixtures and fittings. There is a metro system, the oldest in continental Europe, and many of the stations appear almost unchanged since they were built in the mid 19th century.
There is beautifully decorated ironwork, tiling and a lot of wood panelling.
More walking and sight-seeing and coffee are planned for Sunday.
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And I make absolutely no apology for reposting a poem I’ve blogged before, actually more than once, by a Hungarian poet…
The Poem of Darkness
Once more, the vigil season!
Broad pen-strokes on my sheet look grim.
Night’s rust-juice floods the gardens,
by six full to the brim.
damp oozes from the mouldering trees,
you muse on how much time
you’ve left. Your foot stops dead, in fear
of stumbling into a tomb…
But tell me: have you ever let
a snow-white sugar-cube soak up
dark liquid, dipped in the bitter night
of coffee in its cup?
Or watched how the dense liquid,
so surely, so insidiously,
will seep up through the white cube’s
pure, crystalline body?
Just so the night seeps into you,
slowly rising, the smells
of night and of the grave all through
your veins, fibres, cells,
until one dank brown evening,
so steeped in it, you melt and sink –
to sweeten, for some unknown god,
his dark and bitter drink.Dsida Jeno, 1938
translated by George Gomori & Clive Wilmer
There’s no sugar lump on my saucer above – sugar-dipping is not a domestic activity. I’m looking forward to exploring the cafés of Budapest as recommended by Karen, who isn’t there, and Maria, who is, and dipping many a lump.
Then it’s off to a small village on the shore of Lake Balaton for the Internet Hungary 2006 Conference at which, on Wednesday, I am talking about Global Voices and citizen journalism.
And now I must go and start packing. I notice that I have only 33 30 minutes before I must leave.
And I make absolutely no apology for reposting a poem I’ve blogged before, actually more than once, by a Hungarian poet…
The Poem of Darkness
Once more, the vigil season!
Broad pen-strokes on my sheet look grim.
Night’s rust-juice floods the gardens,
by six full to the brim.
damp oozes from the mouldering trees,
you muse on how much time
you’ve left. Your foot stops dead, in fear
of stumbling into a tomb…
But tell me: have you ever let
a snow-white sugar-cube soak up
dark liquid, dipped in the bitter night
of coffee in its cup?
Or watched how the dense liquid,
so surely, so insidiously,
will seep up through the white cube’s
pure, crystalline body?
Just so the night seeps into you,
slowly rising, the smells
of night and of the grave all through
your veins, fibres, cells,
until one dank brown evening,
so steeped in it, you melt and sink –
to sweeten, for some unknown god,
his dark and bitter drink.Dsida Jeno, 1938
translated by George Gomori & Clive Wilmer
There’s no sugar lump on my saucer above – sugar-dipping is not a domestic activity. I’m looking forward to exploring the cafés of Budapest as recommended by Karen, who isn’t there, and Maria, who is, and dipping many a lump.
Then it’s off to a small village on the shore of Lake Balaton for the Internet Hungary 2006 Conference at which, on Wednesday, I am talking about Global Voices and citizen journalism.
And now I must go and start packing. I notice that I have only 33 30 minutes before I must leave.
Only this afternoon I met someone, a friend-of-a-friend, from Zimbabwe. I lived there from 1992 – 1995. “Difficult times” he said. But not nearly as difficult, as horrific as now, I replied. And here’s the evidence.
Difficult viewing, too, but if you want to know what life is like in Zimbabwe, why it’s a situation we should all be concerned about, please watch.For background read Ethan’s post on this video – he recently visited and his posts on Zimbabwe contain much up-to-date information.The video was made by SW Radio and today shown to South African President Thabo Mbeki, in an effort to persuade him to use his influence in Zimbabwe. Here a link to the complete original programme in streaming video and below the break there is a transcript of the (slightly shorter) clip on YouTube.
Sometimes the cast mark seems more solid than reality.
Of course not everything about the countryside is beautiful.
In fact some things are downright ugly.
Although I suppose it depends on how you look at them.
…and it’s full, I told the gathered diners, and went out to take a picture. My stepmother said it meant rain.
Rain or not it’s the sort of thing that gives great delight if you can actually see it. Away from the bright lights of the big city the sky is full of wonders.
The next morning the second-born demanded to see the picture.
“That’s not a ring, that’s just clouds” he said, obviously disappointed that it wasn’t like saturn.
The presaged rain hasn’t shown up, though. It’s been a beautiful sunny autumn day.
frizzyLogic 