Category: Uncategorized

The other answers are good, but I like to step back with questions like these, to the cultural context.

In former times, expertise and professional use of language were elite activities; people who would use language professionally had an education that encompassed the literary canon and rhetoric; and the dominant literary aesthetic prioritised an extensive, nuanced vocabulary and shows of erudition.

Currently the literary aesthetic has changed, to something more sparse and less preoccupied with nuance and flourish. Professional use of language has been decoupled from literature and erudition. And Plain English has been elevated as a priority in that professional use of language, particularly given the amount of information professionals are expected to digest daily. People write in dot points, not in paragraphs. People write for other people who would rather not be reading your stuff at all, and certainly don’t look to be entertained by it.

That’s not just in Australia. That is throughout the Anglosphere.

It does not extend to the entire world, though. In particular, it does not extend to the Subcontinent (if I can surmise correctly from OP’s name), at least not in the education system. Babu English may be a nasty colonialist term, but it does continue to reflect a disconnect in values around language aesthetics and utilitarianism, between the subcontinent and the rest of the Anglosphere. There is a concern about using rich vocabulary and structure, which other countries have simply abandoned in their education systems, in favour of efficiency and clarity.

I’m trying to avoid value judgements here. Some things were lost in the transition, other things were gained. I am certainly not proud of point form becoming my native discourse. And in fact, I have used words here that have made me feature in Masiello’s Mega Words.

But I don’t use those words in my day job. And I don’t expect to read them there either.

OP is certainly right about one thing. This is indeed a cultural difference.

Congratulations to Vicky Prest and John Gragson, both of whom are scratching their heads right now about getting the Quill despite their BNBR run-ins. 🙂

Having compiled the answer wiki for Who should be in the final batch of Top Writers 2017?, I will limit myself to the comment that the question ended up being just as accurate a predictor about who would be booted out of Quora, as who would get the Quill…

(7 nominees from the community got the Quill, 4 got banned, 3 got deleted.)

Ancient Macedonian language – Wikipedia

… the recent epigraphic discoveries in the Greek region of Macedonia, such as the Pella curse tablet, suggest that ancient Macedonian might have been a variety of the North Western Ancient Greek dialects.

You may not have heard of NW Greek, the dialect of Epirus and Western Central Greece. You will have heard of the closely related Doric (which some authorities subsume in NW Greek, and some authorities vice versa). In fact, the text of the Pella curse tablet is, to my relatively untrained eyes, straight Doric.

Kaylee Lowe’s answer to How can I get Esperanto taught at my school? Read now for the general principles at work. This answer is the added detail.

Kaylee Lowe correctly points out the added constraint of standardised testing and curriculum support; you can’t just waltz in to a school with a copy of Jen Nia Mondo, and start talking. There are accountability constraints at work.

Australia has adopted a national curriculum, and a lot of time has been spent hammering Ancient Greek and Indigenous Language curricula into shape; if there isn’t provision for Esperanto there, most schools would be reluctant to deviate from the national course.

Add that in Australia, State schools don’t have that much autonomy in what they offer, and Catholic schools don’t have that much more.

Honestly, your best bet is to talk to the local Council for Adult Education, and get it offered there. Esperanto was in fact offered in Australian schools in the 1970s (Morwell High School: here’s a description from an alumnus), but we’re not in the 1970s; things in education are much more tightly controlled. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing. From the description:

Trouble was, Ivan had to cajole other teachers into taking the classes – he taught them the lesson one day,and they taught it to us the next! We had one text book, and we began at page 1 in Form 1, and began at the same page 1 in Form 2. It is the only subject in which I ever ‘cheated’ – as did most of the class. Sorry Ivan, but we thought it was a bit of a joke. It was a compulsory subject in Form 1 and 2, in Form 3 if we took French we also had to take Esperanto. In Form 4 I opted out of French because although I enjoyed the subject I didn’t particularly like the teacher – but guess what, that year if you didn’t take French you had to take Esperanto. I was finally free of it in Form 5. But in four years we only ever used the one text book, and always started from page 1! It was a small tan coloured soft covered book.

Oh well.

Bonan sukceson, kaj bonvolu komuniki al mi pri pli da detajloj!

Nick Nicholas’ answer to Is there a difference between asking which language is older and asking which species is older?

An attempt at a longer-format answer.

Congratulations to Emlyn Shen, Vicky Prest, and John Gragson, the three names I recognise.

Ah, the Quill.

Yes, the Quill.

I’ve already said what I think of the Quill, and the Quill awarders, and the Quill lack of transparency, and the Quill divisiveness, and the Quill proving only that you write what Quora wants you to write and not that you are a lesser being if you don’t get the Quill, and Quora’s bizarre notion that the Quill is the sum total definition of the Quora community worth engaging with to the extent that they actually do engage with it, once too often. (I guess this makes it twice.)

I’ll limit myself this iteration to saying that my main disappointment is how small the cohort seems to be, so far. In March, I got a couple of dozen names to add to the Answer Wiki, out of the community nomination question; this time, it was two. And to add that this time, the predictions in Who should be in the final batch of Top Writers 2017? correlated with the results in a comically bad fashion.

Nick Nicholas’ answer to Would you participate in Quora in Klingon if it existed?

BTW people: this blog is free to everybody to contribute to…

He who asked me, Michaelis Maus, professes a contrarian and hedonistic nihilism, and a parallel call to arms against the Matrix of complacent consumerism—of cultural constructs more pressingly than of commercial goods. Cute in small doses, bracing in moderate doses. I try not to inhale.

She who asked me, Victoria Weaver, professes an optimistic view that the communist utopia can actually happen, if the robots settle in as the new proletariat, and the abundance they generate is not hoarded. I’ve alternated between calling it technocommunism and Star Trek communism, and I’ve been astounded that more people aren’t professing it.

Rakia – Wikipedia:

Rakia or Rakija (/rɑːkiːɑː/ RA-ki-ya) is the collective term for fruit brandy popular in Southeastern Europe. The alcohol content of rakia is normally 40% ABV, but home-produced rakia can be stronger (typically 50% to 80%, even going as high as 90% at times).

Fruit brandies are commonly known as Rakia in Greece (Ρακί, Ρακή/Raki or Τσικουδιά/Tsikoudia), Bulgaria (ракия), Croatia (rakija), Bosnia and Herzegovina (ракија/rakija), Albania (rakia), Macedonia (ракија), Serbia (ракија/rakija), Montenegro (ракија/rakija). In Romania, the terms ţuică and palincă are used over rachiu, răchie. In Hungary it is known as pálinka, while in the Czech Republic, Poland, and Slovakia the concept is known as pálenka. In Slovenia, it is known as sadjevec or šnops.

…

Greek ouzo (from grape) and tsipouro (from pomace), Turkish rakı (from sun dried grapes) and arak at Arabic and Middle Eastern countries differ from rakia as they are redistilled with some herbs (commonly anise). Some tsipouro in Greece is made without anise in the same manner as pomace rakia (or pomace brandy). “Boğma rakı” in Turkey (common name of the domestic raki which is produced at homes and villages) is similar to rakia in the Balkans.

I refer you to The Still-Alive Poets Society blog here.

Here’s a cycle from me, from 2010.

While I was away

I: May

As if I was the first
To sail beyond the west,
Fall off the end of Earth,
Sink, swim, and gasp for breath.

As if no man knew thirst,
Before I stopped to rest
Beside the spring; or birth,
Before I heard of death.

Beyond the west: each day
A year, each step a road.
Winding to the unknown.

Roads trod by mortal clay
A thousandfold. A ride
I’ve hitched now. By your side.

II: May

This fulsomeness, this loveliness, this care,
This playfulness, this trust and troth laid bare,
This passion, this impulsiveness, this shock,
This pressing—this inexorable lock,

These waves and curves, this storm of skin and hair,
This push and pull and pause, this fear and dare,
These shades, dim monochrome, that sway and rock,
This stillness, lulled at by the ticking clock,

All this you teach me. All of this you hold.
All this I witness with you. Watch it flow,
Like mercury, like phlogiston, like gold.

This Here-and-Now, this Hence, this Old Made New,
This secret that not even we can know,
This you and I have claimed.
 It’s half past two.

III: May

So, there’s this girl. Unruly, quite the knave.
Will not stay put. Does what she damn well will.
Frets that she’ll fall asleep if she stands still.
Makes mirth of solemn stuff. Derides the grave.

So there’s this girl. Can’t take her anyplace.
Won’t talk on tragedy. Will not wear frills.
Talk French cuisine, she’s running for the hills.
And laughs at me about it to my face.

So there’s this girl, who’s got me all worked out,
piercing my artifices and my doubt.
And still stays put, and won’t go anywhere.

What do I do with her? What has she done,
To make my reason and my pomp go dumb?
How have I come to earn reproof so fair?

IV: August

Grace pooling from above. Grace trickling down.
Grace mingling with the common and the base,
Granted unbidden, and divulged unbound.
Grace that suffuses all, for gain or waste.

Grace filling puddles, muddying the ground,
In which the errant wretch begrudged his haste:
Splashed past his shins, only to end up drowned
In startling, blinding, and uncalled for Grace.

Thy grace, thy charm, thy steadfastness, thy blithe
And easy gait: I, far from thee and these
Behold and cannot fathom. Where these thrive,

Where thou hast joy, I hear of now and then:
Reports of floods and mud that boil and freeze
And thaw, and bring this world to grace, and mend.

V: October

Each year Adonis dies, pierced by the boar.
Each year the maidens bear him, singing dirges,
To a tomb. Adonis each new year emerges
To live again, eager to hunt once more.

Each year the black earth, bound in snow, and sore
With grief, bewails its loss in crystal churches.
Each year, Lent breaks: up from the ground life surges
Anew, to bloom, to fade, to exult, to mourn.

Each week, each day, we dance, and draw apart,
And back again; we stop, we spin, we start,
We try anew. It works, it fails, it muddles.

Each time, we don’t know that the Spring will come.
Each time, we know that soon the frost will numb
Our hands. Yet still a flame glows, where we’ve huddled.

VI: November

The cold has come. The stony showers flood
Blurred memories of one-time warmth, as brusque
As Melbourne weather. Now a bleary dusk
Alone recalls the sun, in faded blood,

Soon to grow dark. These feet pass through the mud,
Their pace agnostic, doubting. A boar’s tusk,
They’d wailed, has struck. But pilfered myths won’t mask
That chill that numbs its prey, and binds it shut.

Now stories leech away. I never sailed
Beyond the west; the storm at half past two
Was merely rain, and bore no grace. I failed

To hear their music. Now they’ve fallen dumb,
Too drained to praise a summer that was due
To pass. And so it sets.

The cold has come.