Of love, language and luggage - 06/14/03 11:01 PM
Watching con trails criss-cross the westering sun tonight has reminded me that quite a few of you guys will be bound for Ireland's shores in the next few days. Already a year has sped by from WaPaOne, and indeed Michigan seems like a dream ~ so it seemed like a good excuse to stick a rare toe back in the water and wish all y’-all kind wishes and felicitations. My times have been hectic recently, with buying another little house in Bristol taking recent priority – but I did find a couple of days to go up to the Hay Literature Festival with the family (under canvas for the first time since the age of ten!): we had a great time including such diverse highlights as David Crystal’s brilliant lecture about language development up to one year old, and on another level dancing 'til fit to drop to Alabama 3. I am happy to report David is even wittier and more amusing in person than off the page, and his son is charming too – I am sure Jackie can hardly wait to read my copy of their suitably autographed Shakespearean tome …
For anyone from furrin parts who may not have heard of Hay, it’s a sweet nowhere country town of only about 1,500 souls but something like 37 second-hand bookshops: pig-heaven for a maverick! In the main premises of the guy who made this all happen I happily spent a number of hours browsing, constantly bemused by the sheer range of materials that get published – it’s the kind of book warehouse that has shelves of topics you didn’t even know existed, let alone know the authors! It seemed appropriate to come across a poem by Sean O’Brien that I would like to dedicate to all in pursuit of the noble cause of shared language and friendship in Ireland. I know that if the wells of language studies ever run dry, Ireland’s bounty will whet your interest soon enough…
from Notes on the Use of the Library
(Basement Annexe)
The Principal’s other edition of Q,
Scott by the truckload, and Fredegond Shove,
Manuals instructing the dead how to do
What they no longer can with the Torments of Love,
Mistaken Assumptions concerning The Race,
Twelve volume memoirs of footling campaigns,
Discredited physics, the Criminal Face,
Confessions of clerics who blew out their brains,
Laws and Geographies (utterly changed),
Travellers’ journals that led up the creek,
The verbose, the inept and the clearly deranged,
The languages no one has bothered to speak,
And journals of subjects that do not exist:
What better excuse to go out and get pissed?
… and I still owe you that beer, John!
Love to all the gang, old and new, bound for Ireland or detained elsewhere. May you find yourself eventually home with your love increased and your luggage intact!
http://www.hay-on-wye.co.uk/
For anyone from furrin parts who may not have heard of Hay, it’s a sweet nowhere country town of only about 1,500 souls but something like 37 second-hand bookshops: pig-heaven for a maverick! In the main premises of the guy who made this all happen I happily spent a number of hours browsing, constantly bemused by the sheer range of materials that get published – it’s the kind of book warehouse that has shelves of topics you didn’t even know existed, let alone know the authors! It seemed appropriate to come across a poem by Sean O’Brien that I would like to dedicate to all in pursuit of the noble cause of shared language and friendship in Ireland. I know that if the wells of language studies ever run dry, Ireland’s bounty will whet your interest soon enough…
from Notes on the Use of the Library
(Basement Annexe)
The Principal’s other edition of Q,
Scott by the truckload, and Fredegond Shove,
Manuals instructing the dead how to do
What they no longer can with the Torments of Love,
Mistaken Assumptions concerning The Race,
Twelve volume memoirs of footling campaigns,
Discredited physics, the Criminal Face,
Confessions of clerics who blew out their brains,
Laws and Geographies (utterly changed),
Travellers’ journals that led up the creek,
The verbose, the inept and the clearly deranged,
The languages no one has bothered to speak,
And journals of subjects that do not exist:
What better excuse to go out and get pissed?
… and I still owe you that beer, John!
Love to all the gang, old and new, bound for Ireland or detained elsewhere. May you find yourself eventually home with your love increased and your luggage intact!
http://www.hay-on-wye.co.uk/
Really miss ya. Please make your drop-ins a habit again! 
). So I'll address your post: how exciting to hear David Crystal live and in person. But do tell, what does "under canvas" mean? Is it anything like Under Milkwood? Or was it merely raining? Someday I will visit Hay.
Come to think of it, though, reckon I'd better have something stimulating...