Friday, October 23, 2009

Thursday, October 22, 2009

The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy

My own translation (from the old scots to our tongue) of this early 16th century flyting...


Sir John the Rose, one thing there's written:
In general, Kennedy and Quinting,
Who himself is is above the shining stars
And if any threat were made him
Such a stint of strife would arise
And with pride-swelled breast
As Lucifer that from the heaven descended
Hell couldn't hide their heads from harm's hunting.

The earth would tremble, the firmament would shake
And all the air of venom suddenly stink
And all the devils of Hell fear quake
To hear what I would write with pen and ink.
For if I flyght, some men for shame would sink.
The sea would burn, the moon would suffer eclipse,
Rocks would rife, the world would have no grips
So loud exclaiming the common-bell would clink.

But wonderous loath would I be to bard,
Flyghting to use, right greatly ashamed,
For in its neither winning nor reward,
But tinsel of both honor and fame.
Increase of sorrow, slander, and ill-name,
Yet might they be so bold in their backbiting
To spur me to rhyme and raise the fiend with flyghting
And through all countries and kingdoms them proclaim,
Quod Dunbar to Kennedy.

Durtin* Dunbar, on whom do you think you throw your boast? [beshitten]
Of claiming to write such scabrous verse?
Stank-mawed ribald, you fall down at the feast,
My leareate's letters at you I'll loose.
Mandrake dwarfkin, master but in scorn,
Thrice-shown trumper with one threadbare gown,
Cry for God's Mercy before I cry you down,
And leave thy ryming, ribald, and thy rolls.

Dread, dirtcaked dwarf, that though he disobey it,
My cousin Quintene and my commisar* [deputy]
Fantastik fool, trust you will be put to flight.
Ignorant elf, ape, mishapen owl,
Scabrous skaitbird and common sponger,
Wanfukkit* foundling that nature made a dwarf, [misconceived]
Both John the Rose and you all will squeel and shriek
If ever I hear more of your making poetry.

Here I put silence to thee in all thy parts,
Obey and cease the play that you're pretending.
Weak wastrell and puller of the carts,
See that you make my commisar amends
And let him lay six leeches on your loins,
Meekly in recompensing for your scorn,
Or you shall bane the time that you was born:
For Kennedy to thee this document sends.
Quod Kennedy to Dunbar.

Juge in the nixt quha gat the war

Irish bumming bard, vile beggar with your rags,
Cuntbitten* craven Kennedy, coward by nature make,
Evil-farit* and dried as a Danesman on the wheel,
Like as that kites had on thy gulesnout dined.
Mismade monster, ilk of men our of his mind,
Renounce, ribald, your ryming, you but rave,
Your...
A lowland arse would make a better noise

Riven ragged roook, and full of ribaldry,
Skitterand scorpion, scold in scuriliee,
I see the haughty in your harlotry,
And other sciences nothing sly* [knowledge, skilled]
Of every virtue void, as men may see,
Quit-claim clergy* and take to you a club, [learning]
A bard blasphemer in bribery* for to be, [beggary]
For wit and wisdom one wisp from thee may rub.

You ask, dastard, if I dare with you fight.
Yea, Dagone dumwit, thereof have no doubt,
Wherever we meet, there my hand I pledge,
To rid your ribald rhyming with a rout.
Through all Brittain it will be blown out,
How that you, poisoned pelour*, for your ______, [thief]
With a dog leash I'll make you shout,
And neither to you take knife, sword, or axe.

You crop and rute of traitorous tressonable*,
The father and mother of murder* [and mischief, Dunbar was suspected/accused of murder]
Deceitful tyrant with serpents tongue unstable,
Cuckold, craven coward, and common thief,
You purposed to undo our lord's chief
In Paisley with a poison that was fell* [deadly. Dunbar also accused of attempted mutiny]
For which, you brim, yet will you get a brief.* [summons to court]
Pelour, on you I will this prove myself.

Even if I lie, your frawart* physique [vile]
Does manifest your malice to all men.
Fie, traitor thief, fie glengoir doun*, fie, fie!
Fie, fiendly face far fowler than a fen*, [midden]
My friends you accused with your pen.
Even if I lie, tratour, which on you I'll prove,
Suppose your head was armed times ten,
You will recry* it, or thy crown will cleve. [retract]

Before you dare move your mind malicious,
You saw the sail above my head updrawn.
But Eolus, full wroth, and Neptunus,
Mark and moonless us met with wind and wave,
And many hundred mile hense we were blown
By Holland, Zeeland, Shetland, Norway coast,
In sea desert where we were famished all,
Yet came I home, false bard, to lay low your heart.

TBC

The Individual Path of Europe and the Book of 1001 Nights' Tales

Europe, the land of a mythology uniquely individual in orientation, distinct from the Orient's member-oriented societal mythology, has accepted and seen become popular one book more than any other from the East, and that is 1001 Nights' Tales. Can you even name another book from the East, (besides the religeous books the Koran, the Confucian Analects, Lao Tzu, and maybe you can name some of the Sanskrit Literature of India, all of which are not stories in focus, but religeous/quasi-religeous dialectics).
Why does this book more than others appeal to the minds of the West? Is it because of the individual-course nature of the tales and the setting of Sherazade? Does it have something to do with the stories in the tales from Egypt and Arabia (not farther east) and their origins? What sort of appraisal do Westerner's give the 1001 Nights' Tales: mere silly escapades, predicaments of a light antical form?
What is the opinion of Eastern people of the 1001 Nights contemporarily and in the past? Were they taken seriously as literature? What was the appraisal of such stories that have individual-themes? I know that because they were written in very commonish prose instead of the high poetry respected in court circles, they suffered in respect (these traits were also a key to their popularity, though). Are they regarded as antics? laughed and looked sort-of down at?

Saturday, October 17, 2009

In Case You Forgot

The Oaths of the Heroic Age

When gatherered around a mead-hall, listening to a poet recite episodes of history, what would be more relevant and vital to the heads of the warriors and wives therein than tales of other warriors in other kingships, and the complications that occured there, the predicaments of men and women, and how they were resolved?
When Hnaf's Sister married Finn, when then Finn attacked without warning Hnaf, killing him, half his tribe, and Hnaf's Sister's Son, what was the word of Finn worth, who was now leader of these men? And husband of Hnaf's Sister? What was she to do? What were the thanes to do?
Finn and Hengest (leader of Hnaf's followers) made peace, and gave gifts. That both men would be equal. This peace was made on solemn oath, that they would live like brothers. Neither leader nor led would break the truce, and neither would talk of evil things or remember the past: that Finn had killed their leader. And Finn swore any who stirred up such hatred, who "brought back the past," would be silenced. What should a thane do? What of the oath of loyalty to his lord? who he must die protecting or die avenging for his own honor's sake?
Hengest hated Finn. He waited and planned. He could never forget. He longed for home, but revenge came first. One day a thane dropped a sword in his lap, and the time had come. He drove the sword through Finn's belly, and all the men painted the Finn's hall red in the work they had waited for. They looted all Finn's possessions, and took the queen Hnaf's Sister back to the land she'd longed for.
As you might imagine, the hall of listeners erupted in loud pleasure of laugh and drink.

Friday, October 16, 2009

The Decameron

Italy,

Mester de Juglaria
12th and 13th cen
uneducated, popular-themed, simple, un-, uncredited and unwritten
offerering diversions to the public: poetic, theatrical, acrobatic
cantar de gesta "Songs of heroic deeds"
13th, spanish clergymen, Mester de Clerecia
educated compositions in meter
the serious topics
religeous, historical, novelesque
The Book of Good Love one such
Variety

"A kindly thing it is to have compassion of the afflicted
and albeit it well beseemeth everyone,
yet of those it is more particularly required
who have erst had need of comfort, and have found it in any, amongst whom, if ever
any had need thereof of held it dear or took pleasure therein aforetimes,
certes, I am one of there."
So begins the book called Decameron and Surnamed Prince Galahalt wherein are contained an hundred stories in the ten days told by seven ladies (not one of them had passed her 28th year nor was less than 18 years old, and each was of descreet and noble blood, fair of favor and well-mannered and full of honest sprightliness) and three young men (yet not so young that the age of the youngest of them was less than 25, in whom neither perversity of the time nor loss of friends and kinsfolk, no, nor fear for themselves had availed to cool, much less to quench, the fire of love.) And glad it was that there were such men availing, for remember that none of these women were child enough not to know how little reasonable women are among themselves and how ill, without some man's guidance, they know how to order themselves. They are fickle, wilful, suspicious, faint-hearted and timorous, for which reasons we might misdoubt them sore, if they take not some other guidance than their own, that their company would be far too soon dissolved and with less honor to themselves than were semely. Men are the head of women, and without their ordinance seldom cometh any enterprise of theirs to good end.
These seven ladies are outset inside a church where they are chatting, and this is in the time of a death-dealing pestilence on Europe sent down upon mankind for their correction by the just wraith of God, which had come from the East, which no wisdom or human forsight might avail. It took evidence in what the vulgar had named plague-boils, and which would take it's course from first appearance of the swellings in armpit or groin, which waxed bigness to the size of an apple or an egg, which then began to grow indifferently on the parts of the body, and change to black or livid blotches, and were a very certain token of coming death to everyone to whom they came, within 30 days. No cure, no medicine, and would take even those who touched even the garments of the diseased, or even the animals who touched them. And all tried to flee, even leaving their children or parents to die alone, whereas the tradition in Italy was to die surrounded by many women. Some tried to escape to the country, but some country villiages were entirely bereft of individuals.
So they were in the church together, some the sole remaining member of their households, and the oldest, Pampinea made a long discourse to the effect that feeling ill at ease there in the notable city of Florence it would be well to leave to, taking pleasance and diversion as the season may afford, and on this wise abide till such a time (an they be not earlier overtaken of death) as they should see what issue Heaven reserveth unto these things. They recruit the three men who enter, and plan to leave.
The next morning, which was a Wednesday, they set out early, and about 2 miles out of the city found a pleasant place well furnished, clean, and bedded. Pampinea suggests that on their trip they each day have a leader, a king or queen of the group, whom the others may honor and obey as chief and whose especial care it would be to dispose them all to live joyously. They will take turns. Much pleased at her words, the party appoint her first queen. She delegates jobs to others, and headed the proceedings of enjoyment.
When she woke them the next day at none (3pm), she furthered suggested that they should pass the sultry part of the day, not in gaming,--wherein the mind of one of the players must of necessity be troubled, without any great pleasure of the other or of those who look on,--but in telling stories, which, one telling, may afford diversion to all the company who hearken, and the story would last until the sun had declined and the heat be abated, and they could then go a-pleasuring whereas it might be most agreeable to them. All approved of her idea. She suggested that the first day each be free to tell of such matters as are most to his liking. Then she turned to Pamfilo and smilingly bade him give beginning to the storytelling with one of his. And so he began the first tale.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

1001 Nights' Tales

We are told when we hear the beginning of the background of the 1001 Nights' tales, that the younger brother of the king of the land was going out to visit his older brother the king, and just happening to pop back in his place around midnight to say goodbye to his wife, he found her wrapped up with a kitchen boy. He took a sword and cut them down, and then rashly sped away on the road, beginning, as sorry as any cavalier, the course of the cuccold's education. Feeling heartsick and liferavened, he tossed around and he wrung his hands, until sitting alone in the garden-view window of his guest palace quartres at his brother's, he saw the orgy which brought him a new perspectiveon things, a perspective that was even farther away from the innocent one he had once had. Then on he consumed food and drink and ravished life's offerings, seeming merry. After he was forced to tell the truth to his older brother, the king invited him to leave their kingdom and travel unattached throughout the world, until they found a sheep blacker even than the king was himself. Not long afterwards, then, after being forced down out of the tree where they had been hiding, and after giving the 99th and 100th rings to the treasured honeymooner, and jumping and marvelling at the wiles of women, the king bid his brother return with him to their homes and marry to not again. As for the king, he would show his personal solution when he got back to his palace, and that he did, by slashing down all the girl slaves in his hold and replacing them. His wife also he had taken care of. From then, every night, he would take a virgin daughter of some commoner, a soldier's daughter or a merchant's daughter, wed her, and after the night, slay her in the morning to save from any breach of fidelity. Surely this can't be the first time someone has tried to solve this old problem this way.
Scherazade volunteers herself, despite her father the visier's words: "Foolish child, if I give you to him, he will sleep with you for one night and will ask me to put you to death in the morning, and I shall have to do it, since I cannot disobey him." He furiously tries to disuade her with many timeless adages:
"The misbehaver ends up in trouble!"
"He who doesn't think about the effects is unhappy in the world!"
"If I wasn't so adventurous I'd be much better off now!"
Then he said, "I'm afraid what happened to the Donkey and the Ox will happen to you, my daughter."
She looked up, "What happened to the Donkey and the Ox, father?"
The visier starts on the tale for her. To spoil it in short, the cunning Donkey talks the honest Ox into playing sick so he can lounge around like the Donkey. The Farmer overhears, and so he does let the Ox rest, but puts the Donkey to work, from which he thinks he'll die.
"You, my daughter, will likewise die because of your miscalculation. Give it up, sit quietly, and don't expose yourself to trouble. If you don't give it up, I'll do to you what the farmer did to his wife."
Sharazad perks up and asks what happened.
So he tells her how the Donkey said he heard the Farmer saying he'd turn that good-for-nothing Ox into meat, so the Ox goes back to work. But he couldn't tell his wife what they said, because he was not allowed to tell the secrets of the animal language. She became very curious, and insisted, though he would die. She still insisted, so he spent a year putting his things in order, releasing his slave girls and so forth, and then he overheard a Rooster chatting with a Dog. The Rooster told the Dog what the Farmer ought to do, which was take his wife into a room and fix her with an oak branch until she'd not want him to explain anything anymore, and then keep on until she's fixed for life. The Farmer did this, and everybody was happy because he'd learned good management and the wife had become docile.
"If you don't give it up, Sharazar, I'll do you like the Farmer did his wife."
"Father, such stories don't put me off my intention. If you want, I could tell a million such stories. If it comes down to it, I'll tell the king you'd deny me such a match, and that you'd deny him such a girl."
When the wedding comes around, Sharazar asks her little sister to hide under the bed, and when the king is all finished for the night, to ask Sharazar to tell them one of her great stories. "May I have the kings permission to tell one story?" says Sharazar. He assented. She began to tell a story about a wealthy, content merchant who was travelling, and he was taking a rest on his way back. It was under a walnut tree by a spring and threw some of the date seeds he was eating on the ground. When he's done and about to go, an old demon appears and blames him for killing his son by throwing his date seeds. He pleads his innocence, but the demon insists on taking "blood for blood." The merchant prays to God, but the demon insists. He recited a poem, but the demon insists just the same. "By God I must kill you, as you killed my son, even if you weep blood." "Must you?" "I must," and he raises his sword to strike. But morning overtook Sharazar, and she was too sleepy to go on, though Shahrazad the king was burning with curiousity what would become of these happenings. "What a strange, lovely story, sister," said Dinarzad. "That is nothing compared to what I will tell you tomorrow night, if the king permits. It will be even better and more entertaining, sister." The king thought that he would just put her death off until after the next night when she would tell the end of the story. He would then slay her the next day. Even when a man is as firmly determined as this king was, how long do you think a woman's words could lead him to delay?

The Three Apples. Earliest murder mystery and suspense thriller with multiple plot twists and detective fiction elements.

People Get Ready

"the preachings of my grandmothers and most ministers when they reflect from the Bible:"

There's a train a-comin.
Don't need no ticket, you just get on board.
All you need is the faith to hear those deisels hummin,
You don't need no ticket, you just thank the

Raised in Chicago projects, Curtis left highschool to be in a band which in 2 years became the Impressions. That was in '56 when he left school. He was a songwriter and singer and he wrote "message songs" to a sound of funk. His songs were a source of pride for black Americans. He wrote this song when he was 23 in 1964. It was a year after Johnson had taken office, the civil rights march on Washington, D.C, the arrest of Martin Luther King for parading, the test ban treaty had been signed by John Kennedy, the war in Vietnam was still going on, and Sam Cooke's A Change is Gonna Come.

Sam Cooke had a name for his great singing of light tunes. When he was 32 in 63, his baby boy was drowned. At around the same time, Sam was arrested for disturbing the peace after his band was denied rooms in a whites-only hotel. He was worried this song might lose him some of his white fans, which was most of them, but he never saw that time anyway. He was shot one night by a hotel manager. The story goes that he was chasin down some doll who'd taken off with his clothes while he was in the bathroom. He was irate when the manager told him she didn't know where the woman was, and he took hold of her, and she fled to her gun and shot Cooke. Anyway, that was later and this song was sooner. The song ended up being what people consider Cooke's finest song, and it became an anthem for the Civil Rights Movement.


p>

Before that 32-year-old Sam wrote this song, which he wrote it after one of his concerts talking with some sit-in demonstraters, he was impressed by a song written by a 21-year-old folk singer of little fame, and, actually, that song had impressed many black people in the same way. They were shocked how a white kid could write a song that caputured so well what the black people were feeling at the time. That song was Blowing in the Wind, and the singer you know already. Sam liked to sing it live in his set.

Yeah, well, I like the way Cooke used to sing those sweet songs of his.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Ramblin Jack on Johny Cash's Show

Rambling jack once played in Dylan's movie Renaldo and Clara and in the movie he even sings a song about his character, "Longheno de Castro"...

"My name is Longheno de Castro
My father was a Spanish grandee.

But I won my wife in a card game
To Hell with those lords o'er the sea"

Joseph Campbell's Interview Series: The Power of Myth, Part 1 of 5

ممتاز محل

Should the guilty come here for asylum, like a pardon he is set free from sin,
Should a sinner come here all the past is washed out from him,
In the eyes of all this mansion brings soft sighs,
it brings tears to the heavenly bodies.
In the world therefore this mausoleum was created
For to display 's glory.

و الضُّحَى
وَاللَّيْلِ إِذَا سَجَى
مَا وَدَّعَكَ رَبُّكَ وَمَا قَلَى
وَلَلْآخِرَةُ خَيْرٌ لَّكَ مِنَ الْأُولَى
وَلَسَوْفَ يُعْطِيكَ رَبُّكَ فَتَرْضَى
أَلَمْ يَجِدْكَ يَتِيماً فَآوَى
وَوَجَدَكَ ضَالّاً فَهَدَى
وَوَجَدَكَ عَائِلاً فَأَغْنَى
فَأَمَّا الْيَتِيمَ فَلَا تَقْهَرْ
وَأَمَّا السَّائِلَ فَلَا تَنْهَرْ
وَأَمَّا بِنِعْمَةِ رَبِّكَ فَحَدِّث
يقسم الله سبحانه – بهذين الموحيين . فيربط بين ظواهر الكون

By the morning's glorious light, and by the still night,
Your guardian and lord has not forsaken you, nor is he displeased.
Did He not find you an orphan and shelter you?
Did He not find you lost and guide you?
And did He not find you in need and enrich you?
Therefore, as with an orphan protect him,
As with a beggar, oppress him not,
And as with your Lord's favor, declare it.

The Effect of Speech



Look at Mari Yaguchi at about 30 or 40 seconds in. Her response to the words Okamura Sensei explains.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Ami Sioux sings Boot Cut Blue Jeans


Jenny Lewis sings Rise Up with Fists!

The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor

This is my version of the Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor. I used 5 or 6 texts, especially John Foster's in World Materpieces (which I copied word for word in some places I couldn't replace better) and the Invisible Books "Isle of Fire". Here is a site that provides educational information around this tale and other things.


The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor
Middle Kingdom Egypt

"Be hale of heart, my good leader! Look, we've made it here!
We've pounded the mooring peg home and the tether's secure;
We've praised and thanked the gods, everyone has embraced!
The whole crew has made it home clear, not a one lost,
Though we went down as down as far as Wawat's marshes, the isle of Es-n-Mewet.
Hey! Our home! Our home land! We've arrived!

Now, hear me out, captain; I am a man who never stretches the truth:
Go purify yourself, wash up,
Then thereafter you'll be able to answer what is put to you,
And you can address the King staunch-hearted, responding without hesitation.
A man's words can save him; speech can soften an angry face..."

"Ah, whatever. Go ahead, then, and say whatever in the world you're going to say. It wears me out, talking to you."

"But let me tell you a story. It's a bit like this,
It happened to me once upon a time.
I shipped out for the royal mines, Sinai,
And had entered into the basin of the great green sea.
The vessel grand: 60 meters long, 20 meters broad,
the crew 120 of the best of Egypt!
Show them sea! Show them land! Their hearts
were braver than lions; sailing-acumen to read the signs of wind
before a storm's coming, smell in the air foul weather's approach.
Yet all were certain, as certain as could be, the wind would
not be harsh, and likely there would be no wind at all.

Well, up came a storm! It roared up, we were
still far from any harbor in that dark. The wind made terrible moans and
the waves raged hungry against the hull, 5 meters high.
I was socked in the stomach by some big piece of wood
I was washed out into sea from the rolling vessel,
the vessel sank, not one man survived.

I was carried, by a great green swell, to
a desert island.
The first three days my heart
was my sole companion. I nested in the shadows of a covering tree.
Finally, that third day, I stretched my legs
in order to discover what there was to eat. What I found:
Figs, grapes, every sort of green:
Sycamore figs, knotched figs, and cucumbers that looked as good as on any farm.
Also there were fish, and birds. There was nothing this island did not have.
I filled myself past satisfaction, spilling and dropping what I'd
gathered in my arms--
I fashioned myself a firedrill, and built myself a fire,
and here I made an offering to the gods.

Then I heard a rumbling. Another storm approaching, the roar
I made out to be the roar of oncoming waves. Trees
were breaking. The ground was vibrating.
I looked through two of the fingers over my face and saw
a huge giant serpent coming my way.
Over 20 meters long, width huge,
It's beard hung down a meter.
It's leather was scales of gold, and lapis lazuli were it's eyes.

Before me it's great mouth opened, and in fear
I trembled down to my belly before him.
He breathed: "What brings you? brings you? little man? what brings you?
Hesitate to respond to me for an instant, and you will find yourself
ashes which will answer no questions again."

"Though you might ask, I am not all quite here to answer.
I am here before you, but I hardly know what's going on."
Then into his mouth he took me and
away he spirited me to the place of his residence,
and again set me down without malignance.
Still whole--no bites were out of me.
He bared his mouth before me again.
I got down on my belly again.
"What brings you? brings you? little man? what brings you? to
this island, in the great green sea, where shores are as shifty as the
changing waves?"
This time I told him all about it. Raising my arms as the gesture addressing the gods,
I started to say, "I was sailing to the region of the royal mines on the kings ship, in a vessel grand, 60 meters long, 20 meters broad, manned my 120 of Egypts best men. Show them sea! Show them land! Braver than lions were they. Each was stronger and braver than the next. Not a slouch in the lot! They could tell a storm coming a mile away, and smell foul weather on the air before any sight.

Then a storm came up! We were still far out in open sea. No chance of reaching harbor.
The wind howled foully, moaning, biting sharp, and there were hungry waves 5 meters high!
Some piece of wood hit me, and then the ship she went down.
Of all those men, best of the men in Egypt, not a one survived.
Only myself here, before you. After that I was carried
by a great green swell to be cast up on this desert island."

Then the snake said to me: "Fear not! fear not! My little man! A pale trembling face you must not show! You have found your way to this island. Look, It is God has let you live that you may be brought to this desert isle. There is nothing this island does not have! It is a land which engenders vitality in all that grows, and it is full of every fine and lovely thing.

Now, you will stay here and you'll spend a month,
then another, then another, until
four months on this island you have passed.
And then a ship will come from Egypt. With sailors in it
whom you know.
And you will go on home with them to die in your own city.
What joy it is for one to tell of the things he has gone through and suffered
when his suffering is over!

But let me tell you a story. It's a bit like this.
It happened once upon on this very isle.
I was here, living with all my family and companions in one big group.
75 persons we totaled. My offspring, relatives, and friends.
There was also a young girl who was washed up here by chance.
A star fell, and they were all gone, burnt up in flame.
It happened while I happened to be away. All burned... and
not even with them.
I wanted to be dead instead of them. After finding them a heap of tangled cinders.

If you have courage, steel your heart
that you may fill your arms with children and kiss
your wife, and see your home.
Believe me, it is better than all else
when you are back again
and dwell within the bosom of your friends."

Here I was flat stretched out forehead to the dirt, bowing
in respect, and I answered, "Let me return to tell
report of your magnificence to my king, all tell about all your
greatness, and arrange to have brought to you
precious ointments, balsam, spices, perfumes, and the sacred oils
and finest incense for the temple, that the gods enjoy.
And tell them all that has happened to me, and
of what I have seen of your power,
and the gods will be praised for your existence in the
Capitol. In the courts and counsils of the land! I will
slaughter cattle and offer them to you on altars. I will wring the necks
of birds for you!
Let me have them bring a fleet to you
laden with the wealth of Egypt, as is done for a foreign god much loved
by men, hitherto unknown, who has shown favor to us in a distant land.

He laughed at this, at what I'd told him. My solemn declaration, the contents
of my heart.
"Your's is no great supply of myrrh. Though it happens
you have incence. While I myself am a king of Punt. The myrrh from there is mine.
And that poor sacred oil you talk of bringing here is the chief product on this island.
And anyway, after you leave here you will never again
see this island, which will shift away with the waves of the sea.

At last, after 4 months, the ship arrived.
I climbed to a height in order to see, and I recognized the crew.
I ran down to report it to the snake
but found he already knew.
Then he opened his huge mouth to me: "Fare well, fare well, my little man. Off to your home to see your little children.
Make a good report of me when you get there. That's one demand I ask of you.
I placed myself on the ground before him and raised my arms gratefully.

Then he gave me a load of cargo. Myrrh, sacred oils, perfumes, spices, kohl, giraffe tails,
incense, elephant tusks, hounds, monkeys and baboons, every good imaginable. I loaded it all
onto the ship.
I prostrated myself again before him, thanking and praising God for him.
Then he said to me: "In two months you shall see your home land. You will hold your children in your arms and grow young again until you die there.
Then I went down to the shore and hailed the crew. Beside the sea I offered thanks to the Lord
of the Isle, and the crew aboard did likewise.

From there we made our way northwards
to the city of the King
In two months we arrived there, just as he had said.
Then I was granted audience with my King
and presented him with my gifts there,
which I had brougt from that island.
He offered thanks to God for my return,
and before the courts and counsils of the Land
I was made a royal Follower and
given 200 servants. Imagine! Me there, returned home,
after seeing all that I had seen!

Now, let what I said to you sink in a little, Captain,
sometimes what people say can help you, you know."

Then he replied, "Don't try to play the expert, friend.
Does one give water to a sacrificial bird
the morning of it's execution day?"

The Frame Narrative of Sinbad from 1001 Nights and the Egyptian Middle Kingdom Poem "The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor"

First about the tale of Sinbad...
Sinbad the sailor was a rich man who had everything, but no one knew how he got such. He had quite a story to tell, but he never told anyone. That is until he met Sinbad the Landsman. Sinbad the Landsman accounted to him tales of the varying lots of men, and Sinbad the Sailor was pleased by this. He decided to tell his tale. He would hold one session a day for a week and there tell the story of his life.
This all, remember, is told within the tale of royal consort Shazirazad, who's life has involved her in telling the Sultan nightly tales for the sake of the land and her own life. Here she is telling the tale of the world that Sinbad appears in. Sinbad tells his tales.
The Arabian Nights, Canturbury Tales, the Decameron and Heptameron have been remarked for their layering of frames. Does anyone have any other sources for embedded frames in a poem or tale? Relevant to these two stories discussed or not; I dig frames in general, especailly older ones.

Well, on to the Story of the Shipwrecked Sailor...
A poem survives in St. Petersburg in an hermitage. This poem from 2040-1651BC The poem begins when a seaman is speaking to his captain who is going to meet the King to address some fault The sailor tells his captain a story to accompany the advice that "the speech of man can soften an angry heart and save a vulnerable man", which the captain is in no mood to hear. The Serpent the sailor met tells a tale of the loss of all the serpent had of meaning; he lost it without leaving to be castaway on some foreign island. All his family was taken from him in his own land.

The Sinbad story is a part of the Egyptian branch of the 1001 Nights. There are two distinct branches. The more conservative is from 13th century Syria. The Egyptian branch has seen much reworking. Stories added from many sources and some original stories deleted. Among the stories added is Sinbad's.

Here is a copy of something from the site "Invisible Books". It's the beginning of this Shipwreck story in



To translate English into hierogliphics, use http://www.quizland.com/hiero.mv