know what I mean?

DO YOU EVER have something you really want to say and do not know how to verbalise?  A realisation that has been creeping through, a lesson you've been learning, a sudden revelation?

But it does not seem to fit into words. You end up saying 'it's sort of like...', or 'you know when...' When you've finished speaking you feel you've done it an injustice, or said something entirely different.

It's just not easy to explain.

Sometimes time is the answer - gradually the words grow to fit, or the thoughts clarify themselves to an extent that  you can find a vocabulary for them.

As a writer, perhaps this perplexes me more than it would someone else. As someone who feels things deeply, perhaps I am inexplicable by nature!

Sometimes I would like to hand my feelings to someone, so they could borrow them for a moment. So they could catch the sense of what I'm saying, grasp the importance of what I'm learning. So they could understand my 'wow' moments without me having to constantly ask if they know what I'm getting at.

Looks like I'm having one right now.

Know what I mean?

trite but true

What makes a cliché a cliché?  Partly, the truth within it.  It's just that we've said it so often that it becomes an automatic phrase, more about the words than the meaning.  As a writer I have an inbuilt 'cliché' detector - Beep!  Avoid at all costs! (There's one, right there.)  Trouble is, we strive so hard to find alternatives that they are then in turn overused and over familiar.  It requires a lot of creative thinking to find new ways of saying old truths.

A cliché is a phrase that becomes overused, eventually smelling slightly of cheese (or corn!).  And we're left desperately scrabbling for new ways, new ways of description when, at the end of the day (beep)*, when you really get down to it (beep) and round to it, there is nothing new under the sun (beep or not beep? Hmmm...). Because it seems there are truths that carry over generations, filter through trends and developments, and despite of - and because of - their truth, become trite.  So they need shaking out and freshening up.

We enter the tomorrows trying to find other ways of expressing yesterday's phrases.  This is a challenge when we want to communicate anything worthwhile and of meaning, trying to ditch the baggage (beep) and find a better way of saying it for a newer generation impatient with old phrases.


*I read recently that 'at the end of the day' is particularly maligned.


Image from this article

the guises of grief

Recently I had a poem critiqued. The poem spoke of a certain kind of grief and its effect - I won't go into the details here.  But the first line begins: 'at the first stench of grief'.

The person critiquing my poem wasn't keen on this.  It brought her up short: "A 'stench' is very strong smell, and it seems that what you actually mean is something more like 'hint' or 'scent'", she wrote.  I can't deny an initial rush of protectiveness over my words - no, I thought, no, that's not what I meant. Why would I say something I didn't mean?

I then pondered a question: can grief come in hints?  Can you get a 'scent' of grief? Initially, I answered - no.  Grief has force, it collides, crashes into you.  Grief has teeth - how can it be described as a scent?

However, plant a thought in my mind and I will begin turning it over, slowly.  I'll consider it while walking down the road, or doing the washing up.  I'll start reflecting on it when I should be doing other things (like now).

And I come to the conclusion: yes.  Yes, grief can come in hints.   Not all grief is that explosive, horrifying sort.  There are more gentle griefs, more subtle losses in our lives that we do not always label, not realising that some small part of us is in mourning.  Grief sidles into our shadow and we twist and turn, unable to identify why we feel so...hollow.

A moment of self-examination, and I realise it lurks in my own shadow, occasionally invading my mind with its emptiness.  I will catch a hint of someone, somewhere, some time (often all colliding at once) and will reach out, my fingers grazing a vacant space where there once was intimacy, solidity.  Sometimes that hint becomes a roar, the scent growing stronger.  Not quite a stench, but I can't always shake it off.  Words form in my mind: I miss you.  I love you.  Why can't you be here?

I'm not, you probably realise, necessarily talking about death - but loss and absence are not confined to this particular form of bereavement.  Sometimes I wish I could gather all those people I miss, those with whom I have identified so strongly, with whom I've shared significant moments on my journey and have them all around me, within reach.  Those whose souls have attached themselves to mine, for want of a better way of putting it.  Impossible, of course.  So the cluster of tiny and not so tiny losses influence me just as do the other things in my life.

But in the poem - the poem I wrote, this is not what I was talking about.  I was talking about fresh, scorching grief in the face of appalling tragedy and complete loss.  The sort of grief that clobbers, overwhelms, makes you physically throw up.  Yes, the grief I meant really does have teeth - and I stand by my description.  This grief does stink - the stench of it overpowering and consuming.  So I accept that grief can come in hints - but not in this case.  If the word 'stench' brought my reader up short - well, it was supposed to.

I don't want to talk about grief in measuring terms, lining all the 'categories' up in order of strength - this undermines it, devalues it, makes it something it can never be.  Rather I would say that grief has various layers, and different guises, each with their own tang or taste, their own scent or stench.

Sometimes grief does come in hints.  But other times, it is horribly emphatic.


First image is taken from this post by Patrick Brennan - another example of the more 'raw' forms of grieving


Shadow image from stock.xchng

lost in translation?

Translation fascinates me.

It fascinates me because more often than not, there is no exact equivalent.   As I noted in my book review yesterday, languages behave differently and have different ways of emphasising, of communicating, of speaking.

In order to show what the words mean, sometimes the translation requires the use of a word which is not the literal word-for-word translation.  It helps us understand what was meant, but often we miss the picture or metaphor of the original - and why it was appropriate in that language.

Cultures also have different ways of communicating things.  So often we find ourselves struggling to find 'cultural equivalents'.  Recognising the context of something and then contextualising it for a new context - while still trying to keep the original meaning or principle.  A different kind of translation, but with similar challenges.  As one of my college lecturers used to say (and probably still does): what did it mean?  what does it mean?

Words themselves need re-translating frequently, as over time they pick up new associations and different meanings (or refuse to shake off older associations which we never liked in the first place).  The precise definition of the word becomes shrouded in all kinds of assumptions, expectations, sensitivities.  These sensitivities vary from person to person.  For one, a certain word can be fairly innocuous; for another it is streaked with difficulty and pain.  For one, a word has an older meaning - for another, a newer one.  For some, both meanings are recognised and they are left wondering which meaning is intended and how do I interpret this?

All of which means that the writer of a sentence and the reader of a sentence can have different impressions entirely over the meaning of their words.

Translation fascinates me.

Easter words - take two

Recently a whole lot of Google searches are arriving at my blog, searching for 'words that describe Easter'. They arrive on my older post 'Easter Words'...which made me re-read it myself. So, because I felt it might be worth sharing again, yes, I'm doing my first ever re-post. Enjoy!



Am taking a moment to try and contemplate the coming remembrance and celebration that is Easter. And I find I struggle. I get so caught up in the every day; it is hard to focus in the way that I would like. I would like to carve out meaningful thoughts and place them here, to help myself think on what is coming.

But of course, it is not something that happens once a year. It is something that happened once for all, for all time, and so every day I live in the reality of the crucifixion, and the resurrection. The significance of that death, that aching pause of the day inbetween, and the vindication that was the rising again.

And when I think of it, I breathe in and feel a tremor through me – for how I could live, not how I do live. How do I live the reality of Easter, daily? How do I remember the words without using jargon or clichés? There are some fantastic words which talk about what our faith means, but they are in fact such a closed language to those who do not know the meaning of them. How do I talk about it in a fresh, beautiful, heart-touching way? Where can I find a new vocabulary to recapture the meaning of truth?

We tire of cliché and jargon and all the words. We tire of the same ways of saying things. We find some concepts difficult to describe. We want to remember it all in a fresh way. I want to remember it all in a fresh way.

How do I talk about the clogging blackness that sits between God and humanity, and how the white light of what Jesus did blasts it all away? How do I talk about God and us – out of alignment, but put back in alignment with a cross? How do I talk about love which sears through evil and darkness and illuminates a whole new way of living?

Perhaps the breath of God may transform the words; perhaps I simply need to open my mouth and utter one thing, however clumsy, inept, or incoherent.

Perhaps all that matters is that I try.

two ways

I'm frequently mulling over various thoughts that drop into my head.  And some of them can be viewed from opposite angles.  I was clearing the draining board (!) when the following came to mind:

When you have done a thing once, it is easier to do it again.  And again...

This can be an encouragement.  There are good and positive things that we may struggle to do because we lack the courage or experience.  Things that are right for us to do. 

These things flow more easily when we've made that first step.  Strength for the task is easier to find.  Fear becomes easier to manage.  The seemingly impossible becomes possible...and hope spills over.

When you have done a thing once, it is easier to do it again. And again...

It struck me that this is also a warning.  There may be a path you thought you'd never take, a sentence you thought you'd never say, a weapon you thought you'd never use. 

These, too, are easier after they have happened once.  How rapidly a habit can emerge, and how hard habits can be to break!  Destructive words become commonplace; unthinkable things become much more likely.

Even though you said you never would.

When you have done a thing once, it is easier to do it again. And again...

It can be taken two ways.

a way with words

Wrote this some years back in one of my frustrated moments about writing fiction. My goals have shifted somewhat, but I like it, so reproduce it here:

I’ve lost it again. It was there, right on the tip of my tongue, but I’ve lost it. A whole cascading gallon of words, gone. They etched themselves on my mind for a moment. So fast they piled on top of each other, gleeful, eager. I was…sitting in the armchair staring at the bookcase. Washing up, spilling water down my sleeves. Wandering up the stairs, forgetful of where I was going. And then the rabble is gone – gone! Just like that, erased, vanished. I have a moment of frustrated mourning. How many stories can come and go, in a flash?

Having a way with words will not make you a good writer. The most delicious sentences are in vain, with nothing to hold them. Like a broken cup, it all spills out uselessly onto an unforgiving floor. Trying to write them down before they are lost – one hesitation, just one, can lose it all – stopping to save a document – so very sensible, and yet so fatal. This is wonderful, I must save it – but in those few seconds it is lost again. Gone. My very first word. ‘Gone’. And it repeats over and over in my life. Gone.

It is not that I cannot think of a plot. Not precisely. They flow exuberantly through my mind – usually uninvited – but they turn sour. My initial caresses, the delight of losing myself in a tale of my own making…it is over too quickly, before I could do anything with it. My mind makes a series of adjustments. I forget the original – was it better?! That which I adored with a passion yesterday today seems pathetic, useless, even despicable. Surely not. Not entirely. Perfectionism sizzles in there with the whole torrid mix. It will not stay still. And then it is lost forever.

Keep on pushing, straining, hoping, hurting, and then maybe you will achieve it – the grand idea the glorious tale the exorbitant march of words. But each time becomes another time where the sour taste of defeat spreads. It is like the food you adored but now cannot stand. That is how I feel about words. That is how I feel about my words. But they won’t let me go. Not entirely. I allow them vacation time and tell them not to come back if they don’t want to. But they slyly re-occur, bringing with them all their tired disappointment.

Having a way with words will not make you a good writer. But words insist on having their way with me. Briefly, punctiliously, laugh-out-loud extravagantly – and then comes the dumping, the dispelling, the never-mind-not-today dulling. The teasing, exhausting, wooing, discouraging, miserable love affair with words. There are those that achieve some mastery. Some discipline. Some staying power.

But they will not stay with me. They never do.

They never quite leave me alone, either.

blogging with care

I often think about the care we need to take with use of our words. I wrote a more general entry on the topic not that long ago (see here), but there is a sense where extra care needs to be taken in an ever expanding technological age. It is so easy now to write something that flies around the world – whether through email, blogging, Twitter, Facebook and various similar mediums. It overtakes the spoken word – where once we had to wait until a letter was sent and delivered, we can now communicate within moments. It is as fast as the spoken word, and yet it holds the power and permanency of the written. So much of what we say becomes very public very quickly – especially true of blogging.

This is why I have always tried to be careful with this blog. Choosing a public blog is a deliberate decision, and it’s a great medium for interaction of thought. Within this, I want to have the same care with my speech as I would if I was face-to-face with a person, having the same respect and the same wisdom with my words. I want to be honest and I want to aim for transparency in thought and faith – while at the same time retaining a level of sensibility and self-knowledge. I want to refrain from losing my temper because I am having a bad day – I know once the sun has set and risen again, I will very probably feel differently. This doesn’t mean I won’t admit to a bad day – just that I don’t want ill-temper to drive my thoughts. This blog is a therapeutic outlet for me, but I want it to be a healthy one. I want it to be a tool to drive me to think deeper and more clearly in life. That is why I started it in the first place.

I also feel it is tremendously important to be sensitive to issues where there is disagreement between parties. I believe in being honest about my own viewpoint, but I also believe in taking the time to word it properly, to avoid misunderstanding or misrepresentation. Often the attitude of the participants of a discussion is more memorable than the discussion itself. This doesn’t mean I think we should never show disagreements, but that we remain fair and not simply descend to baiting each other.

“It really is high time we developed a Christian ethic of blogging. Bad temper is bad temper even in the apparent privacy of your own hard drive, and harsh and unjust words, when released into the wild, rampage around and do real damage.”

- Tom Wright, Bishop of Durham

As a Christian in a diverse world, and a world of diverse thought, I hold to the concept of ‘seasoning my conversation with salt’ – so that it is a good, edifying, respectful thing, and being prepared to answer others but to do so with dignity and respect. It distresses me to see others hurling insults at each other when they profess the same central belief – and yet show no respect for each other, or no self-examination. This ties in with my thinking on humility – that it is about seeking the truth together, understanding that we will and do get things wrong, but we want what is right (which is not the same as what is easiest, or what we find most comfortable within our world view). I want to reflect this when I write here.

Blogging is an astonishing thing, when you consider how little time it has been in existence – how recently the technology has existed to enable it to exist in the first place. Personally, I want to apply the old maxim ‘think before you speak’ as much in this area as in my daily life.

sticks and stones

One of the biggest lies we are ever told:

Sticks and stones may break my bones
but names will never hurt me

Really?

Our culture does not like long silences. We live in a world of words. And what happens with a slip of a tongue, a thoughtless remark, a malicious comment? Fractured relationships, failed businesses, regret. All because of – what? The power of words.

We talk all the time. To each other and yes, to ourselves, even if not out loud. We use words to convince, to persuade, to entertain. A lot of attention is given to those who talk a lot, and those who use words as part of their profession. Words can hold glamour, humour, and exercise extraordinary power. Words are dangerous.

But words are so easy to use, aren’t they? And how often do people really think before they speak? How much damage can people do with a simple thoughtless comment? Sometimes these words are used in childhood. One condemning sentence said by one person at one particular point in our lives can change our attitude forever. How easy it is to hear the echo of those words, bouncing down over the years, ready to sneak up on us when we are weary or anxious, or reminded of that hurtful remark.

James (in the bible) knew about the power of the tongue. If you can control that, the rest of it is easy in comparison. The tongue is the power centre of our bodies, it is the most inflammatory possession we have, full of potential for both bad and good. Reckless speech damages lives.

Jesus said: out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks.

How we talk reveals things about our character. Are we bitter? Then our words will be harsh. Are we angry? Then our words will be irritable. Are we filled with hurt that we won’t admit to? Then our words will be defensive. Are we peaceful? Then our words will be words of peace.

So many parts of the bible, particularly in Proverbs, but also in the New Testament letters, talk about keeping watch over our lips – to think about what we say, so that recklessness and thoughtlessness are guarded against. We are told to take responsibility for what we say. We are told to speak with gentleness. We are told to season our conversation with salt. We are to love with our words.

Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but names - words - will never hurt me.

Sometimes this is true. Sometimes we are so encouraged by others, or sure of the love we have been shown, that one little jibe is easily deflected. But often destructive words do just that – destroy. Destroy peace, destroy joy, destroy security.

Many harmful sentences contain the following words:

‘You’re always…You’re never…You’re too…You’re just not…'

Fill in the blanks. These words can be completely crushing, especially in the context of an argument. Always and never – are nearly always false, and practically never true. It’s good to avoid these words in that kind of context. They are also intrinsic to rumour and gossip. She’s always like that. He never does this. And yet we are called not to judge. We cannot see the stones in other people’s shoes. We’re all guilty of something – when it comes to words.

But the tongue, for all its potential destructive power, can be a great healer.
Proverbs 15 verse 4 says: The tongue that brings healing gives life.
There is power for good in our words. If we use words to heal, not harm, we can repair damaged lives, and show God’s love to those who are wounded in spirit and in mind.

I think I've posted this before, at least I think so - but I'll repeat it here:

Teach me how to speak Lord - teach me how to love with my words
that I may soothe, not scratch; heal, not scar

teach me how to be silent, Lord
when it can be so easy to speak carelessly ,or impatiently
may I be wise, may I think first

Teach me to speak for you Lord - may I be so attuned to your heart cry
that my love for you spills over, and your love through my words

and when I am broken down by the words of others
Lord, be my healer. For you can mend all things.

on books: layers of imagining

Went to book club last night, where we discussed The Testament of Gideon Mack by James Robertson, which provoked some lively discussion. It is an absorbing book - circling round the issues of belief and believability, the nature of mental illness, truth and perception. Lots of material for discussion!

After coming home, I started thinking some more about how we read, and what we like to read. Some books we might not say we 'like' but will still admit they are good books. We are affected by our perceptions, our experience of life, our likes and dislikes, the things that particularly interest us, the things that influence us. In reading a book, we are not merely listening to the writer's voice. There are whole nuances of our own that we bring to each sentence.

As I pondered aloud to the group yesterday, I may well read something quite differently from how the author would read it aloud if I heard him/her. We give each sentence our own emphases and inflections - or do not detect that which the author would assume to be there. Penny noted that she had once heard a book she had written read aloud by an American (after my noting that we even read in our own accent) and that he had brought out the tone of sheer irony throughout the book, which differed from her own reading of it. It opened her eyes to a whole new meaning.

The reader is an essential part of the book - all that we bring, all that we add, all that we don't see (and discussing books is a good way to see things we missed). Our imaginations take the words and form the pictures, in a way that may be entirely different from another reader - especially when there are marked differences in things like cultural background. We see through the lenses of our culture; often we do not even realise we do so. Because books fuel and provoke imagination, they morph into a different shape each time they are read by different people.

I could continue to waffle, but I will stop there. I may add more thoughts in a later entry. I am fascinated by words and how we use them - how we perceive them. It intrigues me how tone of voice and body language influence meaning (see also #17 in my 25 things!). And how one book can mean so many different things to different people - travelling further in thought and layers of imagining than the author ever envisaged.

Today: 4/10, medium

Easter words

Am taking a moment to try and contemplate the coming remembrance and celebration that is Easter. And I find I struggle. I get so caught up in the every day; it is hard to focus in the way that I would like. I would like to carve out meaningful thoughts and place them here, to help myself think on what is coming.

But of course, it is not something that happens once a year. It is something that happened once for all, for all time, and so every day I live in the reality of the crucifixion, and the resurrection. The significance of that death, that aching pause of the day inbetween, and the vindication that was the rising again.

And when I think of it, I breathe in and feel a tremor through me – for how I could live, not how I do live. How do I live the reality of Easter, daily? How do I remember the words without using jargon or clichés? There are some fantastic words which talk about what our faith means, but they are in fact such a closed language to those who do not know the meaning of them. How do I talk about it in a fresh, beautiful, heart-touching way? Where can I find a new vocabulary to recapture the meaning of truth?

We tire of cliché and jargon and all the words. We tire of the same ways of saying things. We find some concepts difficult to describe. We want to remember it all in a fresh way. I want to remember it all in a fresh way.

How do I talk about the clogging blackness that sits between God and humanity, and how the white light of what Jesus did blasts it all away? How do I talk about God and us – out of alignment, but put back in alignment with a cross? How do I talk about love which sears through evil and darkness and illuminates a whole new way of living?

Perhaps the breath of God may transform the words; perhaps I simply need to open my mouth and utter one thing, however clumsy, inept, or incoherent.

Perhaps all that matters is that I try.

concession

there is so much in me -
but someone has stolen
the access codes,
or perhaps
I have simply forgotten them,
or never knew them at all.

and every now and then

a breath of understanding,

a moment of clarity

on finding the right sequence -

and my heart concedes

to open into words.

a psalm of my own

Was searching (unsuccessfully) for something in one of my old paper journals recently (you know - you have to use a pen), when I found this. Like a psalm of my own, written at a time I was struggling with my role and purpose in life - and of course the broken record that is the fatigue. Thought I would record it here...

O Lord, help me,
my heart is heavy;
it has sunk into the pit
of my stomach,
and my head resonates with the
drum, drum, drum
of daily living.
Where is my hope, O God?
Where has my strength gone?

It has evaporated,
and I am weak, limp
like withered petals,
like drooping leaves.
How can a drooping plant bloom?
How can a withered flower rejoice?
Yet I will hope in my Lord
my Lord, my Saviour.

Forgive sweet Lord my unbelief
do not let my physical weakness
drain away and suck up
my inspiration
like a vacuum cleaner.
Help, I am wilting,
I am unable to stand.
What is the purpose of my existence?
I want to glorify you forever
but I am too weak to shine.
My light grows dim;
I am a smouldering wick.
Take pity, Lord, on my confusion.

Have mercy, O God,
on all my nonsenses,
on all my fickle hope,
on all my dim-wittedness.
Take away this buzz-buzz
buzzing of my brain
and be that still small voice
beautiful.

O God!
I feel the despair swarm in my veins;
it wants to get out,
to spill in all directions.
But who would be willing to clear up the mess?
Only you, O Lord,
have a broom that wide.
Sweep, Lord, sweep me up,
spring clean me with concentrated hope,
set love alive and polish me
with faith, so that
I could shine, O God.

Do not let me fade.
Do not leave me.
Do not turn your face away!
Speak in your glorious whisper
so that I may recognise you,
in the cham-ching-clamouring
of my mind.

I admit, as I typed this up, I added the line 'like a vacuum cleaner' because it was something that struck me today as I was grappling with the vacuum hose how the fatigue sucked energy out of me...but also I pondered my desire that I wish I could suck out the fatigue itself. Sucked out in one big squuuueeeeecccchhh and leaving me lighter, without the grey stuff in my veins - which how I picture it sometimes.

Today: 4/10, medium

a 'fashionable cause'?

Recently I've noticed various needs and areas, including Darfur, labelled as 'fashionable causes'. I'm not particularly happy with the phrase as it seems to reflect - and more seriously, provoke - cynicism and a disparaging tone. But maybe that is just my impression.

I understand the underlying point - some 'causes' are better known and publicised than others, which are just as deserving but do not get this exposure, and therefore the same degree of support. I believe it is important to bring the 'hidden' dark areas to light.

I still don't like the word 'fashionable', however, implying people supporting the well known causes are just jumping on the band wagon. Who are we to judge the motives of others? God knows the heart; he also sees the deeds. I feel we need to be careful with how we word things - not to undermine the good that has and will be done.

Ironically I am the sort of person that hates to be seen as 'jumping on the band wagon'. I don't really hold much truck with what's fashionable and what's not. I put my energies into particular areas because those are the ones God has placed on my heart. Let us not become so obsessed with how we brand our 'causes' that we cease to work for them.

Pondering further, I think of those who talk about things that 'never go out of fashion'. What would I like to see not go out of fashion?

Kindness, justice, compassion.

Today: 4/10, high

yawn is a funny word

Ever looked at /used a word so much that it ceases to look right? As if it weren't spelt correctly?

Yawn looks bizarre to me right now.

Yawn.
Lawn.
Brawn.

Weird.

words

There are some people who have such a capacity to describe things, such an acutely creative and yet accurate way of using words... But it's not just that. Sometimes you can sense when it really is just playing with words - just that 'knack'. Sometimes, however, you sense a real depth of maturity behind what is written - a quietness, a thoughtfulness. Not being one of them myself (hope makes me add 'yet') I am struck by the kind of writing when you can almost 'hear' the tone of voice of the writer, conjure up the very images they are talking about, and so you read every word, never skimming or scanning, for it would not even occur to you to do so. It is utterly beautiful.

I, however, am merely putting off washing up from last night's dinner, as we had a powercut and it was difficult to see by candlelight. But candlelight on Valentine's Day was hardly inappropriate. And thankfully dinner was just about cooked when the power went off.

I have an eye test this afternoon. How supremely uninteresting.

too many gates...

What is this current craze with putting '-gate' on the end of any political scandal? I cringe when I hear 'datagate' and 'donorgate'. They sound, frankly, ridiculous, as if they as words are trying to be cool - and failing miserably. I caught part of a political programme a couple of days ago and one woman was talking about 'donorgate' and I literally cringed. It sounded just plain silly.

We all know about Watergate. In that case, the word pulls it off nicely, mainly because it wasn't surrounded by other words aspiring to be it, and it earned its significance as a point in history (will there be any blockbuster movies about Labour donations? I mean, really?) But why does every single scandal become a '-gate' these days? I don't think, personally, you can make a judgement about the significance of anything - whether it makes or breaks a person or a party - until you are in the realms of hindsight, where history is the true judge.

But mainly I just think the words sound silly.