And here is the Wannaskan Almanac with Word-Wednesday for April 12, 2023, the fifteenth Wednesday of the year, the fourth Wednesday of spring, and the one-hundred second day of the year, with two-hundred sixty-three days remaining.
Wannaska Phenology Update for April 12, 2023
Sandhill Cranes
Arriving from Cuba and other warm winter homes along the gulf coast, if you listen carefully, high above you’ll hear the marshdwelling, groundnesting, trumpetthroated, omnivores discussing where to build their summer homes. The Sandhill Crane, Antigone canadensis, has arrived in Wannaska. The Sandhill Crane’s loud, rolling, trumpeting call derives from a long trachea, which coils into the sternum, helping the call develop a lower pitch and rich harmonics.
Hummingbird migration sightings still remain south of Kansas. But with the warmer weather, you may want to get your feeders out now. Ginny can confirm any hummingbirds that she or Jim might have already seen in Florida.
April 12 Fickle Pickle Wednesday Menu Special: Potato Dumpling
April 12 Nordhem Wednesday Lunch: Updated daily by 11:00am, usually.
Earth/Moon Almanac for April 12, 2023
Sunrise: 6:39am; Sunset: 810pm; 3 minutes, 29 seconds more daylight today
Moonrise: 3:11am; Moonset: 10:29am, waning gibbous, 60% illuminated.
Temperature Almanac for April 12, 2023
Average Record Today
High 46 74 59
Low 23 -7 35
From the Snowmelt of '66
By Tomas Tranströmer
Translated by Patty Crane
Rushing rushing water's rumbling old hypnosis.
The river's flooding the car-graveyard, glittering
behind the masks.
I grab hold of the bridge railing.
The bridge: a large iron bird sailing past death.
April 12 Celebrations from National Day Calendar
- National Only Child Day
- National For Twelves Day
- National Colorado Day
- National Grilled Cheese Sandwich Day
- National Licorice Day
- National Big Wind Day
- Walk On Your Wild Side Day
- International Day of Human Space Flight
- Drop Everything and Read Day
April 12 Word Riddle
Depluralize the title of a famous Agatha Christie mystery that takes place on a train.*
April 12 Word Pun
Congratulations to Warroad's own Hugh Zappritti Boyden on his new role as head of the National Parrot Owners Association.
April 12 The Devil’s Dictionary Word-Pram
FIB, n. A lie that has not cut its teeth. An habitual liar’s nearest approach to truth: the perigee of his eccentric orbit.
When David said: “All men are liars,” Dave,
Himself a liar, fibbed like any thief.
Perhaps he thought to weaken disbelief
By proof that even himself was not a slave
To Truth; though I suspect the aged knave
Had been of all her servitors the chief
Had he but known a fig’s reluctant leaf
Is more than e’er she wore on land or wave.
No, David served not Naked Truth when he
Struck that sledge-hammer blow at all his race;
Nor did he hit the nail upon the head:
For reason shows that it could never be,
And the facts contradict him to his face.
Men are not liars all, for some are dead.
Bartle Quinker
April 12 Roseau Times-Region Headline:
Denise Lajimodiere, a citizen of the Turtle Mountain Band in Belcourt, appointed North Dakota’s first Ojibwe poet laureate.
April 12 Etymology Word of the Week
amnesty
/ˈam-nə-stē/ n., the act of an authority (such as a government) by which pardon is granted to a large group of individuals, from 1570s, "a ruling authority's pardon of past offenses," from French amnistie "intentional overlooking" (16c.), from Latin amnestia, from Greek amnestia "forgetfulness (especially of wrong); an amnesty," from amnestos "forgotten; forgetful," from a- "not" (see a- (3)) + mnestis "remembrance," which is related to mnaomai "I remember" (from Proto-Indo-European root men- "to think"). As such, a legalized form of amnesia, or forgetting.
April 12 Historic Events, Literary or Otherwise, from On This Day
- 1709 Richard Steele's British literary and society journal The Tatler is first published establishing a new type of journalism featuring essays on contemporary manners.
- 1857 French novelist Gustave Flaubert's first novel and masterpiece Madame Bovary is published.
- 1887 Henrik Ibsen's Rosmersholm premieres.
- 1892 George C. Blickensderfer patents portable typewriter.
- 1955 Polio vaccine tested by Jonas Salk announced to be 'safe and effective' and is given full approval by the US Food and Drug Administration.
April 12 Author/Artist/Character Birthdays, from On This Day
- 1713 Guillaume Thomas François Raynal, French writer.
- 1788 Johan Erik Nordblom, Swedish composer.
- 1816 Charles Gavan Duffy, Irish journalist and poet.
- 1848 José Gautier Benítez, Puerto Rican poet.
- 1863 Raul Pompeia, Brazilian writer.
- 1883 Imogen Cunningham, American photographer.
- 1907 Felix de Weldon, Austrian-American sculptor.
- 1915 Emil Petaja, American science fiction author.
- 1916 Beverly Cleary, American Newberry Medal winning writer.
- 1932 Jack Gelber, American playwright.
- 1944 Karel Kryl, Czech folk singer.
- 1947 Tom Clancy, American author.
Words-I-Looked-Up-This-Week Writer's Challenge
Make a single sentence (or poem or pram) from the following words:
- adytum: /‘ˈa-də-təm/ n., the innermost sanctuary in an ancient temple open only to priests; sanctum.
- bruit: /ˈbrü-ē? v., spread (a report or rumor) widely.
- drogue: /ˈdrōg/ n., sea anchor; a cylindrical or funnel-shaped device towed as a target by an airplane; a small parachute for stabilizing or decelerating something (such as an astronaut's capsule) or for pulling a larger parachute out of stowage; a funnel-shaped device which is attached to the end of a long flexible hose suspended from a tanker airplane in flight and into which the probe of another airplane is fitted so as to receive fuel from the tanker.
- flarf: /flärf/ n., experimental poetry movement using odd juxtapositions, surfaces, and grammatical inaccuracies, as well as deliberately bad or “incorrect” poetry by forcing clichés, swear words, onomatopoeia, and other linguistic aberrations into poetic shape.
- feirie: /‘fē-rē/ adj., nimble; strong.
- hypnopompic: /ˌhip-nə-ˈpäm-pik/ adj., associated with the semiconsciousness preceding waking.
- papabile: /pə-ˈpä-bə-ˌlā/ adj., worthy of being or eligible to be pope.
- smittle: /ˈsmɪd-(ə)l/ v., to infect; to contaminate.
- tabor: /ˈtā-bər/ n., a small drum, especially one used simultaneously by the player of a simple pipe.
- xyst: /ˈzist/ n., a covered portico, as a promenade.
April 12, 2023 Word-Wednesday Feature
Wind
/ˈwind/ n., the perceptible natural movement of the air, especially in the form of a current of air blowing from a particular direction, from Old English wind "wind," from Proto-Germanic winda- (source also of Old Saxon, Old Frisian, Middle Dutch, Dutch wind, Old Norse vindr, Old High German wind, German Wind, Gothic winds), from Proto-Indo-European wē-nt-o‑ "blowing," suffixed (participial) form of root we- "to blow." Normal pronunciation evolution made this word rhyme with kind and rind (Donne rhymes it with mind and Thomas Moore with behind), but it shifted to a short vowel 18th century, probably from influence of windy, where the short vowel is natural. A sad loss for poets, who now must rhyme it only with sinned and a handful of weak words. Symbolic of emptiness and vanity since late 13th century.
Though bad luck for poets who prefer to rhyme, there is a wind for every season. As an ongoing tribute to poetry month explorations, this week Word-Wednesday expands your vocabulary of, for, and about the wind — metaphor for love, madness, change, fate, and transformation — as it bites, whispers, slaps, roars, or tickles. Scrabble fans will also appreciate some of the following wind words:
- Aeolus: /ˈē-ə-ləs/ n., Greek god of the winds.
- bise: /ˈbēz/ n., a could wind.
- bora: /ˈbȯr-ə/ n., a violent cold northerly wind of the Adriatic.
- brickfielder: /ˈbrɪk-ˌfiːld-ə/ n., dust storm.
- buran: /büˈrän/ n., a northeasterly wind of gale force in Russia and central Asia usually identified with sandstorms in summer and blizzards in winter.
- chinook: /shə-ˈnu̇k/ n., a warm moist southwest wind of the coast from Oregon northward.
- doldrums: /ˈdōl-drəmz/ n., a part of the ocean near the equator abounding in calms.
- Eurus: /YOUR-uhs/ n., the ancient Greek personification of the east wind.
- foehn: /fən/ n., a hot southerly wind developing in the lee of any mountain range.
- ghibli: /GIB-lee/ n., a hot dust-bearing wind of the North African desert.
- haboob: /hə-ˈbüb/ n., a violent dust storm or sandstorm especially of Sudan.
- khamsin: /kam-SEEN/ n., a hot southerly wind, varying from southeast to southwest, that blows regularly in Egypt and over the Red Sea for about 50 days, commencing about the middle of March.
- mistral: /ˈmi-strəl/ n., a strong cold dry northerly wind of southern France.
- Notus: /nōtəs/ n., the South Wind in Greek mythology.
- papagayo: /ˌpäpəˈgī(ˌ)ō/ n., a violent often tornadic northerly wind occurring along the Pacific coast of Central America and especially on the Gulf of Papagayo.
- Quetzalcoatl: /ˌkwet-səl-kə-ˈwä-tᵊl/ n., a chief Toltec and Aztec god identified with the wind and air and represented by a feathered serpent.
- sirocco: /shə-ˈrä-(ˌ)kō/ n., a hot or warm wind of cyclonic origin from an arid or heated region.
- tehuhantepecer: /tə-ˈwänt-ə-ˌpek-ə(r)/ n., strong winds in Central America due to high pressure over North America.
- xlokk: /shlɔk/ n., n., a sicocco in Malta.
- williwaw: /ˈwi-li-ˌwȯ/ n., a sudden violent gust of cold land air common along mountainous coasts of high latitudes.
- zonda: /ˈz|ōndə/ n., a hot enervating north wind that sweeps down from the Andes over the Argentine pampas.
Foul words is but foul wind, and foul wind is but foul breath, and foul breath is noisome; therefore I will depart unkissed.
Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, Act 5, Scene 2
The Wind
by Emily Dickinson
Of all the sounds despatched abroad,
There’s not a charge to me
Like that old measure in the boughs,
That phraseless melody
The wind does, working like a hand
Whose fingers brush the sky,
Then quiver down, with tufts of tune
Permitted gods and me.
When winds go round and round in bands,
And thrum upon the door,
And birds take places overhead,
To bear them orchestra,
I crave him grace, of summer boughs,
If such an outcast be,
He never heard that fleshless chant
Rise solemn in the tree,
As if some caravan of sound
On deserts, in the sky,
Had broken rank,
Then knit, and passed
In seamless company.
Winds of May
by James Joyce
Winds of May, that dance on the sea,
Dancing a ring-around in glee
From furrow to furrow, while overhead
The foam flies up to be garlanded,
In silvery arches spanning the air,
Saw you my true love anywhere?
Welladay! Welladay!
For the winds of May!
Love is unhappy when love is away
April's air stirs in
Willow-leaves...a butterfly
Floats and balances
Breaking Wind with Maggie Mitchell
by Kalikiano Kalei
Maggie Mitchell loved her beans,
She had them each and every day.
No meal replete without legumes,
Her guests were subject to their fumes.
A character flaw, most quickly thought,
But none could approach her with rebuke.
Each doctor stumped with such dismay,
Scores treated her, then went on their way.
Alas, poor Maggie was distraught!
Would nothing work to change her plight?
She morosely continued on her book,
But had harsh words for her poor cook!
Then, one Spring evening, cool and clear,
Her butler Rhett left her employ,
Complaining the stink was awful bad;
This final straw left her so sad!
What shall I do, she sobbed aloud?
While finishing up her manuscript.
My friends can't stand to be around,
And my GI tract just won't rebound!
With that, she had some deep insight!
I'll give up beans and dine on fruits!
This diet worked with nary a toot,
Not even a loud or soft-shelled poot!
The lesson here is oh, so clear!
When writing about the Civil War,
Do not eat beans or stinky food
Or your book will end up not so good!
Soon Maggie's epic topped the list
Of best sellers monumentally writ!
Her recent misfortune now long gone
Like a foul wind blown away at dawn!
From A Year with Rilke, April 12 Entry
Spanish Trilogy, from Uncollected Poems
From these clouds, that carelessly cover
the star that just was there—
from these mountains over there, now, for a while,
taken by the night—
from this river on the valley floor,
that glimmers with the sky’s broken light—
from me and all of this: to make one thing.
From me and from the feel of the flock
brought back to the fold, to outlast
the great dark closing down of the world—
from me and from each flicker of light
from the shadowed houses—God, to make one thing.
From the strangers, among whom I know not one, God,
and from me, from me—
to make one thing. From all the slumbering ones,
coughing old men in the hospice,
sleep-drunken children in crowded beds,
from me and all I don’t know,
to make the thing, oh God, God, that thing,
that, half-heaven, half-earth, gathers into its gravity
only the sum of flight,
weighing nothing but arrival.
Mont Sainte Victoire Seen from les Lauves
by Paul Cézanne
Be better than yesterday,
break some word wind today,
try to stay out of trouble - at least until tomorrow,
and write when you have the time.
*A Crow on the Orient Express.
No hummingbird sightings, but we are on our way home to Virginia this week, so I'll keep you posted.
ReplyDeleteHere's my WW pram response.
Here to There
Out from the shadows of yesterday
Smittled by the poison of caustic bruits
For unsustainable idylls we no longer pray
Net-fractured flarf forms riff and corrode
The strength of reason’s persevering drogue
Scrambled inaccuracy is now in vogue
Doom, doom, doom - the tabor strikes panic
Into the once stymied heart hypnopompic
Now papabile dreams seem clearly manic
From the crag of misreason we will not fall
Down the stone-solid xyst we walk towards the call
The sanctum-adytum now open to all
Poetry as therapy; therapist poet. I'm choosing to read this pram as a critique of reason, as spawned by Descartes, when our puny capacity to know became the center of the universe. Interestingly, at about the same time, the apron stage of Shakespeare gave way to the "enlightened" proscenium stage, where the play became two-dimensional and the players (reason) could hide behind a curtain. The bill on that shift of reason is now coming due.
ReplyDeleteI beg to differ on the statement that poetry is ever "deliberately bad," with the exception of the Chairman and JPS. And you err when you say wind has only one rhyme. Take pinned, finned, sinned, and maybe ginned, if one has had too much of a certain clear liquor. Thanks for the nod to JJ - appreciated by the HardBookscclub crew.
ReplyDeleteAnd flarf to you too! Never on Mondays!
ReplyDeleteDon't bruit this about: I'm a poet by half.
I cobble my stuff with all kinds of flarf.
If clichés were dogs my poems would bark it.
The critics all say they're a drogue on the market.
At the poetry conference, the pure adytum,
Friends only survive 'em by binging on Tums.
I play my tabor or bongos a little.
The crowd sits far back, afraid of my smittle.
The thugs in the xyst call me a fairy.
I take it in stride. They must have meant fairie.
Pope Francis weighs in. Could I be papabile?
His note's in Italian: what's it mean imbicile?
But it's only a dream, as I wake, hypnopompic.
Bruit: spread the news widely
Flarf: junk poetry
Drogue: a drag
Adytum: inner sanctum
Tabor: little drum
Smittle: to infect
Xyst: a portico
Fairie: strong
Papabile: eligible to be pope
Hypnopompic: in a daze