A New Acquaintance

Last Saturday I knew Renan. He is a friend of my sons. I think he is in his late teens or early 20s.

I was with them to help with their English, which is unfortunately as poor as that of all those who, like them, don't like to read.

In fact, reading is something my sons scarcely ever do, and not at any rate in English or any foreign language. We had already spent a whole afternoon just talking and finally I got them to get started on a multilingual website I had already recommended many times before and as expected they forgot to read. The text I chose for them was about reading habits of young people the world over.

Then a friend of them came. He talked to me in fluent English, which was a very positive surprise for me. He is on the whole self-taught. What a fine example! An absolutely normal youngster who is also interested in studying, in reading, in learning things. He can also play the guitar. Again, a skill acquired just with personal effort. No classes, no teacher. With all this, he earned my unqualified admiration.

I got his e-mail and sent him the link for this blog. I guess he will eventually read. My sons never read spontaneously anything I write, even the stuff I write in Portuguese, let alone this blog, which I write in English. I love my sons as much as a father can, but I can't help feeling very sorry for their intellectual laziness.

During the session we had in order to strengthen their English, two other friends of them appeared. They tried to drive my kids attention away from the reading, and almost managed to spoil it. I was about to tell them off with all the necessary energy, but luckily they gave up their stupid behavior before I did. Thank God!

It is with this kind of friends that my sons spend much of their time. What a waste! This explains, in part, why they can't get better results in their capacity of students. Their grades are not something they can be proud of. They simply don’t care for being outstanding students, and no reward, no example, nothing seems to motivate them to make necessary effort. Most of those with whom they interact on a daily basis choose the same action avoidance. Reading is a habit which obviously has no room in their lives.

By contrast, the inconvenient 'contribution' from the two other boys during the reading my sons were doing half-heartedly only led me to think even better of Renan, whose respectful participation did help a lot and gave me a feeling that everything is not lost.

Weird Mails

This week I got a weird virtual message from someone who initially said something about having a translation job for me.

As always, I forwarded an e-mail for details.

Then the whole thing proved a ridiculous, obvious bait. Someone claimed to be entitled to a substatial fortune in dollars from a deceased Asian big wig and tried to get my consent to have it all deposited in my bank account.

I could not care less for this whole business, but sent back the following reply, verbatim:

"In all earnest, I dont know who told you I was interested in getting so stinking rich overnight, but I'm really NOT.
Keep tempting me, if you like. In the long run you'll see what a waste of your time and best efforts on someone like me."

That's how I decided to keep worrying about how to make ends meet here, and remain as poor as the English in this person's mail. A choice I'm sure I'll never be sorry for.

Rights

What right had I to fly so high?
To hide behind see-through disguise?
To trust so far so many a lie?
To pay no heed to words of wise?

What right had I so deep to dive
Into my self for fun, on whim?
Disturb did I a quiet bee-hive
And still have stings all o’er my skin.

The time has come for me to know
How wrong I've been, how wrong, how wrong!
My stupid heart, so weak, so low
How can it love so much, so strong?

An Event

I attended last Saturday a very interesting meeting about Peace. The event took place downtown in Rio de Janeiro.
And I was there, in a booth, attentive to every single word heard. I still have the badge bearing my interpreter's accreditation as a trophy, a medal, anything of the sort. I was not told to give it back when I left so it turned my keepsake, my souvenir.
Before beggining, I thought I would have the butterflies. The main reason was that I'm not familiar with modern conference room booths and the technical paraphernalia connected thereto.
The equipment, however, was (to my utmost relief) really user-friendly. Better still, I had a fellow translator beside me all the time who kindly showed me how to switch channels, use the microphone, read the green LEDs and God knows what else a couple of minutes before what could otherwise have been a true ordeal.
I had been introduced to him on the way to the place, which was almost within walking reach.
Our arrangement on how to share the day's work was based on the first signs of tiredness each one of us would have, and we both stuck to that, so the whole thing really worked.
Another concern I had was about my spoken Spanish. I simply haven't been speaking any Spanish whatsoever these days. I kept wondering what would the speakers or someone in the audience come up with.
I just didn’t know what to expect and the best I could do was to calm down, watch what was going on in the opening round which conveniently enough for me was his, wait and see what would happen when he first got tired and signed me so, inviting me for a bit of action.
Lucky me, nothing I could not translate except for half a dozen really unimportant details not very well heard and a guy in the audience who was from Rio Grande do Sul (my state) who spoke too fast to me (and to everyone else, I guess), but he fortunately didn't speak too long and his overall stuff was easily understandable.
I went there thinking I would be requested to translate either from or into English alone, but in the last minute it was found out that there were enough translators for English but only one for Spanish. I volunteered to fill that sorry gap but was told to be ready to move between conference rooms upon request. I was really not needed in another room. Thank God. Translation where I was did run smooth, almost easy to do, with my inexperience and all.
Today I was told the dough for that pleasant workday would be available. No one told me even how much it was, but anyway whatever it is will be pretty welcome. End of month, you know. Like every common mortal, I'm flat broke.

A Book

In my life, it's needless to say, books have always been part and parcel.

I've already had a number of them. Not anylonger.

Some were lost with my own frequent moving, others were borrowed by people who never read them, but never returned them either, others were stolen, some were sold and many were given away.

I had for example a precious Nestle New Testament, Greek and German (Gothic characters), 18th century, one of the most regretted losses. Only someone who knew what it was about would covet such a relic, so I thought nobody ever would. It was just a very old book that seemingly nobody could even read. But I found out I was wrong... by losing it. I'll certainly never know who the hell stole it. And it will take me too long to fetch another copy, if ever. This kind of stuff is really rare.

A not so old Bible in Italian had suffered the attack of bookworms. I managed to stop it and then filled a great big hole in the hard back cover with epoxi resin. But the book went "crippled". The main text was left intact and can still be reread, though.

An old volume called The Limits of Art, given me (or transferred to me, in his own words) by Daniel Brilhante de Brito, my initiator in the art of translation, is an impressive sample with the best pages ever written by authors of all times and places, according to very competent critics of all times and places.

The book, printed in the early 50's, was already old when of said transference in the mid 80's. The volume also reminded me of its giver, who passed away about three years ago. He was a man whose impressive learning has earned my unqualified respect and admiration. Men of this rare kind also grow old and eventually die. I don't know how old he lived to be but saying he had at least fulfilled his alloted span must be a safe guess.

I used to flee to that volume during a long period of personal "darkness". Literal darkness even, since I had for example to live without electric energy for months on end.

To while away the tedium of that hopeless period of extreme poverty earlier in this century, I often could enjoy the company of Homer, Vergil, Dante, Shakespeare, Cervantes, Hugo, Voltaire, Yeats, Poe, Verlaine, Schiller, Goethe, just to mention some. Of course, no one around to share anything from such readings. By turning again and again to it I have even learned by heart some of my favorites.

Just imagine, every single line in my book was worth reading and rereading, just in a moment I scarcely ever could hear anything worth hearing, see anything worth seeing, let alone read anything worthy at all.

In the very "cave" I found these days again the volume I though lost. Apparently, it has been there all the time.

Now I can turn again to those extreme pages. I just love them.

Awards, Awards!

My first blog at Blogspot, Bonde Andando, is now running for an award: TOP BLOG.

It's been with surprise that I got the stamp. I was not told a word about by whose appointment my blog is now running for a Top Blog award. I have no previous experience whatsoever with awards, and never thought I ever would. Maybe I have already got secret friends somewhere the blogosphere over, who knows?

The surprise was no doubt a very pleasant one. Lucky me, I thought. I'm not an important blogger. Not a famous one, either. True, Bonde Andando enjoys a relatively small - however faithful - readership. But I just can’t help thinking of my blog in its own right as average, just average.

The themes dealt with therein are average. My wording is plain. There's neither any great depth nor any far reach ever to be found anywhere in my text. It’s nothing much, in all senses, whatever the viewpoint. I like to write poems and I post some there, but I never thought of myself as being much of a poet. In fact, I feel I'm more of a free time rhymester. I’m just someone who likes to scan and rhyme lines exclusively for the fun I find about the whole thing.

The blog is not visually beautiful, which may represent one attraction of less. Just words, just text, plain text. I never exploited the tools available, most of them I haven't even taken the time to learn how to use.

Only the readership of Bonde Andando I deem really special. It's nothing short of an asset to the blog. A relatively small gathering of fellow bloggers from all walks of life, with all sorts of backgrounds generously share their opinions by commenting my posts. They give me much support by reading and liking whatever I write and then by telling me so through their comments.

But what if the blog ends up a winner? Considering such a possibility - no matter how realistic it is - is just natural now.

Well, in case my Brazilian "streetcar on the move" ever comes to be awarded, then I will in all likelihood start viewing the blog as somehow outstanding on the account of such award, though still as average as always. Something like an "outstandingly average" blog.

On what will come next there is of course no telling.

Come what may, I'll always acknowledge here, there and everywhere an indebtedness to my readers, my commenters, all my virtual friends.

On New Tricks and Old Dogs

If there are old dogs that still can learn new tricks, I'm certainly one.

True, my fluency at German, at typing, and at sheet music reading and at God knows what else don’t seem to be improving at all these days, but I just refuse to lay the blame for that on the fact that I'm already in my 50's.

I'm not a lazybones either - a conclusion too many people who know me seem to be so ready to jump at.

Those who don’t have the slightest idea of how much effort it takes to master … no matter what (especially when there is no money and no one around to help) will in all likelihood look down on your initial efforts, shrug at your progress and frown at your laboriously worked end results. It’s no use to try to explain a thing to them. No matter what you say or do – which will never be understood at all – you can only be doing the wrong thing, the wrong way, at the wrong time and for the wrong reason.

In the capacity of my own personal trainer for a lifetime, however, I know that I still can learn new things and exactly how fast, and I also know exactly what I want to learn and what for.

I got used to assessing on my own all the resources at hand, the skills and limitations I have, at what clip I can get ahead, in a nutshell, everything. And I find myself now as determined to learn as I've always been and always will. Drawbacks do exist. Stagnant phases too. It's simply natural.

The experience I enjoy now with French came as a windfall. I've been speaking French almost on a daily basis recently, which never happened to me before. I’m delighted. It’s always been no travels, no French speakers, nothing at all but my readings. No wonder my spoken French is still a little stiff, no wonder I still produce stilted utterances and make unreasonable mistakes. Lack of practice, that's all. Readings alone can – and do – work wonders to someone's knowledge of a foreign language, but nothing can replace practice. Now I’m finally practicing. Something I find nothing short of serendipitous.

However, I’m no longer blogging much. My typing is still too sorry. My music is not being sufficiently practiced and I'm not making enough money yet, either. There isn’t really much to be preened on. I’m just musing.