what I wouldn't give

oh, what wouldn't I give
to be back on that dark lawn
laid out on damp blankets
under the cold, dry stars,
wide-eyed until our corneas smart
from the stillness of night air.

what wouldn't I give
for those days, when the
greatest joy was knowledge, and
the greatest fear was darkness (say,
how little has changed!)
and everything was smaller.

listen to the since-years,
and while you listen, I'll tell you,
quite simply, exactly what I wouldn't give:

the joy of seeing you grow up,
the music of the latest night,
and the indescribable feeling of
being in love with this memory, and realizing
just how desperate(ly hopeful) we truly are.

every word

Say, for example
you were talking to someone,
you were looking at him,
you could hear him,
you could see him, and
when you thought about what he was saying,
as it would look written
on an imaginary page,

it (just for a moment) was as if
every letter was a sentence,
every syllable was a chapter of
every clause, which was a book in which
every phrase could be a library, and
every sentence could be the entire world.

Then, my love, hearing your
voice for less than a moment
could open the most beautiful flowergalaxy, and
it would be the whole universe
on your lips
without saying a single word.

These mornings

These mornings are different
sitting next to a coffee cup
and silently remarking how little
it reminds me of you

These mornings
are quiet-strange
they are not bright:they are pale
they are tiny choirs of dust
settling like pilgrims on the chair across the table

These mornings are wonderful—
like flinging onehundredthousandwildflowers
into the air and wondering(not knowing) if
they will ever return to earth

These mornings are not you,
because I have forgotten how much
I need to remember how
to forget you

ESV

Lately, I’ve become interested in the English Standard Version translation of the Bible. I was raised on the New International Version, which I do value for its highly readable syntactical structure, and because I like the fact that when it was published in 1978, it was a completely new translation, fresh from the Greek and Hebrew, and did not rely on traditional wordings from archaic translations like the KJV. The ESV (released in 2001) is even newer than the NIV, but unlike the NIV, it stands in a lineage of translations starting with the 1611 KJV. Unlike even the NKJV, which is merely a lexical update to the 1611 wordings, the ESV is the latest in a tradition of new editions of the KJV text, which with each revision (RV, NAS, RSV) have revisited the Greek and Hebrew, while evaluating the clarity of the text to modern English readers. In this way, the ESV is sort of distilled, and as an academic, I’m attracted to that kind of “edited” approach.

But I was still skeptical of any translation that followed in the tradition of the KJV, which was initially translated with some techniques that I find questionable, such as the use of the Latin Vulgate as a partial source (alongside the Greek and Hebrew), making it a sort of tertiary translation. But I was also skeptical of the NIV, which uses a kind of “idea for idea” (rather than “word for word”) translation philosophy that, while making sentences more colloquial, has huge potential for being influenced by the ideological bias of the translators. The ESV is more literal, and is thus less prone to bias, but lacks a certain stylistic candor that endears the NIV.

So, I decided to compare a few New Testament passages to each other, and to the original Greek, and was shocked by what I found. I largely chose passages at random, looking mainly at passages that came to mind as well-known or ones that have strongly traditional wording in English (the Lord’s Prayer, for example).

Take a look at Luke 1:46-55 (commonly called “Magnificat”). It is Mary’s reaction to the Annunciation. The opening phrase reads

 NIV: “my soul glorifies the Lord.” 

The traditional wording used in countless songs and recitations is

KJV: “my soul doth magnify the Lord,” 

which sounds quite archaic to someone unfamiliar with the tradition. A compromise is found with

ESV: “my soul magnifies the Lord.”

Now let’s look at the Greek. The phrase reads

“megalunei he psuche mou ton kurion,” 

which translates literally to “magnifying (is) the soul of me, the Lord." The word in question here is “megalunei,” which is translated as “magnifies” in the ESV tradition, but as “glorifies,” in the NIV, which means something decidedly different. Even more problematically, the word usually translated as “glorifies” in the NIV and other places is “doxasei” (or other forms of “dox-” where we get words like “doxology”). To me, both theologically and literarily speaking, to “magnify” means something very different than “glorify,” yet the NIV translators apparently chose not to say “magnify” because the precise meaning might seem ambiguous(?), but to me the ambiguity of what it means to allow one’s soul to “magnify the Lord” is part of what makes the passage beautiful, and theologically significant (what is Mary’s role as a Saint? What is it about her unique position in the gospel that magnifies God? These are important things to consider). 

Take another part of the Magnificat, where the lack of literal translation is more obviously problematic. v.51:

NIV: “he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts,” but 

ESV: “he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.” 

While the ESV (and likewise, the traditional KJV) mentions the word “heart,” the NIV translates this as “inmost.” The Greek word is “kardias,” where modern English inherits terms like “cardio,” which are (obviously) related to more than just “inmost” things. To re-word this is to move into paraphrase territory, which is my primary reason for shunning almost all other Bible translations (New Living Translation, Common English Bible, GOD’S WORD, The Message, need I say more?)

So far, I’ve been extremely satisfied with the way ESV approaches the marriage of literal and idiomatic translations. The general word-order and the words themselves seem quite well-chosen, and for parts that are exceptionally difficult to convert to clearly-worded English, the text is very well-footnoted, sometimes giving upwards of four or five alternate wordings depending on conflicting manuscripts or conflicting philosophies between members of the translation team. Most importantly, the plain presentation of the words leaves plenty of room for interpretation—to me, a hallmark of Biblical reading, and something which I fear I might unknowingly hinder when using NIV.

Credo for Christmas

I believe in the tinkling of zimbelsterns(
whichis the tolling of towerbells whichisreally the amplified swish-flicking of snowflakes on frosty leaves of grass)

and

I believe in the lighting of pinetrees(
whichis the shining cosmos whichisactually the glint-twinkling of your eyes against a frosted windowpane)

and

I believe in a baby(
whois the reconciliation of all things whichis,infact nothing more[or certainly anything less]than Christmas)

Burned Toast

Burned toast
always reminds me of my grandmother,
I don't know why she always used to burn it,
I think she was afraid of disease-ridden moisture,
or maybe she just liked it crispy.

Tater-tots
always remind me of my sister,
I don't know why she loved them,
I think they baffled her mind with the miracle of microcosm
or maybe it was because they taste a lot like french fries.

Maple
always reminds me of my mother,
I don't know why she loved it,
I think it made her feel at one with the trees,
or maybe it just reminded her of pancake syrup.

Peanut brittle
always reminds me of my father,
I don't know why he loved it,
I think it reminded him of the rigid fragility of the human condition,
or maybe he just liked all the sugar.

Love
always reminds me of God,
I don't know why he eats it,
I think He needs it to survive,
or maybe He just likes the taste.

Teaching Composition

Here is an issue which deserves some attention: teaching musical composition. To all the composers who are reading this post, you know the process well. Typical composition lessons go one of two ways:

Method #1: The teacher never listens to your music. He makes comments about the layout of the score, maybe he'll make a comment or two about choices or ranges of the instruments. If it's a vocal work, he might point out a vowel that will be hard to sing in the range in which you've written it. You go away wondering how he was able to hear the piece in his head without playing it, and wonder if you actually lack any aural skills and will end up spending your career hoping no one will ever learn that you use the piano when you compose music.

Method #2: The teacher listens to the music, and then proceeds to make all the same comments in method #1. In this case, since he actually heard the music, he might make a comment or two about how nice the music sounds. Or he might make arbitrary suggestions about things to change. "Oh, maybe add some notes to that chord... it sounds too traditional," or "don't forget to make a piano reduction."

Many composition teachers have told me that they believe that composition isn't something you can teach, and that for a teacher to infringe on the individual voice of the student is somehow morally wrong. But I submit to you that this is nothing more than an excuse for a very serious problem, which is that nobody actually knows how the heck to teach composition.

Let's take a moment and compare this to visual art (which is indeed something you can teach). Say an art student took an unfinished landscape painting to his teacher. In Method #1, the teacher blindfolds himself, and feels the texture of the canvas, making comments about the shape of the painting and the texture of the brushstrokes. In Method #2, the teacher looks at the painting, but talks about options for framing, and suggests that the student paint the trees purple, because green is too predictable.

This is essentially the quality of education that most composers are getting at the collegiate level, and it is inexcusable.

Why are composition teachers not teaching essential technical skills needed by composers to craft well-construction compositions? Counterpoint! Harmony! Melody! Orchestration! Form! Teach these if you can, and your students will flourish! Stop thinking you have to make judgement calls about creative work (especially if this makes you uncomfortable) and start giving your students the skills they need to be successful!

Furthermore, are we so far removed from the reality of music as an auditory phenomenon that we must resort to make comments on the visual appearance of a score? If you do not possess sufficient skill in counterpoint, harmony, melody, orchestration, or form, then at least spare your student's dignity, and spend some time listening to the music, and making constructive and critical comments. But be clear with your student: make sure they know they won't be learning anything they can't teach themselves.