Preternatural memories evoke,
“Die Sprache ist der Spiegel dem Volk”,
reflecting back experiences primordial;
as into that mirror they communal look,
becomes for them
the focal point of their
collective soul.
For she herself who
to the ground of her ethnicity
is closely bound
very clearly knows
what she wants and thinks,
never writing phrases
indistinct.
Native languages are the peoples’ hearts.
What love,
life,
food
and passion’s heat
this heart a people do excise,
when their language
all eradicated is.
Poorest language in humanity’s
many-faceted linguistic mix
the demise of which,
our collective loss,
a voice under heaven
by unidirectional traffic ruined;
the obliteration of each
a darkened facet in this space
wherein humanity resides.
Bereft are that people
of great ideas
where no words exists
in their own voices.
Such omission
fair dulls the flow
of innovations,
and clouds entire
peoples’ hearts.
The limits of their language
are
the limits of their world,
thus how cruel the lives
of genius cramped,
and clarity of intellectual
passions confused -
when a language dies.
James Gagiikwe © 2008
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Author notes
With special thanks to: Schopenhauer, Wittgenstein, and Schiller, from whom I borrowed ideas most freely. Thanks to multilingual Ms. Kiddy for sparking the idea for the poem.
Someone please correct my poor German!
Comments
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It flows
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It flows
This poems flows and carries a good rythm. It also carries good synthesis with a mixture a balanced tone. -
You are in good company, g, among those genius guys in your notes, and you did their thoughts well in this finely crafted poem; I enjoyed it.
The loss of languages, especially primal ones, leaves, for certain, dark and empty holes on the earth, on our human collective consciousness and unconsciousness. I think especially of American Indian tongues, forceably removed from tribal experience by whites, but there may be some hope in the revival now taking place.
I like how you formed the lines of the piece in a kind of Germanic rhetorical style, verbs toward the end of thoughts.
Based on your poem, I wonder if there's a deeper mirror of thought now taking place: language AND visuals that reflect our experiences and ways of thinking about them: movies and television - language and visuals together.
I think that we are among the recent people who can actually see as well as hear our own history.
Good poem; thoughtful, and its sadness is well taken.
Later...
Lad -
Anguish of Language Languishes Still.
Greetings and most earnest felicitations Mr Gagiikwe and a belated welcome to this site already enrichened by your profuse offerings of eclectic multi-topic poetry.
As a bastardized Englishman residing in Norway I empathize accutely with your theme herein. During puberty (when I moved up here) I faced both acne and a language barrier and often found myself mortified by my semantic inadequacies. To this day though I converse daily in the Norwegian vernacular I could not imagine attempting to write anything worthwhile in aught but anglo.
"Tis somewhat akin to masturbating with one´s left hand" I inform friends rude enough to ask, "a feeling of alienation and I never seem to get the rhythm right".
Frustrating certainly.
Another facet of the subject you artfully wax on is the sad death of minority languages - examples of which abound in brief segments on Discovery channel. A tragedy it is when a culture and a unique folks voice is forever silenced.
"this heart a people cut out, "
Otherwise I had quite a chortle at your parody of German sentencing with verb endings. Quite Yoda it was!
A blend of seriousness enhanced with humour and pathos which works well.
And yet though we may bask and wallow in our native tongue, how far we are from voicing the ineffable. I do however retain the conceit that wordcraft and evocative poetry inches us closer to...
Well, something...
Cheers
gG
"
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