I

“Der Asra”

Täglich ging die Wunderschöne
Sultanstochter auf und nieder
Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunn,
Wo die weißen Wasser Plätschern.

Täglich stand der junge Sklave
Um die Abendzeit am Springbrunn,
Wo die weißen Wasser plätschern;
Täglich ward er bleich und bleicher.

Eines Abends trat die Fürstin
Auf ihn zu mit raschen Worten:
“Deinen Namen will ich wissen,
Deine Heimat, deine Sippschaft!”

Und der Sklave sprach: “Ich heiße
Mohamed, ich bin aus Yemen,
Und mein Stamm sind jene Asra,
Welche sterben, wenn sie lieben.”

—By Heinrich Heine

II

A.
In reference to other HuSiaries and other HuSites:

Lost: nah, hasn't jumped the shark. My only complaints have to do with 1) the time slot, 2) the break in the middle of the season along with re-runs, and and 3) the annoyingly excessive commercial breaks. See also: Heroes. These all serve to make it a series better suited to DVD viewing, not primetime week-to-week viewing.

Doodles: thanks for the link to Herval's website. I appreciate good doodling.

Moby Dick: my adviser was in love with one chapter from it, and that's what inspired me to pick up a torn, used paperback of it once. Then about three or so years ago I actually started reading it and got through a bit whenever I'd take a break and get a drink or two or three at the Wine Cellar, which, at the time, was down the street from me. As with far too many other books, I haven't (yet) finished it. But what I consumed, I adored.

I couldn't comment upon or ramble on about Iraq or Iran without foaming at the mouth, and I couldn't talk about Zürich without a combination of pretension, nostalgia, and a gap between historical and contemporary knowledge.

B.
This would have been the day when I wrote about Book, but it is nearly 5p.m. (as I write but not as I post) and I still have about sixty pages left due to too much time wasted gazing in a daydream state out the cafe window. Gazing upon nothing, not even those passing. Perhaps on the 20% off sign not far away at Avol's. Perhaps through my peripheral vision I was abstracting the pedestrians—and I did do this directly and peripherally from time to time as they passed—as they walked, seeing not people in clothes but muscle and bone in motion, posture, bobbing and stationary heads, hips that shifted and thigh-hips that moved much like a connecting rod connected to a crankshaft.

As it was I read a bit, I ate a bit, and I drank a bit. There were few worthwhile conversations in my vicinity. When I was done with Book for a while I pulled out Dorrit Cohn's Transparent Minds, a somewhat canonical narratology book; I recommend it to anyone interested in 1st and 3rd person narration. I've had it for years but never read more than bits and pieces here and there.

C.
Following a recommendation from A I picked up Being There from 4-Star along with three other DVDs. 2-for-1 coupon you see. That will keep my weekend full of visual entertainment.

D.
My students have not learned the great skill of BS-ing. Oh, they can lie, I'm sure. I'm sure they can fabricate, etc. But the skill of seemingly talking knowledgeably about something when you're out of your depth, when you're hungover or tired or whatever. Nope. Several students were missing from class today. Hey, it's their grade. Four others got around to admitting that they hadn't done the reading ... a short text, a mere two pages.

I know that they have other classes. I know that at their age I often failed to do the reading. But like I said: their grade. And I don't care. If they're not prepared, they get failing marks. The only bit that saddens me and makes me resentful is that the slackers retard the environment for those who are prepared and who are there to learn, unless, of course, I say, “If you didn't do the reading, don't insult me and your peers by showing up.” I probably had profs who said such things, but if so, I've forgotten.

At least learn to participate by providing good BS.

III

“The Asra”

Daily the fair Sultan's daughter
Wanders to and fro at twilight
By the margin of the fountain,
Where the waters white are rippling.

Daily the young slave at twilight
Stands beside the fountain's margin,
Where the waters white are rippling,
Daily grows he pale and paler.

There one evening moved the princess
Toward the slave with words swift-spoken
“Tell me, tell me what thy name is,
Where thy home is, what thy lineage?”

Spake the youthful slave: “My name is
Mahomet, I come from Yemen;
And by birth I am an Asra,
One who dieth when he loves.”

—Translated by Emma Lazarus