GLOSSIA - AUTUMN ISSUE 2012

glossia

creative modern languages journal

SEASONS autumn 2012 issue 3

glossia

creative modern languages journal

how does your language inspire you? cover photo

Baguette Delivery, La Vend茅e Corinne Andrew

p.4

Lluvia y seca, chili y lim贸n Tereza Bauerova

p.6

Seasons are a Cultural Phenomenon Emilia Morano-Williams

p.10

Los Descendientes del Cielo Thomas Web

seasons

inside… p.12

La Maîtresse Blanche Matthew Jones-Parry

p.14

‘Ласточка’, by Алексей Плещеев translation by Isobel Allen

p.16 in the next issue submission guidelines

edited by Hannah Scott

Lluvia y seca, chile y limón ¿Qué es lo que extraño de México?

más

El que cuando sale el sol, hace tanto calor que puedo caminar en sandalias todo el día.

El que cuando llueve, se inundan las calles y por unos momentos, toda la vida en la ciudad se para.

El que cuando como tacos con salsa picante, me enchilo, mis labios arden y mi boca está a punto de escupir fuego.

El queso. Tortillas de maíz.

Lonches de chorizo.

Licuados de fruta tropical.

Agua fresca de horchata con fresa. Nieves raspadas de todos los sabores. El tequila, por supuesto.

Comer todo, hasta frutas, con chile y limón.

La música popular, de mala calidad y pésima letra, la que les gusta a todos pero todos tienen vergüenza de admitirlo.

La música clásica, casi desconocida, sofisticada y exótica. Conciertos a cielo abierto.

La gente, los encuentros, las locuras, los viajes, las vistas, las mañanas, las noches…

La intensidad de la vida, en fin.

Tereza Bauerova

Seasons are a Cultural Phenomenon Autumn: kids running back to school, perfect foliage, the smell of cinnamon and apples on a chilly evening, a crackling fireplace and large sweaters. These images fill our minds and fill our adverts.

Every year they woo me without fail and seduce me into thinking that I love autumn. That is, until the cold, dark reality hits and I want to pull said large sweater over my ears in a futile quest for warmth.

Since I have no plans in to move to California, Australia or anyplace where summer and spring are the dominant seasons, I decided this year that autumn and I should try to work out our troubles.

Unfortunately, it’s not simply a matter of deciding that I’ll find a way to enjoy the longer nights and chillier mornings. No, during my time abroad at Bristol and now in Italy I’ve come to realize that seasons aren’t a simply meteorological phenomenon, but a cultural one as well. If a Brit were to go to New England, they wouldn’t find their perfect fall. If an Italian were to go to England, it wouldn’t feel like autumn. When this American goes to England and Italy, she doesn’t always know what to think when the season begins. My

childhood fall memories are filled with white New England churches, red leaves and pumpkin patches; English kids get bon fire night and dark, rainy afternoons. The kids in Italy, let’s just say they aren’t making leaf garlands or drinking pumpkin spice lattes.

The world may be flattening out, but autumn retains its national character more than any other season. Fall holidays starkly manifest these differences. In America there’s the long weekend for Thanksgiving. In England, there’s Guy Fawkes and in Italy they celebrate All Souls Day. In America Halloween is important. In England you simply must dress up in a scary costume and in Italy the holiday is a novel, foreign idea that is divorced from their culture and the right way of being.

I’ve always found the big holidays easy to forego. It’s the small moments that make me miss my childhood understanding of fall and yearn for the comforts of my own culture and country. It’s those Sunday afternoons when I want to make pumpkin butter or apple pie that I feel like I’m missing out on the season. Talking to friends, family and reading magazines remind me of the seasonal rites that my new country doesn’t participate in. The images and seasonal

stereotypes of an American fall didn’t necessarily show up in my childhood, but haunt me now.

Autumn in England makes sense to me; the weather is perfect for staying inside and spending time with loved ones. It’s as if the country exists in a perpetual autumn with ubiquitous grey skies. Italy, however, has always meant summer to me, eating alfresco and sipping on peach iced tea. Italy doesn’t have rows and rows of trees changing color and dropping their leaves on streets to remind you that cooler weather is settling in. I miss those small tokens. Even though I have my music that screams fall, even though I have chillier days, dark mornings and fall vegetables, I feel like something is going on without me.

That’s the biggest struggle with living abroad: the fear of missing out. After all, isn’t everyone in England right now? Aren’t they going to class, trying to get a spot in the library, talking to professors, sitting in Boston Tea Party and going on epic nights out? They might be, then again, they might not be.

Autumn might not be that different if I was in England or America. It might just be the possibility of participating in stereotypical

fall activities that keeps me happy. Seasons are a shared cultural understanding more than a day on the calendar. After all, if it can snow in fall and be warm in winter, there isn’t much that the weather can do to determine our understanding of the year and of seasons.

So, while everyone else is enjoying their hot apple cider, pumpkin pie and clapboard churches, I’ll be in Italy, trying to make my own autumn 2012 as memorable as possible. I have no idea what form that might take, but at least there’s one thing that I had right now that nowhere else has: the offseason in Venice.

Emilia Morano-Williams

Author’s Note: I did end up having a lovely autumn in Italy and, while it was devoid of pumpkin picking, clap board churches and apple pie, it was filled with cinnamon, the smell of roasting chestnuts and even a trip to Venice in the offseason.

Los Descendientes del Cie

El mar, lleno de verano El alba perezosa, esparciendo sus rayos entre las olas.

El viento viejo, inagotable Aguanta el peso infinito de las aves.

Zumbando entre las nubes, la ma単ana del periodo de celo.

elo

No queda más que el parloteo de los pájaros El ruido profundo de las olas Quebrándose en la orilla.

Los acantilados, labrados por el agua Lugar de calor, de refugio, de amor Guardianes de esta vida precaria.

La hora de comer.

El nido, colocado en el precipicio de la Tierra Una vez morada pacífica En las riñas de la juventud, ahogado.

Se acerca el crepúsculo Se acerca la tormenta.

Thomas Webb

la maĂŽtresse blanche

La neige est une dame, ainsi belle que mortelle,

La Mort en douceur, sous son voile de blancheur.

Son corps est léger, reluisant de diamants,

La Sirène amoureuse a une étreinte tueuse.

Matthew Jones-Parry

Ласточка Травка зеленеет, Солнышко блестит; Ласточка с весною В сени к нам летит. С нею солнце краше И весна милей... Прощебечь с дороги Нам привет скорей! Дам тебе я зерен; А ты песню спой Что из стран далеких Принесла с собой.

Алексей Плещеев

The Swallow The grass is going green The sun is shining; To us in the spring time The swallow is flying.

With her the sun’s more beautiful And the spring’s much more sweet, As down from her journey A greeting she tweets.

I’ll give you grain, And a song you will sing, Which from some distant country The swallow did bring.

Isobel Allen

contact us – glossia.bristol@gmail.com www.issuu.com/glossia www.facebook.com/Glossia Journal

edited by Hannah Scott

submission guidelines creative writing Literary submissions are welcomed in any genre, in Czech, French, German, Italian, Russian, Portuguese and Spanish, and should be no more than 1500 words. Please send a short summary in English along too.

literary translation Translations should be into English from any of the above languages, and should be no more than 1500 words in length. Please send a copy of the original text along with your translation.

travel writing In any of the above languages or in English, no more than 1500 words.

art/photography please send as a .jpg