RUDIMENTS, pt. 791
(not so bad, really)
I had a half-Italian friend
once, Alex, who used to
go around saying mezzo
mezzo. Whenever anyone
would ask, 'How are you?'
he'd say, 'Ah, mezzo mezzo.'
It was pronounced as 'metza,
metza,' sort of, or, then, close
to that. I never really knew
what was up with that. He was
haughty enough about himself
that I always somehow thought
he was saying, 'Mensa, Mensa.'
Which is a society for high
IQ people - which , of course,
he would have just loved. What
it does mean is like 'half and
half,' - the good and the bad.
Not so bad, not so good.
Kind of a 'so so.'
-
It never bothered me, but I
always found it to be a bit
like striving. My opinion was,
just say how you are and shut
up with the other language
posturing. I never told him
that, so he went on with it.
-
There's only so much you
can do about other people,
I found. They're going to be
what they're going to be, no
matter what you'll try to do
about it. Everyone is already
patterned for themselves.
It's a done deal - which
is probably a better answer
anyway, to the question of
'How are you?' a good response,
yes, 'It's a done deal.' Now,
how is that said in ancient
Greek? Imagine going to
someone's wake, and in the
post-life review they give
everyone now, in the funeral
parlors, to have, instead of
photos, all information about
the person, achievements,
accolades, etc., posted around,
but everything in another
language.
-
It's funny, but that once
was what the 'vernacular'
was - getting rid of all
that gibberish, secret
language, and other
tongues that no one
understood. People then
began with their own stuff,
reading and then writing too.
As if, until that point, life had
been unclear, and they were
on the threshold of all sorts
of vast and new knowledge,
uncoverings, and experiences.
Which they were, yes, BUT
had they not, for the previous
500 years, been at work in
slaughtering, massacring, and
killing en masse millions of
others who saw things in a
different way from their own.
'They' being so sure of and
filled with certainty about
all the old crud they'd believed
and killed for. Missions?
Discoveries? Crusades? You
know, any and all of that can
happen again, at any time.
So watch out.
-
Back in Elmira - this reminds
me - I used to have some free
time on Sunday mornings, as
my wife and young son had gotten
involved with some Presbyterian
Church Sunday Services thing.
So, I'd be around, at home, with
the dog; it was about 3 blocks
off, that church, or we'd walk
over to the college quad where
I knew that the NYC artist guy,
Gandy Brodie, in residence at the
college at that time, would be,
also with his dog. We'd become
friends, and often spent these
idle dog hours together. But,
anyway, this was all the period
of time (recently written about
a few chapters back) of my
German Lit. report, etc. on
Gutenberg and movable type
and the first glimmerings of
print-reproduction. I was most
intrigued, captivated in fact,
by the idea, once I learned it,
that of all that early and new
work of type and printing, that
when mechanized type first
became a handicraft, printing
was first used, not to make
new books, but as to read the
ancient and the medieval. That
astounded me, to think of the
currents of thought which
would have gone into that
- and then it hit me, and I
further learned, that it was
not yet really engrained
in people's minds the idea
we have of 'creative writing' -
of character and situation, plot.
The minds of those folk, instead,
held rigorously to the old
schemas of thought, dogma,
and even religiosity. Not seen
through the eyes of modernity
- the 'invention' of literature
was, then, not seen yet with
what we'd now call 'modern'
mind. I don't think they'd yet
realized that THEY too were
now free to create and to
develop their own worlds.
-
So I therefore was living a
quite primitive existence, as
far as 'things' went, yet roiling
through my mind were all these
notions of intellectual pursuit
not much able to be shared, or
even developed. It was a very
singular means of going at it :
growth was relegated to the
notebooks and papers I carried.
Had this been the computer age,
back then and there, it may all
have been different - storage
and links and postings, etc.,
but as it was there was none
of that. I think of it now and
wonder how - when it all
first came, about 1997, I'd
guess - any of this framework
of Internet and computers came
to be instituted up there. Perhaps
it wasn't at all. For years. I'd have
to figure the school systems, and
of course the college itself, and
its students, would all have had
to be entered into the 'computer
lottery' early on. But it must
have been interesting. How much
of any of this was grasped by the
1950's and 1960's people-versions
of farm-folk and families that I
saw up there, I could only
speculate.
-
The fellow that eventually did
buy my old farm place, a few
years after we'd moved (I held
both places for a long time) was,
interestingly enough, a Pakistani
guy, the owner of Elmira Business
Machines - which small store
and operation I'd known about
for years. High-tech for that era
was a Texas Instrument calculator
and some adding and payroll
electronic gizmos, along with
the usual bevy of IBM Selectrics
for typewriters, etc. He himself
was fairly Americanized, yes,
probably about 45 years old,
well-kept, but he had the accent
and the distinguishing characteristics
that would show you his nationality
well and easily. I often wondered
what those folk, after my exit,
must have thought of him. (Life
is so wickedly peculiar now, I
can't for the life of me recall his,
very simple, name). Anyway,
he and his wife may be dead, or
not, but they've invested much
money into the old place, plus
they've expanded and added
another, rear, level - plus a long
wheel-chair ramp all along the
front. So, the money must have
been good, and the surrounding
pleasant. I applaud him for all
that, but I don't favor what he
did, by any means. It has no
longer anything to do with
what I had there.
-
I remember, some time about
1976, he stopped by one day,
there, to talk; just chat about the
deal, look the place over,etc. I
was on the porch, reading, and
he asked what I was reading.
'Present At the Creation,' by
Dean Acheson - a sort of world-
political history of the Truman,
1947, post WWII rebuilding of
Europe era, book; he blanched
when I showed him the title.
'Awful heavy as a read, isn't
it?' I smiled, almost calmly,
and said, 'No, not so bad.'
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