Wednesday, October 12, 2016

len pi linja suno, tan jan Mali *170*

suno li len e ma kepeken linja suno la mi lukin. tan sewi pi tomo mi la mi lukin e ma pan. kon pi wawa lili li tawa lon ma ni en kili pan. suno li pana e mani suno ona tawa ma mi tawa moku. ona soweli li suno wawa tan insa pi lawa tawa pi pan ni li suno e ma pan suli sama seli loje. kepeken linja ona la suno li len e mi. suno li weka e lete pi tenpo pimeja pini li poki e mi. waso mije mi li kalama wawa e pilin seli pona. mi lukin e suno lili pi lon selo ona la mi toki e ni: "ona li kalama tan suno a." linja suno li tawa, li tawa suli, li tawa wawa, li poki e pimeja kepeken pilin pona, li suno e selo kule pi tomo sewi. sewi li open e uta laso ona la ona li pini e lape pi ma kasi suli. waso pi ma kasi li kalama pona. nena ale li wile lon e linja suno li toki e ni: "kama pona! suno o linja e ma e mi!" mi a e pilin pona, li anpa tan sewi tomo, li open e pali pi tenpo suno sin.
tenpo kama la suno li anpa. suno li weka e linja pona ona tan ma suli. linja loje mute li anpa li tawa monsi pi nena pimeja. mani suno kule li tawa ona li tawa weka. mi sona ala e ma pi suno lape. taso mi sona e ni: ma pan li ike pilin. waso mije li kalama ala. sewi li pini e uta lete ona. suno lili pi sewi pimeja li toki e ni: "suno suli li lon seme?" kon wawa pi jan pi tenpo pini li lon tomo sewi. soweli pi nasa en ike li tawa lon nena. mi pini e selo oko mi. lape la, mi lukin e tenpo sin pi len pi linja suno.












Cloak of Sunbeams
When the sun clothes the earth in sunbeams, I look on. From the top of my house I look at the barley fields. A gentle breeze moves on the land and this grain. The sun sends out its sun flocks to the earth to graze. They shine brightly between the moving heads of grain and light the large fields like fire. With its beams, the sun clothes me. The sun drives away the cold of last night and encloses me. My rooster loudly crows the good warm feeling. When I see the sparkles in his feathers, I say “Oh, he crows because of the sun.” The sunbeams move and move a lot and move quickly and enclose the darkness with good feelings and light the colorful surfaces of the steeple. When the sky opens its blue mouth, it ends the sleep of the forest. The forest birds chirp loudly. All the hills want to give birth to the sunbeams and say “Welcome, Sun! Stitch together the earth and me.” I sigh with contentment and go down from the housetop and begin the work of a new day.
Later, the sun goes down. The sun takes away its pleasant beams from the fields. The red beams go down and go behind the dark hills. The sun flocks go to it and go away. I don't know the land of the sleeping sun. But I know that the grain fields are sad. The cock does not crow. The sky closes its cold mouth. The stars of the night sky say “Where is the big sun?” The ghost of ancient people are in the steeple. Weird and evil beasts are on the hills. I close my eyelids. In sleep I see the return of the cloak of sunbeams.

The original
Sunweave by Marie Elliott

I watched as the sun spun its web across the world. From the rooftop of old uncle Aldrich's thatched shack I gazed across the barley fields, stalks floating freely betwixt a passing breeze. The sun sent its flock out to graze in our pastures, and swiftly it shone through nodding heads, illuminating the field with a golden fire. The sun took its needle and thread and embroidered the air about me, stitching me into pocket of warmth to ward off the nighttime frosts. Our rooster cock-a-doodled audaciously in pride and triumph, and seeing a faint glow of light about him, I spoke to myself, “That must have been the sun.” It was steadily racing now, rays and ribbons netting the darkness in euphoria and bedazzling the amethyst windows of the steeple in the distance. The sky began to yawn, a sea-blue gaping maw awakening the forest, calling the birds to begin their jubilant choir. Every rolling hillock, glistening in jeweled dewdrops, welcomed the weft of the sunlight into the warp of the world. I watched as the sun’s web unfolded over all of us. Then, after a sigh of content, I dropped from the thatched rooftop to work among the barley fields.

The sun retreated later that day. It unpicked its fine tapestry and pulled each string behind it. A train of crimson threads followed on behind a shadowy hilltop, and the sun’s colourful flock chased after it. I know not where the sun goes once it releases darkness back into the world, the warp quivering as a cold wind runs between. All I know is that the barley fields are stricken with a sadness in waiting, the rooster does not even cluck as a hen, and the sky closes firmly its cooling lips, small stars blinking to ask, “Where has the sun gone?” The steeple is riddled with ancient ghosts now, and strange and terrible creatures wander the hills. I close my eyelids, barred to the world in slumber, and dream of tomorrow with its brilliant sunweave.
 

7 comments:

Unknown said...

"mi a e pilin pona"? What happened there? "a tan pilin pona"?

Unknown said...

And what about "mani"? I know it's the original "soweli pali" per se, but haven't things changed a lot?

John CLIFFORD said...

Mali is adventurous here in using 'a' as a transitive verb, meaning "to utter an inarticulate sound expressing...". Your suggestion is safer, but less interesting.
The basic meaning of 'mani', according to Sonja when she introduced it,is "domesticated herd animal". The rest follows with the developing history of economic activity. In tp, however, the old remains and the distinction between 'mani' and ordinary 'soweli' is occasionally -- as here - significant.

Unknown said...

mi jan Mali ;) Sorry, just didn't recall us discussing that part, particularly changing "a tan" to "a e", and while I know the distinction is important, I bet that most people wouldn't understand it at all in that way now unless told. Sorry again, we've probably gone over all this anyways, was just curious since I didn't recall those changes.

John CLIFFORD said...

I don't recall (and cannot find on a quick search) any discussion of 'a e' vs 'a tan'. As a result, I am not quite sure what the difference might be; perhaps the first is a more conscious act?

Unknown said...

I think so. I meant "a tan pilin pona" as "produce noise from/as a result of a great feeling" i.e. "sigh" (could be whoop or yell though I hope context handles that, and it wouldn't make too much of a difference). I don't really get "a e" as it makes me think of "toki e" and "kalama e"- mi toki e pilin pona is problematic as you understand, and I understood mi a e pilin pona to fall under the same category (I utter the general noise "pilin pona" (somehow) rather than I express good feelings). So, now I get what you mean... I'm going to be really nitpicky on this and say that a sigh tends to be more involuntary, therefore "a tan", but it is how it is. :)

John CLIFFORD said...

I see the point about 'a e' v. 'a tan' and the voluntary/involuntary distinction, which has some merit, though I am not sure what applies in this case. The connection between 'a' and 'toki' is obviously tenuous, since 'toki' is really about words said while 'a' seems to be about emotions expressed -- very different constructs. And 'kalama' tends to take a noisemaker as object (drum, bugle, etc.) or maybe a type of noise (alarm, cheer), which does get closer to 'a'. There just isn't much data here for 'a' altogether as a verb (or a noun, come to that) and not a lot for transitive 'kalama'.