Hear Mary Oliver (RIP) Read Five of Her Poems: “The Summer Day,” “Little Dog’s Rhapsody in the Night,” “Many Miles” and “Night and the River”

Poets get to have strong opin­ions about what poet­ry should be and do, espe­cial­ly poets as well-loved as Mary Oliv­er, who passed away yes­ter­day at the age of 83. “Poet­ry, to be under­stood, must be clear,” she told NPR in an inter­view, “It mustn’t be fan­cy…. I always feel that what­ev­er isn’t nec­es­sary should not be in the poem.” Oliver’s Zen approach to her art cut right to the heart of things and hon­ored nat­ur­al, unpre­ten­tious expres­sion. “I don’t know exact­ly what a prayer is,” she writes in “The Sum­mer Day,” “I do know how to pay atten­tion.”

For Oliv­er that meant giv­ing care­ful heed to the nat­ur­al world, shear­ing away abstrac­tion and obfus­ca­tion. She grew up in Ohio, and dur­ing a painful child­hood walked through the woods for solace, where she began writ­ing her first poems.

She became an “inde­fati­ga­ble guide to the nat­ur­al world,” as Max­ine Kumin wrote, and at the same time, to the spir­i­tu­al. She has been com­pared to Emer­son and wrote “about old-fash­ioned subjects—nature, beau­ty, and worst of all, God,” Ruth Franklin remarks with irony in a New York­er review of the poet’s last, 2017 book, Devo­tions. But, like Emer­son, Oliv­er was not a writer of any ortho­doxy or creed.

Oliver’s approach to the spir­i­tu­al is always root­ed firm­ly in the nat­ur­al. Spir­it, she writes, “needs the body’s world… to be more than pure light / that burns / where no one is.” She was beloved by mil­lions, by teach­ers, writ­ers, and celebri­ties. (She was once inter­viewed by Maria Shriv­er in an issue of mag­a­zine; Gwyneth Pal­trow is a big fan). Oliv­er was long the country’s best-sell­ing poet, as Dwight Gar­ner blithe­ly writes at The New York Times. But “she has not been tak­en seri­ous­ly by most poet­ry crit­ics,” Franklin points out. This despite the fact that she won a Pulitzer Prize in 1984 for her fifth book, Amer­i­can Prim­i­tiveand a Nation­al Book Award in 1992 for New and Select­ed Poems.

The word “earnest” comes up often as faint praise in reviews of Oliver’s poet­ry (Gar­ner tidi­ly sums up her work as “earnest poems about nature”). The impli­ca­tion is that her poems are slight, sim­ple, unre­fined. This per­haps inevitably hap­pens to acces­si­ble poets who become famous in life, but it is also a seri­ous mis­read­ing. Oliv­er’s work is full of para­dox­es, ambi­gu­i­ties, and the hard wis­dom of a mature moral vision. She is “among the few Amer­i­can poets,” crit­ic Ali­cia Ostrik­er writes, “who can describe and trans­mit ecsta­sy, while retain­ing a prac­ti­cal aware­ness of the world as one of preda­tors and prey.” In her work, she faces suf­fer­ing with “cold, sharp eyes,” con­fronting “steadi­ly,” Ostrik­er goes on, “what she can­not change.”

Her poems have includ­ed “his­tor­i­cal and per­son­al suf­fer­ing,” but more often she engages the life and death going on all around us, which we rarely take notice of at all. She peers into the dark­ness of her­mit crab shells, she feeds a grasshop­per sug­ar from the palm of her hand, watch­ing the creature’s “jaws back and forth instead of up and down.” Oliv­er often wrote about the con­stant reminders of death in life in poems like “Death at a Great Dis­tance” and “When Death Comes.” She wrote just as often about how aston­ish­ing it is to be alive when we make deep con­nec­tions with the nat­ur­al world.

“When it’s over,” Oliv­er writes in “When Death Comes,” ” I want to say all my life / I was a bride mar­ried to amaze­ment.” The cost of not pay­ing atten­tion, she sug­gests, is to be a tourist in one’s own life and to nev­er be at home. “I don’t want to end up sim­ply hav­ing vis­it­ed this world.” In the videos here, see and hear Oliv­er read “The Sum­mer Day,” “Wild Geese,” “Lit­tle Dog’s Rhap­sody in the Night,” “Night and the Riv­er” (above) and “Many Miles.”

Oliv­er was an artist, says Franklin, “inter­est­ed in fol­low­ing her own path, both spir­i­tu­al­ly and poet­i­cal­ly,” and in her work she will con­tin­ue to inspire her read­ers to do the same. These read­ings will be added to our col­lec­tion, 1,000 Free Audio Books: Down­load Great Books for Free.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hear Meryl Streep Read Sylvia Plath’s “Morn­ing Song,” a Poem Writ­ten After the Birth of Her Daugh­ter

An 8‑Hour Marathon Read­ing of 500 Emi­ly Dick­in­son Poems

Hear Dylan Thomas Recite His Clas­sic Poem, “Do Not Go Gen­tle Into That Good Night”

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Vintage Geological Maps Get Turned Into 3D Topographical Wonders

What good is an old-fash­ioned map in the age of apps?

One need not be a moun­taineer, geo­sci­en­tist, or civ­il engi­neer to get the topo­graph­i­cal lay of the land with a speed and accu­ra­cy that would have blown Lewis and Clark’s minds’ right through the top of the lynx and otter top­pers they took to wear­ing after their stan­dard issue army lids wore out.

There’s still some­thing to be said for the old ways, though.

Graph­ic design­er Scott Rein­hard has all the lat­est tech­no­log­i­cal advances at his dis­pos­al, but it took com­bin­ing them with hun­dred-year-old maps for him to get a tru­ly 3‑D appre­ci­a­tion for loca­tions he has vis­it­ed around the Unit­ed States, as well as his child­hood home.

A son of Indi­ana, Rein­hard told Colossal’s Kate Sierzputows­ki that he found some Grand Teton-type excite­ment in the noto­ri­ous­ly flat Hoosier State once he start­ed mar­ry­ing offi­cial nation­al geospa­tial data to vin­tage map designs:

 When I began ren­der­ing the ele­va­tion data for the state, the sto­ry of the land emerged. The glac­i­ers that reced­ed across the north­ern half of the state after the last ice age scraped and gouged and shaped the land in a way that is spec­tac­u­lar­ly clear…I felt empow­ered by the abil­i­ty to col­lect and process the vast amounts of infor­ma­tion freely avail­able, and cre­ate beau­ti­ful images.

(The gov­ern­ment shut-down has not dam­aged the accu­ra­cy of Reinhard’s maps, but the U.S. Geo­log­i­cal Survey’s web­site does warn the pub­lic that the effects of any earth­quakes or oth­er force majeure occur­ring dur­ing this black-out peri­od will not imme­di­ate­ly be reflect­ed in their topos.)

(Nor are they able to respond to any inquiries, which puts a damper on hol­i­day week­end plans for mak­ing salt dough maps, anoth­er Hoosier state fave, at least in 1974…)

As writer Jason Kot­tke notes, the shad­ows the moun­tains cast on the mar­gins of Reinhard’s maps are a par­tic­u­lar­ly effec­tive opti­cal trick.

You can see more of Reinhard’s dig­i­tal­ly enhanced maps from the late 19th and ear­ly 20th-cen­tu­ry, and order prints in his online shop.

via Kot­tke/Colos­sal

Relat­ed Con­tent:

View and Down­load Near­ly 60,000 Maps from the U.S. Geo­log­i­cal Sur­vey (USGS)

Down­load 67,000 His­toric Maps (in High Res­o­lu­tion) from the Won­der­ful David Rum­sey Map Col­lec­tion

The His­to­ry of Car­tog­ra­phy, “the Most Ambi­tious Overview of Map Mak­ing Ever Under­tak­en,” Is Free Online

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  See her onstage in New York City in Feb­ru­ary as host of  The­ater of the Apes book-based vari­ety show, Necro­mancers of the Pub­lic Domain. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Hear the Sounds of the Actual Instruments for Which Mozart, Beethoven, Haydn, and Handel Originally Composed Their Music

When we go to a con­cert of orches­tral music today, we hear most every piece played on the same range of instru­ments — instru­ments we know and love, to be sure, but instru­ments designed and oper­at­ed with­in quite strict para­me­ters. The pleas­ing qual­i­ty of the sounds they pro­duce may make us believe that we’re hear­ing every­thing just as the com­pos­er orig­i­nal­ly intend­ed, but we usu­al­ly aren’t. To hear what the likes of Mozart, Beethoven, Han­del, and Haydn would have had in their head as they com­posed back in their day, you’d have to have an orches­tra go so far as to play it not with mod­ern instru­ments, but the same ones orches­tras used back in those com­posers’ life­times.

Enter Lon­don’s Orches­tra of the Age of the Enlight­en­ment, which takes its name from the era of the late 18th cen­tu­ry from which it draws most of its reper­toire — and from which it draws most of its instru­ments, a vital part of its mis­sion to achieve peri­od-accu­rate sound. You can read more about the OAE’s instru­ments on its web site, or bet­ter yet, head over to its Youtube chan­nel to hear those instru­ments demon­strat­ed and their his­tor­i­cal back­grounds explained. Here we have four of the OAE’s videos: on the clar­inet they use for Mozart’s Clar­inet Con­cer­to, on the con­tra­bas­soon they use for Beethoven’s Fifth Sym­pho­ny and Hayd­n’s Cre­ation, the organ they use for Han­del’s Organ Con­cer­to, and an oboe like the one Haydn would have known.

“We love the music we play,” says OAE dou­ble bassist Cecelia Brugge­mey­er, “and we love ask­ing ques­tions about the music we play.” So when you use an instru­ment like the 300-year-old bass she shows off in anoth­er video, “you sud­den­ly find it does­n’t nec­es­sar­i­ly do the things a mod­ern instru­ment will do, and that sets up a whole train of ques­tions.” These include, “What would Bach have heard? How might the play­ers in his day have played? What does that mean for us, play­ing today? What does that mean for live music now, with this his­toric infor­ma­tion? We’re not try­ing to re-cre­ate the past. We’re try­ing to make some­thing that’s excit­ing now but using what was from the past” — not a bad metaphor, come to think of it, for the entire enter­prise of clas­si­cal-music per­for­mance in the 21st cen­tu­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

What Ancient Greek Music Sound­ed Like: Hear a Recon­struc­tion That is ‘100% Accu­rate’

Watch a Musi­cian Impro­vise on a 500-Year-Old Music Instru­ment, The Car­il­lon

Vis­it an Online Col­lec­tion of 61,761 Musi­cal Instru­ments from Across the World

Musi­cian Plays the Last Stradi­var­ius Gui­tar in the World, the “Sabionari” Made in 1679

Hear a 9,000 Year Old Flute—the World’s Old­est Playable Instrument—Get Played Again

The Musi­cal Instru­ments in Hierony­mus Bosch’s The Gar­den of Earth­ly Delights Get Brought to Life, and It Turns Out That They Sound “Painful” and “Hor­ri­ble”

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Behold Moebius’ Many Psychedelic Illustrations of Jimi Hendrix


The 1995 release of posthu­mous Jimi Hen­drix com­pi­la­tion Voodoo Soup has divid­ed fans and crit­ics for over two decades now. But what­ev­er its mer­its, its cov­er art should hold an hon­ored place in every Hen­drix fan’s col­lec­tion. Drawn by the leg­endary cult com­ic artist Moe­bius from a pho­to­graph of Hen­drix eat­ing soup in France, it cap­tures the sound Hen­drix was mov­ing toward at the end of his life—his head explod­ing in flames, or mush­room clouds, or pink psy­che­del­ic bronchial tubes, or what­ev­er. The image comes from a larg­er gate­fold, excerpt­ed below, which Moe­bius drew for the French dou­ble LP Are You Experienced/Axis: Bold as Love in 1975.

Jour­nal­ist Jean-Nöel Coghe was sup­pos­ed­ly very upset that he did not even receive men­tion for tak­ing the orig­i­nal pho­to, but in the nineties he and Moe­bius came togeth­er again for a project that would do them both cred­it, a book called Emo­tions élec­triques that Coghe wrote of his expe­ri­ences trav­el­ing through France as Hendrix’s guide dur­ing the Experience’s first tour of the coun­try in 1967.

Moe­bius pro­vid­ed the book’s illus­tra­tions, many of which you can see below, “each of them,” as the pub­lish­er’s descrip­tion has it, “imag­in­ing Hen­drix in a clas­sic Moe­bius land­scape of dreams.”

 

Obvi­ous­ly a huge Hen­drix fan, Moe­bius is in many ways as respon­si­ble for the psy­che­del­ic space race of the 1970s as the gui­tarist him­self. His work in the French com­ic mag­a­zine Métal hurlantHeavy Met­al in the Amer­i­can version—epitomized the sci-fi and fan­ta­sy ele­ments that came to dom­i­nate heavy rock. His work with Ale­jan­dro Jodor­owsky on the Chilean vision­ary filmmaker’s abort­ed Dune is the stuff of leg­end.

Moe­bius had illus­trat­ed album cov­ers since the ear­ly sev­en­ties, most­ly those of Euro­pean artists. But his cre­ations as a mag­a­zine and comics illus­tra­tor (and film sce­nar­ist) have the most endur­ing appeal for much the same rea­son as Hendrix’s music. They are both unpar­al­leled mas­ters and nat­ur­al sto­ry­tellers whose imag­ined worlds are so rich­ly detailed and con­sis­tent­ly sur­pris­ing they have birthed entire gen­res. The two may have crossed paths too late to actu­al­ly work togeth­er, but I like to think Moe­bius car­ried on the spir­it of Hen­drix in a visu­al form.

It may not be com­mon knowl­edge that Hen­drix hat­ed his album cov­ers, leav­ing detailed notes about them for his record com­pa­ny, who ignored them. His own choic­es, one must admit, includ­ing a Lin­da McCart­ney pho­to for the cov­er of Elec­tric Lady­land that makes the band look like they’re on the set of a pro­to-Sesame Street, do not exact­ly sell the records’ trea­sures. But Jimi might have loved Moe­bius’ inter­pre­ta­tions of his head­space, a visu­al con­tin­u­a­tion of a promi­nent strand of Hen­drix’s imag­i­na­tion. See all of Moe­bius’ Hen­drix illus­tra­tions here.

 

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Métal hurlant: The Huge­ly Influ­en­tial French Com­ic Mag­a­zine That Put Moe­bius on the Map & Changed Sci-Fi For­ev­er

Icon­ic Footage of Jimi Hen­drix Play­ing “Hey Joe” Ren­dered in the Style of Moe­bius, with the Help of Neur­al Net­work Tech­nol­o­gy

Jimi Hendrix’s Final Inter­view Ani­mat­ed (1970)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

A Page of Madness: The Lost, Avant Garde Masterpiece from Early Japanese Cinema (1926)

It’s a sad fact that the vast major­i­ty of silent movies in Japan have been lost thanks to human care­less­ness, earth­quakes and the grim effi­cien­cy of the Unit­ed States Air Force. The first films of huge­ly impor­tant fig­ures like Ken­ji Mizoguchi, Yasu­jiro Ozu, and Hiroshi Shimizu have sim­ply van­ished. So we should con­sid­er our­selves for­tu­nate that Teinosuke Kin­u­gasa’s Kuret­ta Ippei — a 1926 film known in the States as A Page of Mad­ness – has some­how man­aged to sur­vive the vagaries of fate. Kin­u­gasa sought to make a Euro­pean-style exper­i­men­tal movie in Japan and, in the process, he made one of the great land­marks of silent cin­e­ma. You can watch it above.

Born in 1896, Kin­u­gasa start­ed his adult life work­ing as an onna­ga­ta, an actor who spe­cial­izes in play­ing female roles. In 1926, after work­ing for a few years behind the cam­era under pio­neer­ing direc­tor Shozo Maki­no, Kin­u­gasa bought a film cam­era and set up a lab in his house in order to cre­ate his own inde­pen­dent­ly financed movies. He then approached mem­bers of the Shinkankaku (new impres­sion­ists) lit­er­ary group to help him come up with a sto­ry. Author Yasunari Kawa­ba­ta wrote a treat­ment that would even­tu­al­ly become the basis for A Page of Mad­ness.

Though the syn­op­sis of the plot doesn’t real­ly do jus­tice to the movie — a retired sailor who works at an insane asy­lum to care after his wife who tried to kill their child — the visu­al audac­i­ty of Page is still star­tling today. The open­ing sequence rhyth­mi­cal­ly cuts between shots of a tor­ren­tial down­pour and gush­ing water before dis­solv­ing into a hal­lu­ci­na­to­ri­ly odd scene of a young woman in a rhom­boid head­dress danc­ing in front of a mas­sive spin­ning ball. The woman is, of course, an inmate at the asy­lum dressed in rags. As her dance becomes more and more fren­zied, the film cuts faster and faster, using super­im­po­si­tions, spin­ning cam­eras and just about every oth­er trick in the book.

While Kin­u­gasa was clear­ly influ­enced by The Cab­i­net of Dr. Cali­gari, which also visu­al­izes the inner world of the insane, the movie is also rem­i­nis­cent of the works of French avant-garde film­mak­ers like Abel Gance, Russ­ian mon­tage mas­ters like Sergei Eisen­stein and, in par­tic­u­lar, the sub­jec­tive cam­er­a­work of F. W. Mur­nau in Der Let­zte Mann. Kin­u­gasa incor­po­rat­ed all of these influ­ences seam­less­ly, cre­at­ing an exhil­a­rat­ing, dis­turb­ing and ulti­mate­ly sad tour de force of film­mak­ing. The great Japan­ese film crit­ic Aki­ra Iwasa­ki called the movie “the first film-like film born in Japan.”

When A Page of Mad­ness was released, it played at a the­ater in Tokyo that spe­cial­ized in for­eign movies. Page was indeed pret­ty for­eign com­pared to most oth­er Japan­ese films at the time. The movie was regard­ed, film schol­ar Aaron Gerow notes, as “one of the few Japan­ese works to be treat­ed as the ‘equal’ of for­eign motion pic­tures in a cul­ture that still looked down on domes­tic pro­duc­tions.” Yet it didn’t change the course of Japan­ese cin­e­ma, and it was thought of as a curios­i­ty at a time when most films in Japan were kabu­ki adap­ta­tions and samu­rai sto­ries.

Page dis­ap­peared not long after its release and, for over 50 years, was thought lost until Kin­u­gasa found it in his own store­house in 1971. Dur­ing that time Kin­u­gasa received a Palme d’Or and an Oscar for his splashy samu­rai spec­ta­cle The Gate of Hell (1953) and Kawa­ba­ta, who wrote the treat­ment, got a Nobel Prize in Lit­er­a­ture for writ­ing books like Snow Coun­try about a lovelorn geisha.

You can find A Page of Mad­ness on our list of Free Silent Films, which is part of our col­lec­tion,  4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Ear­ly Japan­ese Ani­ma­tions: The Ori­gins of Ani­me (1917–1931)

Aki­ra Kuro­sawa & Fran­cis Ford Cop­po­la Star in Japan­ese Whisky Com­mer­cials (1980)

Wabi-Sabi: A Short Film on the Beau­ty of Tra­di­tion­al Japan

Aki­ra Kurosawa’s 100 Favorite Movies

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

An Animated History of Cheese: 10,000 Years in Under Six Minutes

We can now eat cheese near­ly any­where in the world, and most world cuisines seem to have found — to vary­ing degrees of suc­cess — ways of work­ing the stuff into their native dish­es. But if cheese has gone and con­tin­ues to go glob­al, from where did its jour­ney begin? The TED-Ed video above can tell you that and more, hav­ing been writ­ten by Uni­ver­si­ty of Ver­mont pro­fes­sor of nutri­tion and food sci­ences Paul Kind­st­edt, author of Cheese and Cul­ture: A His­to­ry of Cheese and its Place in West­ern Civ­i­liza­tion. Titled “A Brie(f) His­to­ry of Cheese,” it begins in 8000 BCE in the Fer­tile Cres­cent and arrives at our avid­ly cheese-eat­ing present in under six min­utes.

Human­i­ty’s dis­cov­ery of cheese hap­pened not long after its imple­men­ta­tion of agri­cul­ture. Left under the sun, the milk of domes­ti­cat­ed ani­mals would sep­a­rate into a liq­uid, which we now call whey, and solids, called curds. These curds, says Kind­st­edt, “became the build­ing blocks of cheese, which would even­tu­al­ly be aged, pressed, ripened, and whizzed into a diverse cor­nu­copia of dairy delights.”

Cheese gained pop­u­lar­i­ty quick­ly enough to become a stan­dard com­mod­i­ty, even a sta­ple, through­out the east­ern Mediter­ranean by the end of the Bronze Age. In the full­ness of time, region­al vari­a­tions devel­oped, from the hard, sun-dried Mon­go­lian byaslag to Egypt­ian goat’s-milk cot­tage cheese to south Asian paneer.

Some pop­u­la­tions, of course, have an eas­i­er time eat­ing cheese than oth­ers, and some indi­vid­u­als sim­ply don’t like it. But exam­ined close­ly, few foods reveal as much about human­i­ty’s long efforts to nour­ish itself with as much effi­cien­cy and vari­ety as pos­si­ble as cheese does. “Today, the world pro­duces rough­ly 22 bil­lion kilo­grams of cheese a year,” says Kind­st­edt, “shipped and pro­duced around the globe. But 10,000 years after its inven­tion, local farms are still fol­low­ing in the foot­steps of their Neolith­ic ances­tors, hand-craft­ing one of human­i­ty’s old­est and favorite foods.” And the more you appre­ci­ate that fact — learn­able in greater depth in the accom­pa­ny­ing TED-Ed les­son, the hard­er time you’ll have, say, turn­ing down the cheese course when next you dine at a French restau­rant. Cheese may be rich, but it’s rich not least in his­to­ry.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How to Break Open a Big Wheel of Parme­san Cheese: A Delight­ful, 15-Minute Primer

Leo Tolstoy’s Fam­i­ly Recipe for Mac ‘N’ Cheese

An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry of Tea

How to Bake Ancient Roman Bread Dat­ing Back to 79 AD: A Video Primer

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

An Ancient Egyptian Homework Assignment from 1800 Years Ago: Some Things Are Truly Timeless

Every gen­er­a­tion of school­child­ren no doubt first assumes home­work to be a his­tor­i­cal­ly dis­tinct form of pun­ish­ment, devel­oped express­ly to be inflict­ed on them. But the par­ents of today’s mis­er­able home­work-doers also, of course, had to do home­work them­selves, as did their par­ents’ par­ents. It turns out that you can go back sur­pris­ing­ly far in his­to­ry and still find exam­ples of the men­ace of home­work, as far back as ancient Egypt, a civ­i­liza­tion from which one exam­ple of an out-of-class­room assign­ment will go on dis­play at the British Library’s exhi­bi­tion Writ­ing: Mak­ing Your Mark, which opens this spring.

“Begin­ning with the ori­gins of writ­ing in Egypt, Mesopotamia, Chi­na and the Amer­i­c­as, the exhi­bi­tion will explore the many man­i­fes­ta­tions, pur­pos­es and forms of writ­ing, demon­strat­ing how writ­ing has con­tin­u­al­ly enabled human progress and ques­tion­ing the role it plays in an increas­ing­ly dig­i­tal world,” says the British Library’s press release.

“From an ancient wax tablet con­tain­ing a schoolchild’s home­work as they strug­gle to learn their Greek let­ters to a Chi­nese type­writer from the 1970s, Writ­ing: Mak­ing Your Mark will show­case over 30 dif­fer­ent writ­ing sys­tems to reveal that every mark made – whether on paper or on a screen – is the con­tin­u­a­tion of a 5,000 year sto­ry and is a step towards deter­min­ing how writ­ing will be used in the future.”

That wax tablet, pre­served since the sec­ond cen­tu­ry A.D., bears Greek words that Live­science’s Mindy Weis­berg­er describes as “famil­iar to any kid whose par­ents wor­ry about them falling in with a bad crowd”: “You should accept advice from a wise man only” and “You can­not trust all your friends.” First acquired by the British Library in 1892 but not pub­licly dis­played since the 1970s, the tablet’s sur­face pre­serves “a two-part les­son in Greek that pro­vides a snap­shot of dai­ly life for a pupil attend­ing pri­ma­ry school in Egypt about 1,800 years ago.” Its lines, “copied by this long-ago stu­dent were not just for prac­tic­ing pen­man­ship; they were also intend­ed to impart moral lessons.”

But why Greek? “In the 2nd cen­tu­ry A.D., when this les­son was writ­ten,” writes Smithsonian.com’s Jason Daley, “Egypt had been under Roman rule for almost 200 years fol­low­ing 300 years of Greek and Mace­don­ian rule under the Ptole­my dynasty. Greeks in Egypt held a spe­cial sta­tus below Roman cit­i­zens but high­er than those of Egypt­ian descent. Any edu­cat­ed per­son in the Roman world, how­ev­er, would be expect­ed to know Latin, Greek and — depend­ing on where they lived — local or region­al lan­guages.” It was a bit like the sit­u­a­tion today with the Eng­lish lan­guage, which has become a require­ment for edu­cat­ed peo­ple in a vari­ety of cul­tures — and a sub­ject espe­cial­ly loathed by many a home­work-bur­dened stu­dent the world over.

via Live­science

Relat­ed Con­tent:

You Could Soon Be Able to Text with 2,000 Ancient Egypt­ian Hiero­glyphs

Try the Old­est Known Recipe For Tooth­paste: From Ancient Egypt, Cir­ca the 4th Cen­tu­ry BC

The Turin Erot­ic Papyrus: The Old­est Known Depic­tion of Human Sex­u­al­i­ty (Cir­ca 1150 B.C.E.)

The Ancient Egyp­tians Wore Fash­ion­able Striped Socks, New Pio­neer­ing Imag­ing Tech­nol­o­gy Imag­ing Reveals

Muse­um Dis­cov­ers Math Note­book of an 18th-Cen­tu­ry Eng­lish Farm Boy, Adorned with Doo­dles of Chick­ens Wear­ing Pants

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

America at War: Infographic Reveals How the U.S. Military Is Operating in 40% of the World’s Nations

Ear­li­er this month, NBC reporter and ana­lyst William Arkin end­ed a 30-year career as a jour­nal­ist, announc­ing in a “scathing let­ter,” Democ­ra­cy Now! reports, that “he would be leav­ing the net­work. Arkin accus­es “the media of war­mon­ger­ing while ignor­ing the, quote, ‘creep­ing fas­cism of home­land secu­ri­ty.’” He does not equiv­o­cate in a fol­low-up inter­view with Amy Good­man. “The gen­er­als and the nation­al secu­ri­ty lead­er­ship” are also now, he says, “the com­men­ta­tors and the ana­lysts who pop­u­late the news media” (Arkin him­self is a for­mer Army intel­li­gence offi­cer).

The prob­lem isn’t only NBC, in his esti­ma­tion, and it isn’t only sup­posed jour­nal­ists cheer­lead­ing for war. Most of the con­flicts the coun­try is cur­rent­ly engaged in are un- or under-report­ed in major sources. His let­ter “applies to all of the main­stream net­works, applies to CNN and Fox, as well…. We’ve just become so shal­low that we’re not real­ly able even to see the truth, which is that we’re at war right now in nine coun­tries around the world where we’re bomb­ing, and we hard­ly report any of it on a day-to-day basis.”

This isn’t the case with inde­pen­dent media orga­ni­za­tions like Democ­ra­cy Now!, The Inter­cept, or Air­wars. Sec­u­lar and reli­gious refugee relief orga­ni­za­tions like the Inter­na­tion­al Res­cue Com­mit­tee, World Relief, or Mus­lim Glob­al Relief are pay­ing atten­tion. Many of these orga­ni­za­tions are non‑U.S.-based or con­nect­ed to the “civil­ian experts” Arkin says once appeared reg­u­lar­ly in the nation­al media and rep­re­sent­ed oppos­ing views, “peo­ple who might be uni­ver­si­ty pro­fes­sors or activists… or experts who were asso­ci­at­ed with think tanks.”

Air­wars, affil­i­at­ed with the Depart­ment of Media and Com­mu­ni­ca­tions at Gold­smiths, Uni­ver­si­ty of Lon­don, has mon­i­tored con­flicts around the world since 2014, with exten­sive cov­er­age and records of alleged civil­ian deaths, mil­i­tary reports, and the names of vic­tims. For a com­pa­ra­ble U.S.-focused deep dive, see the Costs of War Project at Brown University’s Wat­son Insti­tute of Inter­na­tion­al & Pub­lic Affairs. The project’s web­site not only tracks the enor­mous eco­nom­ic costs of wars in the Mid­dle East and Africa since 9/11; it also tracks “the human toll,” as you can see in the video below.

At the top of the post, see a map (view in a larg­er for­mat here) from the Cost of War Project’s Stephanie Savell, 5W Info­graph­ics, and the Smith­son­ian of all the regions where the U.S. is “com­bat­ting ter­ror­ism.” While most of the media orgs and non-prof­its men­tioned above would prob­a­bly dis­pute the use of that term in some or all of the con­flict zones, Savell sticks with the offi­cial lan­guage to describe the situation—one in which the nation “is now oper­at­ing in 40 per­cent of the world’s nations,” as she writes at Smithsonian.com.

Maybe no one needs an edi­to­r­i­al to imag­ine the enor­mous toll this lev­el of mil­i­tary engage­ment has tak­en over the course of 17 years since the incep­tion of the “Glob­al War on Ter­ror.” The map cov­ers the past two, illus­trat­ing “80 coun­tries, engaged through 40 U.S. mil­i­tary bases,” and con­duct­ing train­ing, exer­cis­es, active com­bat, and air and drone strikes on six con­ti­nents. The selec­tions, writes Savell, are “con­ser­v­a­tive,” and sourced from both inde­pen­dent and main­stream media out­lets and inter­na­tion­al gov­ern­ment and mil­i­tary sources.

“The most com­pre­hen­sive depic­tion in civil­ian cir­cles of U.S. mil­i­tary and gov­ern­ment antiter­ror­ist actions over­seas,” the Amer­i­ca at War map pro­vides infor­ma­tion we don’t often get in our daily—or hourly, or by-the-minute—diet of news. “Con­trary to what most Amer­i­cans believe, the war on ter­ror is not wind­ing down.” It is expand­ing. Giv­en the country’s his­to­ry of sus­tained mass move­ments against legal­ly sus­pect, gross­ly expen­sive wars with high civil­ian casu­al­ties, dis­ease epi­demics, star­va­tion, and refugee crises, one would think that a siz­able seg­ment of the pop­u­la­tion would want to know what their coun­try’s mil­i­tary and civil­ian defense con­trac­tors are doing around the world.

via Smithsonian.com

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of the U.S. Civ­il War Visu­al­ized Month by Month and State by State, in an Info­graph­ic from 1897

An Archive of 800+ Imag­i­na­tive Pro­pa­gan­da Maps Designed to Shape Opin­ions & Beliefs: Enter Cornell’s Per­sua­sive Maps Col­lec­tion

It’s the End of the World as We Know It: The Apoc­a­lypse Gets Visu­al­ized in an Inven­tive Map from 1486

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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