Friday, July 15, 2016

EC 554
A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost:
By © Ludis Cuckold
5 The Music of Words

The first words were a humming sound that like the purr of a cat emerged from the region of the belly when stimulated by a dream or sensation that emotes and broadcasts pleasure. In other words, the first words which formed language were evocalized* and were singing forth a subjective language. Perhaps the first words had no meaning, but were only sounds. Those who have an ear for such things, will have noted that a cat, too, may inflect his-her purr from a lower to a higher register.

*English is a non-evocalized language that has for the most part abandoned evocalization and is straining to replace emotion with words become like objects. This is one reason why it is nearly impossible to translate from an evocalized (highly inflected) or musical language (Latvian/Lithuanian**, Hawaiian, Japanese, etc.) to a non-evocalized language such as English or French. The problem of translation increases when an evocalized language becomes a written language, because ‘writing’ pretends to be an objectification, and due to social life becoming citified (thingified and virtualized) individuals lose their ability to emote and sing. The prime example of this is the loss of the ‘endearing’ word in the written words uised by the media of Latvija and other countries that once had emotive languages. **The word ”tūta” means the same as the English word ‘toot’, to blow a horn; also ‘pūta’ to blow one’s breath.

The hum (from the belly with mouth closed) is followed by a brief opening of the lips, by means of which the hum exits with the sound of a vowel which makes for the first word “ohm” (+ a,e,i,u). In Old Latvian songs the “ohm” became “īīīh”, which sound (sometimes drawn or īīīhd in the background by home made flutes or horns were drawn for the length of an entire song) formed the most frequent backdrop for sutartine singers. Of such singing—to which  was added rhyming (another device of music)—came proto language(s). A long time ago the rhymers were known as shamans or healers, whose words ‘spelled’ pain until it became quiescent. Later the same spellers became known as poets, who became the first singers-musicians.

In a society that no longer is a community of the forest or field, but an acultured mob in some city, music is no longer the music of the soul of being, but a harsh ratling military drum beat that replaces God with the Ego of humanitas. The Ego speaks with a voice that speaks from the Tower of Babel, insisting that democracy in the city is the same as democracy in the forest or field. This of course is a palpable but unnoticed lie that prevails, because the countryside-nature has been ‘conquered’.

A near perfect description of a community become an a- and de-cultured mob is my own country of origin—Latvija, which today is  populated by decultured postSoviet globalists. Rock and Pop music has replaced any knowledge or interest in the songs whence the origin of a people’s language. Once (100 years or so ago) proud of its folk poems, aka dainas, Latvija cultivated its heritage. Today one hears its ancient poems-songs only at state organized political propaganda events. Moreover, folk songs now sung in Latvija are of melodies composed by composers of our times. Not even anthropologists or ethnograpers have an idea what the original melody was or may have been. However, the Lithuanian ‘sutartine’* as sung at the above and subsequent links gives hints of how language and music originated from a hum, not all that dissimilar from a cat’s purr.

*Sometimes a sutartine was sung by four women with each one holding to a slightly different pitch and sometimes moving about or dancing in a small circle. This is most likely how the Latvians acquired a folk dance (popular to this day) known as ‘sudmalinyas’, the windmill. Unfortunately, though in times past the sutartines surely were sung also in what is now the territory of Latvija, except for acadamics the Latvian people have no idea that their own singing tradition includes such songs.

An ‘insignificant’ ditty that almost every Latvijan child and adult still knows, addresses a lady bug that is walking up the hand of the singer who is pointing his finger upward: “Bizz, bizz, mārīt,/ mājiņ deg/ visi bērni sadeguši,/ vai uz augš,/ vai uz lej,/ vai uz zaļiem kapiņiem.”* When the ditty is sung slowly and in a monotone, it delivers a melody that for all its insignificance fits perfectly for thousands of folk poems (1 Ai Dieviņi, ko darīsi,/2 kad mēs visi nomirsim?/3 Ne tev tēvs, ne māmiņa,/4 ne kas tevi daudzinās.). What ethnographers seek is before their very eyes unrecognized for what it is.

*(My English translation: Bzz, bzz, ladybuy,/ your house is afire,/ all your children are aflame./ fly high,/ fly low,/ or to the green burial ground.)

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