"Who Put the Code in the Dagoeneko?"Who Put the Code in the Dagoeneko?An ongoing study, with audiovisuals and show-and-tell, of a multithousand-year-old language and of how it looks & sounds today, in human-size version(s).
Ta jarraitzen dugu / And so we go onThe new single from Rafa Rueda's Zuhaitz okerretan gora noa. A DEBT TO PHOTOGRAPHS "The truth is, old photograph, this is the last time I will look at you let’s settle our account once and for all. Rolling thunder does not scare me any more darkness does not impede my sleep, even my memory has started to light up the pathways. The moment will arrive, alone again, nevertoday, impossible I will realise, perhaps in time to wake up. Stay here old photograph stay in this old bunk next to tributes and cracks. Farewell they are calling me I will leave slowly, step by step, I will lift the latch and leave for newly metalled roads, the fountains of my friends, the photos where black and white stand out just like intense colors.”—Lyrics by Gotzon Barandiaran. ©Rafa Rueda, Zuhaitz okerretan gora noa, ISBN 8436039068803 (Videoclip by Alphax.) The trailer of "Agian (Maybe)," a 2006 documentary on at least some of all this, by Arkaitz Basterra (with a journal entry by Kirmen Uribe). And for my personal (favorable) opinion of it please see: "LOTURAK," the first single from Rafa Rueda's Zuhaitz okerretan gora noa— "LINKS": "We tie young bushes down with small stakes. Fearful that they will not grow straight. They try to escape but they can do nothing. They are not able to grow with their imperfections. they cannot do anything to free themselves from their stakes. We have all acted like these bushes at some point. We like seeing twisted trunks on the pages of books, but never in our garden. We are not able to grow with our imperfections. we cannot do anything to free ourselves from our stakes." ©Rafa Rueda, Zuhaitz okerretan gora noa, ISBN 8436039068803 (Videoclip by Mikel Clemente.) And live, November 2008:
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The poet was trying to teach me the flavor of a pending word, a word for a dangling kind of awaiting, contained, he said, in the very sound of the word, for which we had nothing easy. Casting about, casting out and finding only an orange, bobbing; another; a purple for which we had no rhyme. This kind was not “impatient”; no Southern biding. A slow fast toward food. Wasted no time. And so I had to find another way of conveying a long, long moment of waiting alert to catch a slight sign, any day the whole length of our wait. —Elizabeth Macklin Not so recent news,
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