Like Seamus Heaney the other day, I was sufficiently moved by the winter solstice to want to write a poem about it. Unfortunately I could think of nothing to rhyme with "solstice" apart from poultice, which is close enough but not very poetic. A Dream of Poultice does not inspire. Nor is my familiarity with Dante as great as Heaney's, so that I might inadvertently chuck in a few lines from the Inferno instead of the Paradiso and depress the bejaysus out of readers instead of lifting their spirits and adding to the seasonal good cheer.
Quando sono solo, sogno al'orizzonte, e mancan' le parole, as the poet (E. Sartori) said. That's it in a nuts hell, beg pardon, nutshell: On my own, gawk- ing at the horizon, words fail me.
Leave it to the professionals then. And Heaney's A Dream of Solstice is in truth a very beautiful and moving poem. The fact that he wrote it to a typically brutal Irish Times deadline ("Keep it tight, max 500 words saved on text-only, modem by 6 p.m. absolute latest, Shay, right?") makes it all the more impressive, though with regard to the subject-matter of the solstice at Newgrange, Heaney was allowed a good deal of latitude, 53.72N I think it was. Speaking of language, a US-published study revealed the other day that different languages require the use of different parts of the brain, and the authors believe this knowledge could help those suffering from dyslexia, or indeed anyone who tells tasteless stories beginning - "A man walks into a bra - ". The researchers found that speakers of English and Italian need the use of different parts of their brain to read words in their native language. This is because Italian is far simpler to read aloud than English, as most of the sounds, or phonemes, are represented by the letters. The words of written English often have to be analysed for meaning before they can be correctly pronounced.
What was not remarked on is that speakers of Italian also need the use of different parts of their body in order to speak it. Anyone who has been to Italy, or has had an affair with an Italian, which is more or less obligatory for visitors to Italy, will know this. We are not talking about ordinary gestures here. When an Italian gets angry he shouts. That's only normal. But if he gets really angry he will also remove his spleen and cast it on high in the air, before catching it neatly and putting it away again. This is a regular sight on Italian streets and the bloodiness of it all is really terrible to see. The altercations between drivers give rise to even more gory theatrics.
So when matters of the heart are involved, and passions are aroused, you can only imagine what goes on in private rooms. It hardly bears thinking about.
Indeed, it was Madonna who pointed out that it is possible for two people who don't share a language to enjoy a relationship, so long as the language is Italian. (Like everything else, this sounds better in Italian).
Gestures are everything in Italy, as Barbara Bush, former US First Lady, learnt on a State trip some years back. Visiting a school for the deaf, she rounded off the occasion with what she believed to be a universal "I love you" sign. Extending her index and little fingers, she instantly had her young audience falling about laughing, since her gesture indicated rather rudely where they might all go.
With regard to the need to use different parts of the brain for different languages, German is a a good example. If you want to understand German, the first thing you have to do is get a good grip on your rhombbencephalon and pull it right over the medulla oblongata, taking care not to snag it on any stray bits of the left cerbellum. Only then will you realise why, no matter how long and ludicrously complicated a German sentence might be, and no matter how many subordinate clauses it might possess, the verb must always at the end of it go.
As for distinguishing between masculine and feminine nouns in German, other complicated brain adjustments must first be made. Make sure your left sconce is not obscured by the noodle. Stretch your pate as far as you can to the left. Open the mid-cerbellum using the small "zip" close to the right ear. Only now will you understand why, for example, a toad (krote), no matter how ugly or wart-covered, is classed as feminine, while a delightful young blonde blue-eyed fraulein remains steadfastly neuter.
bglacken@irish-times.ie