Persian Literature, Phanariotes, and Plaints

The Greek classes haven't become much easier, but that perception is partly also because the conversation class took place on Friday.

On Thursday evening there was the Byzantinian folk literature course; we read part of Digenis Akritas (often known as Akritis), a Byzantinian epic which coincidentally enough was written around the time of Beowulf and has apparently since then been reinvented into a national epic. The emir's song which starts the whole thing is the most unmitigated twaddle I have ever read in that line, being tremendously sappy and at the same time gruesome; it seems to have little originality or depth to recommend it. I find it hard to believe that it wasn't invented in the 19th century when it was discovered in Trabizond (and seems since to have been conveniently lost, only to resurface in Italy and in Madrid's Escurial during the 20th century as divergent copies), because it has a generic, ahistorical quality to it which one tends not to find in most folk epics, which are distinctive, weird, and frequently digressive. On the other hand, obviously this opinion shouldn't be taken as my final one since it is not based on a very profound acquaintance with the text. Anyway, the professor mostly spoke in German, and it was only when the classmates were talking in Greek when I didn't understand anything.

Before that the Persian literature survey course took place, as mentioned in the last blog post, and it was mostly an overview of the evolution of the language (Dari; Farsi being the Arabic for Parsi, which in turn derives from the name of a southwestern province of present-day Iran; etc.) and of different verse forms. Just as it is difficult to present Elizabethan verse by stating that sonnets have fourteen lines, grouped together according to the poet's approach, and containing either the Spenserian or other rhyme schemes — without providing any examples —I think it would have been more relatable if snippets of Persian verse had been given. But there is not that much time to do that; besides I copied down two of the titles from the reading list and looked up the first; this led me to read up on al-Mutanabbi, but he is not, I think, Iranian. What did interest me particularly is that the Persians seem to have been using rhyme since before the 9th century AD, whereas if I remember English literature properly it only popped up around the time of Chaucer (so the 14th century) in Britain.

On Friday morning there was the Greek prelanguage course, where we read the first chapter of a book which I remembered from last year, and a classmate from that year and I held a discussion about the difficulties of the other Greek courses. I still tend to be rather sleepy (because the classes usually take place at 8:30) but it is a nice class and it's reassuring that it isn't in Greek.

Then I went to the bookshop, where I wrote the professor an email setting forth the practical impossibility of pursuing the Greek studies this year according to suggestions which the professors and the department have made.

Then I returned for the first year Greek conversation class, which was largely in Greek. A fellow student read out a summary of a text, which she had written, and I didn't understand a thing except "1941" and "Mussolini"; and then the professor talked about Macedonia and also mentioned 1941, and that was basically all I understood in that hour. If there are proper nouns to latch onto, I can figure out what the subject is, but everything else is doubtful. Some words I wrote out and then looked up in the dictionary. Then we were given a satirical poem which she read, and the more experienced classmates understood it and found it funny, and I only knew what was going on when she went through it and translated the unknown words one by one. Then she gave two different homework assignments, one for the experienced (maybe four or five) and another for the inexperienced (another three or four) students. It was confusing and I didn't like being shut out of much of the class; while on the other hand I had to recognize that the professor was making an effort to accommodate us. It's not that I don't remember and didn't learn a great deal last year, it's only that I would have to know three times that vocabulary to get along.

In the evening I had the modern Greek history class, where we were given texts in German and Greek, specifically about the Phanariotes(?) who rather precariously climbed into the elite and served as interpreters and even margraves(?) in the Ottoman Empire, named after the city quarter Phanar in Istanbul. I came in a little late, and the class switched from Greek to German after I entered, but if the other students were irritated by the necessity they didn't show it. Sometimes the professor talked in Greek with the other students, if they asked something in the same language, but he was often comprehensible to me and would switch back eventually anyway; besides I guess it is comforting to feel considered and not feel dumb.

Anyway, it's all been kind of stressful
and I'm often on the verge of tears; but I figure that as long as the professors clearly understand where I'm at and don't expect more from me than I can offer, I will do the best I can and forge ahead so that I can write the exams and complete the course requirements. There is no intermediate class between the prelanguage course and the first-year level this year, since it seems that ordinarily the first-year level picks up exactly where the prelanguage course left off; so there is no other remedy which I can see but to repeat the prelanguage course alongside the first-year level as I am doing, so at least that basic knowledge is reinforced and filled out a little, and if I were more well-to-do I would probably hire a tutor. A classmate who was also in the prelanguage course last year has offered to discuss forming a study group this Tuesday, and so I am hopeful about that. But frankly I don't see the logic in this whole situation.

***

Today I finished the part of a Latin worksheet which my class submits every week, and will probably finish the remaining questions tomorrow. It was about the ablative case. Besides I played one of Liszt's Liebesträume and three or so Brahms waltzes on the piano; and took out the violin and the hall mirror to see if I am holding and using the instrument and the bow properly. This expedient has often been suggested to me but I don't much like it in theory (having no intention of being turned into a flower and then wilting away before my reflection); it is rather surprising, for instance, how much it helps to lower the neck of the violin with regard to avoiding strain on the left arm and sweeping the bow in a straight line. But staring directly towards the bridge of the violin to see if the bow is the proper distance from the frog seems to work much better than staring at it indirectly in the mirror. My arms were aching after five minutes or so, which is a little pathetic, but I figured that I can gradually grow accustomed to playing the violin again if I want. Yesterday evening I played bits of Bach's Partitas No. 1 to 3 and of his Well-Tempered Clavier, Part II, on the cembalo. All of it is very relaxing, even though I am out of practice so it is perhaps good playing but quite flawed.