Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Ubi Sunt?

Really I would like this to be an intelligent but heartfelt meditation on mortality and life's transcience. But instead I will just say

Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago? Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?Hwær cwom symbla gesetu? Hwær sindon seledreamas?

which, as you undoubtedly already know, means

Where is the horse* gone? Where the rider? Where the giver of treasure?Where are the seats at the feast? Where are the revels in the hall?

Where indeed? And where are the bloggers of yesteryear? You may well ask. For when I first began this game, the blogging I mean, there were many bloggeurs and bloggistes at work whose names I do not see now, or the blogs themselves are there, like monuments to "temps jadis." But the people who wrote the words? Ubi sunt?

On the other hand the blogging itself, as a respectable activity, has now come of age. Everyone who is anyone is at it. Makes you think, doesn't it? Because erstwhile, when we, mes semblables, were young, it was generally sniffed at, not considered a proper pursuit at all for respectable, thinking, artistically-inclined peeps but now those very sniffers are not only blogging for their lives (and to promote their books, obviously) but twitteriing like demented birds, in a cacophony of tweets.

Perhaps not blogging is the new blogging and people who don't do it will be considered a bit, you know. So in order to be cutting edge you have to not do it - but only if you have, already, if you get my drift. If you never did in the first place then you just have to find something else to not do.

And here is the lovely George Brassens, singing about the Dames of Yesteryear. Wait for me George - I'm coming there too!




*you know who you are

13 comments:

Zhoen said...

I think I shall just continue to plodblog in my utterly uncool way.

Cusp said...

Yes ...there are a lot of holes where there should be blogs. Where do those people go ? Disappear ? Get bored ? Run away ? ......

We're both still here though-but....plodding and blogging along

trousers said...

Plodblog - I like that description.

Signs, may I offer yet another

(o)

Reading the Signs said...

Zhoen, I am pleased to hear it :) But you are a cool plodblogger you know.

Cusp, well I did have you both in mind when referring to "mes semblables". And now there is a tune in my head (think red red robin): when the plod-plod-plodding goes blog-blog-blogging along - or the other way round, I suppose.

Trousers, All (o)s are different and I would just like to say how really elegant your (o)s are.

Fire Bird said...

Plodbloggers of the world unite. I departed in flames, I returned slightly singed. Here I stay. Defiantly plodding.

Reading the Signs said...

And victorious, Fire Bird! For you were well and truly 'dooced' and flew out of the flames, your wings intact, though singed. Wounded warriors are the best.

Montag said...

Why "du temps jadis" and not "d'antan"?

"Jadis" reminds me of "jaded", and I think of Swift, who said that my wit was a "jade". Ubi sunt saevae indignationes...

To Blog is to go right up to Joseph II, emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, and tell him right to his face that there are NOT too many words, your majesty!
If anything, we need more words.

Reading the Signs said...

Hi Montag,

Jadis is also the name of the Witch of Narnia - she of the eternal winter.

But anyway, as to your question: no reason, but I think it serves as well as d'antan (perhaps not in a poem but for blog post purposes). Then ago, innit.

More words? Well perhaps. But I am not Mozart :)

MrSpike said...

are all the no-longer-bloggers wittering on twitter or rabbiting on facebook, do you think?

Reading the Signs said...

Hard to say, Mr. Spike - isn't almost everyone doing one or the other? With the exception of Mr. Signs (who sends you greetings).

Montag said...

Aut Mozart.... Aut Solieri !!!

Montag said...

I've been reading the quote over and over, and it is so beautiful: it is poignant with an acute sword to the heart.

Reading the Signs said...

- and the language itself very lovely and there is always a poignancy in the reading of it.