In this week's layout sketches for Lucy's Dance, Lucy shyly presents to Apa her homemade gift: a piece of dog fur, a sprig of tundra cotton, and the tip of a moose antler, all bound to a crooked stick with red yarn. The gift is is a child's version of the traditional Yup'ik dance stick, which Yup'ik men adorn with figurines, tundra cotton, and other embellishments that represent their memories and achievements. Inspired by Lucy's gift, Apa recalls the origins of the three gift parts, then launches into an enthusiastic traditional dance, indicating how much he missed participating in the festival of Curukaq.
On previous pages, Apa's character is reticent, withdrawn into his parka. I wonder whether the thoughts in Apa's covered head sound at all like the words of the speaker in one of my favorite
Old English Anglo-Saxon poems, The Wanderer. Below is a modernized excerpt:
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?
Alas for the bright cup!
Alas for the mailed warrior!
Alas for the splendour of the prince!
How that time has passed away,
dark under the cover of night,
as if it had never been! (92a-95a)
Here, the Wanderer uses a poetic device called ubi sunt (Latin for "where are . . . ?"). Ubi sunt almost always appears in the monologue of an individual pining for happier days past, particularly for deceased loved ones and personal triumphs. In The Wanderer, the speaker is an Anglo-Saxon Danelaw viking, probably the sole survivor of his clan, reminiscing about his comitatus. In other words, he is a pirate who misses his days of pillaging, gold, and mead hall afterparties with his pirate king, who was probably called something like Erik Bloodaxe or Ivar the Boneless.
Writing that employs the ubi sunt pathos usually touches on themes of transience and the passage of earthly things, fairly universal messages. Interestingly, The Wanderer and Beowulf are now required reading in many high schools due to the essays and allusions of J.R.R. Tolkien, who was the first to regard them as literary rather than anthropological documents. Tolkien nearly copies the above passage from The Wanderer in one of his LOTR ballads about the people of Rohan.
The device appears in several Anglo-Saxon poems, and its sentiment is echoed in Hamlet's "Poor Yorick" soliloquy, and, according to Wikipedia, in Paula Cole's 1997 hit song Where Have All the Cowboys Gone.
There is something a bit Hamlet-like about Apa, who sits brooding on the peripheral of the activity until these illustrations. Part of the reason that I always draw Apa hooded is that we don't really find out what has happened in his past, or what he is thinking. Perhaps like the speaker in The Wanderer, he holds
that it is in men a noble custom,
that one should keep secure
his spirit-chest (mind),
guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts),
think as he wishes. (11a-14a)
Apa doesn't actually ask "where are they?" at any point in Lucy's Dance, but the visual narration calls to mind the his hunted moose and his favorite dog, whom I imagine to be deceased. It should also be apparent that he missed celebrating Curukaq. Our Viking also longed for celebrations, gifts, and parties of the past. However, Apa comes from a Yup'ik tradition rather than an Anglo-Saxon one, so his version of ubi sunt might have a slightly different flavor.
Traditional Yup'ik beliefs support a more cyclical view of death. Deceased friends and hunted animals return as spirits, objects, or new living beings. The names of ancestors are constantly invoked throughout the Curukaq celebration process; often gifts are requested in the name of deceased relatives as if they are present. People may return as animals, and animals as their own inflated bladders (Stebbins xiii). Often, spirits float around, supervising the behavior of the living, or remain present in the pieces of themselves that remain behind . . . like antler bits and dog fur.
If your late friends are actually still around somewhere, then asking "Ubi sunt?" ceases to be rhetorical, and becomes a practical question. Are my late relatives/pets in the room with me right now? Can they see me eating akutaq with my finger out of the bowl? Perhaps as a result of this supervision, some potlatches included a closing dance in which visiting spirits were "tricked" into leaving the room for awhile (xxii).
Conclusion #1: The answer to the question "Ubi sunt?":
* in The Wanderer: fellow vikings are lost to battle and the inevitable transience of earthly things.
* in Lucy's Dance: in the dance stick.
Conclusion #2: I'd like to see a Lucy's Dance version of The Wanderer wherein speaker's seven-year-old granddaughter takes up piracy.
DESIGN NOTES:
I've noticed that my "rough layout sketches" seem to be getting a bit more detailed as I near the end of the book. Ah, well. That means less work at the very end, which is fine with me.
I plan to draw Apa's dance scene in a bisected view, showing the present of the gym on the left hand and a past celebration in a qasgiq on the right. I am worried that this division will be confusing, so any ideas as to how to make the illustration clear and coherent are welcome.
I based my sketch of Apa's favorite dog on a photo of Waldo, a lead sled dog from the first litter of huskies my mother bred. Waldo died a few years ago, but may now live as long as the UAF press.
On previous pages, Apa's character is reticent, withdrawn into his parka. I wonder whether the thoughts in Apa's covered head sound at all like the words of the speaker in one of my favorite
Old English Anglo-Saxon poems, The Wanderer. Below is a modernized excerpt:
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?
Alas for the bright cup!
Alas for the mailed warrior!
Alas for the splendour of the prince!
How that time has passed away,
dark under the cover of night,
as if it had never been! (92a-95a)
Here, the Wanderer uses a poetic device called ubi sunt (Latin for "where are . . . ?"). Ubi sunt almost always appears in the monologue of an individual pining for happier days past, particularly for deceased loved ones and personal triumphs. In The Wanderer, the speaker is an Anglo-Saxon Danelaw viking, probably the sole survivor of his clan, reminiscing about his comitatus. In other words, he is a pirate who misses his days of pillaging, gold, and mead hall afterparties with his pirate king, who was probably called something like Erik Bloodaxe or Ivar the Boneless.
Writing that employs the ubi sunt pathos usually touches on themes of transience and the passage of earthly things, fairly universal messages. Interestingly, The Wanderer and Beowulf are now required reading in many high schools due to the essays and allusions of J.R.R. Tolkien, who was the first to regard them as literary rather than anthropological documents. Tolkien nearly copies the above passage from The Wanderer in one of his LOTR ballads about the people of Rohan.
The device appears in several Anglo-Saxon poems, and its sentiment is echoed in Hamlet's "Poor Yorick" soliloquy, and, according to Wikipedia, in Paula Cole's 1997 hit song Where Have All the Cowboys Gone.
There is something a bit Hamlet-like about Apa, who sits brooding on the peripheral of the activity until these illustrations. Part of the reason that I always draw Apa hooded is that we don't really find out what has happened in his past, or what he is thinking. Perhaps like the speaker in The Wanderer, he holds
that it is in men a noble custom,
that one should keep secure
his spirit-chest (mind),
guard his treasure-chamber (thoughts),
think as he wishes. (11a-14a)
Apa doesn't actually ask "where are they?" at any point in Lucy's Dance, but the visual narration calls to mind the his hunted moose and his favorite dog, whom I imagine to be deceased. It should also be apparent that he missed celebrating Curukaq. Our Viking also longed for celebrations, gifts, and parties of the past. However, Apa comes from a Yup'ik tradition rather than an Anglo-Saxon one, so his version of ubi sunt might have a slightly different flavor.
Traditional Yup'ik beliefs support a more cyclical view of death. Deceased friends and hunted animals return as spirits, objects, or new living beings. The names of ancestors are constantly invoked throughout the Curukaq celebration process; often gifts are requested in the name of deceased relatives as if they are present. People may return as animals, and animals as their own inflated bladders (Stebbins xiii). Often, spirits float around, supervising the behavior of the living, or remain present in the pieces of themselves that remain behind . . . like antler bits and dog fur.
If your late friends are actually still around somewhere, then asking "Ubi sunt?" ceases to be rhetorical, and becomes a practical question. Are my late relatives/pets in the room with me right now? Can they see me eating akutaq with my finger out of the bowl? Perhaps as a result of this supervision, some potlatches included a closing dance in which visiting spirits were "tricked" into leaving the room for awhile (xxii).
Conclusion #1: The answer to the question "Ubi sunt?":
* in The Wanderer: fellow vikings are lost to battle and the inevitable transience of earthly things.
* in Lucy's Dance: in the dance stick.
Conclusion #2: I'd like to see a Lucy's Dance version of The Wanderer wherein speaker's seven-year-old granddaughter takes up piracy.
DESIGN NOTES:
I've noticed that my "rough layout sketches" seem to be getting a bit more detailed as I near the end of the book. Ah, well. That means less work at the very end, which is fine with me.
I plan to draw Apa's dance scene in a bisected view, showing the present of the gym on the left hand and a past celebration in a qasgiq on the right. I am worried that this division will be confusing, so any ideas as to how to make the illustration clear and coherent are welcome.
I based my sketch of Apa's favorite dog on a photo of Waldo, a lead sled dog from the first litter of huskies my mother bred. Waldo died a few years ago, but may now live as long as the UAF press.
I'm prettyu he is behind the curly part of the striped snake.
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