Innovation Starvation

Innovation Starvation

By Neal Stephenson

My lifespan encompasses the era when the United States of America was capable of launching human beings into space. Some of my earliest memories are of sitting on a braided rug before a hulking black-and-white television, watching the early Gemini missions. This summer, at the age of 51—not even old—I watched on a flatscreen as the last Space Shuttle lifted off the pad. I have followed the dwindling of the space program with sadness, even bitterness. Where’s my donut-shaped space station? Where’s my ticket to Mars? Until recently, though, I have kept my feelings to myself. Space exploration has always had its detractors. To complain about its demise is to expose oneself to attack from those who have no sympathy that an affluent, middle-aged white American has not lived to see his boyhood fantasies fulfilled.

Still, I worry that our inability to match the achievements of the 1960s space program might be symptomatic of a general failure of our society to get big things done. My parents and grandparents witnessed the creation of the airplane, the automobile, nuclear energy, and the computer to name only a few. Scientists and engineers who came of age during the first half of the 20th century could look forward to building things that would solve age-old problems, transform the landscape, build the economy, and provide jobs for the burgeoning middle class that was the basis for our stable democracy.

The Deepwater Horizon oil spill of 2010 crystallized my feeling that we have lost our ability to get important things done. The OPEC oil shock was in 1973—almost 40 years ago. It was obvious then that it was crazy for the United States to let itself be held economic hostage to the kinds of countries where oil was being produced. It led to Jimmy Carter’s proposal for the development of an enormous synthetic fuels industry on American soil. Whatever one might think of the merits of the Carter presidency or of this particular proposal, it was, at least, a serious effort to come to grips with the problem.

Little has been heard in that vein since. We’ve been talking about wind farms, tidal power, and solar power for decades. Some progress has been made in those areas, but energy is still all about oil. In my city, Seattle, a 35-year-old plan to run a light rail line across Lake Washington is now being blocked by a citizen initiative. Thwarted or endlessly delayed in its efforts to build things, the city plods ahead with a project to paint bicycle lanes on the pavement of thoroughfares.

In early 2011, I participated in a conference called Future Tense, where I lamented the decline of the manned space program, then pivoted to energy, indicating that the real issue isn’t about rockets. It’s our far broader inability as a society to execute on the big stuff. I had, through some kind of blind luck, struck a nerve. The audience at Future Tense was more confident than I that science fiction [SF] had relevance—even utility—in addressing the problem. I heard two theories as to why:

1. The Inspiration Theory. SF inspires people to choose science and engineering as careers. This much is undoubtedly true, and somewhat obvious.

2. The Hieroglyph Theory. Good SF supplies a plausible, fully thought-out picture of an alternate reality in which some sort of compelling innovation has taken place. A good SF universe has a coherence and internal logic that makes sense to scientists and engineers. Examples include Isaac Asimov’s robots, Robert Heinlein’s rocket ships, and William Gibson’s cyberspace. As Jim Karkanias of Microsoft Research puts it, such icons serve as hieroglyphs—simple, recognizable symbols on whose significance everyone agrees.

Researchers and engineers have found themselves concentrating on more and more narrowly focused topics as science and technology have become more complex. A large technology company or lab might employ hundreds or thousands of persons, each of whom can address only a thin slice of the overall problem. Communication among them can become a mare’s nest of email threads and Powerpoints. The fondness that many such people have for SF reflects, in part, the usefulness of an over-arching narrative that supplies them and their colleagues with a shared vision. Coordinating their efforts through a command-and-control management system is a little like trying to run a modern economy out of a Politburo. Letting them work toward an agreed-on goal is something more like a free and largely self-coordinated market of ideas.

SPANNING THE AGES

SF has changed over the span of time I am talking about—from the 1950s (the era of the development of nuclear power, jet airplanes, the space race, and the computer) to now. Speaking broadly, the techno-optimism of the Golden Age of SF has given way to fiction written in a generally darker, more skeptical and ambiguous tone. I myself have tended to write a lot about hackers—trickster archetypes who exploit the arcane capabilities of complex systems devised by faceless others.

Believing we have all the technology we’ll ever need, we seek to draw attention to its destructive side effects. This seems foolish now that we find ourselves saddled with technologies like Japan’s ramshackle 1960’s-vintage reactors at Fukushima when we have the possibility of clean nuclear fusion on the horizon. The imperative to develop new technologies and implement them on a heroic scale no longer seems like the childish preoccupation of a few nerds with slide rules. It’s the only way for the human race to escape from its current predicaments. Too bad we’ve forgotten how to do it.

“You’re the ones who’ve been slacking off!” proclaims Michael Crow, president of Arizona State University (and one of the other speakers at Future Tense). He refers, of course, to SF writers. The scientists and engineers, he seems to be saying, are ready and looking for things to do. Time for the SF writers to start pulling their weight and supplying big visions that make sense. Hence the Hieroglyph project, an effort to produce an anthology of new SF that will be in some ways a conscious throwback to the practical techno-optimism of the Golden Age.

SPACEBORNE CIVILIZATIONS

China is frequently cited as a country now executing on Big Stuff, and there’s no doubt they are constructing dams, high-speed rail systems, and rockets at an extraordinary clip. But those are not fundamentally innovative. Their space program, like all other countries’ (including our own), is just parroting work that was done 50 years ago by the Soviets and the Americans. A truly innovative program would involve taking risks (and accepting failures) to pioneer some of the alternative space launch technologies that have been advanced by researchers all over the world during the decades dominated by rockets.

Imagine a factory mass-producing small vehicles, about as big and complicated as refrigerators, which roll off the end of an assembly line, are loaded with space-bound cargo, and topped off with non-polluting liquid hydrogen fuel, then exposed to intense concentrated heat from an array of ground-based lasers or microwave antennas. Heated to temperatures beyond what can be achieved through a chemical reaction, the hydrogen erupts from a nozzle on the base of the device and sends it rocketing into the air. Tracked through its flight by the lasers or microwaves, the vehicle soars into orbit, carrying a larger payload for its size than a chemical rocket could ever manage, but the complexity, expense, and jobs remain grounded. For decades, this has been the vision of such researchers as physicists Jordin Kare and Kevin Parkin. A similar idea, using a pulsed ground-based laser to blast propellant from the backside of a space vehicle, was being talked about by Arthur Kantrowitz, Freeman Dyson, and other eminent physicists in the early 1960s.

If that sounds too complicated, then consider the 2003 proposal of Geoff Landis and Vincent Denis to construct a 20-kilometer-high tower using simple steel trusses. Conventional rockets launched from its top would be able to carry twice as much payload as comparable ones launched from ground level. There is even abundant research, dating all the way back to Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, the father of astronautics beginning in the late 19th century, to show that a simple tether—a long rope, tumbling end-over-end while orbiting the earth—could be used to scoop payloads out of the upper atmosphere and haul them up into orbit without the need for engines of any kind. Energy would be pumped into the system using an electrodynamic process with no moving parts.

All are promising ideas—just the sort that used to get an earlier generation of scientists and engineers fired up about actually building something.

But to grasp just how far our current mindset is from being able to attempt innovation on such a scale, consider the fate of the space shuttle’s external tanks [ETs]. Dwarfing the vehicle itself, the ET was the largest and most prominent feature of the space shuttle as it stood on the pad. It remained attached to the shuttle—or perhaps it makes as much sense to say that the shuttle remained attached to it—long after the two strap-on boosters had fallen away. The ET and the shuttle remained connected all the way out of the atmosphere and into space. Only after the system had attained orbital velocity was the tank jettisoned and allowed to fall into the atmosphere, where it was destroyed on re-entry.

At a modest marginal cost, the ETs could have been kept in orbit indefinitely. The mass of the ET at separation, including residual propellants, was about twice that of the largest possible Shuttle payload. Not destroying them would have roughly tripled the total mass launched into orbit by the Shuttle. ETs could have been connected to build units that would have humbled today’s International Space Station. The residual oxygen and hydrogen sloshing around in them could have been combined to generate electricity and produce tons of water, a commodity that is vastly expensive and desirable in space. But in spite of hard work and passionate advocacy by space experts who wished to see the tanks put to use, NASA—for reasons both technical and political—sent each of them to fiery destruction in the atmosphere. Viewed as a parable, it has much to tell us about the difficulties of innovating in other spheres.

EXECUTING THE BIG STUFF

Innovation can’t happen without accepting the risk that it might fail. The vast and radical innovations of the mid-20th century took place in a world that, in retrospect, looks insanely dangerous and unstable. Possible outcomes that the modern mind identifies as serious risks might not have been taken seriously—supposing they were noticed at all—by people habituated to the Depression, the World Wars, and the Cold War, in times when seat belts, antibiotics, and many vaccines did not exist. Competition between the Western democracies and the communist powers obliged the former to push their scientists and engineers to the limits of what they could imagine and supplied a sort of safety net in the event that their initial efforts did not pay off. A grizzled NASA veteran once told me that the Apollo moon landings were communism’s greatest achievement.

In his recent book Adapt: Why Success Always Starts with Failure, Tim Harford outlines Charles Darwin’s discovery of a vast array of distinct species in the Galapagos Islands—a state of affairs that contrasts with the picture seen on large continents, where evolutionary experiments tend to get pulled back toward a sort of ecological consensus by interbreeding. “Galapagan isolation” vs. the “nervous corporate hierarchy” is the contrast staked out by Harford in assessing the ability of an organization to innovate.

Most people who work in corporations or academia have witnessed something like the following: A number of engineers are sitting together in a room, bouncing ideas off each other. Out of the discussion emerges a new concept that seems promising. Then some laptop-wielding person in the corner, having performed a quick Google search, announces that this “new” idea is, in fact, an old one—or at least vaguely similar—and has already been tried. Either it failed, or it succeeded. If it failed, then no manager who wants to keep his or her job will approve spending money trying to revive it. If it succeeded, then it’s patented and entry to the market is presumed to be unattainable, since the first people who thought of it will have “first-mover advantage” and will have created “barriers to entry.” The number of seemingly promising ideas that have been crushed in this way must number in the millions.

What if that person in the corner hadn’t been able to do a Google search? It might have required weeks of library research to uncover evidence that the idea wasn’t entirely new—and after a long and toilsome slog through many books, tracking down many references, some relevant, some not. When the precedent was finally unearthed, it might not have seemed like such a direct precedent after all. There might be reasons why it would be worth taking a second crack at the idea, perhaps hybridizing it with innovations from other fields. Hence the virtues of Galapagan isolation.

The counterpart to Galapagan isolation is the struggle for survival on a large continent, where firmly established ecosystems tend to blur and swamp new adaptations. Jaron Lanier, a computer scientist, composer, visual artist, and author of the recent book You are Not a Gadget: A Manifesto, has some insights about the unintended consequences of the Internet—the informational equivalent of a large continent—on our ability to take risks. In the pre-net era, managers were forced to make decisions based on what they knew to be limited information. Today, by contrast, data flows to managers in real time from countless sources that could not even be imagined a couple of generations ago, and powerful computers process, organize, and display the data in ways that are as far beyond the hand-drawn graph-paper plots of my youth as modern video games are to tic-tac-toe. In a world where decision-makers are so close to being omniscient, it’s easy to see risk as a quaint artifact of a primitive and dangerous past.

The illusion of eliminating uncertainty from corporate decision-making is not merely a question of management style or personal preference. In the legal environment that has developed around publicly traded corporations, managers are strongly discouraged from shouldering any risks that they know about—or, in the opinion of some future jury, should have known about—even if they have a hunch that the gamble might pay off in the long run. There is no such thing as “long run” in industries driven by the next quarterly report. The possibility of some innovation making money is just that—a mere possibility that will not have time to materialize before the subpoenas from minority shareholder lawsuits begin to roll in.

Today’s belief in ineluctable certainty is the true innovation-killer of our age. In this environment, the best an audacious manager can do is to develop small improvements to existing systems—climbing the hill, as it were, toward a local maximum, trimming fat, eking out the occasional tiny innovation—like city planners painting bicycle lanes on the streets as a gesture toward solving our energy problems. Any strategy that involves crossing a valley—accepting short-term losses to reach a higher hill in the distance—will soon be brought to a halt by the demands of a system that celebrates short-term gains and tolerates stagnation, but condemns anything else as failure. In short, a world where big stuff can never get done.

*****
*****

Neal Stephenson is the author of REAMDE, a techno-thriller published in September, as well as the three-volume historical epic “The Baroque Cycle” (Quicksilver, The Confusion, and The System of the World) and the novels Anathem, Cryptonomicon, The Diamond Age, Snow Crash, and Zodiac. He is also founder of Hieroglyph, a project of science fiction writers to depict future worlds in which BSGD (Big Stuff Gets Done).

(Downloadable PDFs of individual World Policy Journal articles can be purchased through SAGE.)

[Image: Marshall Hopkins]
| Tags: Big Stuff Done, innovation, Neal Stephenson, science fiction, space, stagnation, United States

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TphPUXsjGfA&feature=player_embedded

Poetry, Medium and Message

July 31, 2011, 9:00 pm
Poetry, Medium and Message
By ERNIE LEPORE

The Stone is a forum for contemporary philosophers on issues both timely and timeless.
Tags:

criticism, language, literature, Philosophy, poetry

Here is a question that has been confounding or even infuriating poets for eons.

So what is your poem about?

(If you happen to personally know any poets, you may even have empirical evidence of this.)

That frustration has little if anything to do with the supposed stormy temperaments of poets. It rather derives, at least partly, from the fact that the question, simple as it may appear, is one that in fact has no satisfactory answer.

Why?

In “The Well Wrought Urn” — that well-known and well-wrought book of literary criticism — Cleanth Brooks described what he called “the heresy of paraphrase.” The main idea — that efforts at paraphrasing poetry into prose fail in ways that parallel attempts for prose do not — was not new. It has been generally agreed upon since Aristotle. This skeptical thesis was championed in the first half of the 20th century by the New Critics as well as by their guiding spirit, T.S. Eliot, who, when asked to interpret the line “Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree in the cool of the day…” from his poem “Ash Wednesday,” responded, “It means ‘Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree in the cool of the day.’ ”

Eliot’s implication was that repetition is the best we can hope to achieve in interpreting poetry. Translators of Rimbaud likewise lament that because French is soft, melodious and fluid in cadence, English and other non-Romance languages are unsuitable for translation. The poet e.e. Cummings went further, claiming that even the visual impact of the typography of his poems renders them unparaphraseable.

It is easy to conflate words and their articulations.

Isadora Bennett/Associated PressT.S. Eliot

Contemporary philosophers and linguists have either ignored such skepticism or dismissed it out of hand. The idea that an unambiguous word might mean one thing in a news article or shopping list and something altogether different in a poem is not so easy to embrace. How do we figure out what a poem means if its words do not carry familiar learned meanings? And further, isn’t this skepticism vulnerable to the following simple refutation: take any expression in any poem and introduce by fiat a new expression to mean exactly what the first one does; how could this practice fail to succeed at paraphrase or translation? Though such substitutions can change the aesthetic, emotive or imagistic quality of a poem, how could any of them change meaning?

Despite the simple refutation, the heresy of paraphrase remains compelling. Anyone familiar with Roman Jakobson’s or Vladimir Nabokov’s lamentations over translating Pushkin into English will feel its force. But can their irresistible skepticism concerning poetry translation and paraphrase be reconciled with the obvious logic of the simple refutation?

There is a way out, but to find it one must first attend to a crucial but universally ignored distinction between linguistic expressions and their vehicles of articulation: to this end, consider two individuals both of whom know English but one only speaks while the other only writes. For them, communication is impossible even though they share a common language.

Since each expression requires articulation for its presentation, it is easy to conflate words and their articulations. (Many philosophers and linguists have!) And, of course, more often than not, the linguistic sounds or marks with which we articulate our language make little difference to our intended message. It usually matters little if at all to our grasp of what someone says whether he speaks or writes. But if you reflect upon the distinct possibilities for presenting language, it’s easy to see how what normally goes unnoticed can take center stage.

For instance, typing the word “brick” in italics (as in “brick”) obviously draws attention to a particular presentation of the word, not to the word itself. But it is one of many. The word might have been spoken, rendered in Braille or even signed. Surprisingly, in this instance, a moment’s reflection ought to convince you that no other articulation could have been used to make this point in this way. In short, that “brick” is italicized cannot be said out loud or signed or rendered in Braille. In effect, the practice of italicization allows the presentation of a language to become a part of the language itself.

If poems too can be (partly) about their own articulations, this would explain why they can resist paraphrase or translation into another idiom, why, for example, substituting “luster” for “sheen” in Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” breaks the bind between its lines, and thereby, alters the poem itself.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken —
The ice was all between.

Since synonym substitution in a poem can change meter or rhyme, etc., to the extent that poems are about their own articulation they prohibit paraphrase and translation. Accordingly, as with other forms of mentioning, any effort at re-articulation inevitably changes the topic. Here’s another illustration of the point. Although Giorgione — Big George — was so-called because of his size, Giorgio Barbarelli da Castelfranco was not, even though he is Giorgione. This is possible because the “so-called” construction is partly about its own articulation. Change the articulation and you change the claim even if substitutions are synonymous. These sorts of considerations expose what’s misguided about the simple refutation.

The language of poetry is not magical, nor even distinct from the languages of other discourses; they are identical.

Of course, we can introduce a new expression to mean exactly whatever an old expression means but since poems can be about their own articulations, substituting synonyms will not result in an exact paraphrase or translation. To do so requires not only synonymies but also identical articulations, and only repetition ensures this end.

This explanation of the heresy of paraphrase differs from the New Critics’ quasi-mystical invocation of form shaping content. Linguistic expressions mean whatever they mean wherever they occur, but in poetry (as in other forms of mentioning) the medium really becomes the message. From this, however, it does not follow that the language of poetry is magical or even distinct from the languages of other discourses; they are identical. The words in a Cummings’ poem mean exactly what they do in prose. But because a poem can be a device for presenting its own articulation, re-articulating Cummings while ignoring his versification fails.

Is this what Sartre might have meant when he said the poet “considers words as things and not as signs”? Likewise, Dylan Thomas writes of his first experiences with poetry, that “before I could read them for myself I had come to love just the words of them, the words alone. What the words stood for, symbolized, or meant was of very secondary importance — what mattered was the very sound of them as I heard them for the first time on the lips of the remote and quite incomprehensible grown-ups who seemed, for some reason, to be living in my world.” Thomas might have simply said that his first concern was with articulation, especially sounds — a perceptible property.

Pause and examine these letters as you read them — their shapes are not unappealing. The poet concurs. But, unlike ordinary folk, the poet wants to draw the audience’s attention to these articulations as much as to the ideas the words so articulated express. The poet achieves this end through the devices, for example, of rhyme, alliteration and sundry others. Unintended, rhyme or alliteration and other mishaps and distractions are often rectified by re-articulation, perhaps with different pronunciations of the same words or with different words or linguistic structures that convey the same content. In such circumstances, the discourse is decidedly not about its own articulation. With poetry it is different.
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The poet does not first intuit her object and then find an appropriate medium in which to articulate it. It is rather in and through a chosen medium that the poet intuits the object in the first place. As the philosopher Suzanne Langer once wrote, “though the material of poetry is verbal, its import is not the literal assertion made in the words but the way the assertion is made and this involves the sound, the tempo … and the unifying all-embracing artifice of rhythm.”

Given this, what might poetic effects achieve? Poe’s “The Raven” is an over-the-top case, but a clear one. The poem is partly about sound and its effects on thought, and words and meter are chosen to evoke the sounds themselves, as well as the words: ”the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain..” The repeated rhyme is also important, by the time the raven first says “nevermore,” the pattern is established, so that the raven’s pronouncement arrives with a sense of finality and inevitability which echoes or mirrors or just helps the reader appreciate the way thoughts of death and loss have taken over the narrator’s mind — the bleak obsession that is the theme of the poem.

Brooks and the New Critics would have us believe that what is at work is somehow magical. But there is no mystery here.

Ernie Lepore, a professor of philosophy and co-director of the Center for Cognitive Science at Rutgers University, writes on language and mind. More of his work, including two related studies, “On Words” and “Against Metaphorical Meaning,” can be found at his Rutgers Web site.

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വിട്ടയയ്ക്കുക - ബാലാമണിഅമ്മ

വിട്ടയയ്ക്കുക - ബാലാമണിഅമ്മ എഴുതിയ കുട്ടിക്കവിത

വിട്ടയയ്ക്കുക കൂട്ടില്‍നിന്നെന്നെ, ഞാ-
നൊട്ടു വാനില്‍പ്പറന്നുനടക്കട്ടെ!
സുപ്രഭാതമടുത്തു, നഭസ്സിലേ-
യ്ക്കുല്‍പ്പതിക്കുന്നു മാമകവര്‍ഗക്കാര്‍
കൊച്ചുപക്ഷിയാം ഞാനോ, തമസ്സില്‍ത്താ-
നച്ഛമാമിപ്പുലര്‍വെളിച്ചത്തിലും.
പഞ്ജരത്തിന്റെ ചുറ്റഴിയോരോന്നു-
മെന്നെ നോക്കിച്ചിരിപ്പതായ്‌ത്തോന്നുന്നു.
മര്‍ത്ത്യര്‍തന്‍ പരിലാളനമെന്നുമെന്‍
ഉള്‍ത്തടത്തിനു ശാന്തിയെ നല്കിടാ.
വിട്ടയച്ചാലുമെന്നെയിക്കൂട്ടില്‍നി-
ന്നൊട്ടു പാറിപ്പറക്കട്ടെ വാനില്‍ ഞാന്‍.
- സോപാനം

മണിനാദം, ഇടപ്പള്ളി രാഘവന്‍പ്പിള്ള

മണിനാദം
ഇടപ്പള്ളി രാഘവന്‍പ്പിള്ള

ഇടപ്പള്ളി രാഘവന്‍പ്പിള്ള അവസാനകാലത്ത് എഴുതിയ എഴുതിയ കവിത.

മണിമുഴക്കം! മരണദിനത്തിന്റെ
മണിമുഴക്കം മധുരം! വരുന്നു ഞാന്‍!

അനുനയിക്കുവാനെത്തുമെന്‍കൂട്ടരോ-
ടരുളിടട്ടെയെന്നന്ത്യയാത്രാമൊഴി:

മറവിതന്നില്‍ മറഞ്ഞു മനസ്സാലെന്‍-
മരണഭേരിയടിക്കും സഖാക്കളേ!

സഹതപിക്കാത്ത ലോകമേ!-യെന്തിലും
സഹകരിക്കുന്ന ശാരദാകാശമേ!

കവനലീലയിലെന്നുറ്റ തോഴരാം
കനകതൂലികേ! കാനനപ്രാന്തമേ!

മധുരമല്ലാത്തൊരെന്‍ മൗനഗാനത്തില്‍
മദതരളമാം മാമരക്കൂട്ടമേ!

പിരികയാണിതാ, ഞാനൊരധഃകൃതന്‍
കരയുവാനായ്പ്പിറന്നൊരു കാമുകന്‍!

മണലടിഞ്ഞു മയങ്ങിക്കിടക്കട്ടെ
പ്രണയമറ്റതാമീ മണ്‍പ്രദീപകം!

അഴകൊഴുകുന്ന ജീവിതപ്പൂക്കളം,
വഴിയരികിലെ വിശ്രമത്താവളം,

കഴുകനിജ്ജഡം കാത്തുസൂക്ഷിക്കുന്ന
കഴുമരം! -ഹാ, ഭ്രമിച്ചു ഞാന്‍ തെല്ലിട!

അഴലിലാനന്ദലേശമിട്ടെപ്പൊഴും
മെഴുകി മോടി കലര്‍ത്തുമീ മേടയില്‍

കഴലൊരല്‍പമുയര്‍ത്തിയൂന്നീടുകില്‍
വഴുതിവീഴാതിരിക്കില്ലൊരിക്കലും.

മലമുകളിലിഴഞ്ഞിഴഞ്ഞേറിടും
മഴമുകിലെന്നപോലെ ഞാനിത്രനാള്‍

സുഖദസുന്ദര സ്വപ്നശതങ്ങള്‍ തന്‍-
സുലളിതാനന്ദഗാനനിമഗ്‌നനായ്

പ്രതിനിമിഷം നിറഞ്ഞുതുളുമ്പിടും
പ്രണയമാധ്വീലഹരിയില്‍ ലീനനായ്

സ്വജനവേഷം ചമഞ്ഞവരേകിടും
സുമമനോഹരസുസ്മിതാകൃഷ്ടനായ്

അടിയുറയ്ക്കാതെ മേല്‍പോട്ടുയര്‍ന്നുപോ-
യലകടലിന്റെയാഴമളക്കുവാന്‍!

മിഴി തുറന്നൊന്നു നോക്കവേ, കാരിരു-
മ്പഴികള്‍ തട്ടിത്തഴമ്പിച്ചതാണു ഞാന്‍!

തടവെഴാപ്രേമദാരിദ്ര്യബാധയാല്‍
തടവുകാരനായ്ത്തീര്‍ന്നവനാണു ഞാന്‍!

കുടിലു കൊട്ടാരമാകാനുയരുന്നു;
കടലിരമ്പുന്നു കൈത്തോട്ടിലെത്തുവാന്‍;

പ്രണയമൊന്നിച്ചിണക്കാനൊരുങ്ങിയാ-
ലണിമുറിക്കാനിരുളുമണഞ്ഞിടും!

മണിമുഴക്കം! മരണദിനത്തിന്റെ
മണിമുഴക്കം മധുരം!- വരുന്നു ഞാന്‍!

ചിരികള്‍തോറുമെന്‍പട്ടടത്തീപ്പൊരി
ചിതറിടുന്നോരരങ്ങത്തു നിന്നിനി,

വിടതരൂ, മതി പോകട്ടെ ഞാനുമെന്‍-
നടനവിദ്യയും മൂകസംഗീതവും!

വിവിധ രീതിയിലൊറ്റ നിമിഷത്തില്‍
വിഷമമാണെനിക്കാടുവാന്‍, പാടുവാന്‍;

നവരസങ്ങള്‍ സ്ഫുരിക്കണമൊക്കെയു-
മവരവര്‍ക്കിഷ്ടമായിട്ടിരിക്കണം!

അരുതരുതെനിക്കീ രീതി തെല്ലുമി-
ച്ചരിതമെന്നുമപൂര്‍ണമാണെങ്കിലും

അണിയലൊക്കെക്കഴിഞ്ഞു ഞാന്‍ പിന്നെയു-
മണിയറയിലിരുന്നു നിഗൂഢമായ്

പല ദിനവും നവനവരീതികള്‍
പരിചയിച്ചു, ഫലിച്ചില്ലൊരല്‍പവും!

തവിടുപോലെ തകരുമെന്‍മാനസ-
മവിടെയെത്തിച്ചിരിച്ചു കുഴയണം!

ചിരി ചൊരിയുവാനായിയെന്‍ദേശികന്‍
ശരസി താഡനമേറ്റീ പലപ്പൊഴും.

ഹഹഹ! വിസ്മയം, വിസ്മയം, ലോകമേ!
അതിവിചിത്രമീ നൃത്തശിക്ഷാക്രമം!

കളരി മാറി ഞാന്‍ കച്ചകെട്ടാമിനി;
കളിയരങ്ങൊന്നു മാറിനോക്കാമിനി;

പ്രണയനാടകമെന്നുമിതുവിധം
നിണമണിച്ചിലിലെത്താതിരുന്നിടാ!

മണിമുഴക്കം! മരണദിനത്തിന്റെ
മണിമുഴക്കം മധുരം!- വരുന്നു ഞാന്‍!

ഉദയമുണ്ടിനി മേലിലതെങ്കിലെ-
ന്നുദകകൃത്യങ്ങള്‍ ചെയ്യുവാനെത്തിടും.

സ്ഥിരതയില്ലാത്ത ലോകത്തിലെന്തിനായ്
ചിരവിരഹി ഞാന്‍ മേലിലും കേഴണം?

മധുരചിന്തകള്‍ മാഞ്ഞുപോയീടവേ
മരണമാണിനിജ്ജീവിച്ചിരിക്കുവാന്‍;

ഇരുളിലാരുമറിയാതെയെത്ര നാള്‍
കരളു നൊന്തു ഞാന്‍ കേഴുമനര്‍ഗ്ഗളം?

ഹൃദയമില്ലാത്ത ലോകമേ, യെന്തിനാ-
യതിനു കാരണം ചോദിപ്പു നീ സദാ?

പരസഹസ്രം രഹസ്യമുണ്ടെന്നുമെന്‍-
പുറകില്‍നിന്നിദം വിങ്ങിക്കരയുവാന്‍

-സ്മരണയായിപ്പറന്നുവന്നെന്നുമെന്‍-
മരണശയ്യയില്‍ മാന്തളിര്‍ ചാര്‍ത്തുവാന്‍-

സമയമായി, ഞാന്‍- നീളും നിഴലുകള്‍
ക്ഷമയളന്നതാ നില്‍ക്കുന്നു നീളവേ.

പവിഴരേഖയാല്‍ ചുറ്റുമനന്തമാം
ഗഗനസീമയില്‍, പ്രേമപ്പൊലിമയില്‍,

കതിര്‍വിരിച്ചു വിളങ്ങുമക്കാര്‍ത്തികാ-
കനകതാരമുണ്ടെന്‍കര്‍മ്മസാക്ഷിയായ്.

അവളപങ്കില ദൂരെയാണെങ്കിലു-
മരികിലുണ്ടെനിക്കെപ്പൊഴും കൂട്ടിനായ്:

കഠിനകാലം കദനമൊരല്‍പമാ-
ക്കവിളിണയില്‍ക്കലര്‍ത്താതിരിക്കണേ!

പരിഭവത്തിന്‍ പരുഷപാഷാണകം
തുരുതുരെയായ്പ്പതിച്ചു തളര്‍ന്നൊരെന്‍

ഹൃദയമണ്‍ഭിത്തി ഭേദിച്ചുതിരുമീ
രുധിരബിന്ദുക്കളോരോന്നുമൂഴിയില്‍

പ്രണയഗാനമെഴുതുന്ന തൂലിക-
യ്ക്കുണര്‍വിയറ്റുമോ?- യേറ്റാല്‍ ഫലിക്കുമോ?

(മാതൃഭൂമി ആഴ്ചപ്പതിപ്പ്,1936 ജൂലൈ 6)

എന്നിട്ടും നീയെന്നെ അറിഞ്ഞില്ലല്ലോ...

ചിത്രം : നസീമ
സംഗീതം : ജോണ്‍സണ്‍
ഗാനരചന: പി ഭാസ്ക്കരന്‍
ആലാപനം : എസ് ജാനകി

എന്നിട്ടും നീയെന്നെ അറിഞ്ഞില്ലല്ലോ...
എന്നാര്‍ദ്ര നയനങ്ങള്‍ തുടച്ചില്ലല്ലോ....?
എന്നാത്മവിപഞ്ചിക തന്ത്രികള്‍ മീട്ടിയ...
സ്പന്ദനഗാനമൊന്നു കേട്ടില്ലല്ലോ....?

അറിയാതെ അവിടുന്നെന്‍ അടുത്തു വkന്നു
അറിയാതെ തന്നെയെന്നകത്തു വന്നു
ജീവന്റെ ജീവനില്‍ സ്വപ്നങ്ങള്‍ വിരിച്ചിട്ട
പൂവണി മഞ്ചത്തില്‍ ഭവാനിരുന്നു....

നിന്‍ ശ്വേതമകറ്റാനെന്‍ സുന്ദരസങ്കല്‍പം
ചന്ദനവിശറി കൊണ്ടു വീശിയെന്നാലും
വിധുരയാമെന്നുടെ നെടുവീര്‍പ്പിന്‍ ചൂടിനാല്‍
ഞാന്‍ അടിമുടിപൊള്ളുകയായിരുന്നു...

The Element

Author Robinson, Ken, 1950-
Title The element : how finding your passion changes everything / Ken Robinson ; with Lou Aron

ica.

The Limits of Intelligence

Scientific American
Scientific American Premium Cover

The Limits of Intelligence

The laws of physics may well prevent the human brain from evolving into an ever more powerful thinking machine

By Douglas Fox | June 14, 2011 | 22

In Brief

Human intelligence may be close to its evolutionary limit. Various lines of research suggest that most of the tweaks that could make us smarter would hit limits set by the laws of physics.
Brain size, for instance, helps up to a point but carries diminishing returns: brains become energy-hungry and slow. Better “wiring” across the brain also would consume energy and take up a disproportionate amount of space.
Making wires thinner would hit thermodynamic limitations similar to those that affect transistors in computer chips: communication would get noisy.
Humans, however, might still achieve higher intelligence collectively. And technology, from writing to the Internet, enables us to expand our mind outside the confines of our body.

Supplemental Material

Sidebar Hear an interview with the author

Santiago Ramón y Cajal, the Spanish Nobel-winning biologist who mapped the neural anatomy of insects in the decades before World War I, likened the minute circuitry of their vision-processing neurons to an exquisite pocket watch. He likened that of mammals, by comparison, to a hollow-chested grandfather clock. Indeed, it is humbling to think that a honeybee, with its milligram-size brain, can perform tasks such as navigating mazes and landscapes on a par with mammals. A honeybee may be limited by having comparatively few neurons, but it surely seems to squeeze everything it can out of them.

At the other extreme, an elephant, with its five-million-fold larger brain, suffers the inefficiencies of a sprawling Mesopotamian empire. Signals take more than 100 times longer to travel between opposite sides of its brain—and also from its brain to its foot, forcing the beast to rely less on reflexes, to move more slowly, and to squander precious brain resources on planning each step.

Thirst for Fairness May Have Helped Us Survive

July 4, 2011
Thirst for Fairness May Have Helped Us Survive
By NATALIE ANGIER

Among the Ache hunter-gatherers in eastern Paraguay, healthy adults with no dependent offspring are expected to donate as much as 70 to 90 percent of the food they forage to the needier members of the group. And as those strapping suppliers themselves fall ill, give birth or grow old, they know they can count on the tribe to provide.

Among the !Kung bushmen of the Kalahari in Africa, a successful hunter who may be inclined to swagger is kept in check by his compatriots through a ritualized game called “insulting the meat.” You asked us out here to help you carry that pitiful carcass? What is it, some kind of rabbit?

Among the Hadza foragers of northern Tanzania, people confronted by a stingy food sharer do not simply accept what’s offered. They hold out their hand, according to Frank Marlowe, an anthropologist at Durham University in England, “encouraging the giver to keep giving until the giver finally draws the line.”

Among America’s top executives today, according to a study commissioned by The New York Times, the average annual salary is about $10 million and rising some 12 percent a year. At the same time, the rest of the tribe of the United States of America struggles with miserably high unemployment, stagnant wages and the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. Now, maybe the wealth gap is a temporary problem, and shiny new quarters will soon rain down on us all. But if you’re feeling tetchy and surly about the lavished haves when you have not a job, if you’re tempted to go out and insult a piece of corporate meat, researchers who study the nature and evolution of human social organization say they are hardly surprised.

Darwinian-minded analysts argue that Homo sapiens have an innate distaste for hierarchical extremes, the legacy of our long nomadic prehistory as tightly knit bands living by veldt-ready team-building rules: the belief in fairness and reciprocity, a capacity for empathy and impulse control, and a willingness to work cooperatively in ways that even our smartest primate kin cannot match. As Michael Tomasello of the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology has pointed out, you will never see two chimpanzees carrying a log together. The advent of agriculture and settled life may have thrown a few feudal monkeys and monarchs into the mix, but evolutionary theorists say our basic egalitarian leanings remain.

Studies have found that the thirst for fairness runs deep. As Ernst Fehr of the University of Zurich and his colleagues reported in the journal Nature, by the age of 6 or 7, children are zealously devoted to the equitable partitioning of goods, and they will choose to punish those who try to grab more than their arithmetically proper share of Smarties and jelly beans even when that means the punishers must sacrifice their own portion of treats.

In follow-up research with older children and adolescents that has yet to be published, Dr. Fehr and his colleagues have found a more nuanced understanding of fairness, an acknowledgment that some degree of inequality can make sense: The kid who studies every night deserves a better grade than the slacker. Nevertheless, said Dr. Fehr, there are limits to teenage tolerance. “ ‘One for me, two for you’ may not be too bad,” Dr. Fehr said. “But ‘one for me, five for you’ would not be accepted.”

A sense of fairness is both cerebral and visceral, cortical and limbic. In the journal PLoS Biology, Katarina Gospic of the Karolinska Institute’s Osher Center in Stockholm and her colleagues analyzed brain scans of 35 subjects as they played the famed Ultimatum game, in which participants bargain over how to divide up a fixed sum of money. Immediately upon hearing an opponent propose a split of 80 percent me, 20 percent you, scanned subjects showed a burst of activity in the amygdala, the ancient seat of outrage and aggression, followed by the arousal of higher cortical domains associated with introspection, conflict resolution and upholding rules; and 40 percent of the time they angrily rejected the deal as unfair.

That first swift limbic kick proved key. When given a mild anti-anxiety drug that suppressed the amygdala response, subjects still said they viewed an 80-20 split as unjust, but their willingness to reject it outright dropped in half. “This indicates that the act of treating people fairly and implementing justice in society has evolutionary roots,“ Dr. Gospic said. “It increases our survival.”

David Sloan Wilson, an evolutionary theorist at the State University of New York at Binghamton, sees the onset of humanity’s cooperative, fair-and-square spirit as one of the major transitions in the history of life on earth, moments when individual organisms or selection units band together and stake their future fitness on each other. A larger bacterial cell engulfs a smaller bacterial cell to form the first complex eukaryotic cell. Single cells merge into multicellular organisms of specialized parts. Ants and bees become hive-minded superorganisms and push all other insects aside.

“A major transition occurs when you have mechanisms for suppressing fitness differences and establishing equality within groups, so that it is no longer possible to succeed at the expense of your group,” Dr. Wilson said. “It’s a rare event, and it’s hard to get started, but when it does you can quickly dominate the earth.” Human evolution, he said, “clearly falls into this paradigm.”

Our rise to global dominance began, paradoxically enough, when we set rigid dominance hierarchies aside. “In a typical primate group, the toughest individuals can have their way and dominate everybody else in the group,” said Dr. Wilson. “Chimps are very smart, but their intelligence is predicated on distrust.”

Our ancestors had to learn to trust their neighbors, and the seeds of our mutuality can be seen in our simplest gestures, like the willingness to point out a hidden object to another, as even toddlers will do. Early humans also needed ways to control would-be bullies, and our exceptional pitching skills — which researchers speculate originally arose to help us ward off predators — probably helped. “We can throw much better than any other primate,” Dr. Wilson said, “and once we could throw things at a distance, all of a sudden the alpha male is vulnerable to being dispatched with stones. Stoning might have been one of our first adaptations.”

Low hierarchy does not mean no hierarchy. Through ethnographic and cross-cultural studies, researchers have concluded that the basic template for human social groups is moderately but not unerringly egalitarian. They have found gradients of wealth and power among even the most nomadic groups, but such gradients tend to be mild. In a recent analysis of five hunter-gatherer populations, Eric Aiden Smith of the University of Washington and his colleagues found the average degree of income equality to be roughly half that seen in the United States, and close to the wealth distribution of Denmark.

Interestingly, another recent study found that when Americans were given the chance to construct their version of the optimal wealth gradient for America, both Republicans and Democrats came up with a chart that looked like Sweden’s. There’s no need to insult the meat in the land of lutefisk.

My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant

My Life as an Undocumented Immigrant
By JOSE ANTONIO VARGAS
Published: June 22, 2011

One August morning nearly two decades ago, my mother woke me and put me in a cab. She handed me a jacket. “Baka malamig doon” were among the few words she said. (“It might be cold there.”) When I arrived at the Philippines’ Ninoy Aquino International Airport with her, my aunt and a family friend, I was introduced to a man I’d never seen. They told me he was my uncle. He held my hand as I boarded an airplane for the first time. It was 1993, and I was 12.

Staying Papers The documentation that Vargas obtained over the years — a fake green card, a fake passport, a driver’s license — allowed him to remain in the U.S. In Oregon, a friend provided a mailing address.
Enlarge This Image
Photograph from Jose Antonio Vargas

Pre-Flight In the Philippines with his mother, who was supposed to follow him to the United States but never did.

Benefactors Vargas with the school officials Rich Fischer and Pat Hyland at his high-school graduation.

After his college graduation with his grandfather, Lolo, who provided most of his resources for his journey to America.

Above A doctored version of this card has helped keep Vargas in the United States. The magazine has blurred his number in the photo.

My mother wanted to give me a better life, so she sent me thousands of miles away to live with her parents in America — my grandfather (Lolo in Tagalog) and grandmother (Lola). After I arrived in Mountain View, Calif., in the San Francisco Bay Area, I entered sixth grade and quickly grew to love my new home, family and culture. I discovered a passion for language, though it was hard to learn the difference between formal English and American slang. One of my early memories is of a freckled kid in middle school asking me, “What’s up?” I replied, “The sky,” and he and a couple of other kids laughed. I won the eighth-grade spelling bee by memorizing words I couldn’t properly pronounce. (The winning word was “indefatigable.”)

One day when I was 16, I rode my bike to the nearby D.M.V. office to get my driver’s permit. Some of my friends already had their licenses, so I figured it was time. But when I handed the clerk my green card as proof of U.S. residency, she flipped it around, examining it. “This is fake,” she whispered. “Don’t come back here again.”

Confused and scared, I pedaled home and confronted Lolo. I remember him sitting in the garage, cutting coupons. I dropped my bike and ran over to him, showing him the green card. “Peke ba ito?” I asked in Tagalog. (“Is this fake?”) My grandparents were naturalized American citizens — he worked as a security guard, she as a food server — and they had begun supporting my mother and me financially when I was 3, after my father’s wandering eye and inability to properly provide for us led to my parents’ separation. Lolo was a proud man, and I saw the shame on his face as he told me he purchased the card, along with other fake documents, for me. “Don’t show it to other people,” he warned.

I decided then that I could never give anyone reason to doubt I was an American. I convinced myself that if I worked enough, if I achieved enough, I would be rewarded with citizenship. I felt I could earn it.

I’ve tried. Over the past 14 years, I’ve graduated from high school and college and built a career as a journalist, interviewing some of the most famous people in the country. On the surface, I’ve created a good life. I’ve lived the American dream.

But I am still an undocumented immigrant. And that means living a different kind of reality. It means going about my day in fear of being found out. It means rarely trusting people, even those closest to me, with who I really am. It means keeping my family photos in a shoebox rather than displaying them on shelves in my home, so friends don’t ask about them. It means reluctantly, even painfully, doing things I know are wrong and unlawful. And it has meant relying on a sort of 21st-century underground railroad of supporters, people who took an interest in my future and took risks for me.

Last year I read about four students who walked from Miami to Washington to lobby for the Dream Act, a nearly decade-old immigration bill that would provide a path to legal permanent residency for young people who have been educated in this country. At the risk of deportation — the Obama administration has deported almost 800,000 people in the last two years — they are speaking out. Their courage has inspired me.

There are believed to be 11 million undocumented immigrants in the United States. We’re not always who you think we are. Some pick your strawberries or care for your children. Some are in high school or college. And some, it turns out, write news articles you might read. I grew up here. This is my home. Yet even though I think of myself as an American and consider America my country, my country doesn’t think of me as one of its own.



My first challenge was the language. Though I learned English in the Philippines, I wanted to lose my accent. During high school, I spent hours at a time watching television (especially “Frasier,” “Home Improvement” and reruns of “The Golden Girls”) and movies (from “Goodfellas” to “Anne of Green Gables”), pausing the VHS to try to copy how various characters enunciated their words. At the local library, I read magazines, books and newspapers — anything to learn how to write better. Kathy Dewar, my high-school English teacher, introduced me to journalism. From the moment I wrote my first article for the student paper, I convinced myself that having my name in print — writing in English, interviewing Americans — validated my presence here.

The debates over “illegal aliens” intensified my anxieties. In 1994, only a year after my flight from the Philippines, Gov. Pete Wilson was re-elected in part because of his support for Proposition 187, which prohibited undocumented immigrants from attending public school and accessing other services. (A federal court later found the law unconstitutional.) After my encounter at the D.M.V. in 1997, I grew more aware of anti-immigrant sentiments and stereotypes: they don’t want to assimilate, they are a drain on society. They’re not talking about me, I would tell myself. I have something to contribute.

To do that, I had to work — and for that, I needed a Social Security number. Fortunately, my grandfather had already managed to get one for me. Lolo had always taken care of everyone in the family. He and my grandmother emigrated legally in 1984 from Zambales, a province in the Philippines of rice fields and bamboo houses­, following Lolo’s sister, who married a Filipino-American serving in the American military. She petitioned for her brother and his wife to join her. When they got here, Lolo petitioned for his two children — my mother and her younger brother — to follow them. But instead of mentioning that my mother was a married woman, he listed her as single. Legal residents can’t petition for their married children. Besides, Lolo didn’t care for my father. He didn’t want him coming here too.

But soon Lolo grew nervous that the immigration authorities reviewing the petition would discover my mother was married, thus derailing not only her chances of coming here but those of my uncle as well. So he withdrew her petition. After my uncle came to America legally in 1991, Lolo tried to get my mother here through a tourist visa, but she wasn’t able to obtain one. That’s when she decided to send me. My mother told me later that she figured she would follow me soon. She never did.

The “uncle” who brought me here turned out to be a coyote, not a relative, my grandfather later explained. Lolo scraped together enough money — I eventually learned it was $4,500, a huge sum for him — to pay him to smuggle me here under a fake name and fake passport. (I never saw the passport again after the flight and have always assumed that the coyote kept it.) After I arrived in America, Lolo obtained a new fake Filipino passport, in my real name this time, adorned with a fake student visa, in addition to the fraudulent green card.

Using the fake passport, we went to the local Social Security Administration office and applied for a Social Security number and card. It was, I remember, a quick visit. When the card came in the mail, it had my full, real name, but it also clearly stated: “Valid for work only with I.N.S. authorization.”

When I began looking for work, a short time after the D.M.V. incident, my grandfather and I took the Social Security card to Kinko’s, where he covered the “I.N.S. authorization” text with a sliver of white tape. We then made photocopies of the card. At a glance, at least, the copies would look like copies of a regular, unrestricted Social Security card.

Lolo always imagined I would work the kind of low-paying jobs that undocumented people often take. (Once I married an American, he said, I would get my real papers, and everything would be fine.) But even menial jobs require documents, so he and I hoped the doctored card would work for now. The more documents I had, he said, the better.

While in high school, I worked part time at Subway, then at the front desk of the local Y.M.C.A., then at a tennis club, until I landed an unpaid internship at The Mountain View Voice, my hometown newspaper. First I brought coffee and helped around the office; eventually I began covering city-hall meetings and other assignments for pay.

For more than a decade of getting part-time and full-time jobs, employers have rarely asked to check my original Social Security card. When they did, I showed the photocopied version, which they accepted. Over time, I also began checking the citizenship box on my federal I-9 employment eligibility forms. (Claiming full citizenship was actually easier than declaring permanent resident “green card” status, which would have required me to provide an alien registration number.)

This deceit never got easier. The more I did it, the more I felt like an impostor, the more guilt I carried — and the more I worried that I would get caught. But I kept doing it. I needed to live and survive on my own, and I decided this was the way.

Mountain View High School became my second home. I was elected to represent my school at school-board meetings, which gave me the chance to meet and befriend Rich Fischer, the superintendent for our school district. I joined the speech and debate team, acted in school plays and eventually became co-editor of The Oracle, the student newspaper. That drew the attention of my principal, Pat Hyland. “You’re at school just as much as I am,” she told me. Pat and Rich would soon become mentors, and over time, almost surrogate parents for me.

After a choir rehearsal during my junior year, Jill Denny, the choir director, told me she was considering a Japan trip for our singing group. I told her I couldn’t afford it, but she said we’d figure out a way. I hesitated, and then decided to tell her the truth. “It’s not really the money,” I remember saying. “I don’t have the right passport.” When she assured me we’d get the proper documents, I finally told her. “I can’t get the right passport,” I said. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

She understood. So the choir toured Hawaii instead, with me in tow. (Mrs. Denny and I spoke a couple of months ago, and she told me she hadn’t wanted to leave any student behind.)

Later that school year, my history class watched a documentary on Harvey Milk, the openly gay San Francisco city official who was assassinated. This was 1999, just six months after Matthew Shepard’s body was found tied to a fence in Wyoming. During the discussion, I raised my hand and said something like: “I’m sorry Harvey Milk got killed for being gay. . . . I’ve been meaning to say this. . . . I’m gay.”

I hadn’t planned on coming out that morning, though I had known that I was gay for several years. With that announcement, I became the only openly gay student at school, and it caused turmoil with my grandparents. Lolo kicked me out of the house for a few weeks. Though we eventually reconciled, I had disappointed him on two fronts. First, as a Catholic, he considered homosexuality a sin and was embarrassed about having “ang apo na bakla” (“a grandson who is gay”). Even worse, I was making matters more difficult for myself, he said. I needed to marry an American woman in order to gain a green card.

Tough as it was, coming out about being gay seemed less daunting than coming out about my legal status. I kept my other secret mostly hidden.



While my classmates awaited their college acceptance letters, I hoped to get a full-time job at The Mountain View Voice after graduation. It’s not that I didn’t want to go to college, but I couldn’t apply for state and federal financial aid. Without that, my family couldn’t afford to send me.

But when I finally told Pat and Rich about my immigration “problem” — as we called it from then on — they helped me look for a solution. At first, they even wondered if one of them could adopt me and fix the situation that way, but a lawyer Rich consulted told him it wouldn’t change my legal status because I was too old. Eventually they connected me to a new scholarship fund for high-potential students who were usually the first in their families to attend college. Most important, the fund was not concerned with immigration status. I was among the first recipients, with the scholarship covering tuition, lodging, books and other expenses for my studies at San Francisco State University.

As a college freshman, I found a job working part time at The San Francisco Chronicle, where I sorted mail and wrote some freelance articles. My ambition was to get a reporting job, so I embarked on a series of internships. First I landed at The Philadelphia Daily News, in the summer of 2001, where I covered a drive-by shooting and the wedding of the 76ers star Allen Iverson. Using those articles, I applied to The Seattle Times and got an internship for the following summer.

But then my lack of proper documents became a problem again. The Times’s recruiter, Pat Foote, asked all incoming interns to bring certain paperwork on their first day: a birth certificate, or a passport, or a driver’s license plus an original Social Security card. I panicked, thinking my documents wouldn’t pass muster. So before starting the job, I called Pat and told her about my legal status. After consulting with management, she called me back with the answer I feared: I couldn’t do the internship.

This was devastating. What good was college if I couldn’t then pursue the career I wanted? I decided then that if I was to succeed in a profession that is all about truth-telling, I couldn’t tell the truth about myself.

After this episode, Jim Strand, the venture capitalist who sponsored my scholarship, offered to pay for an immigration lawyer. Rich and I went to meet her in San Francisco’s financial district.

I was hopeful. This was in early 2002, shortly after Senators Orrin Hatch, the Utah Republican, and Dick Durbin, the Illinois Democrat, introduced the Dream Act — Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors. It seemed like the legislative version of what I’d told myself: If I work hard and contribute, things will work out.

But the meeting left me crushed. My only solution, the lawyer said, was to go back to the Philippines and accept a 10-year ban before I could apply to return legally.

If Rich was discouraged, he hid it well. “Put this problem on a shelf,” he told me. “Compartmentalize it. Keep going.”

And I did. For the summer of 2003, I applied for internships across the country. Several newspapers, including The Wall Street Journal, The Boston Globe and The Chicago Tribune, expressed interest. But when The Washington Post offered me a spot, I knew where I would go. And this time, I had no intention of acknowledging my “problem.”

The Post internship posed a tricky obstacle: It required a driver’s license. (After my close call at the California D.M.V., I’d never gotten one.) So I spent an afternoon at The Mountain View Public Library, studying various states’ requirements. Oregon was among the most welcoming — and it was just a few hours’ drive north.

Again, my support network came through. A friend’s father lived in Portland, and he allowed me to use his address as proof of residency. Pat, Rich and Rich’s longtime assistant, Mary Moore, sent letters to me at that address. Rich taught me how to do three-point turns in a parking lot, and a friend accompanied me to Portland.

The license meant everything to me — it would let me drive, fly and work. But my grandparents worried about the Portland trip and the Washington internship. While Lola offered daily prayers so that I would not get caught, Lolo told me that I was dreaming too big, risking too much.

I was determined to pursue my ambitions. I was 22, I told them, responsible for my own actions. But this was different from Lolo’s driving a confused teenager to Kinko’s. I knew what I was doing now, and I knew it wasn’t right. But what was I supposed to do?

I was paying state and federal taxes, but I was using an invalid Social Security card and writing false information on my employment forms. But that seemed better than depending on my grandparents or on Pat, Rich and Jim — or returning to a country I barely remembered. I convinced myself all would be O.K. if I lived up to the qualities of a “citizen”: hard work, self-reliance, love of my country.

At the D.M.V. in Portland, I arrived with my photocopied Social Security card, my college I.D., a pay stub from The San Francisco Chronicle and my proof of state residence — the letters to the Portland address that my support network had sent. It worked. My license, issued in 2003, was set to expire eight years later, on my 30th birthday, on Feb. 3, 2011. I had eight years to succeed professionally, and to hope that some sort of immigration reform would pass in the meantime and allow me to stay.

It seemed like all the time in the world.



My summer in Washington was exhilarating. I was intimidated to be in a major newsroom but was assigned a mentor — Peter Perl, a veteran magazine writer — to help me navigate it. A few weeks into the internship, he printed out one of my articles, about a guy who recovered a long-lost wallet, circled the first two paragraphs and left it on my desk. “Great eye for details — awesome!” he wrote. Though I didn’t know it then, Peter would become one more member of my network.

At the end of the summer, I returned to The San Francisco Chronicle. My plan was to finish school — I was now a senior — while I worked for The Chronicle as a reporter for the city desk. But when The Post beckoned again, offering me a full-time, two-year paid internship that I could start when I graduated in June 2004, it was too tempting to pass up. I moved back to Washington.

About four months into my job as a reporter for The Post, I began feeling increasingly paranoid, as if I had “illegal immigrant” tattooed on my forehead — and in Washington, of all places, where the debates over immigration seemed never-ending. I was so eager to prove myself that I feared I was annoying some colleagues and editors — and worried that any one of these professional journalists could discover my secret. The anxiety was nearly paralyzing. I decided I had to tell one of the higher-ups about my situation. I turned to Peter.

By this time, Peter, who still works at The Post, had become part of management as the paper’s director of newsroom training and professional development. One afternoon in late October, we walked a couple of blocks to Lafayette Square, across from the White House. Over some 20 minutes, sitting on a bench, I told him everything: the Social Security card, the driver’s license, Pat and Rich, my family.

Peter was shocked. “I understand you 100 times better now,” he said. He told me that I had done the right thing by telling him, and that it was now our shared problem. He said he didn’t want to do anything about it just yet. I had just been hired, he said, and I needed to prove myself. “When you’ve done enough,” he said, “we’ll tell Don and Len together.” (Don Graham is the chairman of The Washington Post Company; Leonard Downie Jr. was then the paper’s executive editor.) A month later, I spent my first Thanksgiving in Washington with Peter and his family.

In the five years that followed, I did my best to “do enough.” I was promoted to staff writer, reported on video-game culture, wrote a series on Washington’s H.I.V./AIDS epidemic and covered the role of technology and social media in the 2008 presidential race. I visited the White House, where I interviewed senior aides and covered a state dinner — and gave the Secret Service the Social Security number I obtained with false documents.

I did my best to steer clear of reporting on immigration policy but couldn’t always avoid it. On two occasions, I wrote about Hillary Clinton’s position on driver’s licenses for undocumented immigrants. I also wrote an article about Senator Mel Martinez of Florida, then the chairman of the Republican National Committee, who was defending his party’s stance toward Latinos after only one Republican presidential candidate — John McCain, the co-author of a failed immigration bill — agreed to participate in a debate sponsored by Univision, the Spanish-language network.

It was an odd sort of dance: I was trying to stand out in a highly competitive newsroom, yet I was terrified that if I stood out too much, I’d invite unwanted scrutiny. I tried to compartmentalize my fears, distract myself by reporting on the lives of other people, but there was no escaping the central conflict in my life. Maintaining a deception for so long distorts your sense of self. You start wondering who you’ve become, and why.

In April 2008, I was part of a Post team that won a Pulitzer Prize for the paper’s coverage of the Virginia Tech shootings a year earlier. Lolo died a year earlier, so it was Lola who called me the day of the announcement. The first thing she said was, “Anong mangyayari kung malaman ng mga tao?”

What will happen if people find out?

I couldn’t say anything. After we got off the phone, I rushed to the bathroom on the fourth floor of the newsroom, sat down on the toilet and cried.



In the summer of 2009, without ever having had that follow-up talk with top Post management, I left the paper and moved to New York to join The Huffington Post. I met Arianna Huffington at a Washington Press Club Foundation dinner I was covering for The Post two years earlier, and she later recruited me to join her news site. I wanted to learn more about Web publishing, and I thought the new job would provide a useful education.

Still, I was apprehensive about the move: many companies were already using E-Verify, a program set up by the Department of Homeland Security that checks if prospective employees are eligible to work, and I didn’t know if my new employer was among them. But I’d been able to get jobs in other newsrooms, I figured, so I filled out the paperwork as usual and succeeded in landing on the payroll.

While I worked at The Huffington Post, other opportunities emerged. My H.I.V./AIDS series became a documentary film called “The Other City,” which opened at the Tribeca Film Festival last year and was broadcast on Showtime. I began writing for magazines and landed a dream assignment: profiling Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg for The New Yorker.

The more I achieved, the more scared and depressed I became. I was proud of my work, but there was always a cloud hanging over it, over me. My old eight-year deadline — the expiration of my Oregon driver’s license — was approaching.

After slightly less than a year, I decided to leave The Huffington Post. In part, this was because I wanted to promote the documentary and write a book about online culture — or so I told my friends. But the real reason was, after so many years of trying to be a part of the system, of focusing all my energy on my professional life, I learned that no amount of professional success would solve my problem or ease the sense of loss and displacement I felt. I lied to a friend about why I couldn’t take a weekend trip to Mexico. Another time I concocted an excuse for why I couldn’t go on an all-expenses-paid trip to Switzerland. I have been unwilling, for years, to be in a long-term relationship because I never wanted anyone to get too close and ask too many questions. All the while, Lola’s question was stuck in my head: What will happen if people find out?

Early this year, just two weeks before my 30th birthday, I won a small reprieve: I obtained a driver’s license in the state of Washington. The license is valid until 2016. This offered me five more years of acceptable identification — but also five more years of fear, of lying to people I respect and institutions that trusted me, of running away from who I am.

I’m done running. I’m exhausted. I don’t want that life anymore.

So I’ve decided to come forward, own up to what I’ve done, and tell my story to the best of my recollection. I’ve reached out to former bosses­ and employers and apologized for misleading them — a mix of humiliation and liberation coming with each disclosure. All the people mentioned in this article gave me permission to use their names. I’ve also talked to family and friends about my situation and am working with legal counsel to review my options. I don’t know what the consequences will be of telling my story.

I do know that I am grateful to my grandparents, my Lolo and Lola, for giving me the chance for a better life. I’m also grateful to my other family — the support network I found here in America — for encouraging me to pursue my dreams.

It’s been almost 18 years since I’ve seen my mother. Early on, I was mad at her for putting me in this position, and then mad at myself for being angry and ungrateful. By the time I got to college, we rarely spoke by phone. It became too painful; after a while it was easier to just send money to help support her and my two half-siblings. My sister, almost 2 years old when I left, is almost 20 now. I’ve never met my 14-year-old brother. I would love to see them.

Not long ago, I called my mother. I wanted to fill the gaps in my memory about that August morning so many years ago. We had never discussed it. Part of me wanted to shove the memory aside, but to write this article and face the facts of my life, I needed more details. Did I cry? Did she? Did we kiss goodbye?

My mother told me I was excited about meeting a stewardess, about getting on a plane. She also reminded me of the one piece of advice she gave me for blending in: If anyone asked why I was coming to America, I should say I was going to Disneyland.

Jose Antonio Vargas is a former reporter for The Washington Post and shared a Pulitzer Prize for coverage of the Virginia Tech shootings. He founded Define American, which seeks to change the conversation on immigration reform. Editor: Chris Suellentrop (C.Suellentrop-MagGroup@nytimes.com)

മാധവിക്കുട്ടിയുടെ രചനകളില്‍ നിന്ന്‌

എന്റെ മുത്തശ്ശിയുടെ വീട്ടില്‍
പണ്ട് ചുവരില്‍ ഫ്രെയിം തൂക്കിയ
തവിട്ട് നിറമുള്ള
കുറച്ച് ഫോട്ടോകളുണ്ടായിരുന്നു.
എപ്പോഴെങ്കിലും അതിലൊരെണ്ണം
ഞാനൊന്ന് പൊക്കി നോക്കി
അപ്പോള്‍ ഒരു തേള്‍ മയക്കമുണര്‍ന്ന്
വാലുയര്‍ത്തും,കുത്തിക്കെട്ടിയാല്‍
നന്നായി വേദനിക്കും കേട്ടോ.
മുത്തശ്ശി വിളിച്ചു പറഞ്ഞു
അവറ്റയുടെ ഉള്ളില്‍ വിഷമാണേയ്

വെറുതെ വിടുമ്പോഴാണ്
ഭൂതകാലത്തിന് ഭംഗി'
( ഉറങ്ങുന്ന തേളുകള്‍ )


ഞാന്‍ ചാവേര്‍പ്പടയില്‍ ചേര്‍ന്നത്
ആത്മബലിക്ക് തയ്യാറായിട്ടാണ്
പ്രേമം ആത്മബലിയല്ലെമ്കില്‍
മറ്റെന്താണ് അതിന്റെ പൊരുള്‍?


"At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna
Loved her for the last time and left…
That night in her husband's arms, Radha felt
So dead that he asked, What is wrong,
Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said,
No, not at all, but thought, What is
It to the corpse if the maggots nip?"


ഞാന്‍ പാപിയാണ്
വിശുദ്ധയാണ്
വഞ്ചിക്കപ്പെട്ടവളാണ്
നിങ്ങളുടേതല്ലാത്ത ആഹ്ലാദങ്ങള്‍
എനിക്കില്ല
നിങ്ങളുടേതല്ലാത്ത വേദനകളുമില്ല
ഞാന്‍പോലും എന്നെ 'ഞാന്‍' എന്നു വിളിക്കുന്നു.

അവിടെയല്ലാത്ത
ഇവിടെയുള്ള
ഒരു മനസ്സിന്റെ ഭാഷണം
കൊടുങ്കാറ്റിലെ മരങ്ങളുടേയോ
കാലവര്‍ഷ മേഘങ്ങളുടേയോ
മഴയുടേയോ
അന്ധവും ബധിരവുമായ സംസാരമല്ല
അല്ലെങ്കില്‍
ചിതയില്‍ ജ്വലിക്കുന്ന അഗ്നിയുടെ
അസംബന്ധമായ പിറുപിറുക്കലുമല്ല.

ഒരിക്കലും അതിവൈകാരികമാകരുത്
അതിവൈകാരികത മാത്രമാണ്
ആഹ്ലാദത്തിന്റെ യഥാര്‍ത്ഥ ശത്രു.

ഞാന്‍ വഴി തെറ്റിപ്പോയവള്‍
സ്‌നേഹം ലഭിക്കുവാന്‍
അപരിചിതരുടെ വാതിലുകളില്‍
യാചിക്കുന്നു.

പ്രേമത്തിന് എവിടെ ഇടം?
പ്രേമത്തിന് എവിടെ മാപ്പ്?
പ്രേമത്തിന് എവിടെ ആവശ്യം?

എന്നെ സംബന്ധിച്ചിടത്തോളം
പ്രശ്‌നമാകുന്ന ഏക സത്യം
മറ്റുള്ളവര്‍ക്ക് നല്കാനുള്ള
എന്റെ സ്‌നേഹം മാത്രമാണ്.

അപ്പോള്‍ പ്രണയം
ഒരു പ്രഭാകേന്ദ്രം
നിമിഷത്തെ പ്രഭാമയമാക്കുന്നു

എന്നോട് ചോദിക്കൂ
ജീവിതം ഹ്രസ്വവും
പ്രണയം അതിനേക്കാള്‍ ഹ്രസ്വവുമായിരിക്കുന്നതെന്താണ്?

ഓരോ സത്യവും
അങ്ങനെ ഓരോ ചോദ്യത്തോടെ
അവസാനിക്കുന്നു.
ഇത്തരത്തില്‍ രൂപകല്പന ചെയ്ത ബാധിര്യമാണ്
നശ്വരമായതിനെ അനശ്വരമാക്കുന്നത്.
നിയതമായതിനെ അനിയതമാക്കുന്നത്
ചോദ്യങ്ങള്‍ ചോദിച്ച്
ഉത്തരങ്ങള്‍ വരുന്നതിന് മുമ്പെ
നീങ്ങിപ്പോകുന്നവര്‍ ഭാഗ്യവാന്മാരാണ്
സന്ദേഹങ്ങളാല്‍ മാന്തിക്കീറലുകളേല്‍ക്കാതെ
നീലനിശ്ശബ്ദതയില്‍ വസിക്കുന്ന സമര്‍ഥന്മാര്‍


ഞാന്‍ മരിക്കുമ്പോള്‍
എന്റെ മാംസവും അസ്ഥികളും
ദൂരെയെറിഞ്ഞു കളയരുത്
അവ കൂനകൂട്ടി വയ്ക്കുക.
അവ അവയുടെ ഗന്ധത്താല്‍ പറയട്ടെ
ജീവിതത്തിനെന്തു മേന്മയുണ്ടായിരുന്നെന്ന്,
അവസാനത്തില്‍
സ്‌നേഹത്തിന്റെ മാഹാത്മ്യമെന്തായിരുന്നെന്ന്.

ആരും കുരിശില്‍നിന്നിറങ്ങി വരില്ല.
അല്ലെങ്കില്‍,
നമ്മെ അവന്റെ മുറിവുകള്‍ കാണിച്ചു തരില്ല.
നിശ്ശബ്ദതയില്‍ നഷ്ടപ്പെട്ടുപോയ
ഒരു ദൈവവും
നമ്മോട് സംസാരിക്കുകയില്ല.
ഒരു നഷ്ടപ്രണയവും
നമ്മോട് അവകാശവാദമുന്നയിക്കുകയില്ല.
ഇല്ല, ഒരിക്കലും നാം വീണ്ടെടുക്കപ്പെടുകയില്ല.
അല്ലെങ്കില്‍ നവീകരിക്കപ്പെടുകയുമില്ല

ഇന്ന് ഞാനെന്റെ കണ്ണട
ഉപേക്ഷിച്ചു പോന്നു
ഇതൊരു അന്ധമായ നടത്തമായിത്തീരാന്‍
ഈ നടത്തം എന്റെ ജീവിതത്തെ
പ്രതീകവത്കരിക്കുവാന്‍!

ഞാനൊരു മനുഷ്യസ്ത്രീയായിരിക്കുന്നതുപോലെ
അത് മാനുഷികമാണ്,
മനസ്സിലാകുന്നില്ലേ?
അതെന്റെ ആഹ്ലാദങ്ങള്‍ക്കും അഭിലാഷങ്ങള്‍ക്കും
പ്രതീക്ഷകള്‍ക്കും ശബ്ദം നല്കുന്നു,
കാക്കകള്‍ക്ക് കരച്ചില്‍പോലെ
അല്ലെങ്കില്‍
സിംഹങ്ങള്‍ക്ക് ഗര്‍ജ്ജനംപോലെ
അതെന്നെ സഹായിക്കുന്നു,
അത് മനുഷ്യശബ്ദമാണ്.
അവിടെയല്ലാത്ത, ഇവിടെയുള്ള
മനസ്സിന്റെ ഭാഷണം.
കാണുകയും കേള്‍ക്കുകയും
ഗ്രഹിക്കുകയും ചെയ്യുന്ന
ഒരു മനസ്സിന്റെ ഭാഷണം.

Moonwalking with Einstein : the art and science of remembering everything / Joshua Foer.

Moonwalking with Einstein : the art and science of remembering everything / Joshua Foer.

Rhetorica ad Herennium

Rhetorica ad Herennium 3.16-24
English translation by Harry Caplan (Loeb, 1954)



(16) Nunc ad thesaurum inventorum atque ad omnium partium rhetoricae custodem, memoriam, transeamus.

Now let me turn to the treasure-house of the ideas supplied by Invention, to the guardian of all the parts of rhetoric, the Memory.

memoria utrum habeat quiddam artificiosi, an omnis ab natura proficiscatur, aliud dicendi tempus idoneum dabitur. Nunc proinde atque constet in hac re multum valere artem et praeceptionem, ita de ea re loquemur. Placet enim nobis esse artificium memoriae; quare placeat, alias ostendemus; in praesentia, cuiusmodi sit ea, aperiemus.

The question whether memory has some artificial quality, or comes entirely from nature, we shall have another, more favourable, opportunity to discuss. At present I shall accept as proved that in this matter art and method are of great importance, and shall treat the subject accordingly. For my part, I am satisfied that there is an art of memory — the grounds of my belief I shall explain elsewhere. For the present I shall disclose what sort of thing memory is.


Sunt igitur duae memoriae: una naturalis, altera artificiosa. Naturalis est ea, quae nostris animis insita est et simul cum cogitatione nata; artificiosa est ea, quam confirmat inductio quaedam et ratio praeceptionis. Sed qua via in ceteris rebus ingenii bonitas imitatur saepe doctrinam, ars porro naturae commoda confirmat et auget, item fit in hac re, ut nonnumquam naturalis memoria, si cui data est egregia, similis sit huic artificiosae, porro haec artificiosa naturae commoda retineat et amplificet ratione doctrinae; quapropter naturalis memoria praeceptione confirmanda est, ut sit egregia, et haec, quae doctrina datur, indiget ingenii. Nec hoc magis aut minus in hac re, quam in ceteris artibus fit, ut ingenio doctrina, praeceptione natura nitescat. Quare et illis, qui natura memores sunt, utilis haec erit institutio, quod tute paulo post poteris intellegere: et si illei, freti ingenio, nostri non indigerent, tamen iusta causa daretur, quare iis, qui minus ingenii habent, adiumento velimus esse. Nunc de artificiosa memoria loquemur. There are, then, two kinds of memory: one natural, and the other the product of art. The natural memory is that memory which is imbedded in our minds, born simultaneously with thought. The artificial memory is that memory which is strengthened by a kind of training and system of discipline. But just as in everything else the merit of natural excellence often rivals acquired learning, and art, in its turn, reinforces and develops the natural advantages, so does it happen in this instance. The natural memory, if a person is endowed with an exceptional one, is often like this artificial memory, and this artificial memory, in its turn, retains and develops the natural advantages by a method of discipline. Thus the natural memory must be strengthened by discipline so as to become exceptional, and, on the other hand, this memory provided by discipline requires natural ability. It is neither more nor less true in this instance than in the other arts that science strives by the aid of innate ability, and nature by the aid of the rules of art. The training here offered will therefore also be useful to those who by nature have a good memory, as you will yourself soon come to understand. But even if these, relying on their natural talent, did not need our help, we should still be justified in wishing to aid the less well-endowed. Now I shall discuss the artificial memory.


Constat igitur artificiosa memoria locis et imaginibus. Locos appellamus eos, qui breviter, perfecte, insignite aut natura aut manu sunt absoluti, ut eos facile naturali memoria conprehendere et amplecti queamus: aedes, intercolumnium, angulum, fornicem et alia, quae his similia sunt. Imagines sunt formae quaedam et notae et simulacra eius rei, quam meminisse volumus: quod genus equi, leones, aquilae; [memoriam] si volemus habere imagines eorum, locis certis conlocare oportebit. Nunc, cuiusmodi locos invenire et quo pacto reperire et in locis imagines constituere oporteat, ostendemus. The artificial memory includes backgrounds and images. By backgrounds I mean such scenes as are naturally or artificially set off on a small scale, complete and conspicuous, so that we can grasp and embrace them easily by the natural memory — for example, a house, an intercolumnar space, a recess, an arch, or the like. An image is, as it were, a figure, mark, or portrait of the object we wish to remember; for example, if we wish to recall a horse, a lion, or an eagle, we must place its image in a definite background. Now I shall show what kind of backgrounds we should invent and how we should discover the images and set them therein.


(17) Quemadmodum igitur qui litteras sciunt, possunt id, quod dictatur, eis scribere et recitare quod scripserunt, item qui nemonica didicerunt, possunt, quod audierunt, in locis conlocare ex his memoriter pronuntiare. Nam loci cerae aut cartae simillimi sunt, imagines litteris, dispositio et conlocatio imaginum scripturae, pronuntiatio lectioni. Oportet igitur, si volumus multa meminisse, multos nobis locos conparare, uti multis locis multas imagines conlocare possimus. Item putamus oportere ne quando perturbatione ordinis inpediamur, quo setius, quoto quoquo loco libebit, vel ab superiore vel ab inferiore parte imagines sequi et ea, quae mandata locis erunt, edere possimus. Those who know the letters of the alphabet can thereby write out what is dictated to them and read aloud what they have written. Likewise, those who have learned mnemonics can set in backgrounds what they have heard, and from these backgrounds deliver it by memory. For the backgrounds are very much like wax tablet or papyrus, the images like letters, the arrangement and disposition of the images like the script, and the delivery is like the reading. We should therefore, if we desire to memorize a large number of items, equip ourselves with a large number of backgrounds, so that in these we may set a large number of images. I likewise think it obligatory to have these backgrounds in a series, so that we never by confusion in their order be prevented from following the images — proceeding from any background we wish, whatsoever its place in the series, and whether we go forwards or backwards — nor from delivering orally what has been committed to the backgrounds.







(18) nam ut, si in ordine stantes notos quomplures viderimus, nihil nostra intersit, utrum ab summo an ab imo an ab medio nomina eorum dicere incipiamus, item in locis ex ordine conlocatis eveniet, ut in quamlibebit partem quoque loco lubebit imaginibus commoniti dicere possimus id, quod locis mandaverimus. quare placet et ex ordine locos conparare.


For example, if we should see a great number of our acquaintances standing in a certain order, it would not make any difference to us whether we should tell their names beginning with the person standing at the head of the line or at the foot or in the middle. So with respect to the backgrounds. If these have been arranged in order, the result will be that, reminded by the images, we can repeat orally what we committed to the backgrounds, proceeding in either direction from any background we please. That is why it also seems best to arrange the backgrounds in a series.


Locos, quos sumpserimus, egregie commeditari oportebit, ut perpetuo nobis haerere possint: nam imagines, sicuti litterae delentur, ubi nihil utimur; loci, tamquam cera, remanere debent. Et, ne forte in numero locorum falli possimus, quintum quemque placet notari: quod genus, si in quinto loco manum auream conlocemus, in decumo aliquem notum, cui praenomen sit Decumo; deinde facile erit inceps similis notas quinto quoquo loco conlocare.
We shall need to study with special care the backgrounds we have adopted so that they may cling lastingly in our memory, for the images, like letters, are effaced when we make no use of them, but the backgrounds, like wax tablets, should abide. And that we may by no chance err in the number of backgrounds, each fifth background should be marked. For example, if in the fifth we should set a golden hand, and in the tenth some acquaintance whose first name is Decimus, it will then be easy to station like marks in each successive fifth background.


(19) Item commodius est in derelicta, quam in celebri regione locos conparare, propterea quod frequentia et obambulatio hominum conturbat et infirmat imaginum notas, solitudo conservat integras simulacrorum figuras. Praeterea dissimilis forma atque natura loci conparandi sunt, ut distincti interlucere possint: nam si qui multa intercolumnia sumpserit, conturbabitur similitudine, ut ignoret, quid in quoquo loco conlocarit. Et magnitudine modica et mediocris locos habere oportet: nam et praeter modum ampli vagas imagines reddunt et nimis angusti saepe non videntur posse capere imaginum conlocationem. tum nec nimis inlustris nec vehementer obscuros locos habere oportet, ne aut obcaecentur tenebris imagines aut splendore praefulgeant. Intervalla locorum mediocria placet esse, fere paulo plus aut minus pedum tricenum: nam ut aspectus item cogitatio minus valet, sive nimis procul removeris sive vehementer prope admoveris id, quod oportet videri.
Again, it will be more advantageous to obtain backgrounds in a deserted than in a populous region, because the crowding and passing to and fro of people confuse and weaken the impress of the images, while solitude keeps their outlines sharp. Further, backgrounds differing in form and nature must be secured, so that, thus distinguished, they may be clearly visible; for if a person has adopted many intercolumnar spaces, their resemblance to one another will so confuse him that he will no longer know what he has set in each background. And these backgrounds ought to be of moderate size and medium extent, for when excessively large they render the images vague, and when too small often seem incapable of receiving an arrangement of images. Then the backgrounds ought to be neither too bright nor too dim, so that the shadows may not obscure the images nor the lustre make them glitter. I believe that the intervals between backgrounds should be of moderate extent, approximately thirty feet; for, like the external eye, so the inner eye of thought is less powerful when you have moved the object of sight too near or too far away.


Sed quamquam facile est ei, qui paulo plura noverit, quamvis multos et idoneos locos conparare, tamen si qui satis idoneos invenire se non putabit, ipse sibi constituat quam volet multos licebit. Cogitatio enim quamvis regionem potest amplecti et in ea situm loci cuiusdam ad suum arbitrium fabricari et architectari. Quare licebit, si hac prompta copia contenti non erimus, nosmet ipsos nobis cogitatione nostra regionem constituere et idoneorum locorum commodissimam distinctionem conparare. De locis satis dictum est; nunc ad imaginum rationem transeamus. Although it is easy for a person with a relatively large experience to equip himself with as many and as suitable backgrounds as he may desire, even a person who believes that he finds no store of backgrounds that are good enough, may succeeded in fashioning as many such as he wishes. For the imagination can embrace any region whatsoever and it at will fashion and construct the setting of some background. Hence, if we are not content with our ready-made supply of backgrounds, we may in our imagination create a region for ourselves and obtain a most serviceable distribution of appropriate backgrounds. On the subject of backgrounds enough has been said; let me now turn to the theory of images.
(20) Quoniam ergo rerum similes imagines esse oportet, ex omnibus rebus nosmet nobis similitudines eligere debemus. Duplices igitur similitudines esse debent, unae rerum, alterae verborum. Rerum similitudines exprimuntur, cum summatim ipsorum negotiorum imagines conparamus; verborum similitudines constituuntur, cum unius cuiusque nominis et vocabuli memoria imagine notatur. Rei totius memoriam saepe una nota et imagine simplici conprehendimus.


Since, then, images must resemble objects, we ought ourselves to choose from all objects likenesses for our use. Hence likenesses are bound to be of two kinds, one of subject-matter the other of words. Likenesses of matter are formed when we enlist images that present a general view of the matter with which we are dealing; likenesses of words are established when the record of each single noun or appellative is kept by an image. Often we encompass the record of an entire matter by one notation, a single image.

hoc modo, ut si accusator dixerit ab reo hominem veneno necatum, et hereditatis causa factum arguerit, et eius rei multos dixerit testes et conscios esse: si hoc primum, ut ad defendendum nobis expeditum meminisse volemus, in primo loco rei totius imaginem conformabimus: aegrotum in lecto cubantem faciemus ipsum illum, de quo agetur, si formam eius detinebimus; si eum non, at aliquem aegrotum de minimo loco sumemus, ut cito in mentem venire possit. Et reum ad lectum eius adstituemus, dextera poculum, sinistra tabulas, medico testiculos arietinos tenentem: hoc modo et testium et hereditatis et veneno necati memoriam habere poterimus. Item deinceps cetera crimina ex ordine in locis ponemus; et, quotienscumque rem meminisse volemus, si formarum dispositione et imaginum diligenti notatione utemur, facile ea, quae volemus, memoria consequemur. For example, the prosecutor has said that the defendant killed a man by poison, has charged that the motive for the crime was an inheritance, and declared that there are many witnesses and accessories to this act. If in order to facilitate our defence we wish to remember this first point, we shall in our first background form an image of the whole matter. We shall picture the man in question as lying ill in bed, if we know his person. If we do not know him, we shall yet take some one to be our invalid, but a man of the lowest class, so that he may come to mind at once. And we shall place the defendant at the bedside, holding in his right hand a cup, and in his left tablets, and on the fourth finger ram's testicles. In this way we can record the man who was poisoned, the inheritance, and the witnesses. In like fashion we shall set the other counts of the charge in backgrounds successively, following their order, and whenever we wish to remember a point, by properly arranging the patterns of the backgrounds and carefully imprinting the images, we shall easily succeed in calling back to mind what we wish.
(21) Cum verborum similitudines imaginibus exprimere volemus, plus negotii suscipiemus et magis ingenium nostrum exercebimus. Id nos hoc modo facere oportebit: Iam domum itionem reges Atridae arant.


When we wish to represent by images the likenesses of words, we shall be undertaking a greater task and exercising our ingenuity the more. This we ought to effect in the following way: Iam domum itionem reges Atridae arant. "And now their home-coming the kings, the sons of Atreus, are making ready."


in loco constituere manus ad caelum tollentem Domitium, cum a Regibus Marciis loris caedatur: hoc erit "Iam domum itionem reges"; in altero loco Aesopum et Cimbrum subornari, ut ad Ephigeniam, in Agamemnonem et Menelaum: hoc erit "Atridae parant." Hoc modo omnia verba erunt expressa. Sed haec imaginum conformatio tum valet, si naturalem memoriam exsuscitaverimus hac notatione, ut versu posito ipsi nobiscum primum transeamus bis aut ter eum versum, deinde tum imaginibus verba exprimamus. Hoc modo naturae subpeditabitur doctrina. Nam utraque altera separata minus erit firma, ita tamen, ut multo plus in doctrina atque arte praesidii sit. If we wish to remember this verse, in our first background we should put Domitius, raising hands to heaven while he is lashed by the Marcii Reges — that will represent "Iam domum itionem reges" ("And now their home-coming the kings,"); in the second background, Aesopus and Cimber being dressed as for the rôles of Agamemnon and Menelaüs in Iphigenia — that will represent "Atridae parant" ("the sons of Atreus, making ready"). By this method all the words will be represented. But such an arrangement of images succeeds only if we use our notation to stimulate the natural memory, so that we first go over a given verse twice or three times to ourselves and then represent the words by means of images. In this way art will supplement nature. For neither by itself will be strong enough, though we must note that theory and technique are much the more reliable. I should not hesitate to demonstrate this in detail, did I not fear that, once having departed from my plan, I should not so well preserve the clear conciseness of my instruction.


Nunc, quoniam solet accidere, ut imagines partim firmae et acres et ad monendum idoneae sint, partim inbecillae et infirmae, quae vix memoriam possint excitare, qua de causa utrumque fiat, considerandum est, ut cognita causa, quas vitemus et quas sequamur imagines, scire possimus. Now, since in normal cases some images are strong and sharp and suitable for awakening recollection, and others so weak and feeble as hardly to succeed in stimulating memory, we must therefore consider the cause of these differences, so that, by knowing the cause, we may know which images to avoid and which to seek.


(22) Docet igitur nos ipsa natura, quid oporteat fieri. Nam si quas res in vita videmus parvas, usitatas, cottidianas, meminisse non solemus propterea quod nulla nova nec admirabili re commovetur animus: at si quid videmus aut audimus egregie turpe aut honestum, inusitatum, magnum, incredibile, ridiculum, id diu meminisse consuevimus. aut audimus, obliviscimur plerumque; quae acciderunt in pueritia, meminimus optime saepe; nec hoc alia de causa potest accidere, nisi quod usitatae res facile e memoria elabuntur, insignes et novae diutius exortus, cursus, occasus nemo admiratur, propterea quia cottidie fiunt; at eclipsis solis mirantur, quia raro accidunt, et solis eclipsis magis mirantur quam lunae, propterea quod hae crebriores sunt. Docet ergo se natura vulgari et usitata re non exsuscitari, novitate et insigni quodam negotio commoveri. Imitetur ars igitur naturam et, quod ea desiderat, id inveniat, quod ostendit, sequatur. Nihil est enim, quod aut natura extremum invenerit aut doctrina primum; sed rerum principia ab ingenio profecta sunt, exitus disciplina conparantur.

Now nature herself teaches us what we should do. When we see in everyday life things that are petty, ordinary, and banal, we generally fail to remember them, because the mind is not being stirred by anything novel or marvellous. But if we see or hear something exceptionally base, dishonourable, extraordinary, great, unbelievable, or laughable, that we are likely to remember a long time. Accordingly, things immediate to our eye or ear we commonly forget; incidents of our childhood we often remember best. Nor could this be so for any other reason than that ordinary things easily slip from the memory while the striking and novel stay longer in mind. A sunrise, the sun's course, a sunset, are marvellous to no one because they occur daily. But solar eclipses are a source of wonder because they occur seldom, and indeed are more marvellous than lunar eclipses, because these are more frequent. Thus nature shows that she is not aroused by the common, ordinary event, but is moved by a new or striking occurrence. Let art, then, imitate nature, find what she desires, and follow as she directs. For in invention nature is never last, education never first; rather the beginnings of things arise from natural talent, and the ends are reached by discipline.

Imagines igitur nos in eo genere constituere oportebit, quod genus in memoria diutissime potest haerere. Id accidet, si quam maxime notatas similitudines constituemus; si non multas nec vagas, sed aliquid agentes imagines ponemus; si egregiam pulcritudinem aut unicam turpitudinem eis adtribuemus; si aliquas exornabimus, ut si coronis aut veste purpurea, quo nobis notatior sit similitudo; aut si qua re deformabimus, ut si cruentam aut caeno oblitam aut rubrica delibutam inducamus, quo magis insignita sit forma, aut ridiculas res aliquas imaginibus adtribuamus: nam ea res quoque faciet, ut facilius meminisse valeamus. Nam, quas res facile meminerimus, easdem fictas et diligenter notatas meminisse non difficile est. Sed illud facere oportebit, ut identidem primos quosque locos imaginum renovandarum causa celeriter animo pervagemus. We ought, then, to set up images of a kind that can adhere longest in the memory. And we shall do so if we establish likenesses as striking as possible; if we set up images that are not many or vague, but doing something; if we assign to them exceptional beauty or singular ugliness; if we dress some of them with crowns or purple cloaks, for example, so that the likeness may be more distinct to us; or if we somehow disfigure them, as by introducing one stained with blood or soiled with mud or smeared with red paint, so that its form is more striking, or by assigning certain comic effects to our images, for that, too, will ensure our remembering them more readily. The things we easily remember when they are real we likewise remember without difficulty when they are figments, if they have been carefully delineated. But this will be essential — again and again to run over rapidly in the mind all the original backgrounds in order to refresh the images.


(23) Scio plerosque Graecos, qui de memoria sripserunt, fecisse, ut multorum verborum imagines conscriberent, uti, qui ediscere vellent, paratas haberent, ne quid in quaerendo consumerent operae. Quorum rationem aliquot de causis inprobamus: primum, quod in verborum innumerabili multitudine ridiculumst mille verborum imagines conparare. Quantulum enim poterunt haec valere, cum ex infinita verborum copia modo aliud modo aliud nos verbum meminisse oportebit? Deinde cur volumus ab industria quemquam removere, ut ne quid ipse quaerat, nos illi omnia parata quaesita tradamus? Praeterea similitudine alia alius magis commovetur. Nam ut saepe, formam si quam similem cuipiam dixerimus esse, non omnes habemus adsensores, quod alii videtur aliud, item fit imaginibus, ut, quae nobis diligenter notata sit, ea parum videatur insignis aliis. Quare sibi quemque suo commodo convenit imagines conparare. Postremo praeceptoris est docere, quemadmodum quaeri quidque conveniat, et unum aliquod aut alterum, non omnia, quae eius generis erunt, exempli causa subicere, quo res possit esse dilucidior: quom de prohemiis quaerendis disputamus, rationem damus quaerendi, non mille prohemiorum de imaginibus fieri convenire.



I know that most of the Greeks who have written on the memory have taken the course of listing images that correspond to a great many words, so that persons who wished to learn these images by heart would have them ready without expending effort on a search for them. I disapprove of their method on several grounds. First, among the innumerable multitude of words it is ridiculous to collect images for a thousand. How meagre is the value these can have, when out of the infinite store of words we shall need to remember now one, and now another? Secondly, why do we wish to rob anybody of his initiative, so that, to save him from making any search himself, we deliver to him everything searched out and ready? Then again, one person is more struck by one likeness, and another more by another. Often in fact when we declare that some one form resembles another, we fail to receive universal assent, because things seem different to different persons. The same is true with respect to images: one that is well-defined to us appears relatively inconspicuous to others. Everybody, therefore, should in equipping himself with images suit his own convenience. Finally, it is the instructor's duty to teach the proper method of search in each case, and, for the sake of greater clarity, to add in illustration some one or two examples of its kind, but not all. For instance, when I discuss the search for Introductions, I give a method of search and do not draught a thousand kinds of Introductions. The same procedure I believes be followed with respect to images.


(24) Nunc, ne forte verborum memoriam aut nimis difficilem aut parum utilem arbitrere, rerum ipsarum memoria contentus sis, quod et utilior sit et plus habeat facultatis, admonendus es, quare verborum memoriam inprobemus. Nam putamus oportere eos, qui velint res faciliores sine labore et molestia facere, in rebus difficilioribus esse ante exercitatos. Nec nos hanc verborum memoriam inducimus, sed ut hac exercitatione illa rerum memoria, quae pertinet ad utilitatem, confirmetur, ut ab hac difficili consuetudine sine labore ad illam facultatem transire possimus. Sed cum in omni disciplina infirma est artis praeceptio sine summa adsiduitate exercitationis, tum vero in nemonicis minimum valet doctrina, nisi industria, studio labore, diligentia conprobatur. Quam plurimos locos ut habeas et quam maxime ad praecepta adcommodatos curare poteris; in imaginibus conlocandis exerceri cotidie convenit. Non enim, sicut a ceteris studiis abducimur nonnumquam occupatione, item ab hac re nos potest causa deducere aliqua. Numquam est enim, quin aliquid memoriae tradere velimus et tum maxime, cum aliquo maiore negotio detinemur. Quare, cum sit utile facile meminisse, non te fallit, quod tantopere utile sit, quanto labore sit adpetendum: poteris existimare utilitate cognita. Pluribus verbis ad eam te hortari non est sententia, ne aut tuo studio diffisi aut minus, quam res postulat, dixisse videamur. De quinta parte rhetoricae deinceps dicemus: tu primas quasque partes in animo frequenta et, quod maxime necesse est, exercitatione confirma. Now, lest you should perchance regard the memorizing of words either as too difficult or as of too little use, and so rest content with the memorizing of matter, as being easier and more useful, I must advise you why I do not disapprove of memorizing words. I believe that they who wish to do easy things without trouble and toil must previously have been trained in more difficult things. Nor have I included memorization of words to enable us to get verse by rote, but rather as an exercise whereby to strengthen that other kind of memory, the memory of matter, which is of practical use. Thus we may without effort pass from this difficult training to ease in that other memory. In every discipline artistic theory is of little avail without unremitting exercise, but especially in mnemonics theory is almost valueless unless made good by industry, devotion, toil, and care. You can make sure that you have as many backgrounds as possible and that these conform as much as possible to the rules; in placing the images you should exercise every day. While an engrossing preoccupation may often distract us from our other pursuits, from this activity nothing whatever can divert us. Indeed there is never a moment when we do not wish to commit something to memory, and we wish it most of all when our attention is held by business of special importance. So, since a ready memory is a useful thing, you see clearly with what great pains we must strive to acquire so useful a faculty. Once you know its uses you will be ab le to appreciate this advice. To exhort you further in the matter of memory is not my intention, for I should appear either to have lacked confidence in your zeal or to have discussed the subject less fully than it demands.



[DRB 11.17.2009]

ഉണരൂ വേഗം നീ സുമറാണീ - S. Janaki

ഉണരൂ വേഗം നീ സുമറാണീ
വന്നു നായകന്‍
പ്രേമത്തിന്‍ മുരളീഗായകന്‍
മലരേ...തേന്‍ മലരേ...മലരേ...

വന്നു പൂവണി മാസം... ഓ...
വന്നു പൂവണിമാസം
വന്നു സുരഭില മാസം
തന്‍ തംബുരു മീട്ടി കുരുവി
താളം കൊട്ടീ അരുവി
ആശദളം ചൂടി വരവായി
ശലഭം വന്നുപോയ്
ആനന്ദ ഗീതാ മോഹനന്‍
മലരേ...തേന്‍ മലരേ...മലരേ
(ഉണരൂ വേഗം)