People think of Memorial Library as a place that houses intellectual products. While this is obviously true, intellectual products also emerge from here, from the students who study, research, and have conversations within the confines of these walls.
The origins of this exhibit are complex and cannot be attributed to any one person. The overarching idea of the project was to have UW-Madison graduate students from around the world writing in their own languages about their experiences of winter in Madison. When necessary, they translated their texts into English. Memorial Library's contribution to this dialogue about the cold has been to include a selection of books from its collections that deal with the topic in some way. We've worked to include works in a variety of languages, representing a variety of disciplines, to illustrate the diversity of our collections.
In November, Giannina Reyes, Spanish PhD student, and Paloma Celis, Memorial librarian, discussed the possibility of turning into an exhibit at Memorial Library the creative writing project "Traducciones del frío" ("Translations of the Cold"). The project itself was proposed initially by Giannina as part of a larger, ongoing project, La Inquietante (e Internacional) Semana de las Mujeres Traducidas (The Unsettling (and International) Week of Translated Women). This project, headed up by noted Mexican authors Cristina Rivera Garza and Amaranta Caballero, sought to explore the subtleties of translation and gender in theory and in practice.
Originally entitled "Traducciones del frío", these texts were translated, if necessary, into Spanish. In addition to being featured on Rivera and Caballero's blog La Inquietante (e Internacional) Semana de las Mujeres Traducidas , there has been an exhibit at the Instituto Tecnológico de Monterrey, where Garza is a faculty member, including the original and translated texts along with the pictures of all the participants.
While this exhibit has a different name from the original project, the underlying premise has remained the same. "Translation" rarely means exact duplication. So it is with this exhibit. We've asked additional students to participate. The students and the materials here represent just the "tip of the iceberg" in terms of the diversity of the students who study, research, and create at this library, and the intellectual creations the library collects and preserves.
Reading through all the texts included in this exhibit has been a cathartic experience. Each one of them, with a unique perspective, seizes on what many haven't been able to express about Madison's cold weather.
It doesn't matter whether we are natives of Wisconsin, from another cold region or from a tropical or temperate zone. The extreme winter of this corner of our planet will always amaze us and leave us without the precise words to do it justice. That is, unless you are part of the lucky few who have the magic to capture them, freeze them and come up with a way to keep them from slipping through your fingers.
Paloma Celis Carbajal and Beth Harper
Madison, February 2008
Cristina Rivera Garza
Tamaulipas, Mexico
Writer
El que traduce gana
Todo lo que es, es traducido. Lejos de la pureza del así llamado original, distanciada de la hermenéutica que busca un significado, de preferencia el único, detrás de los discursos o los objetos, la traducción es un recordatorio constante de nuestra condición alterada, es decir, de nuestra implicación incesante con el otro y la otra y los otros de esos otros. El que traduce lee de la manera más atenta. El que traduce vive de la manera más atenta. Traducir, dice Marcelo Pellegrini, es respirar. Es aproximarse, traducir. Volverse próximo y, por lo tanto, prójimo. Un cuerpo. Una presencia. Una palpitación. Cuando me traduces, gano yo. El que traduce inventa y roba y traiciona, eso es cierto. El que traduce añade. Traductores y traducidos nos deslizamos por los bordes de la diferenciación, liberados del yugo de ser Nosotros Mismos, y atendemos también, a veces con algarabía, la convocatoria de lo símil. Te digo: soy tu espejo. Añado: empañado. Traducida por la lectura del poder, soy una biografía compuesta de fechas límite y lugares inmóviles. Cuando me traduzco para ti, soy estas palabras que me vuelven, acaso, inteligible. Tú. El que traduce atraviesa el puente y, justo en el centro, se avienta a las aguas que no cesan de pasar. El traducido emerge del agua, respiro atroz, para volver a sumergirse. Más que una actividad, un estado del ser: traducir y ser traducido. Las dos cosas a la vez.
Fragmento del texto publicado en "La mano oblicua", Milenio, Sección de Cultura, que a su vez fue publicado en el blog La Inquietante (e Internacional) Semana de las Mujeres Traducidas
Whosoever Translates Wins
All that is has been translated. Far from the purity of the so-called original, distanced from the hermeneutics that seeks a (preferably unique) meaning, behind discourses and objects, translation is a constant reminder of our altered condition. That is to say, of our incessant implication with the other, with others, and with the others of those others. Whosoever translates reads in the most attentive way. To translate, says Marcelo Pellegrini, is to breathe. To translate is to draw near. To become close as family. A body. A presence. A beat. When you translate me, I win. To be certain, whosoever translates invents and steals and betrays. Whosoever translates adds. Translators and translated we slide along the edges of differentiation, the summoning of the similar. I tell you: I'm your mirror. I add: fogged up. Translated by the reading of power, I am a biography composed of deadlines and unmovable places. When I translate myself for you, I am these words that may make me intelligible. You. Whosoever translates crosses a bridge and, right in the middle, leaps into the waters that continuously pass by. The translated one emerges from the waters, breathing terribly, only to be submerged again. More than an activity, a state of being: to translate and be translated. Both things at once.
Fragment of the text published in "La mano oblicua", Milenio, Sección de Cultura, which was published in the blog La inquietante (e internacional) semana de las mujeres traducidas
Translated by John Burns, February 2008.
Giannina Reyes Giardiello
Mexico City, Mexico
Spanish Literature PhD Student
Érase que se era…
(Nota: Este es el texto introductorio del proyecto original "Traduciones del Frío".)
Se te va a congelar hasta la risa, fueron las alentadoras palabras de uno de mis profesores cuando se enteró que había decidido estudiar en la Universidad de Wisconsin- Madison. No quise creerle hasta que sucedió. En mi primer invierno aquí no sólo se me congeló la risa, sino también el cabello, los pulmones y finalmente las lágrimas. Y no exagero. Gracias a esto fue que en aquellos primeros siete meses, -sí, aquí el invierno comienza a finales de octubre y termina hasta principios de mayo- encontré una realidad para la cual no tenía ningún tipo de referencia. La definición de frío cambiaba cada día, incluso cada hora. Me descubría en las calles pensando que lo que sentía era, ahora sí, el verdadero frío; pero al día siguiente, cuando el termómetro bajaba un poco más, volvía a decirme lo mismo. Arrebatando sustantivos dejé el clima de muchos días sin nombre. Comencé a utilizar términos en inglés para los cuales aún no encuentro un equivalente aceptable. Un buen ejemplo es carámbano que parece más un término de billar y no un pedazo de hielo que cuelga de las puertas y las ventanas. Otro, mi favorito, es wind chill factor. La traducción, temperatura aparente o temperatura de sensación, no define ni de lejos algo que podría explicarse como: estúpido viento matador que congela hasta el blanco de los ojos. Sin las palabras necesarias, cómo nombrar aquello que duele en lugares que no había sentido antes. A mí el frío me deja sin habla, literal y metafóricamente.
No soy la única con este problema. La experiencia de vivir el invierno en esta ciudad puede ser interesante, abrumadora, diferente, hermosa, pero sobre todo muy personal. Por eso hemos decidido presentar este proyecto. Varios estudiantes graduados de esta universidad, hemos intentado traducir nuestra experiencia del frío. Éstas vienen en diversos tamaños y formas, porque quisimos presentar la mayor cantidad de puntos de vista que nos fuera posible. Sin embargo, es difícil explicar con palabras algo que sólo puede experimentarse in situ. Por eso, si a pesar de leer los textos no logran comprender nuestras traducciones, voy a darles el mismo consejo que le doy a mis amigos de México cuando me piden que les describa mi inviernos aquí en Madison. Vayan a la cocina, abran el congelador y metan la cabeza. El frío que sientan ahí, comparativamente, es para nosotros un agradable y cálido día de enero.
Once upon a time…
(Note: This was the introductory text to the original project "Translations of the Cold")
"Even your laughter will freeze", were the encouraging words of one of my professors when he found out that I had decided to study at the University of Wisconsin- Madison. I did not believe him until it happened. In my first winter here not only my laughter froze, but also my hair, my lungs and finally my tears. And I"m not exaggerating. Owing to this I found myself facing a reality for which I did not have any sort of reference. The definition of cold changed every day, even every hour. When I was walking on the streets I used to find myself thinking that what I was feeling at that moment was, yes, at last, the true cold; but on the following day, when the thermometer dropped a little more, I had to eat my words and say the same thing again. Snatching at nouns I left the climate of many days nameless. I began to use terms in English for some words of which I couldn't find an acceptable equivalent in Spanish. A good example is icicle. The Spanish word, "carámbano", sounds more like a billiards term and not a piece of ice that hangs off doors and windows. Another one, my favorite, is wind chill factor. The translation, "temperatura aparente" or "temperatura de sensación", cannot contain, not even for a moment, the true explanation of the term: stupid and frightening killing wind that freezes even the whites of the eyes.
Without the necessary words, how could I name what hurt in places I had never even felt before? The cold I have felt in Madison leaves me mute (metaphorically and literally speaking). What I found out is that I am not the only one with this problem. The experience of living the winter in this city can be interesting, overwhelming, different, beautiful, but above all very personal. For that reason we have decided to present this project. A group of graduate students at this University, from different parts of the world, have tried to put their experience of living in this cold weather into words. These texts come in diverse sizes and forms, because we wanted to display as many points of view as possible. Nevertheless, it is difficult to explain something that only can be experienced in situ with words. For that reason if, in spite of reading these texts, you can still not understand what these translations are trying to communicate, I am going to give you the same advice I give to all my Mexican friends when they ask me to describe my winters here in Madison: go to the kitchen, open the freezer and put your head in it. The cold that you feel there, in comparison, is for us a pleasant and warm January day.
Saylín Álvarez Oquendo
Camagüey, Cuba
Spanish Literature PhD Student
Inviernos con nieve. Primeras lecciones para Leila
Esta niñita mía no sabe muy bien donde ha venido a parar. Nada más y nada menos que al Midwest de este Norte tan distante, donde los inviernos duran como seis meses, caen no sé cuántas pulgadas de nieve, las temperaturas se ponen alegres y alcanzan hasta los 30 grados bajo cero, el lago se queda como piedra de tan congelado y el "wind chill factor" hace que se sienta más frío del que quieren hacernos creer que en la vida muy real hay. La noche, además, es más larga: a las 5 de la tarde ya todo está irremediablemente oscuro.
Madison, Wisconsin, querida Leila. Madison, Wisconsin. Aquí naciste tú, tú que tienes una carita tropical que se te sale por encima de la ropa; con una madre de Cuba y un padre de Mozambique que juntos generan todo el calor que haría falta para descongelar estos lagos madisonianos; tú, que pudiste haber nacido en África o en una isla que se repite en el Caribe, pero que caíste aquí en Madison, Wisconsin, porque fue aquí donde tus padres se conocieron y no pudo haber sido de otra forma.
Leila-rayito-de-sol, ya empezó el invierno en tu ciudad natal, el invierno puro y duro (me es difícil todavía llamar a Madison "tu ciudad natal"). En estos días han caído las primeras nevadas gigantes, y cuando la gran tormenta del sábado tus padres te montaron en el carro y esquivando toneladas de nieve pronta a convertirse en hielo te llevaron con ellos a un rinconcito bien caliente: a casa de buenos amigos, a tomar vino español, comer baklavas, oír a Marlango con su Automatic Imperfection y conversar hasta las tantas, olvidados de Madison y del invierno. Claro, tú te dormiste y el vino lo tomamos nosotros, y lo demás fue también para nosotros… pero algo te llegó a ti y estoy segura que algún efecto tendrá en tu futura percepción del invierno... y en tu tendencia hacia lo cálido.
Aunque no lo recuerdes, ésa fue tu primera gran aventura en medio de la nieve, vadeando el temporal para atravesar la ciudad y encontrar más calor.
Lección número 1:
Por más que nieve siempre habrá un oasis donde podamos refugiarnos.
Lección número 2:
Por más que hayas nacido en esta ciudad de hielo, por más que te acostumbres a lo frío, una parte de ti pertenece al otro lado… El sol y el calor son completamente tuyos.
Lección número 3 (derivada de la lección número 1):
En Madison Leila, los amigos son el verano.
Snowy Winters. First Lessons For Leila
My little girl has no idea what kind of place she's ended up in. Nothing more and nothing less than the Midwest of the northernmost El Norte, where winters last up to six months, where who-knows-how-many inches of snow fall every year, where the temperatures dip cheerfully down to minus 30 degrees, where lakes freeze like sheets of rock, and the wind chill factor makes you feel far colder than even the barometer would have you believe. What's more, the night, your namesake, lingers much longer, for at 5 in the afternoon darkness has already fallen irremediably over everything.
Madison, Wisconsin, my dearest Leila, Madison, Wisconsin: the place where you were born, you, with your tropical little face peeking out unmistakably from your multiple layers of clothes; with a mom from Cuba and a dad from Mozambique, who together radiate enough heat to thaw out all the lakes of Madison; you, who might have been born in Africa or in some repeating, Caribbean island, but ended up here in Madison, Wisconsin, because here was where your parents met, and it could not have happened any other way.
Leila-little-ray-of-sunshine, winter has begun in your home town (it's still hard for me to think of Madison as your "home town"), harsh, unrelenting winter. In the last few days, the first giant snows have fallen. And during that first snowstorm, your parents bundled you into the car, drove you through streets that were like white mountains on the verge of becoming cliffs of ice, and took you with them to a warm and cozy nook: to their friends' home, and drank Spanish wine, ate baklavas, listened to Marlango and its Automatic Imperfection, and let themselves lose their way in beautifully meandering conversations until the small hours of the morning, forgetting all about Madison and its harsh winters. You slept through it all, of course, and it was we the adults who drank the wine and did the rest… But I'm sure something of all that must have reached you, and it will have an effect on your perception of winters to come… on your decided preference for the warmth of the tropics.
Although you don't remember it, this was your first great adventure in the snow, negotiating the storm-battered city streets in search of a warmer place.
Lesson number 1:
No matter how much snow falls, there will always be a haven where we can seek shelter from the storm.
Lesson number 2:
Though you were born in this city of ice and snow, and no matter how much you get used to the cold, a part of you will always belong to the other side… The sun and the warmth are entirely yours.
Lesson number 3 (derived from lesson number 1):
In Madison, my little Leila, our friends are the summer.
Nora Díaz
Sonora, Mexico
Latin American Studies M.A. Student
"Cuando éramos jóvenes e ilusos y aún veíamos la nieve con cariño"
Madison, WI, Primer día de invierno, 2006.
"When we were young and naïve, and still fond of snow"
Madison, WI, First Day of Winter, 2006.
Vanessa Fitzgibbon
São Paulo, Brazil
Portuguese Literature PhD
Pergunte a qualquer brasileiro, morando no Brasil, qual é um de seus sonhos e ele dirá: "Ter um Natal com neve!" E eu não fui uma exceção. Aquela neve linda, branquinha, romântica, que transmite um ar de paz, prosperidade, beleza, e tudo que parecia existir só em países nobres, civilizados e educados enquanto que nós, pobres latino-americanos, destinados a derreter sob o sol tropical de dezembro, sem mesmo poder conceber algo tão belo como a neve.
Agora pergunte para um brasileiro, morando em um país nobre, civilizado, nórdico, qual é um dos seus sonhos e ele dirá: "Voltar para o Natal para aquela terra quentinha, alegre, feliz, com ritmo, com dança, com ginga, que tem uma comida saborosa e fugir deste frio que me deixa azedo, deprimido, triste…" E você pode perguntar novamente: "Mas não era você que sonhava em ter um natal com neve?" E ele responderá simplesmente: "Pois é…"
A vida parece ter um senso de humor bastante interessante, principalmente no meu caso. Lembro-me sendo uma dessas brasileiras, cujo maior sonho era ver neve e morar em um lugar em que o calor fosse mínimo e pudesse respirar o ar civilizado e nobre que o frio transparece. Hoje, olho pela janela e estou em um desses lugares: o cume das montanhas está branco, congelado e com neve, o lago congelado com o frio, as pessoas congeladas em seus mundos e isoladas por sua frieza. E eu, com minhas lágrimas de saudades, congeladas em meu rosto…
Ask any Brazilian living in Brazil what one of her dreams is and she will answer: "To have a white Christmas!" I was not the exception. That white, beautiful and romantic snow that gives off a sense of peace, prosperity and beauty is what I thought only existed in civilized and educated countries; while we, poor Latin Americans, had to melt in the scorching tropical sun of December without being able to conceive of something as beautiful as the snow.
Now, ask any Brazilian living in a noble, civilized and Nordic country what is one of her dreams and she will answer: "To go back during Christmas to that warm, joyful, happy, rhythmic place on the earth with its dances, its cadence, its delicious food, and run away from this cold that makes me depressed, sour and sad." And then you could ask her back: "Weren't you the one that wanted to have a white Christmas?" And she will respond: "Well, I was…"
Life seems to have a very interesting sense of humor, especially in my case. I remember being one of those Brazilians, whose biggest dream was to see the snow and to live in a place where the heat was kept to a minimum so I could breathe, finally, the civilized and noble cold air. Today, I look out my window and I'm in one of these places: the top of the mountain is white, frozen with snow. The lake has frozen. The people are frozen in their own worlds; isolated because of their coldness. And here I am, with nostalgic tears frozen in my face…
Matteo Gilebbi
Marotta, Italy
Italian Literature PhD Student
CamminareOltreLimoDisgustoso
WalkingAboveRaunchyMud
Ray Hsu
Toronto, Canada
English Literary Studies PhD Student
))(
((the water (moves in directions)
is contradictory) (it crosshatches)
(a fire
inches below the surface)
surfaces) (the water tells
our reflection)
(cold) (inches from the surface)
(my smudged glasses turn
the lights (of Christmas)
into auras)
(we three dream
out by the crosshatches we are contradictory)
(we three
(give up language
as hunters)
give up their language)
(something inches below the surface
inches above the surface))
Benoît Leclercq
Lille, France
French Literature PhD Student
Il fallut que le mercure indiquât -31 degrés Celsius pour que je comprisse finalement l'ironie que recélait le nom de "Green" Bay… et que je devinsse réceptif aux charmes de la couverture électrique de ma grand-mère.
It was only when the mercury had dipped low enough to read -24 degrees Fahrenheit that I began to understand the irony behind "Green" Bay… and started longing for the seductions of my grandma's electric blanket.
Marilén Loyola
Miami/Puerto Rico/Cuba
Spanish Literature PhD Student
El frío
Insistes en despertarme, como si me conocieras; como si acostumbraras cada mañana hacerme cosquillas suavecitas en los dedos de los pies; como si fueras al que siempre veo en los sueños, en el momento preciso en que me encuentro cara a cara con la muerte; como si encontraras cada noche ese rincón en el que dejo descansar mis secretos; como si supieras que aunque pretendieras esconderte, te respiraría. Insistes en despertarme, sí, como si fueras lo que siempre niegas, como si no pretendieras cada noche disfrazarte de calor.
The cold
You insist on waking me, as if you knew me; as if you softly tickled my toes every morning; as if it were you I always saw in dreams, right when I think I'm going to die; as if each night you found that corner where I let my secrets rest; as if you knew that even if you tried to hide, I'd feel you. You insist on waking me, yes, as if you actually were what you always deny, as if you weren't pretending, as always, to be the warmth I so need.
Kristina Puotkalyte-Gurgel
Kaunas, Lithuania
Spanish Literature PhD Student
Šaltis
Drebulys nuo šalčio sukausto mano nugarą gelenčiais skausmais.
Šalčio galia-maudžiantis geležinis degesys.
Drebu.
Tam tikros vietos, ypač gležnios,-pirmos aukos.
Kažkur apie kaklą.
GuoLIS.
Netekusi šiltos tekstilės globos, pastirusi
Pasišiaušusi, mano oda įgauna AkMenuOtą tekstūrą.
Susiriečiu pataluose
Su viltim, kad galbūt kūnas kūno neišduos,
Kad sušildys.
Gaili iliuzija.
Rytas ir vanduo.
Ir vėl akmenys. Jų paviršius dar ilgai brėš,
Kol šaltis tūnos erdvėse, tarpuvėtiese, tarp akmenų ir kažko kito.
Nepaliaujamas drebulys, kartu pyktis, raukšlės ir aimanos.
Neva garsai šildytų.
Kitur irgi tampsu.
Madison, 2007
The cold
The shaking from the cold immobilizes my back in aching pain.
The power of cold-painful iron burn.
I shiver.
Certain places, the vulnerable ones especially,-first victims.
Somewhere around the neck.
beD.
Having lost the protection of warm textile, stiff
Overtaken by goose bumps, my skin takes on a rOcKy texture.
I curl up in my bedding
Hoping that perhaps body will not betray body,
That it will warm up.
A sad illusion.
Morning and water.
The rocks again. Their surface will scratch for a while yet,
As long as the cold will remain in spaces, in-between spaces, between rocks and something else.
An unstoppable shivering, together with anger, wrinkles and groaning.
As if the sounds could warm.
Somewhere else it's also dark.
Translated by Kristina Puotkalyte-Gurgel
Paola Savvidou
Nicosia, Cyprus
Piano Performance and Pedagogy MM Student
Ένας Κύπριος, πρώην φοιτητής στο UW μου είπε: Κάνει τόσο κρύο στο Μάντισον που παγώνει η μύ ξα σου. Τότε δεν τον πίστεψα. Τώρα όμως ξέρω πως είχε δίκιο.
A former Cypriot student at UW told me: "It is so cold in Madison that your snot freezes." I didn't believe him then. Now I do.
Nicola Schmerbeck
Hemer, Germany
German Linguistics PhD Student
Kaffeewetter
Das Wetter hier in Wisconsin ist einfach nur verrückt. Im Sommer ist es so heiß, dass es schwer vorstellbar ist, dass es hier auch kalt werden kann. Aber dann kommt der Winter und es wird kalt. Richtig kalt. Und wenn man dann glaubt, es könne unmöglich noch kälter werden, wird es auch noch windig. So wie gestern … .
Ich musste unbedingt ein paar Lebensmittel einkaufen. Alltägliche Besorgungen, die im Sommer eine Kleinigkeit sind, stellen im Winter ein größeres Problem dar. Das Einkaufen erfordert immer erst einen halbstündigen Kampf mit meinem inneren Schweinehund, der sich partout wehrt, die warme Wohnung zu verlassen. Irgendwie kann ich ihn ja auch verstehen, meinen inneren Schweinehund. Klar hat er Angst vor allem, was sich im Winter außerhalb meiner vier Wände abspielt, denn draußen lauern neben der Kälte auch größere Gefahren. An der Dachrinne direkt über meiner Haustür hängt nicht etwa ein romantischer Mistelzweig, wie man es aus amerikanischen Spielfilmen kennt, sondern ein meterlanger Eiszapfen. Lasst ihn uns einfach ….hmmmm… Todeszapfen nennen. Zwar habe ich keine Ahnung, wie viele Menschen in den USA jährlich von Eiszapfen erschlagen werden, aber ich habe fest beschlossen, dass ich nicht zu diesen Menschen gehören werde. Daher benutze ich in den Wintermonaten lieber meine Hintertür als die Haustür.
Wenn man es trotz des inneren Schweinehundes und des Todeszapfens nach draußen schafft, fühlt man die Kälte als erstes in der Nase. Nach 2-3 Schritten fängt sie an zu kitzeln. Man fragt sich, ob man sich vielleicht mal die Nase putzen sollte, weil es ja ein Popel sein könnte. {Da, ich kann es kaum fassen, aber jetzt hab ich es tatsächlich in aller öffentlichkeit geschrieben: Popel. Ich hoffe, das hat keiner gelesen.} Doch dann merkt man: Nein, es ist kein Popel {Da! Schon wieder!}, sondern es sind die Nasenhaare, die durch den Kontakt des eigenen Atems mit der eiskalten Luft schockgefroren sind. Naseputzen wäre jetzt ein ganz großer Fehler. Mehr Flüssigkeit, die an die eiskalte Luft gelangt - Ihr könnt Euch bestimmt bildlich die Folgen vorstellen, auch ohne dass ich das Wort Popel noch mal schreibe. {Oh, Mist! Jetzt hab ich"s doch getan.}
So kämpfte ich mich also mit meinem Schweinehund im Schlepptau und gefrorenen Nasenhaaren weiter durch die Kälte in Richtung Supermarkt. Es wurde immer windiger und bald war meine Nase so zugefroren, dass ich durch den Mund atmen musste. Ich dachte, ich sterbe. Mitten auf der Straße auf dem Weg zum Supermarkt. Erfroren! Das war alles nicht Teil des Plans. Mein Plan beinhaltete eine akademische Karriere und, wenn ich ehrlich mit mir selbst und der Welt bin, auch einen großen, gut aussehenden, muskulösen Amerikaner. Stattdessen würde man demnächst in der Zeitung lesen:
Deutsche Studentin ohne gut aussehenden Freund oder herausragende Publikationen in Aussicht stirbt auf dem Weg zum Supermarkt.
Die Todesursache wurde noch nicht geklärt, aber bei der Obduktion der jungen Frau wurde eine ungewöhnlich hohe Anzahl von Popeln in der Nase entdeckt…
Naja, um mich kurz zu fassen: Ich habe es noch nicht einmal die 15 Minuten Fußweg von meiner Wohnung zum Supermarkt geschafft, sondern musste in ein typisch amerikanisches Café einkehren. So ein Pech auch! Und gerade in das Kaffeehaus, in dem es doch den neuen Zimtkaffee gibt, den ich schon immer mal probieren wollte. Normalerweise gebe ich ja kein Geld für diese überteuerten Modekaffees aus, aber schließlich wäre es auch sehr unhöflich gewesen, sich in das Café zu setzen, ohne etwas zu bestellen. Ich war also praktisch gezwungen, einen leckeren Milchkaffee zu trinken.
Was soll man dazu sagen: Man hat es schon nicht leicht im Winter hier in Wisconsin!
Coffee Weather
The weather here in Wisconsin is simply crazy. In the summer, it is so hot that it is hard to imagine that it can get cold again. But then, winter comes and it gets cold. Really cold. And as soon as you think it is impossible to get any colder, it will get windy. Like yesterday….
I really had to get some groceries. Daily errands that might be a cinch in summer present themselves as a bigger problem in winter. Before I am able to go shopping, there is always a half-hour long struggle with my weaker self, who absolutely refuses to leave the warm apartment. Somehow I can understand it, though. Of course, my weaker self is afraid of everything that happens outside of my warm home, because, especially in winter, bigger dangers lure outside, besides the cold.
You can"t find mistletoe hanging from the gutter above my front door like you might have seen it in American movies, but a meter-long icicle. Let"s just call it….hmmm… icicle of death. Even though I have no clue, how many people get killed by icicles in the US every year, I am bound and determined that neither I nor my weaker self will fall victim to them. Therefore, I"ve decided to avoid my front door and rather use my back door during the winter months.
If you made it outside, despite your weaker self and the icicle of death, you first experience the cold in your nose. After 2 or 3 steps it starts tickling in your nose. You ask yourself, if you should consider blowing your nose, because it might be a booger. {There, I can"t believe it, but I actually wrote it in public: Booger. I hope nobody read this.} But then you realize: No, it is not a booger {There! Again! Darn!}, but it is your nose hair that is quick-frozen when your breath got in contact with the cold air. Blowing your nose would be a big mistake right now. More liquid that comes in contact with the icy cold air—you can probably vividly imagine the consequences, even without me mentioning the word booger again. {Oh no! Now, I did it, anyway.}
That"s how I struggled through the cold to the supermarket with my weaker self on my coat-tails and frozen hair in my nose. It got windier and windier and soon my nose was so frozen shut that I was forced to breath through my mouth. I thought I was dying. In the middle of the road on the way to the supermarket! Frozen dead!
That was not part of the plan. My plan included an academic career and if I am honest with myself and the rest of the world, also a tall, handsome, beefy American. Instead the headlines would read:
German student without good looking boyfriend or publications in sight dies on her way to the supermarket.
The cause of death has not been determined, yet, but during the young woman"s autopsy an uncommonly high number of boogers were discovered in her nose…
Well, to make a long story short: I didn"t even make it the 15 minutes from my apartment to the supermarket, but I had to stop for a drink in a typical American café. What a shame! And on top of this, it was the café where they have the new cinnamon latte that I always wanted to try. Normally, I don"t spend my money on these fancy artsy coffee drinks, but after all, it would have been very rude to sit down in the café without ordering anything. So, practically, I was forced to drink their tasty café latte.
What can I say: Surviving winter in Wisconsin is not easy!
Peter W. Vakunta
Bamunka-Ndop, Cameroon
French Literature PhD Student
Hausa Haiku on winter in Madcity
Nan, a garinmu
Hunturu ya zo sosai
Amma can sai zafi!
Here in this city
The cold season has arrived
Over there it's brazing!
© Vakunta 2008
Mukoma Wa Ngugi
Limuru, Kenya
English Literature PhD Student
New Frontiers—Wisconsin Winter
Standing by Lake Mendota, even with a brave
sun bouncing off heavy snow rocks, my winter
jacket is wrapped tight like a second skin, my naked
face the frontier of the battle between heaven
and hell. Soon my lips will split in a thousand places
the wind chill, negative an inhumane number like
26, torture of a thousand pins…and then some.
The natives keep saying this has been a warm winter
much warmer than last year. They say, in 1902
[sometimes I have found it's 2001, 1807 or some
random year] ten children, fifteen old men, two
Africans and a herd of Jersey cows died. This
is nothing. I light a cigarette for wood. Spring will
be here soon to forget this winter, and its dead.
Yes, for each one of us there are two deaths - your
Natural death, the life you die in your sleep, and
the other to be remembered always less than what
you once really were.
Tianlin Wang
Tianjin, China
Chinese Linguistics PhD Student
为 为 为
什 什 什
么 么 么
? ! ?
!
Why? Why! Why?!
Acknowledgements
The curators for Wind Chill Factor did not work alone. This exhibit happened thanks to the enthusiasm and hard work of:
- Giannina Reyes Giardiello
- Don Johnson (Public Relations)
- Dan Joe (Graphic Design)
- Tony Krier (Web Development)
- John Burns (Translation of some of the texts, proofreading and editing)
- All Memorial Library librarians that suggested materials for the exhibit
And the generous sponsorship of:
Memorial Library, Global Studies Program, and Latin American, Caribbean and Iberian Studies Program.
A special thank you to Cristina Rivera Garza and to the UW graduate students that accepted to participate in this chilly adventure.
Bibliography of Materials in the Cases for Wind Chill Factor Exhibit
(All of these titles are located in Memorial Library regular size shelving unless otherwise noted.)
Anjavī Shīrāzī,Sayyid Abū al-Qāsim. Jashnhā Va Ādāb Va mutaqidāt-i Zamistān. Chāp 1 ed. Vol. 6. Tihrān: Intisharāt-i Amīr Kabīr, 1973. Call Number: GR290 A77.
Brebbia, C. A. Patagonia: a Forgotten Land: from Magellan to Perón. Southhampton, UK/ Billerica, MA: WIT Press, 2007. Call Number: F2936 B698 2007.
Bryant, William Cullen. The Little People of the Snow. New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1873, c1872. Call Number: PS1161 A1 1873.
Dīkshita, Jagadīśa Datta. Hima-Śataka = Snow-Century. Saskarana ed. Naī Dillī. Sāhitya Mandira, 1968. Call Number: PK2098 D466 H5.
Fishman, Jay. Winter in Wisconsin. Popular Sheet Music Collection: Mills Music Library
Frías, María Torres. Oro y nieve. Salta, Argentina. PEN Club Internacional, Centro Salta. Editorial Biblioteca de Textos Universitarios, 2003. Call Number: PQ7797 T815 O76 2003.
Gumble, Albert. Winter. Popular Sheet Music Collection: Mills Music Library
Kim, Chun-su, Chong-gil Kim. The Snow Falling on Chagall's Village : Selected Poems. Vol. 93. Ithaca, N.Y.: East Asia Program, Cornell University, 1998. Call Number: PL992.415 C5355 A613 1998.
Kolomyts, Ė G. Snezhnyĭ Pokrov Gornotaezhnykh Landshaftov Severa Zabaĭkalia. Leningrad: Izd-vo "Nauka", 1966. Call Number: GB2556 T7 K6.
Lindgren, Astrid, and Ilon Wikland. The Runaway Sleigh Ride. 1st American ed. New York. Viking Press, 1984. Call Number: PZ7 L6585 Ru 1984.
Macdonald, Sharman. The Winter Guest. London: Faber and Faber, 1998. Call Number: PN1997 W58 1998.
Mellēna, M. Ziemas Grāmata : Eksperimentālais Mācību Līdzeklis Folklorā Sākumskolai. Rīgā: S.N., 1991. Call Number: PZ90 L4 M45 1991.
Neruda, Pablo. Winter garden. Port Townsend : Copper Canyon Press, c1986. Call Number: PQ8097 N4 J313 1986.
Nistor, Francisc, and Tiberiu Utan. Iarna maramureseană. Bucuresti: "Sport-Turism", 1981. Call Number: GR258 M37 N57 1981.
Reed, Nicholas. Frost Fairs on the Frozen Thames. London: Lilburne, 2002. Call Number: HF5474 G72 T43 2002.
Seifert, Jaroslav, and Oldřich Rakovec. Co Všechno Zavál Sníh. 1. vyd ed. Praha: Albatros, 1992. Located in Oversize shelving. Call Number: DB2614 S45 1992.
Shaḥar, David. 'Al ha-ner ṿe-al ha-ruaḥ. Yerushalayim : Sifriyat ha-shaot. Tel Aviv. Yediot aḥaronot, c1994. Call Number: PJ5054 S33 A74 1994.
Sheet of Snow : An Anthology of Modern Short Stories from the Himalayas. New Delhi: Nirala, 1997. Call Number: PK2598 A2 S496 1997.
Winter Pictures: by Poet and Artist. London: Religious Tract Society, c1875. Call Number: PN6110 W5.