I
read Ward’s the diary in the volume cited by Ferry, Two Elizabethan Puritan Diaries, edited by Marshall M. Kruppen
(American Society of Church History, 1933). Here is the complete entry for May
13, 1595, retaining the original spelling:
“My
little pity of the boy who was whipt in the hall. My desire of preferment over
much. My adulterous dream. Think thow how that this is not our home in this
world, in which we are straungers, one not knowing anotheres speech and
language. Think how bad a thing it is to goo to bed without prayer, and
remember to call on God at goyng to our prayers in the Chappell.”
Ward’s
diary takes the form not of a daily tally of events but of a systematic moral
inventory, a scrupulous accounting of sinfulness in thought and deed. As is the
Puritan practice, many entries contain references to “prid[e].” Ward seems
afflicted with what we might diagnose as an “eating disorder.” He liked to eat
and refers to his “liberall dyet.” On Sept 15, 1595, he notes:
“My
crapula [ed. note: “surfeit”] in
eating peares in a morning and other things which might have diminished my
health. As also my to much gluttony at dinner tyme. My unfitness to do any
thing after dinner. My anger in disputing with Sir Huchinson. Also my not giving
of my last thought to God.”
Ward
seems to use “strangers” in a specific religious sense – our state of
homelessness in this life. Ferry’s interest in strangers is more metaphorical
and connected to our condition of “not knowing another’s speech and language.” The
phrase suggests the story of the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11. In verse 7, God
says, “Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may
not understand one another's speech.” Throughout Strangers, Ferry refers to the inadequacy of speech and writing,
our failure to connect through language. In “The Waiting” he writes: “He speaks
in a secret tongue understood by no other.” In “Out at Lanesville”:
“The
voices of some people out in a boat somewhere
Are
carried in over the water with surprising
Force
and clarity, though saying I don’t know what.”
“Graveyard”
begins with “A writing I can’t read myself” and concludes: “ a manuscript /
Written in a language only the dead speak.” The book’s final poem, “Rereading Old Writing,” contains the marvelous line “writing / Is a way of being happy,”
but concludes:
“Writing a formula on a blackboard.
Something not to be
understood.”
1 comment:
The word barbarian comes to us from the Greek onomatopoeia for somebody speaking gibberish. And the name for Germans in much of eastern Europe is a variant of "nemets", originally "he doesn't speak (our language)". Such different Americans as Admiral Nimitz and Joe Namath have a last name that traces back to that.
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