A Lesson in Semantics

Have you ever heard people say "semantically speaking" and wondered just what the *&%$ they meant? So have I. Most times people use words correctly or at least the way they use the word "sounds" correct without them ever knowing the dictionary definition. I am by no means saying that the dictionary definition is the only definiton of a word or that it is necessary to know the literal definition before you can accurately use a word.

I am just captivated by the word semantics and our culture's use of the word. An ugly, harsh-sounding word for the study of meaning. And just how does one study meaning you ask. Where does meaning reside? Within the thing being studied or the student? These are questions for the ages of course. And each age has different answers.

I am even more captivated by the study of semantics. Ah, Yes. The study of the study of meaning. A true student always analyzes a philosophy or school of thought before using it. And as any philosopher, theologian, scholar, or poet will tell you language never just is. Instead it is always made to mean something. In this great tradition of "meaning making" I add my tid-bit--a found poem entitled "Something" taken from an encylopedia's definition of semantics.

Something


“Several more particular sources of the word can be identified.”
--Author Unknown

In general
semantics
is the study
of meaning,
in some sense
of that term.

Semantics
is often
opposed
to syntax,

in which case
the former
pertains
to what
something
means

while
the latter
pertains
to the
form
in which
something is.

(Source: “Semantics”, Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

Found Poetry In Darfur

For those of you who have heard about the genocide happening in Sudan please do what you can to help. Go to this website and tell your friends about it http://www.savedarfur.org/ We must rally together to help our sisters and brothers in their time of need after all we are a part of Africa too. Our illustrious president and Congress both agree the atrocities are horrible, but that it isn't in the country's best interests to get involved right now. Sounds familiar right. Just like what was said over ten years ago when almost a million Rwandans were slaughtered. And if you listen quietly you will hear the same three letters that are being shouted in Iraq: o-i-l.

Are innocent people dying simply one of the many casualties of war? One of the many things that must be sacrificed in the battle ove the control of the world's limited natural resources. One of the many things under the auspices label "collateral damage". After reading a Time article in October 2004 about the Darfur crisis, I was enraged. And I felt powerless. The poem below comes from that experience.

Collateral Damage
found poem “The Tragedy of Sudan” Times Oct 4 2004


I
The violence is still inside me.
And they want to act as if nothing happened.


II
The attackers were on foot and running and shouting.
They chased us and we had to hide and walk at night.
We had nothing to eat.


III
They took some girls
and only let them go after three days.
I don’t want to say what they did to them.
It was shameful.


IV
I will never return unless there is peace.
We used to have peace, but now we only have war.

V

In very rare situations we may bomb and kill civilians.
If the Americans, do it they call it collateral damage don’t they?

To read the article go here that prompted this found poem go here:

http://pdfserve.galegroup.com/pdfserve/get_item/1/Se35a12w5_1/SB730_01.pdf

Blues for a Southern Black Girl in the 21st c.

For Etheridge Knight

My daddy from Chicago; my mama from Nashville.
She teach bad kids; he preach to bad folks and fix TVs.
Cause folks can’t live by bread alone
They need money too.
Said folks sho’ can’t live by bread alone
They gots to have money too.

I was born in Tennessee.
I been playing the trumpet since I was twelve.
Said I’m from Memphis, you know W.C. Handy,
And I been blowing since I was a young gal.
Like my great uncle and uncle before me
The song in my fingers trying to get free.

I been to Orlando; I been Chicago.
Been to Alabama (didn’t stay too long) and Newark too.
I was glad when it was time to go—
Cause I had heard enough folks water down jazz
And bankhand the blues in a sentimental mood.
Said I done played my horn in all them places.
And I sho’ nuff heard folks tripping on Coltrane’s coattails
And lollygagging with Armstrong’s arpeggio-blues.

I got the song in my fingers trying to get free.
Like my great uncle and uncle before me
Said I feel the song in my fingers and it got to get free.
So I’m gon sing the song my fingers give to me.
Cause folks can’t live by bread alone
They need the blues too.
Said folks sho’ can’t live by bread alone.
They gots to have the blues too.

Greetings From My Fingers!

Welcome to "The Song in My Fingers"!

I've decided to join in the blog craze, but I won't bore you with the daily details of my mundane life. I have a journal for that which will remain private! Nor will I showcase my opinions about the latest issues in the media. You can read any newspaper editorial for that.

What I will do is give you my thoughts on pertinent issues from time as well as drop tidbits of frequently unknown information since I am a information lover, manager, and collector. Misinformation, disinformation and uninformation are things I hate.

Mainly this blog is for my creative urges. I like to create and share the things that I create with others. Read the poem below to discover why my blog is named "The Song In My Fingers". Enjoy!

And as always in the blog-world feel free to comment on anything you see. And to all of my Jersey friends, "How ya livin' in the Brick City?" "Hit me up!"

Best,
Deborah L.