A Wild Sheep Chase: From “Childhood and Poetry,” by Pablo Neruda

One time, investigating in the backyard of our house in Temuco the tiny objects and minuscule beings of my world, I came upon a hole in one of the boards of the fence. I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind our house, uncared for, and wild. I moved back a few steps, because I sensed vaguely that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a hand appeared–a tiny hand of a boy about my own age. By the time I came close again, the hand was gone, and in its place there was a marvelous white sheep.

The sheep’s wool was faded. Its wheels had escaped. All of this only made it more authentic. I had never seen such a wonderful sheep. I looked back through the hole but the boy had disappeared. I went into the house and brought out a treasure of my own: a pinecone, opened, full of odor and resin, which I adored. I set it down in the same spot and went off with the sheep.

I never saw either the hand or the boy again. And I have never again seen a sheep like that either. The toy I lost finally in a fire. But even now, in 1954, almost fifty years old, whenever I pass a toy shop, I look furtively into the window, but it’s no use. They don’t make sheep like that anymore.

I have been a lucky man. To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know, from those unknown to us, who are watching over our sleep and solitude, over our dangers and our weaknesses–that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being, and unites all living things.

That exchange brought home to me for the first time a precious idea: that all of humanity is somehow together. That experience came to me again much later; this time it stood out strikingly against a background of trouble and persecution.

It won’t surprise you then that I attempted to give something resiny, earthlike, and fragrant in exchange for human brotherhood. Just as I once left the pinecone by the fence, I have since left my words on the door of so many people who were unknown to me, people in prison, or hunted, or alone.

That is the great lesson I learned in my childhood, in the backyard of a lonely house. Maybe it was nothing but a game two boys played who didn’t know each other and wanted to pass to the other some good things of life. Yet maybe this small and mysterious exchange of gifts remained inside me also, deep and indestructible, giving my poetry light.

From “Childhood and Poetry,” by Pablo Neruda

I find this passage cited in an edition of Neruda and Vallejo: Selected Poems, edited by Robert Bly (p 12-13). Fittingly the book was a gift from Don Teodoro of the Spanish tertulia, formerly meeting at Lindaman’s in Spokane, Friday afternoons. I should have given a pinecone in return, but I took some time getting around to reading it and the restaurant has changed hands, and the group no longer meets regularly, so far as I know. So instead I pass the gift on; as for a pinecone, how about this one by Vi Hart, Doodling in Math Class.

Though this lovely passage from Neruda, presumably in Bly’s own translation, gets cited here and there online, I haven’t found a full English version of the text from which it is taken. Perhaps for this reason, his echoers, of whom I am one, do not bother to give the full citation. But the almighty algorithm and the Chilean Proyecto Patrimonial 2020 have us covered.

Mi infancia y mi poesia

Pablo Neruda

Conferencia pronunciada en la Universidad de Chile.
Publicado en revista Capricornio N°6. Buenos Aires, junio – julio de 1954

A pdf can also be found at AmericaLee. Muchas gracias, amigos!

Little by little I’ll work on a full translation (or search harder, the old-fashioned way, including books). Either way, whatever I come up with, I’ll link it here. Update: Another version of the story appears in Confieso que he vivido (1974), translated as The Complete Memoirs.

Meanwhile, with due respect for the great service he has done bringing Neruda’s words to a wider audience, I have to diverge a bit from Bly’s reading of this passage. Sandwiching the text, he adverts, “In ‘Childhood and Poetry,’ Neruda speculates on the origin of his poetry”; “This curious and beautiful story, which Neruda carefully links to the origins of his own poetry, is a conscious rejection of the connection between poetry and sickness, so often insisted on by Europeans.”

Leaving aside the contrast posed there, which seems more rhetorical than accurate, I don’t think any sort of “conscious rejection” or even the “origin of his poetry” is Neruda’s main concern. Rather, the essential thing here seems to me to be this “game,” as Neruda puts it, of gift-giving between strangers. This is what goes to the roots, not just of Neruda’s poetry, but of all poetry as it is given to us in the tradition from Homer and the Bible on. And not just poetic inspiration is at stake for Neruda: it is his “precious idea: that all of humanity is somehow together.” As a glance at Neruda’s life will show, he sought to unite the poetic with the political, the ideal with the practical. Understandably, the poet-translator might seize upon the poetry side of things; for the student of games, though, and of their significance, the passage in its fuller context becomes intriguing for what light it might shed on our playful and serious subject. What is poetry, politics, or language itself but a kind of “game of two kids who don’t know one another and who want to communicate the gifts of life”? (My translation and italics, because I don’t know a better way than the literal cognate for this phrase, “comunicarse los dones de la vida.” Cf. NT on gifts; St-Ex on sheep; Ana Maria Matute, Shaun Tan, and Shakespeare on looking through holes; bell hooks on belonging; Robin Wall Kimmerer on reciprocity).

The Inner Courtyard of “No Other Country” – Tales from Outer Suburbia, by Shaun Tan

Then, concluding Bly’s June 12, 1966 interview with Neruda as transcribed at the end of the selected poems, there is this exchange:

[Bly:] In one of your essays you described something that happened to you as a boy which you thought has had a great influence on your poetry. There was a fence in your backyard. Through a hole in it one day a small hand passed through to you a gift–a toy lamb. And you went into the house and came back and handed back through the hole the thing you loved most–a pinecone.

[Neruda:] Yes, that boy passed me a lamb, a woolen lamb. It was beautiful.

You said that somehow this helped you to understand that if you give something to humanity you’ll get something else back even more beautiful.

Your memory is wonderful, and this is exactly right. I learned much from that in my childhood. This exchange of gifts–mysterious–settled deep inside me like a sedimentary deposit.

(163-4)

Neruda’s poetry reading on this occasion, or rather the day before, is available online, but I can’t find a recording of this interview. Perhaps it will turn up, like this. I’m mainly curious whether it was conducted in English or Spanish, or both… In any case, Bly insists this time on the reciprocity of giving. In the intro he does also remark, along the same lines, “it was clear from that reading that his poetry is intended as a gift” (14). That I would certainly agree with, and I’d add that entering into a dialogue with it can be as playful as any game, earnest as any gratitude.

In the Shadow of Huizinga: Games Studies and Cultural History

I first became aware of Johan Huizinga and his keywords homo ludens via the upper warrens of the video essay rabbit hole a few years ago, but once I was on the lookout for him, I started to see him everywhere. Not only in references and footnotes from other amateurs and scholars in the field of games studies, where his work is foundational, but all around me, subtly: in everyday interactions, in the fiction I read, in politics I couldn’t tune out; in just the way when you learn a new word, you suddenly find it coming up serendipitously left and right. Even where his name is absent, Huizinga’s key insights and concepts–the play aspect of culture, the game-like nature of human reality delineated by the magic circle or field of play–are so universal and so interesting as to crop up almost of their own accord and in the strangest places.

Continue reading “In the Shadow of Huizinga: Games Studies and Cultural History”

Camp Zelda: Teaching Video Game Discussion Classes

Earlier this summer, Outschool put the word out to teachers that one of the most sought-after class topics, based on search frequency, was Zelda. They were also requesting summer camp-style courses for their upcoming advertisement push. For me, it was a golden opportunity. Maybe it could be for you, too–now they’re looking for semester-long course offerings!

For a long time, looking up to people like Corey Olsen, the Tolkien Professor, I was interested in trying to teach online classes about video games. The work he and others are doing with fantasy literature, philology, and classics at Signum University led me to get involved with their programming for kids. Over the past few summers, we’ve offered the model of live, interactive discussions of fantasy literature to a wider audience of all ages through Signum Academy.

Connecting people wherever they are around shared interests like hobbits and wizards and writing has been delightful and rewarding, since my day job substitute teaching tends to involve considerably less interesting topics. The pace of events since everything shut down (except for Animal Crossing and Twitter, it seems) only rendered that leap from in-person to online education more urgent. Now we meet on Twitch every other week to talk about storytelling.

The Signum motto, learn what you love, has a slightly different meaning in that context. For adults, it means learning more about what we love already and sharing that with others; for kids, it’s more about learning what it is that they love, in company with others.

Exploring the Lord of the Rings - Episode 22: Frodo's First Dream - YouTube
The good professor teaching from within The Lord of the Rings Online

The idea of discussing video games the way we do fantasy books, with a certain amount of rigor but also playfully, by suggesting fun activities to engage with the story, doesn’t entirely fit within the Signum Academy mission, which is primarily about promoting reading–reading books. Plenty of games do involve reading and interpreting text, but others, though well worth discussing, really don’t. Perhaps it’s a matter of broadening our understanding of reading to include the kind of imaginative participation that playing video games entails. There may be room for that in your local school, library, church, or non-profit. At all events, there are plenty of platforms to try it out on your own. Podcasts, Twitch, and YouTube are all ways to release content relating to video game discussions. They’re relatively low-barrier to entry. Plenty of people around Signum and The Well-Red Mage have good advice about how to get started. Patreon and Kickstarter can help monetize your project and provide that extra source of motivation.

For a more structured academic experience with more freedom to teach classes about video games, I’ve found Outschool to be a great balance. On Outschool, I started out teaching Tolkien under the Signum banner, since they initially reached out to Corey for content within our wheelhouse, but soon I found that I could branch out and pursue my other interests, too. Now, along with literature classes I also teach Spanish conversation and, as of this past summer, courses on classic video games.

Public Domain Review is a great resource for quirky, out-of-copyright images to accompany the course description

In the three-week Camp Zelda course I came up with in response to the search-query-attested demand, groups of up to nine students at a time explored with me the history and development of the series from the NES original up to the present. I spent the summer learning just enough about Shigeru Miyamoto and programming to be able to talk at least a little about cultural and technological aspects of the games. Of course, simply tracing changes in the gameplay and story from one game to the next provided more than enough material for our three hour-long sessions.

I also had an excuse to get around to playing Breath of the Wild, since I figured it would be a good idea to devote a whole class period to the most recent and popular game with the kids. The prior two classes, on the original Zelda and then highlights (and low points) from intervening sequels, showed them some ways to approach the games and set a tone for the discussions. Then in the final class, the students were encouraged to take the floor and teach me about the gameplay, the open world, the recipes and outfits and tricks they’d discovered in their hours within the world of BotW.

Applying to teach, creating your courses and getting them approved, scheduling class sections–all these steps precede actually teaching the live sessions. Once you jump through those hoops, you can approach the class however you like. Some people just get together and play games. For my discussion-based classes, I use screenshot images and thematic questions to guide the conversation. I like to start with a warm-up question, just to get everyone talking: have you played the original Zelda? What did you think? Then I scale things up with comparisons–how do elements from the first Zelda recur in BotW?–and steer us into analysis: how do the memories help connect gameplay and story?

Breath of the Wild 2: Release Date, Trailer, Story, and News | Digital Trends

Even having set some ground rules for the conversation up front–raise hands please, listen to one another–it’s still occasionally necessary to mute a student if they’re interrupting or talking over people, or going on and on about Lynels… I always let them know they can use the chat to raise other topics among themselves, but monitoring that is still a good idea.

As far as the platform goes, Outschool has a policy about secular, age-appropriate, objective content. There’s no grading required, no disciplining–basically, you get all the good parts of teaching, and none of the headaches. Generally, classes tend to be about enrichment, not replacing core curricula, though there are still plenty of math and English classes. The platform has begun partnering with local districts and offering financial assistance to appeal to more families. They take a 30% cut of teacher earnings, but with the recommended $10/hr/student rate, proceeds from a few full class sections a day compare favorably to a real job (with no benefits, of course).

Overall, it’s been a great summer job, and I’m planning to keep teaching with them if my schedule permits. The next course I’m offering is an ongoing format, where students sign up week to week if they’re interested in the topic. We’ll be starting out with a three-week module on Undertale and EarthBound, two of my favorite games. But I expect the enrollment will really take off once Breath of the Wild 2 comes out.

Into the Field -Intro to Video Game Studies

Mario and Zelda: hearts and 1-ups. The opera scene, the music box. A god the final boss. An open world…

Image taken from a lovely essay, ‘Breath of The Wild and The Emptiness of Ma,’ by The Bokoblin

A few times over the years I’ve started writing and re-writing Raccoon Tail Opera, my philosophical treatise on video games. Or that’s the working title; those are just some of its possible chapters.

It’s been on my mind lately, and with the time freed up by schools being closed I wanted to give it another look. But this time around I thought I’d start at the other end of the academic world. Instead of writing dense, orotund paragraphs for scholars and cognoscenti, I thought I had better try out my ideas with school-aged kids. It won’t be any easier, but it will mean I have to make sure what I’m saying is not only interesting, but also makes sense. I’ll have to hold their attention, and they’ll keep me honest.

Our first meeting is today on Outschool; check out the course page and follow along.

Lucca at home, hard at work

The first thing we’ll want to get straight is what we’re all doing here. The goal of becoming a programmer, or otherwise getting involved in making games, while admirable, is a little beyond my abilities. All I can speak to is the history of video games so far–unless that includes within it some hint of guidance about the sorts of games we might want to see in the future. I can give some context, some cultural and theoretical points of reference for anyone who likes playing games and thinking about them. Hopefully, that would also include people who want to make games one day, but it could serve just as well to help others enjoy them, and lots of things in life, a little more deeply.

My first serious foray into game studies came with the Humble Bundle by MIT Press a couple of years ago. An alternative to the expensive journals and impenetrable specialization that render most scholarship intentionally inaccessible to most people, the book series on video games fit in nicely with a like-minded project doing the same thing with the university as a whole: Signum U, founded by Corey Olsen, The Tolkien Professor. Around the same time, I started my EarthBound podcast in imitation of his Mythgard discussions, and began looking around for other people doing work along the same lines to collaborate with and to learn from. That led me to writing for The Well Red Mage, and eventually to getting back in touch with Ben. Now we’re putting together this Academy as a way to set out what we’ve found.

In the first class, aside from brief introductions to get to know one another, including what we’re each hoping to learn, we’ll look at some philosophical underpinnings of video game studies. In short, what do we mean by ‘games’ and ‘play’? What can we point to as the important turning points in the history of video games? And who has shaped our understanding of that history? We’ll try to establish a conceptual framework, putting terms like ludic and narrative, art and violence, gamification and the magic circle into our own words, giving examples from our own experience of gameplay and flow states. And having fun while we’re at it.

Each the following weeks, we’ll look at a couple of games in depth. One newer, one older, they will provide the basis for our discussion of the elements that make video games fun to play and to study. In the process, we’ll encourage one another in our individual endeavors, whether blogging, reading and researching, making youtube videos, designing games… or writing books.

A Pandemic Playlist

It can be a scary time, but there’s plenty of reading to catch up on these days. Consider spending some time with the likes of Boccaccio, Defoe, Poe, or Camus wherever it is you’re hunkered down. The classics make good company if you’re lonely, and the virality in their pages is not the kind that gets you sick–though no doubt the pandemic is helping to spread word of them at present.

The dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet - Harry Clarke (BL 12703.i.43).tif
Harry Clarke’s illustration for Poe’s immortal Masque.

For those who’d prefer a more interactive visitation during the quarantine, we at the humble pages of Video Game Academia have a few suggestions.

  • Of the many other games with a thematic relevance, from Parasite Eve, with its chilling opening sequence, to Plague Inc., recently banned in China, perhaps one of the best to turn to now would be That Dragon, Cancer.
Image result for jabberwocky
That other dragon, The Jabberwock, illustrated by John Tenniel

As always, you can check out our other courses and resources and head down the rabbit holes awaiting you there. Drop us a line if you find something you like, and “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!”

On the Ground

Imagine my delight, hearing over the morning announcements–on the intercom, no less, anachronism that it is in this age of video!–that the student-run Video Games and Literature Club would be meeting at lunch to discuss The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask.

With some self-consciousness, I’d asked the teacher whose room the club uses for their meetings, would it be OK for me to sit in? He said why not, it should be fine; but just to make sure I talked to the kid who ran the club, who even looks kind of like me, gawky and smiling, and he all but pulled up a chair for me. He’d had an article about The Witness published on a website whose name was something too long for me to recall, and he was riding high. Still, I felt somehow uncomfortable being the oldest person there, and a teacher, albeit just a sub, so I let the kids discuss amongst themselves without speaking up again.

On other days they’d met to talk about the connections established between players of NieR: Automata and, in a different way, of Death Stranding. For their Majora’s Mask discussion, the focus was on the Song of Healing and its effects, both within the game and upon the player. A brilliant discussion it was! The organizer framed the question: How does the song help convey the theme of the game? And briefly summed up the relevant story, playing videos of the song and its various transformations and eliciting ideas from the other members of the group. All in all, it restored my faith in the youth. And it made me wish, more than ever, that this could be the way that games were taught, right alongside the great books cramming the shelves and the art decorating the walls.

With that, let’s invite any readers out there to share your own local clubs and organizations discussing video games in an academic setting. If there’s a course on games in their literary, cultural, or historical context you know of, please bring it to our attention. Whether you’re an organizer or participant, a teacher or student, we’d like to put you all in touch with one another and pool resources. We might even want to interview you about your experience!

This concludes the announcements. Have a great weekend!