Философия души

Indira Zaripova

A Simple Love Story

О роли эмоционального фактора в изучении языков известно давно. Вообще это таинственный процесс - овладение иноязычной речью. Классическим анализом проникнуть в него, разумеется, можно, но остается еще Нечто такое, что, говоря старинным слогом, неизъяснимо: что-то из особо эмоционального, эзотерического.

Возможно, в будущем неклассическая наука изъяснит это. А сейчас приходится довольствоваться эмпирией. В том числе и "киношной". Вспомним знаменитого "Баламута": на волне сильнейшего эмоционального стресса - Любви – герой "овладевает" английским.

Вот все эти "эмпирии" и побудили автора написать учебник английского в форме маленькой повести в письмах - историю отношений студентки филологического факультета Ирмы Араевой и Журналиста, автора очерка "Университетские письма".

Well but how to call you?! Maybe -

Mr.Journalist!

I've decided to write to you some letters in English (without the smallest sureness that something would come out of it).

First of all, about your character. I like it very much despite of some little unpleasant "things" in it. (I'll say about them further.) Especially I like your inclination to express your state of mind frankly and directly without any attempt to sugar the pill. I've noticed that you don't let politeness interfere with truth. Am I right, sir - of course, you are!!! (I suppose it's your answer, sir!)

But I dislike, sir, your syndrome of "Andrei Bolkonsky after Austerlitz." Look around you. Spring has come again. You should see how lovely our city is. It's a heavenly spot in May.

And you are so sad. Don't get upset. "Every dog has his day," - as all Englishmen say. And then you must remember "day and night" that:

After rain comes fair weather.

Rain at seven, fine at eleven.

In the end things will mend.

The darkest hour is that before the dawn.

It's a great life if you don't weaken.

By the way, the latter is my favourite motto. Before finishing my letter may I give you, sir, a little-little advice?! Never say to a woman that you respect her (as you have recently said to me), because as Leo Tolstoy wrote - "Respect is created in order to conceal an empty space where love must be."

Well, that's the end, I suppose, of course, the end of the let­ter, but not our friendship.

Yours, sincerely,

one of the "heroines " of your articles -

Irma Araeva.

Dear Mr.Journalist!

I don't think and work now. I don't feel any inspiration yet and can't understand why. Inspiration is the main thing for me. With inspiration I can "turn mountains" as the Russian people say, and without it I feel as if I were a boat with sails when there is wind out in the open. Inspiration is something like a God's sparkle for me. I believe I've described my state of mind clearly enough: I do noth­ing but expect the above - mentioned inspiration.

I think that the first Anglomanic was born after his (her) hav­ing read all English literature. I am not an "Anglomanic" yet, but gradually (step by step) I'll become one.

First of all, about Cronin's works. On the whole I liked them. In spite of the fact that I read his novels adapted, beauty of the real English language and literary individuality of Cronin sounded in my soul and mind in full strength (so to say).

Now I am reading "The modern detectives" (in Russian). The plots are interesting. There are many funny episodes in this book. It's a constant surprise to me why the English succeed in writing detective stories. Maybe it is a national trait.

As you know, I am in low spirits today but I try to work hard. I have been reading Ernest Hemingway. I like it very much. But some people dislike his novels. They consider Hemingway to be mo­notonous.

Yesterday I had a "grand" scandal at the department of foreign languages. I said to Tatyana Leonidovna (our English teacher) that she was a dull, conceited, haughty, touchy person and I - (God will forgive my exaggeration) was bright, bold, capable, cheerful, witty, well-bred, tactful, strong-willed, polite, kind, honest, frank, decent, noble - what else?! - persistent, modest, reserved, smart, good-na­tured, faithful, diligent, communicative, conscientious, punctual, just, generous, industrious, wise.

Tatyana was confused for one or two seconds, then asked me if I was an angel? I smiled with a sense of superiority (I have noticed: when I am angry I've suddenly forgotten my constant sense of in­feriority) and answered calmly and with pride: yes, I am!

At that moment Vera Christianovna (the head of this depart­ment) came in our class and said calmly that she gave me the rights of not being present at the English lessons. Well, that is the end of this scandal.

And this is the end of my letter.

Yours always,

Irma

Sir!

I don't agree with your treating me as a bluestocking. I am not, not in the least. Upon my word! Oh, God, you - all the men - are so strange! When you choose a wife, you try to find a silly, pretty, false-modest, impolite, double-faced, ill-mannered one - what else to say?! - telling only what you /men!/ want to hear but not "the truth, only the truth, and nothing besides the truth." And then after marriages you begin to suffer! But who is to blame?! Only you, misters and sirs! Only!

If you prefer a lie to the truth, you'll - always - be sad, unhappy and suffering. It's a law of Universum, so to say. Excuse my words, sir, but I think that creating a unity of Two is more important than to create the firms, political organizations, newspapers and so on. If you don't understand it - so much the worse for you. Please, excuse my being so talkative. And if my letters bore you, you can always throw them into the waste-basket.

I suppose you haven't been offended by me. I think you are very clever and - that's why - understand that I am the only real friend of yours.

I must inform you, sir, that I actually live from one our meet­ing to the next, from one your telephone call to another. I have no idea how much you like me. Maybe you tell it (at least in a vague way)?! It annoys me very much that I am so dependent on the "at­mosphere of your heart and mind." Trust me, I want very much to be self-reliant but I can't, sir.

Well, tell me: do you like the pictures by Sergei Kalmykov. I like it very much, especially philosophical ones. And I like a story by V.Karpenko about life and death of Kalmykov. Karpenko wrote: "He was a beggar. His self-made clothes ragged and drawn all over with paints shocked people. Though a single loaf of bread and a bottle of milk for many years were his daily ration he kept them in a magical bag with "The Precious Bowl of Galaxy" embroidered. He could talk for hours about incomprehensible things which were beyond one's understanding... At the same time he was the richest man. He could ride a stone automatic bicycle around the vesuvio-velcano together with Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo... or fly away in the Whirlwind Towers to the other side of moon, where boy-panthers and girl-panthers lived and many-legged charming girls were dancing... And great Mozart was playing the Starry piano

He was the happiest man... "on the Earth, in Space, and their surroundings." His name was in harmony with his inner world as it has combined in itself both rational refinement of the West and unlimited range of colours of the East. It's a thought of Karpenko. But I think that the main thing in Kalmykov is as follows: he had a great ability to forget about West, East and so on; he lived in Universum, but the latter - as we know - a homogeneous whole, without western and eastern sides.

In the end of his life, Kalmykov wrote in his diary:

"... from the darkness of the Universum millions of eyes are watching us. And what do they see? Dull, colourless mass crawling on... And hush! It's like a shot! - a bright colourful spot: - It's me who went out into the street!"

But in 1920 he wrote some wonderful words, very-very surpris­ing:

"The world is sick, and there is nothing wonderful that only art­ists can save it."

Well, that's enough for today.

Yours, sincerely,

a very talkative lady.

My dear Journalist!

Thank you for your telephone call. But why are you so gloomy? Why?!

An oriental proverb says: "In order to justify his life a man must create a son, create a business (a house) and plant a tree."

You've done all those things. But why are you so sad? If I were you, sir (excuse my being so impertinent), I'd be so happy to have such an interesting person (like Irma, sir!) having fallen in love with me (with you, sir!). I am afraid that if you don't understand this God's "present", He will punish you, by the way. Sometimes it seems to me (sorry, if it hurts your heart) that you are Snow and I am Fire. That you are Stone and I am Wave! That you are Prose itself and I am Poetry. That you are Reservness and I am Openness. That you are Secret and I am Frankness. That I have a Gift of great love but you haven't this in the least.

Oh, God, why am I writing to you?! Why, why, why?! Devil knows, but I don't!

Well, but how do you treat me? It's awful. Sir, don't treat me as the cleverest person of the world. It's ridiculous, so to say.

Well, listen to me. I attend the English lessons of a very in­teresting teacher. The name of her method - limerick-proverbal. She constantly says to us that every language has its own wholistic struc­ture. And it's useless and non-effective to study it in a mechanis­tic, "isolated" way. And the problem is as follows: how to create a wholistic method of studing foreign languages?! To her mind, we must begin with a choice of sentences of the so-called "high-level-communicative value." In her opinion the proverbs (as the result of developing mentality and language during many decades and ages) are the most suitable for this course. At every lessons we learn a lot of proverbs, connected with each other in accordance with the prin­ciple of associations.

I want to suggest you a good idea. Will you write an article about this English teacher?

Well, that's enough for today. I am tired a little.

Good-bye, Mr. Darling.

 See you later

Dear Mr. Precious!

I am crying! I am weeping! I am writing this letter and bitterly crying. The point of things is as follows: they repealed our trip. It struck me greatly. You know why. I was coming back home along 6-o'clock-morning streets and at that moment I wanted to die.

At 11 o'clock I had decided to ring you up. I rang you up at 11, 14, 16. Then I guessed that you were celebrating May Day in the country and in the connection with that I envied you (only a little!). Frankly speaking, I am tired of fails and sufferings. I can't resist to them any more. Mother of Anne Frank told in those cases: "Think of all the misery in the world and be thankful that you are not shar­ing in it." But Anne said: "Go outside, to the fields, enjoy nature and the sunshine, get out and try to recapture happiness in yourself and in God. Think of all the beauty that's still left in and around you and be happy."

Oh, my God, when shall I finally untangle my thoughts about him. When shall I find peace and rest within myself again? This is not my exclamation; that's Anne again.

Now let's continue our conversation about a new method of learning English. Of course, you remember its "name" - limerick-proverbal. Some words about limericks. The origin of this "term" is probably associated with the port of Limerick in Ireland. The lim­erick, considered to be one of the most popular traditional forms of English verse, has a traditional classical form of 5 lines, usually with theihyme scheme a a b b a, the first, second and fifth lines having three stresses, the third and fourth - two. It often begins with the words: "There was a..." The form was popularized by the English poet Edward Lear, who published a quite number of limericks in his brilliant collection called "The book of Nonsense." Since then many poets have tried their pens at limericks, Rudyard Kipling and Lewis Carroll among them. My favourite limerick is as follows:

Said a booklover fellow from Siam:

"I often read Omar Khayyam.

His morals depress.

But nevertheless

He is almost as clever as I am."

But our teacher likes a limerick by R.Kipling:

There was a young lady of Niger

Who smiled as she rode on a tiger.

They returned from the ride

With the lady inside,

And a smile on the face of the tiger.

By the way, our Kazakhstan's interpreter А.Жовтис has a brilliant collection of his own limerick's translations, such as follows:

Жила была юная леди Марта,

Ее туалет был далек от стандарта:

Любила одеться построже,

Носила костюм из рогожи –

Вот какая была эта леди Марта.

Жила-была юная леди в Карачи,

Которая знала, что это:

Когда приглашает:

И есть и коктейль и вина...

Все знала, но ей не хотелось иначе.

Well, sir, what is your impression about limericks. Do you like them? I feel sorry for you sometimes because you live in the syndrome "Andrei Bolkonsky after the European battles" and you seldom smile. That's why I am afraid that you don't like my limericks and their sense of humour. But I ask you to imagine - understand the merry unusual world of folk consciousness. Because such type of thinking is more correct than yours. Excuse me for my impertinent words but I dislike a gloomy side of your character.

If you don't understand such merry wise world - so much the worse for you. I'll repeat again: if my "notations" bore you, you can always throw them into the waste-basket.