No. Italian is based on the Tuscan dialect with regard to most of its vocabulary, and all other of its features, including spelling, syntax, and grammar, except pronunciation, which is based on the Umbrian dialect. Since Italian was the last national Romance language to evolve from Vulgar Latin, it preserved certain features, including vocabulary, certain features of pronunciation, etc., that other Romance languages changed during their respective evolutions. Spanish, on the other hand developed early, but was somewhat isolated from the other Romance languages because of the Moorish invasions. Consequently, it also preserved certain features from Vulgar Latin, but for different reasons than Italian. The word for hut, casa, in VL, thus remained in both languages with no change in spelling, and only a slight difference in pronunciation between the two languages. The Latin root genti- provided gente in both languages, meaning people, but in Spanish the g has an h sound here, whereas the Italian has a soft g sound (Spanish language experts are split as to whether or not this was due to Basque influence.).
Sunday, April 30, 2017
Mạnh Tử
Thursday, April 27, 2017
LoveCelebration
The path that led Michael Ruhlman to Ann Hood began in 1988 at the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference in Vermont.
“I saw Ann, who had already established herself as a great writer, walking down a path, arm-in-arm, with two other novelists,” Mr. Ruhlman recalled. “At the time, I was an aspiring writer trying to ingratiate myself with as many novel and fiction writers as I could.”
So he decided to call out her name and tell her just that.
“I just sort of yelled ‘Ann Hood’ in her direction,” Mr. Ruhlman said. “I don’t know why I did it, I just did.”
Ms. Hood, who a year earlier had written her first novel, the best-selling “Somewhere Off the Coast of Maine,” turned toward Mr. Ruhlman with a puzzled look.
“Well, what do you want to do?” she asked after their brief and awkward introduction.
“I want to write fiction,” he replied.
She stared at him for a moment, and the pieces of her puzzled face began forming a bright smile. Then came a two-word prophecy.
“You will,” she told him before moving on.
They would return to their own paths that would not cross again for 20 years, though Mr. Ruhlman, now 53, continued to maintain what he called “a literary crush” on Ms. Hood, now 60.
“I didn’t know her to actually love her, but over the years, I fell in love with everything about her writing,” he said. “In the back of my mind, I always remembered how she inspired me on that path in Vermont.”
Two decades later, Ms. Hood and Mr. Ruhlman met again in Cleveland, at a 2008 weekend writers’ conference where both were scheduled to speak.
By then, Ms. Hood was married with two children and had written other best-selling books, as well as numerous short stories and magazine articles. She was also teaching creative writing courses while splitting time between homes in Providence, R.I., and Manhattan.
Mr. Ruhlman, a Duke graduate, had established himself as a nonfiction writer who collaborated with chefs to produce books like “The Making of a Chef” (1997) and “The Reach of a Chef” (2006).
As she waited for her turn to speak, Ms. Hood noticed what she described as “a very, very good-looking man” walking into the room.
“I said to my friend: ‘Who is that guy? He’s really cute,’” Ms. Hood recalled.
Ms. Hood, who did not recall meeting Mr. Ruhlman 20 years earlier, will never forget what happened next.
“The same cute guy I was asking about gets up in this crowded room filled with influential writers, and says, ‘I’m a little nervous today because Ann Hood is in the audience, and I’ve been in love with her since 1988.’”
Later, Mr. Ruhlman was signing one of his books when he looked up at the next person in line and saw Ms. Hood standing there.
“He kind of jumped up when he saw me,” she said. “I joked with him a bit, saying that, typically, I would usually know if someone had a crush on me for 20 years.”
Before their paths diverged once more, Mr. Ruhlman said to Ms. Hood, “The next time you’re in Cleveland, give me a call and I’ll cook dinner for you.”
Ms. Hood laughed.
“I knew I would never be in Cleveland again,” she said. “So we exchanged books and email addresses and said our goodbyes.”
But they managed to stay in touch, chatting on occasion via email and text, each learning a little bit more about the other with every press of a send button.
Ms. Hood, born in West Warwick, R.I., grew up with a passion for telling her own stories.
“When I was a kid, 12, 13 and 14 years old, living in my little tiny town in Rhode Island and dreaming of being a writer, I used to sit on my bed and listen to Simon and Garfunkel,” she said. “They had a song called ‘The Dangling Conversation’; it’s actually a very depressing song, but there’s a line in it that goes, ‘You read your Emily Dickinson and I my Robert Frost,’ and I used to think that someday I’m going to meet a guy who loves poetry like I do, and we are going to talk about Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson.”
Along the way to reaching her goals, Ms. Hood made a few detours. After graduating from the University of Rhode Island, she worked as a T.W.A. flight attendant from 1978 to 1986, living in Boston, St. Louis and New York.
“I went from asking people if they wanted beef or chicken for dinner to writing best-selling novels and attending the most incredible book parties ever,” said Ms. Hood, who was still at T.W.A. when she earned a master’s degree in American literature at New York University.
But her own story was not without tragedy. In 2002, her 5-year-old daughter, Grace, died from a virulent form of strep, driving Ms. Hood into a depression so dark that she could not write a sentence for a year.
She began coping with the pain through long knitting sessions and expressed her grief the best way she knew how — through her powerful prose.
In 2006, Ms. Hood wrote about her daughter’s death in a Modern Love column for The New York Times.
Mr. Ruhlman recalled breaking down in tears when he read the column. “I cannot imagine losing a child and the pain and suffering that goes along with that,” said Mr. Ruhlman, a native of Cleveland who raised a daughter and a son there with his wife.
In fall 2014, another of Ms. Hood’s books, “An Italian Wife,” had just been published. In an attempt to help promote it, Ms. Hood’s publicist asked her if she knew of any food writer who might be willing to take Ms. Hood out to an Italian restaurant to interview her about her Italian roots and her grandmother’s cooking.
She asked Mr. Ruhlman, who gladly accepted.
She was living in Providence at that time — three years after Grace’s death, Ms. Hood and her husband had adopted a daughter, Annabelle — and he was still in Cleveland. But they discovered they had studio apartments in Manhattan that were a block apart.
They met at a West Village restaurant, where the interview did not go exactly as hoped — in fact, it was better.
“The food was terrible and the place was noisy, but the company was delightful,” Ms. Hood said. “We knew that we were kindred spirits that first night.”
Indeed, when Ms. Hood asked Mr. Ruhlman if he could recite any poem verbatim, he chose “Fire and Ice” by Frost.
“It was literally a dream come true,” said Ms. Hood, her voice beginning to crack. “A feeling just rushed over me, like I was hit by a tsunami.”
Later that week, Ms. Hood was giving a reading at the Italian American Museum in Little Italy, and Mr. Ruhlman returned to take her out to another restaurant for a do-over of the interview.
The morning after, Ms. Hood left a phone message for Mr. Ruhlman in which she recited Dickinson’s “There’s a Certain Slant of Light.”
That served “to sort of fulfill the prophecy,” Mr. Ruhlman said. “I began to feel as if I had known her my whole life.”
The next week, Mr. Ruhlman had his first work of fiction — a collection of novellas called “In Short Measures,” sold to a publisher, bringing to fruition Ms. Hood’s prophecy.
And now he was living out yet another dream: being friends with his longtime literary crush.
By spring 2016, both Ms. Hood and Mr. Ruhlman were divorced. On Dec. 9, Ms. Hood’s birthday, Mr. Ruhlman asked her to marry him, “sooner, rather than later,” he said.
“We knew what we had from the start, so why wait?” he said. “We have both lost close friends, some of them in their 50s, so we know that life can be too short — we shouldn’t allow ourselves to believe that it is still early morning, when’s it’s actually late in the afternoon.”
They were married on April 20 on an overcast day at Abingdon Square in Manhattan, with a few relatives and friends on hand.
Laura Lippman, the crime-writing novelist and a longtime friend of Ms. Hood, became a Universal Life minister to officiate. She told those assembled, “This is an occasion born of a particular postponement, of years lived and miles spanned, only to circle back to that path in Vermont where a man called a woman’s name and she turned and responded to his greeting.”
Ms. Hood read “Master Speed” by Frost.
Two such as you with such a master speed
Cannot be parted nor be swept away.
Her daughter, Annabelle, read Dickinson’s “Hope Is the Thing With Feathers.”
That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without the words —
And never stops —
at all
After the ceremony, Mr. Ruhlman took Ms. Hood by the hand and they traveled their first path together as husband and wife, making their way through the city streets, past construction workers and honking horns on their way to the reception at Barbuto, a restaurant several blocks away.
Following behind were their guests, including Ms. Hood’s mother, Gloria Hood; her son, Sam; and Annabelle. Mr. Ruhlman was trailed by his mother, Carole Ruhlman; and son, James.
Mr. Ruhlman said of Ms. Hood: “I get the sense that from the moment I was born, I started knowing her. There is the platonic notion of love in which Plato postulated that one soul is separated from the other at birth and they each spend the rest of their lives searching for the other half.
“Well, if that’s true,” he said, “then I’ve finally found the soul I’ve been searching for.”
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On This Day
When April 20, 2017
Where Abingdon Square Park in New York
Engagement Pearl The couple shared a story about getting engaged on Ms. Hood’s birthday this past December. Mr. Ruhlman presented her with a ring that contained a pearl he had bitten into while trying to eat an oyster during a dinner they shared at a Manhattan restaurant earlier that year.
He Knew Him First Les Jacobs, Mr. Ruhlman’s best friend since first grade, made the trip from Cleveland to be at the wedding. “In all the years I’ve known Michael, I’ve never seen him happier,” he said.
No Mystery The crime writer Laura Lippman, who served as the officiant, said it was easy to figure out why Ms. Hood and Ms. Ruhlman were marrying: “They are both great writers who are funny and smart, and they are both well read and love food.”
Wine in the Park Ms. Hood’s cousin, Gloria-Jean Masciarotte, greeted many of the arriving guests with a bottle of wine hidden in a plastic shopping bag, pouring it into plastic cups to celebrate the occasion.
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Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Vieillir
Vieillir en beauté, c'est vieillir avec son coeur;
Sans remord, sans regret, sans regarder l'heure;
Aller de l'avant, arrêter d'avoir peur;
Car, à chaque âge, se rattache un bonheur.
To age beautifully is to age with his heart
Without remorse, regret, or looking at time
It means moving forward, without fright
For, at each stage, happiness is tied
Vieillir en beauté, c'est vieillir avec son corps;
Le garder sain en dedans, beau en dehors.
Ne jamais abdiquer devant un effort.
L'âge n'a rien à voir avec la mort.
To age beautifully is to age with his body
Keeping it heathy inside, nice on the outside
Never walk away from an effort met
Age has nothing to do with Death
Vieillir en beauté, c'est donner un coup de pouce
À ceux qui se sentent perdus dans la brousse,
Qui ne croient plus que la vie peut être douce
Et qu'il y a toujours quelqu'un à la rescousse.
To age beautifully is to lend a hand
To those who feel like being lost in the scrubland
Who no longer believe that life can be sweet
And that there's always somebody willing to help
Vieillir en beauté, c'est vieillir positivement.
Ne pas pleurer sur ses souvenirs d'antan.
Être fier d'avoir les cheveux blancs,
Car, pour être heureux, on a encore le temps.
To age beautifully is to age positively
Not to cry over the memories of yesteryear
But to be proud of having white hair
For to be happy, we must think time is still near
Vieillir en beauté, c'est vieillir avec amour,
Savoir donner sans rien attendre en retour;
Car, où que l'on soit, à l'aube du jour,
Il y a quelqu'un à qui dire bonjour.
To age beautifully is to age with love
Knowing to give without expecting anything in return
For, wherever we are, at the crack of dawn,
There is someone to whom to say hello
Vieillir en beauté, c'est vieillir avec espoir;
Être content de soi en se couchant le soir.
Et lorsque viendra le point de non-recevoir,
Se dire qu'au fond, ce n'est qu'un au revoir.
To age beautifully is to age with hope
Being satisfied with ourselves while resting at night
And when the point of no return comes
It means in essence only a goodbye
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Friday, April 21, 2017
Rectification
Bất cứ một dân tộc nào nếu đã hình thành một nền văn học, đều có hai loại văn chương bác học và văn chương bình dân. Ngôn ngữ cũng có ngôn ngữ trí thức và ngôn ngữ đường phố. Phê bình văn học, phê bình cách sử dụng ngôn ngữ là điều phải có để đất nước tiến lên. Trước đây ở Miền Nam, một số nhà văn, nhà báo dùng chữ hay viết văn không đúng cũng đã bị phê phán chứ không phải muốn viết gì thì viết. Ngày nay, ngôn ngữ ít học, đứng bến, mánh mung, đường phố giống như cỏ dại lan tràn rất nhanh vì nó được phổ biến qua các bản tin, báo chí, các trang điện tử, truyền hình, đài phát thanh, các diễn đàn… cho nên nó dễ dàng giết chết ngôn ngữ “văn học” thường phải xuất hiện qua sách vở. Nếu không ngăn chặn kịp thời, loại ngôn ngữ lai căng, bát nháo, quái đản sẽ trở thành dòng chính của văn học…và khi đó thì hết thuốc chữa. Việt Nam ngày nay đang đứng trước thảm họa đó! Ngoài ra, “văn dịch” phần lớn từ các bản tin tiếng Anh của những người không rành tiếng Anh lại kém tiếng Việt đã phá nát cú pháp (văn phạm) Việt Nam. Hiện nayBBC Việt Ngữ đã góp phần rất lớn vào việc tàn phá tiếng Việt truyền thống.
Xin nhớ cho, thay đổi mà tốt hơn, hay hơn thì người ta hoan nghênh. Thay đổi mà xấu, tệ hơn là phá hoại. Ngoài ra, không có gì “lớn” cho bằng “cầm bút” nhưng cũng không có gì “xấu xa” cho bằng viết bậy, viết nhảm, viết sai sự thật và nhất là phá hoại ngôn ngữ truyền thống của dân tộc. Sau hết, tôi xin nhắc những người làm báo trong nước và cả BBC tiếng Việt: Dân đường phố, mánh mung, đứng bến vì ít học cho nên ăn nói bậy bạ. Nhà báo là người có học phải hướng dẫn “đường phố” để họ từ từ tiến lên, ăn nói mẫu mực, viết cho đàng hoàng, thế nhưng lại chạy theo “đường phố” để phá nát tiếng Việt. Thật đáng buồn!
-Cầu thủ nước ngoài trở thành ngoại binh. Thí dụ: “Ngoại binh nổ súng, Sài Gòn FC quật ngã SHB Đà Nẵng” (Đài Tiếng Nói Việt Nam VOV). Đọc tiêu đề giật mình tưởng lính Nga, lính Mỹ, lính Tàu tiến vào tấn công Việt Nam.
-Cặp tức hai người trở thành cặp đôi=bốn người. Nếu có học sẽ nói bộ đôi /một đôi tức hai người. Vì không có học cho nên nói cặp đôi tức bốn người. Xin nhớ cho đôi là hai người như đôi bạn, đôi lứa, đôi nơi, đôi ngả. Cặp cũng là hai người. Cặp gà=hai con gà, cặp bánh chưng=hai chiếc bánh chưng, đóng cặp=hai tài tử thường đóng chung với nhau. Như thế, “cặp đôi” là bốn người chứ không phải hai người.
-Câu độc giả, câu khách trở thành câu view. Lai căng mất gốc.
-Cây trở thành cây xanh. Trồng cây trở thành trồng cây xanh. Chặt cây trở thành chặt cây xanh. Đúng là tiếng Việt đổi đời! Nếu theo đúng loại tiếng Việt đổi đời này thì phải nói: Chúng tôi vừa trồng 100 cây phượng xanh, 50 cây cau xanh , 50 cây dừa xanh và khoảng 10 cây chuối xanh. Rồi các loại cây ăn trái như ổi, nhãn, soài, đu đủ…trở thành “cây trồng”. Đúng là loại tiếng Việt điên khùng. Cây nào mà chẳng phải trồng. Thậm chí hành, ớt, tỏi, cũng phải trồng. Thêm chữ “trồng” là điên rồ.
Posted by: Binh Dao <daovanbinh@sbcglobal.net>