The Professor recently sent this to us from the vicinity of Lake Lop. Due to political difficulties we must keep his/her/their name anonymous. Might be a breakthrough. There is a tradition of agricultural communities forming airag-drinking(guzzling?) choirs and this appears to derive from one of these traditions. English translation on top.
“Five chickens rowing in the barnyard
Vliyjjvy Hlergyyi’o pleurrwhei yzinyia
vi ‘ke klycv
Clucking away in the barnyard all morning
Vi ‘ke klycvz vhlarkjh vuivuo vivi jdeuxhchvryu’
There’s a hole in the fence
Eiykhxha lhuk diijni vik
There’s a yawning sparkling chasm
Pjerkyuh eiykhxha ziphaky-zlahnya-whei y
It’s spinning and attracting them in dulcet gravity
Wheiwhei yahr-qw’aa vuivuo vi byinikhwah’h xhluxh,
Five chicken running toward the hole and whishing free liberty whirl
Vliyjjvy Hlergyyi’o flairs l’k’khwah xhinxhin ek wheimak yi yzinyiazin
Plingkyath kaw’a quyay?
Kliikya phikh houdin
Kring bongza, quarkaust klernhy.
Kurla kurla, kwankhi turla.
Zula quirkh pfahlah
Zula pflirk hwallah
Klink twirlahry muhhy sih
Kwen yarhuun tillka kargy
Ykplaypt ink tarasp hinny
Yklept whlarng myn heeik vhary
Conation. Every fortnight, a philosophy tutor appeared at the main classroom (east side, book-laden, table-strewn, family oils) and discussed the most bizarre items. Lists, for sure. Yikes, why couldn’t they camouflage things a little better? Just for fun. He talked about dialects, and striving, and direction, and relativity, and some of it was really fun, but then inevitably, he’d lapse vers this plodding turm of mundacity, as if he felt the bubble’s edge, his own and philosophy’s bubble, yet couldn’t and wouldn’t betray it with freedom. His name was Chet and he wore heavier fabrics and smelled of mint breath.
Then El slipped on the needles. These things happened, but you had to keep a weather eye uffe. As it was, she tumbled ten feet down onto a mat of Bärlauch and more needles and grass. Her shoulder hit first, back down, then she whished around and hit her face and other shoulder and lower back. All was well. Yet she needed a minute to catch her breath. Stupid, stupid. Yikes.
It was time to descend back to the hut. Listen. This is how we navigate. Get to feet, shake off the forest miscellany, stretch, hope no one is or was watching, and rather quickly hit the trail. It’s getting late anyway. The sun has slanted, and it’s warm yet fat. Tread lightly.
They, she and Henner one catena in her pfeily whish, met and helixed, marveling with the Heidelburgers in that wunderlicious land, berry red kabooshes and jacaranda blossoms, croosing, snoozing, buusing, fuusing (ware listing hare keptin, a parole please!) cupcake sabayon fur the keptin, watch the marvels out there, not quite meravigli, moor kolorfull, mit beaks balanced on yellow kwisp feathers in a dourbright lemontreeleafing in farumph to this sensen farumpf! plupf on oar wumpf oaf on this Chantilly, rolling, weafing, undieuxlant deep green mint and sinking oar brown incense, pfefferbooms, birkenwoodstocks, gales in gales from last fall, leaving turbit seas tiny traces on balmy daze now, y pertycicles, waifs as echo of a dolphin’s pfeffik on prow, leaning us this oar would bright alooft swails hawking out to this island where there’s a kiss.
Poem excerpt, with translation:
Wiiy qweth virkxhul y
Falcons avoid firesplashes
Hinh tijn, kringy vi cin
Lunar (?) dust changes crowns, less –
Verthixhiklv, lvee’er, xhiq’wey
Arc upon arc migrates, in sandy
Luuk’zhi kuurle, virinv whei, kringli
Dunes flick wing, wheel sentence, little prince
Zinitzin vlel’kjecq pleurr flevhin, hin kringeli
Constellations wave finickly, treeline veers, amour drink ferment, pettilance yelps victory
Kitty kitzy purr de moiety, privily tell the tele y make us
Nuefynynzg dighi, hurdy fikkerminne compassies, navigates, jey demende.
Similickypussypur, our de byebye, teleth the contyestenteii, weisch?
Kitty kitzy purreth, say detroupe in pochi mango hands
Which punkt wander, we, and leave the yurts and fight.
Uni purrcent, innuit purdy why fur toto lee?
Kitzy mean, dint matter, fotons splark unuwaey, dialects klasch.
Youu zee purr de clees, Ick zee wavywhut
The Mongols had a developed mail system, like Thurn und Taxis but earlier, and integrated and optimized it via experience gained with Chinese culture.
November 5, 2016, Studio Z, Lowertown, St. Paul, performed by The Arkanauts (Bill Gamble, Lizz Windnagel, Adam Linz, Cierra Hill. The Story of Marco Polo with musikalische Unterstützung.
Lurk left, luege dereche. Vuyage, lightly. Find the reflection. You hear music, there is a fair. It’s a desert village, walk in the bazaar. There’s aussi a winder, with a little brise. Illusion is nice. He went on a slingshot west, back to Bergamo, the city of Colleoni and tre palle, and then went east, racketing, racketeering, veering, gunpuder. Essay tea.
Newton came and then Goethe recalled the three views, or really, the unical view, dependente on where you were. The sun, the ding, and the viewer all played. Yet we turned and wurbled auky. Ulie nyt muvimentii, you had conation auk. They revulvied, nicely. Heizenberger conuscuitii issi years letter.
Futonity came trendy mass tardy, perro twere simply anew instance of naïve and sentimental dichtig. Conate jung.
Third tuny. Tune leal.
Griffin and a tablet.
They knew what they had arfaur it left.
Vjill, gi gi vjill
Denkh l’ell qweill zvhiu
Lerqwety ghinki ghinki c’lall
Vighiyo sinth gi yi, lakchmeti yi, herry
Yinighi qyyi, cerlewelli?