Genes and expression

Ann wonders:- 

Have I tapped my genes in my old age, getting down to the bottom of my glass of life, deep down in the past history of my original cells when they were wandering around at random in a sea of sperm, making the grand decision as to which bents should be inherited by this body? Some of the learning or memories from my parents and grandparents and great grand parents and great great grandparents and great great great grandparents watered down to the tinniest of fragments, just a few of these have perhaps got through, but being so deeply down in the memories past, they only surface when in old age the cup has been almost emptied and reaches the dregs of existence.

 

Suddenly you feel you say, or write things, that haven't been in your mind before, as if they had been there latent just waiting for the moment to be in balance, and right for the divulging of the Grand Decision in its dregs. How did that word come from me I thought as I expressed a difficult word, that I think, I have never used before, is there another plane, another dimension, where the words of the past are whispered or somehow telepathically communicated from those long gone to those in this plane of life? Some state  which preserves the words, music or whatever, from a spirit in the past and produces expressions so odd for our normal perceptions and understandings, what is it? Or is it? 
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Sometimes we seem to be so caught up in theories and meanings that we forget the onomatopoeic sounds of words for themselves, as simple as the note on the page of the musician that becomes transformed by the player into a magic that otherwise lies silent on that page. 

What about Lewis Carroll with his poem:-

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!".....................etc:-

or this with the RRRoling rrrs in aberdeen Scottish, where the sounds make it absolutely wonderful don't you think?:-

 

 

"SUNSET SONG" BY LEWIS CRASSIC GIBBONS 

 

"A Scots Quair" 

 

Sunset song -" and the fairlies came swiftering out of the whisky bottle at him"p.18 "Ellison himself began to get well stomached....and he had a red face, big and sappy and eyes like a cat, green eyes, and his mouser hang down each side of a fair bit mouth that was chokeful of false teeth awful expensive and bonny, lined with bits of gold. and he aye wore leggings and riding breeks, for he was fair gentry by then... p.19.

 

p 20. "It had fine glass windows, awful old, the wee hall with three bit queens, not very decent - like a kirk, as window pictures. One of the queens was Faith she looked a daft, like keek for she was lifting up her hands and her eyes like a heifer choked on a turnip and the bit blanket round her shoulders was falling off her but she didn't seem to heed, and there was a swither of scrolls and fiddley-faddles all about her..."

p.32. "It went dandering up the sleeping Gramprans (wind) ...with dust so that the motor cars went shooming through them like kettles under steam..."

p.33. " So mother had worked and ran the parks those days, she was blithe, and sweet, you know, you saw her against the sun as though you peered far down a tunnel of the years..."

p.41. " tools and implements and graips and forks...

p, 43 The standing stones reared up above the two, marled and white edged with snow they were, and a wind came blowing fit to freeze the chilblains on a brass monkey..."

p 126. " he looked as solemn as five owls all in one."....and cried them to supper, the storm had left off, all but a flake that sailed down now and then like a sailing gull in the beam from the barn door. On the ground the snow crinkled under their feet.

p. 129.... 

Up in the morning's no for me,

Up in the morning early,

When a' the hills are covered in snaw

I'm sure its Winter fairly!                           ( Nina you can relate to this!)

...Dmn't, folk, we'll have the whimsies if we listen to any more woeful songs! Have more of you a cheerful one? And the folk in the barn laughed at him and shook their heads, it came on Chris (girl) how strange the sadness of Scotlands singing, made for the sadness of the land who had seen their lives and loves sink away in the years, things wept for beside the sheepbuctits, remembered at night in the twilight. The gladness and kindness had passed, lived and forgotten, it was Scotland of the mist and rain and the crying sea that made the songs."

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Don't you just love the sound. So all the discussion about metre etc can be fine but its the 'art' that comes out and grabs you, even in nonsense rhymes.