Category Archives: Poetry

Poetry in Somalia

I found an interesting page with some insight into the historic and modern role of poetry in Somalia:

The Somalis have been described as a nation of bards and indeed oral poetry plays a central role in all aspects of Somali life such as watering camels and political debate. The wide range of activities in which poetry is involved is reflected in the diversity of genres of poetry differing in their subject matter and stylistic characteristics. In recent decades musical accompaniment has played an increasingly important role in certain types of poetry, and theatre has become an important art form incorporating poetry.

[…]

The poetry of Salaan Arrabay, on the other hand, became an anti-war weapon. His best-known work, “O Kinsman, Stop the War,” was an appeal to end a long-standing feud between two rival sections of the Isaaq clan in northern Somalia. “Tradition has it,” says Samatar, “that the poet on his horse stood between the massed opposing forces and, with a voice charged with drama and emotion, chanted the better part of the day until the men, smitten with the force of his delivery, dropped their arms and embraced one another.”

[…]

Somalis have long debated the merits of a nomadic, pastoral existence versus those of a settled agricultural community. In this excerpt from a Somali poem, a nomad explains his decision to return to his herds after a brief try at farming:

It is said that one cannot pierce the sky to get rain for one’s garden, Nor can one drive the farm, as one drives animals, to the place Where the rain is falling. Worst of all, one cannot abandon one’s farm, even though barren, Because all one’s efforts are invested in it. The farmer, in counter argument, replies: A man with no fixed place in this world cannot claim one in heaven.

It seems to me that areas where it is very risky or costly to create items of any permanence that poetry and verse are the perfect form for tradition as well as laws. The breakdown of portable forms of expression and systematic erosion of the songs and spoken art seems to signal the last flicker from a society under pressure of dissolution or destruction. What a tragedy if we fail in helping preserve the knowledge and wisdom contained in the poems of Somalia.

BSOD at RSA

The exhibition floor reminds me of a county fair, bristling with prize cattle and pigs. I hate to say it, but I find myself wandering among the herds of vendor logo’d sales people and entertainers, munching from troughs of mediocre food, wondering if this is really the best way to find new/interesting products and make contacts.

BDOD at RSA

Perhaps the most odd thing of the evening was when I found a Blue Screen of Death prominently displayed on a vendor system, and realized I was the only person who seemed to realize that it was a bad thing. I thought about making a big deal of it, but then just decided to help the vendor understand the error and to get the system back up again.

Someone in a PGP shirt walked up to me and said “How does anyone make a decision here”, to which I simply had to reply “Hmmm, let me think about that. I’m not sure, but it’s one of two ways.” He didn’t laugh.

An enigma

I had fun at the NSA booth where I typed out a message on an actual three-rotor German military Enigma from WWII. The keys are hard to press, but satisfying. Here is the result: QLKERMAKJDU. Pretty cool, eh?

I played some odd ping-pong ball drawing and won a lottery-ticket that won two dollars. I must have had a dour expression on my face during the process because the woman pulling the balls out said “you don’t seem very excited” to which I simply had to reply “oh, is it exciting to stand here and win other people’s money?” I guess I don’t believe in the “free” money concept.

Clearly I was missing something since I really just wanted to find the folks who could solve a few burning questions about encryption and key management for/with me, not play the lottery or place a bet on roulette, or throw bean-bags through a hole…sigh. Ten California rolls, three tiramisus, two kebabs, a slice of roast, some mozzarella balls, two salami slices, six egg-rolls, and a chocolate-covered strawberry later I finally connected with a real crypto-token vendor who gave me a demo and might actually be able to sell me some fobs (no software, no integration, no lottery tickets…).

I also discussed some anomaly and fraud detection software with the IBM engineers, but they kept saying “contact center” instead of “call center”, which started to give me the creeps, so I took one of their squishy brains and moved along. Microsoft said they could sell me software to integrate directories for just $25,000. I almost coughed up a cracker (with cheese) when they tossed that number out at me. Microsoft sells midrange software? They backpedaled a bit “you probably have a reseller who could get it to you in the teens”. It started to sound like an IBM rep talking. Apparently the cough-up your food on the sales engineer technique is handy in negotiation. They were just lucky I wasn’t drinking wine.

All in all, some good contacts, a couple interesting new products, and a fine start to the week. I just wish I had paid more attention to math when I was young.

If thou art diligent and wise, O stranger, compute the number of cattle of the Sun, who once upon a time grazed on the fields of the Thrinacian isle of Sicily, divided into four herds of different colors, one milk white, another a glossy black, a third yellow and the last dappled. In each herd were bulls, mighty in number according to these proportions: Understand, stranger, that the white bulls were equal to a half and a third of the black together with the whole of the yellow, while the black were equal to the fourth part of the dappled and a fifth, together with, once more, the whole of the yellow. Observe further that the remaining bulls, the dappled, were equal to a sixth part of the white and a seventh, together with all of the yellow.

— Archimedes

Lame Duck

“He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.”

“The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.”

— from Metaphors in High School Essays