Friday, March 20, 2015

Sobre mi habitación


Tengo un dormitorio en la escuela. Está en el séptimo piso de la Torre Norte. Dentro de mi habitación hay una mesa bastante desordenada, con un ordenador, una lámpara, unos libros, una maqueta de un ángel con la Sagrada Familia, y muchos otros objetos. A la izquierda de mi mesa está mi estanteria con veintiun libros. Mi armario está al lado. Enfrente del armario hay un tablón de anuncios. La puerta está entre el armario y el tablón de anuncios, y mi cama está enfrente de la puerta y debajo de la ventana. Mi dormitorio es muy ruidosa cada miércoles por la noche, porque hay muchas estudiantes de intercambio que van a los clubs. Además, da a los otros dormitorios de la Torre Sur; Esto es bastante extraños y las cortinas están a menudo bajadas.

Tengo también cuatro compañeros en mi apartamento. Son bastante amables pero los veo raramente.

[Corrections received from Miguel Angel 7 Apr 2015]

Sunday, March 01, 2015

Valerio Learns Chinese: Part 1 - Pinyin, Tone and Springtime

Valerio has been saying nīhàomá and other things at innocent bystanders for a few years now. Now, he has decided to learn the language once and for all, and has enlisted my help for this purpose. This is a summary of our lessons and some reflections about finding the best way to teach Chinese to a serious learner.

Lesson 1 Topics:
1.1 The Hanyu Pinyin Alphabet and pronunciation
1.2 A Spring Morning by Meng Haoran 唐·孟浩然《春晓》

A Note About Phonology:
It seems a common complaint among casual learners (and casual teachers) of Chinese that it is hard to get the pronunciation across and that it is hard to make the tones sound right. The root of the problem are compound: one of it lies in the unreliability of most phonetic spelling methods, the other in the inability of both the learner and the teacher to recognise the numerous differences between the phonetic inventories of their respective native tongues. Let's have a look on how these two add up by considering the syllable

知 (zhī) - to know

For readers who are new, the nice-looking symbol up there is called a character, the basic unit of the written Chinese language. A character functions either as a word or as part of a word. "Zhī" is how you pronounce it, as dictated by the Pinyin alphabet. But how do you say "zhī"? What is "zh", and what is "ī", or do you say "zed-high"? A new learner who reads "zhī" and then starts making some guesses could come up with, for example: [ʒi˥˩] (4th tone).

It's good for a first try, but not perfect. No, the teacher says. Say [ʈʂɨ˥] (1st tone). The student tries again. He combines the visual and audial cues and says [dʒə˥˩], a little closer again to the teacher's pronounciation. Getting it completely right will take a few more tries, but by now it should already have become clear that learning the new language brings you to this perilous and absurd place where not even the alphabet can be trusted, however phonetic it claims to be. Hence:
Item 1: Don't trust the alphabet.

The idea is that an alphabet can be made to represent sound perfectly, or it can be made to be easy to use. Real written languages tend to follow the latter strategy. However, the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA) is designed to encode the widest variety of human utterances in all languages worldwide, and so I use it in the notes for the first class.


The Results: The IPA seemed to bring the point across that certain sounds in Chinese simply don't exist in one's particular native tongue, and have to be learned from scratch. Additionally, it also served as an initial guideline on how exactly to pronounce the new sounds. From the example above, by referring to the IPA consonant table, one could find that the consonant [ʈʂ] is retroflex, and learn to pronounce [ʈʂ] curling the tongue against the hard palate by practice. However, the learner will still have to become used to the new sounds by exposure and listening.

The idea of new sounds also brings us to the next part of the problem: The teacher and learner from the earlier scenario are suffering a communication breakdown. The teacher cannot understand why the learner still says "jerh" despite hearing "zhī" so many times. The learner is frustrated because he hears the teacher saying "jerh", he says "jerh", but somehow is still wrong. This reflects an earlier result in psycholinguistics (see e.g. Trehub, 1975), in which toddlers of six months are found to be able to distinguish pairs of sounds that are "different" in both native and foreign tongues, but lose the ability to distinguish the foreign pairs by the time they hit twelve months. Long story short: You Can't Hear Foreign Sounds!
Hence Item 2: Don't trust playing by ear.

To get around this problem in an ideal world, the teacher should be able to stick his hand into the learner's mouth and move the tongue to right where it needs to be. In reality, he will have to be content to try to understand what exact mistake is being made and to verbally coax the learner to make the sounds the intended way. A less experienced teacher might attribute the inability to make the correct sounds to the learner being "deprived of culture", "of the wrong stock", or that the physiology of the learner's mouth is unsuited to Chinese, and therefore requires surgery. These notions are lamentably false, and since the nature of the problem is psychological, teaching Chinese should also become a test of character for the teacher and an exercise in his ability to empathise.

Specific Hanyu Pinyin Oddities to Take Note of:
The letters b, d and g in Hanyu Pinyin do not denote the same sounds as they do in the English alphabet. Rather, they are unaspirated versions of p, t and k. To make sense of what I just said, consider these three examples:

port [pʰɔːɹt] - sport [spɔːɹt] - 班 bān [pã˥]

In standard English, the p in port is aspirated and the one in sport is unaspirated. If you held your hand to your mouth, you could feel a puff of air at port but none at sport. The b in bān is more similar to the p in sport than the b in, say, big bad wolf. However, an expection can be made if you are singing Mandarin pop-songs, and have to sound like a dimwit in order to make the sound flow more nicely.

a means [a], because each time I hear someone mention yin and y[æ]ng, I die a little inside.

e can mean [ɤ], [e] or [ɛ] depending on where you put it (complicated).

i is pronounced [ɨ] in zhi, chi, shi, ri, zi, ci, si, but [i] everywhere else.

j, q, and x are pronounced [tɕ], [tɕʰ] and [ɕ] respectively. These are alveopalatal fricatives and affricates with no exact analogue in English, but you can pronounce them by arching the tongue close to the hard palate, and then invoking the power of "chee".

zh, ch, sh and r are pronounced [ʈʂ], [ʈʂʰ], [ʂ] and [ɻ]. These are retroflex consonants, meaning that the tongue is curled back on the palate when these sounds are made. PRO TIP: not that I recommend it, but it is possible to survive in Singapore without using (or thinking about) retroflex consonants.

The n at the end of the syllable is not pronounced directly by many speakers of Mandarin. Instead, it turns the preceding vowel into a nasal vowel. E.g. 元 yuán is pronounced [ɥyã˧˥] rather than [ɥyan˧˥]. PRO TIP: It is possible to survive accidentally pronouncing the [n].

Tones are the perpetual bane for learners whose first languages are non-tonal. However, I believe that whatever can be explained in words about tones has been explained as well as one could elsewhere, and it is more practical simply to stop a Mandarin speaker on the streets and then ask him or her what the tones are, if they are cooperative.

Why there is a Poem in the First Lesson:
Long ago, in a high school far away, I was taught that to compose a classical poem, one had to juxtapose characters of different tones in the poem in a way that two corresponding lines can mirror each other, and suchlike. Exactly how I don't know, but it is enough of an inspiration to know that in a poem, the tones make extra sense. What better way can there be to initiate a new learner to a tonal language than this one?

This time, the choice of poem is 《春晓》 A Spring Morning (Chunxiao) by Meng Haoran 孟浩然. I chose it because it is currently springtime in the northern hemisphere and because it is a well-known piece; in fact, it is one of the first to be taught to children during their late infancy. A Tang Dynasty period composition is chosen because of its characteristic simplicity with four lines of five or seven characters each. This places it at an advantage over earlier Classical Age anthologies like Shijing 《诗经》 (too many funky obsolete characters) and later Song Dynasty poetry (too irregular and wordy).

The meaning of the poem is less important; the objective is to train listening and hearing, and the language of classical poems is not Mandarin but Classical Chinese, which is a radically different language (or languages) again with a distinct grammar, vocabulary, etc. Children are usually coerced to memorise classical poems with the hope that the meaning of the contents will automatically be clear to them as they age. Rightly or wrongly, I have decided to go down that path again.

In any case, I present the best translation that I can find here:

春眠不觉晓,Chūn mián bù jué xiǎo,
处处闻啼鸟。Chù chù wén tí niǎo.
夜来风雨声,Yè lái fēng yǔ shēng,
花落知多少。Huā luò zhī duō shǎo.

Sleeping in spring, I hardly know day breaks.
Everywhere I can hear birds singing.
At night I heard the sound of wind and rain.
Next morning, who knows how many flowers had fallen?

Links and Resources for the Intrepid Learner of Mandarin:

1. PDF to the Psycholinguistics paper (Trehub, 1975)

2. For those who would like to know how the funny little IPA symbols sound like in speech:

IPA chart for vowels with sound guide
IPA chart for consonants with sound guide

3. For those who would like to learn Chunxiao:

A Video
Source of the above translation
For comparison, a poem about springtime by a modern American poet

4. For those who want to know about the other kinds of classical poems that I have described above:

Video of Guanju 《诗经·周南·关雎》 from Shijing, a collection of poems traditionally attributed to Confucius
This version is recited in reconstructed Old Chinese, an educated guess on how people could have sounded like during the Zhou Dynasty (1046-771 BC). Warning: It doesn't sound very pretty

The Song Dynasty poem Shuidiao Getou 《水调歌头》 by Su Shi 苏轼, composed in AD 1076, often sung to this day.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Нандын жыты | Nandın cıtı


Жаңы бышкан нандын жыты,
Күндүн жайкы ысыгы.
Нан көп болсо үйдүн куту,
Эки беттин кызылы.
Cangı bışkan nandın cıtı
Kündün caykı ısıgı
Nan köp bolso üydün kutu
Eki bettin kızılı
Жаңы бышкан нандын даамы,
Жалпы дыйкан эмгеги.
Бүткүл элдин жүрөк каны,
Кен байлыгы жердеги.
Cangı bışkan nandın daamı
Calpı dıykan emgegi
Bütkül eldin cürök kanı
Ken baylıgı cerdegi
Жаңы бышкан нандын жыты,
Жазган ыры акындын.
Көзгө сүйкүм тынчтык кушу,
Күч-кубаты баатырдын.
Cangı bışkan nandın cıtı
Cazgan ırı akındın
Közgö süyküm tınçtık kuşu
Küç-kubatı baatırdın
Жаңы бышкан нандын даамы,
Ата-Журттун дымагы.
Ошондуктан элдин нугу,
Эзелтеден тынбады.
Cangı bışkan nandın daamı
Ata-Curttun dımagı
Oşonduktan eldin nugu
Ezelteden tınbadı

Singer: Gülnur Satylganova (Kyrgyzstan)

Monday, February 16, 2015

Human Places

Lausanne, 2013
Saturday 2 March 2013: Switzerland. Lausanne Metro, Montelly en route to Vigie. I was on exchange to EPFL and was on the way to town to see a snowboarding contest. A guy who was drinking a can of beer was on the same train. We had a disagreement on whether the window should be opened or closed. He opened the window. The middle and ring fingers on my right hand were on the hinge, and were trapped. I tried to pull them out. He closed the window. I stared at him. The train pulled up at Vigie. I got off the train muttering incomprehensibly - c'est bien... c'est tout bien... - but the fingers were flattened and the blood was dripping out from the cuts on each finger and made a mess of the platform. I went up the steps to street level, but felt faint and sat down. The blood dripped and made a mess of the steps. The other passengers also went up the steps at this time, passing me by. One person, two persons... I looked up and saw a granny. She looked at me with fear in her eyes. She went on her way.

I was alone in the metro station. I did not know what to do. I went back down to the platform. I sucked on my fingers. The next train arrived shortly after at Vigie, and out came Vincent, who was on exchange from NTU and knew me. I asked him for help and he agreed. He brought me to a place nearby where a bunch of Taiwanese folk were selling bubble tea. We asked them for help and they agreed, pointing us towards the nearest pharmacy in Flon. The pharmacists sold me antiseptic and plasters. I patched up and we went to the snowboarding contest. We linked up with three other exchange students at Place Riponne, where a huge crowd had already gathered. I felt tired and asked to leave. The others knew of what had happened earlier, but did not seem to understand why I would want to give up the chance of seeing some random snowboarders. I insisted to leave anyway.

The cuts took some weeks to heal. It's not clear if this sort of thing happens to every other shithead who throw themselves into this country for half a year and for no good reason, but it felt like I had a bone to pick with everyone for a good time after that day. It seemed to be that no one in the country can be expected to show kindness, and no one can be trusted to understand. If you wanted to be here to overeat, get smashed and forget about tomorrow, it was completely acceptable; but at the moment you were hurt and needed help, you were swept under the rug: silly foreigner, you were never meant to be here, go home.

I looked for human places wherever I went: I wanted simply to live and I wanted to be with people where they lived. I wanted to get to business as a person and not as a somewhat lucrative intrusion into the local economy. I found human places in many more places in Switzerland, notwithstanding that earlier mishap. In the woods near my home (Bois-Gondou) was a place where two strangers meeting on a path could greet each other warmly, unlike in the city. In the underpass at Renens station a young Chinese girl helped me with carrying my luggage when I moved out, then a young man who lived at Brugg helped me with navigating the town and gave good conversation during the bus trip. It seemed that such generosity became more frequent and more dominant of the social order the further one travelled from the megalopolises.

I am always dismayed to hear of tourists visiting Singapore and returning only to report that my country is a "shopping mall with an airstrip" or "Disneyland with the Death Penalty". Maybe they judged our country by the extremely attention-grabbing and glamorous Central District, but this judgment is unfair because they have not seen the truly human places in Singapore, the places where things like tourist revenue and national reputation are irrelevant and human decency retains some currency. I looked out of the 33rd storey of the Marina Financial Centre into Downtown and thought despondently: This is not Singapore, this is Legoland! How I wished I was looking at Pulau Ubin instead, or the Central Catchment forests, or the towns where I grew up in! And how I wished to point out to my visiting friends the routes and byways that traced the stories of my childhood, and the charms of the people who simply lived and were happy.

Friday, January 16, 2015

The Demon of Hunga Ha'apai


"A curse be upon you, people of Heimaey!
Woe befall you, citizens of Nuku'alofa!
I have spread burning rock over your lands,
Your seas I will boil dry!"

The Volcano-Demon rejoices at the sight of an eruption.
He rubs his hands with glee as he sees the pastures in flames.
He yelps in joy as the lava tumbles into the waters,
And luscious reefs disappear into balls of steam.

A great monolith of dark, loose ash rises in the ocean.
The waves mobilise themselves to wear it away, but they fail.
The Volcano-Demon plants his heels at the caldera triumphantly.
With his left hand he spreads ejecta over the sea,
With his right hand he casts plumes of ash to mock the heavens.

But when the Demon turns his back, the birds arrive to rest,
They have brought with them seeds from faraway lands.
In the rich dark earth born of fire, the seeds sprout greedily;
In the shallow seas around the island, the reefs revive.
And the Almighty has crowned his newest land with life again.