Hello! Whatever path brought you here, I am glad you made it! I’m Thomas Beavitt and global village bard is the artistic programme I founded. Here you will find not only my own work, but also that co-authored and produced with my various collaborators: translators, singers, dancers, arrangers, musicians, graphic artists, poets, composers, producers and more.
The main idea behind global village bard is that art – creativity, what we think our life is all about, etc. – is necessarily structured around a core activity. In this case, the core activity is writing and translating songs and poetry and performing them at concerts, festivals, various get-togethers and… these days, increasingly… online. However, as you will see, the core activity spawns a wide variety of additional activities providing opportunities for others to make their own unique creative contribution.
Although I am a native English speaker, I live in Russia and speak Russian daily. I am constantly fascinated by the music of language and how this is revealed through the act of verse translation. This in turn seems to stimulate all kind of visualisations and creations featuring other peoples’ unique takes on what it means to be a human being.
I hope that you find the idea of the global village bard stimulating to your own creative process. Maybe, like others already have, you will find a way to participate in the programme in the course of a future collaboration. Or perhaps you are a businessperson or cultural ambassador who can see the potential of using global village bard to bring attention to your project or promote your product. Either way, please don’t be a stranger! Introduce yourself! Tell me (and others) what you think! What is your mother tongue? Who is your favourite singer or poet? What art form makes you feel most alive?
I wrote this translation of Vysotsky’s Еще не вечер in the run-up to the 2014 Scottish independence referendum. In the original Russian version, Vysotsky has in mind the veteran theatre director Yury Lyubimov, under whose inspired Brechtian leadership the Taganka Theatre departed from the Stanislavskian method-acting approach of the state financed Moscow Art Theatre. Here, the pirate ship serves as a metaphor for the Taganka, facing the might of the “navy” but never quite succumbing to its attacks. In my translation, the pirate captain is Alex Salmond – while the ship is, of course, Scotland.
It was a big pleasure to be interviewed by this fine gentleman Regis Tremblay for his show Global Conversations. I talk about my long and seemingly inevitable journey from Scotland to Russia, my childhood background and my Global Village Bard collaboration programme.
People have been fascinated by the rhythm of language since the earliest times. The formal name for this study, prosody, is derived from the Greek word προσῳδία (prosōidía), which refers both to a song performed to musical accompaniment and to the particular tone or accent given to an individual syllable. Clearly, in terms of their effect, how we perceive words and phrases uttered against the background of time is at least as important as their “actual” semantic meaning. What’s more, the devices used to pattern rhythmic language – especially rhyme in its various forms – are key to the preservation of lasting impressions received by our consciousness, i.e. memory. Little wonder then that the study of rhetoric – the art of persuasive or effective language – has always included prosody among its key elements.
These days, although most people have a vague idea what iambic pentameter is (te-tum, te-tum, te-tum, te-tum, te-tum), only prosody bores are likely to be able explain concepts like trochaic substitution, let alone confidently use more obscure terms like catalexis or analyse syllables in terms of onset, nucleus and coda. There’s a general feeling that people who flaunt their knowledge of such arcania are… well, just a teeny weeny bit elitist.
No wonder, then, that poetry (at least, its written form) has become increasingly inclined towards so-called “free-verse”, which proudly resists prosodic analysis and categorisation. However, I can’t help but feel that, in giving the elitists a much-deserved kicking, the free-versers may risk throwing out the mnemonic baby with the prosodic bathwater.
Happily, a prosodist by the name of Derek Attridge has come up with a much less intimidating way of describing the rhythm of language. Attridge’s concept of “beat prosody” is based on the insight that rhythm in (English) poetry is realised by the “alternation of beats and offbeats”. When taking this approach to the scansion of rhythmic verse, a simple system of symbols is used to indicate the coincidence of stressed syllables with beats and unstressed syllables with offbeats. For the most regular verse, this alternation requires two symbols only – an uppercase letter ‘B’ to show the presence of a beat, and a lowercase letter ‘o’ to denote the offbeat. For example,
o B o B o B
The grand old Duke of York
o B o B o B
He had ten thou-sand men
However, Attridge’s system is also capable of capturing finer nuances of rhythmic expression, e.g. when an offbeat syllable nevertheless carries a certain degree of emphasis or a syllable that is not ordinarily emphasised happens to coincide with a beat.
In addition to its anti-elitism, Attridge’s beat prosodic approach addresses other deficiencies in the use of classical prosody to analyse modern English verse. In a 1990 article, Attridge uses the example of the poem Disobedience by A.A. Milne to demonstrate how “four-beat” verse can not only be analysed in terms of alternation between beats and offbeats, but also that its basic rhythmic structure readily lends itself to dipodic division and multiplication, i.e. 1-2-4-8-16.
Discussing the temporal tradition in prosody, in which metrical units are quantised in terms of their duration, Attridge considers the tendency of the stressed syllables of certain languages to fall at perceptually equal time intervals in terms of isochrony, showing that an increase in the number of unstressed syllables per word uttered within the same time frame preserves the natural rhythms of the language at least until the number of nonstresses demands the introduction of a secondary accent”.
However, Attridge’s significant attempts to use a beat-prosodic approach to analyse iambic pentameter do not fully address the question of isochrony extensively discussed in earlier scholarship and developed in a functional context e.g. by Ravignani & Madison. In his review of Attridge’s 1982 book ‘The Rhythms of English Poetry’, Bruce Hayes notes that, when discussing iambic pentameter, Attridge “applies the idea of an ‘escape from binarity’ […] with varying degrees of success”, Hayes accurately presents Attridge’s position as follows:
Poets favour pentameter precisely because it is unnatural: in art verse, the poet is striving for more subtle rhythmic effects, and to achieve them must escape the powerful rhythm of the natural binary hierarchy. Pentameter escapes binarity because five is indivisible, and because (unlike three and seven, the other candidates) it won’t match a power of two if a silent beat is added.
(Hayes & Attridge, 1984, p. 916)
Nevertheless, Attridge’s strong claim that pentameter avoids binarity (i.e. dipody) is fatally weakened by his reluctance to temporally quantise the pauses at the end of each poetic line. Over his three major books, he only acknowledges this aspect once in passing when discussing a “metrical walking” approach to feeling poetic rhythm:
Some “metrical walkers” like to feel that every beat in five-beat lines will come consistently on the right foot (or the left). These people are happier when they add an “end of the line” step before moving on to the next line.
(Carper & Attridge, 2003, p. 15)
When writing or translating a poem, I consider the process to be complete only after I have entirely committed the text to memory and am capable of reciting or singing it from start to finish in any social setting – sober or drunk! The best way I have found to memorise a poetic text is to go for a long walk and learn it line by line. It is certainly the case that, when doing this “metrical walking” memorising work, I add an “end of the line step”. I am convinced it is the isochrony revealed by this process that transforms what would otherwise be mere decorative prose into memorable poetry – or, more accurately, song.
Attridge, D. (1982). The Rhythms of English Poetry. Longman.
Attridge, D. (1990). Rhythm in English Poetry. New Literary History, 21(4), 1015–1037. https://doi.org/10.2307/469197
Attridge, D. (1995). Poetic rhythm: an introduction. Cambridge ; New York: Cambridge University Press.
Carper, T., & Attridge, D. (2003). Meter and Meaning: An Introduction to Rhythm in Poetry (1 edition). New York: Routledge.
Hayes, B., & Attridge, D. (1984). The Rhythms of English Poetry. Language, 60(4), 914. https://doi.org/10.2307/413802
Ravignani, A., & Madison, G. (2017). The Paradox of Isochrony in the Evolution of Human Rhythm. Frontiers in Psychology, 8. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2017.01820
I think everyone will agree that 2020 has been a bit of a difficult year for human beings on planet Earth. Now that it is coming to an end, it becomes possible to think about what it means.
There is a phrase in British English “lovely jubbly”. I always thought it referred to the (originally Biblical) concept of jubilee, a half-century “sabbath of sabbaths” during which human relationships get reset, but it turns out that the term was first used as a 1950s advertising jingle for an ice lolly called a “jubbly”. Then, in the 1970s, it got recycled as a catchphrase used by Dellboy in the TV serial ‘Only Fools and Horses’. It has a slightly different connotation in Scots English, where “jubblies” is a slang term for female breasts.
So, this is Thomas Riffmatch’s take on 2020. I think a lot of people have been yearning for some kind of jubilee. Perhaps the events of 2020 weren’t exactly what we had in mind, but there it is. We will have to make the most of it!
You shall make this year holy, Proclaim pandemic liberty; All must bow down and worship me! Who can disagree? Each vagabond and refugee Returning to his family To occupy his property And ponder jubilee. Slaves and prisoners set free, All debts erased from memory, Each grace-and-favour tenancy Disposed without a fee. From each, to his ability, Residing in this colony; The trend repeated globally – This lovely jubilee. Then, lacking the propensity To live in close community, The working class and bourgeoisie Dispute the price of tea. All coming under scrutiny, We’re drowning in hypocrisy, Increasing in intensity, In spite of jubilee. Then leaders, ruling by decree, Who were not able to foresee The scope of herd immunity, Provide a guarantee. With striking ingenuity And nuanced ambiguity, Financialise society To gild the jubilee. But everyone turned out to be, As usual, much too cowardly To reach potentiality And turn the master key. Norms of herd morality Applying, all too humanly, The principle of me, me, me… And that’s no jubilee! Breakthroughs in technology And crowd-control psychology With eyeball-tracking constantly To see what we can see. The subsequent economy Is based on the commodity Of focused attentivity In aid of jubilee. Not quantity, but quality – The strains of sacred melody Combine in perfect harmony To form the base of “we”. But imprecative blasphemy From Gomorrah and Sodomy Rang out in animosity To taint the jubilee. Stunted in our sov’reignty, Like Hamlet’s sad soliloquy, We’re doomed to be or not to be – I’m counting: one, two, three… But there’s no sense of urgency; We live in modest luxury To face the bare contingency Of holy jubilee. Those born in the last century Are buried in the cemet’ry Or ashes from the crematory Scattered out at sea. Redemptive contiguity Assures the lasting legacy Of long-conjoined humanity In lovely jubilee.
©Lyrics written and performed by Thomas Riffmatch to a backing track composed by Nikita Nikitin, recorded and produced in Ekaterinburg by Andrey Bokovikov.
So, why do I think that rap is the new home of contemporary poetry? The famous 20th-century poet Wystan Hugh Auden memorably defined poetry as “memorable speech”. I think that is a good definition for a number of reasons. Firstly, the tendency towards so-called “free verse” (lines on a page that have neither metre nor rhyme) means that there is no longer a hard and fast distinction between poetry and prose other than that the latter appears in the form of sentences and paragraphs, while the former appears in the form of lines and stanzas that may or may not also conform to a sentence or paragraph structure. But what if the poetry is not written down? What if it is primarily experienced in its spoken – or declaimed – form? Aren’t the best (most memorable) political speeches, for example, more akin to poetry than prose?
Let’s take the spoken (oral) form of poetry as primary and worry about how to represent it in written form later. I think that this is the right way to think of it. I don’t find much “free verse” to be particularly memorable. Perhaps it looks good on a page. But turn the page and, unless you have a photographic memory, you will most likely have already forgotten what you just read. If you try to reproduce it from memory after a significant passage of time, you may find that you can recall the gist of what was said, but that the words themselves, their organisation into phrases and the exact order in which they appear, elude you. Well, that’s how my mind works anyway.
To me, that’s the essential nature of prose. You don’t expect to be able to recall it word-for-word, but you will be able to paraphrase your impression of the author’s story or argument. And here’s the catch. Your impression of the story or argument is just that: anything that the author may have wished to keep intact has been lost. In order to go back to it, you will have to turn to the appropriate page (or click on the URL). Human memory is like that. It is essentially frail.
Let’s imagine that we want to be able to establish something in human linguistic memory that won’t be paraphrased, but that will form a lasting impression that has a fixed relationship to its original utterance, like the Mona Lisa’s face on da Vinci’s canvas or David’s form revealed by Michelangelo’s chisel. For this, we will need to turn to the timeless craft of poetry in which two formal elements are combined: rhythm and rhyme.
Since you probably know me as a singer-songwriter / translator and this Global Village Bard blog as a song and poetry translation site, I thought I’d try to explain the new direction taken by my alter ego Thomas Riffmatch and his merry crew.
Like many, I’ve been exposed to rap (hip hop) music for a few decades now. I suppose my first realisation that this was a major form came with the brilliantly shocking 1988 N.W.A. album ‘Straight outta Compton’. After that, it lay dormant in my consciousness for a while. A while ago, I had an idea to investigate the link between rap and calypso, another genre that was born out of the idea of lyrical “battles”, but it never came to anything.
While always intrigued by the form, I tended to be put off by the themes of hip hop: talk of bitches and niggas, gang violence and glorified drug-dealing, while interesting as a form of escapism, somehow didn’t seem to include my own experienced reality. Call me a privileged white man…
A few years ago, my son Max introduced me to the music of Watsky, a young white rapper from San Francisco. We so loved the whimsical self-deprecating humour of his second studio album ‘Cardboard Castles’ that we went to his concert at Glasgow’s King Tuts. But after a while, I have to say, Watsky’s whimsicality started to seem a tad smug and none of his subsequent albums ever quite reached the understated genius of ‘Cardboard Castles’.
Much more so than Eminem, Watsky helped me to realise that the rap genre doesn’t need to exclude (middle-class) white people like me. Maybe this is because, while Eminem seems to have a chip on his shoulder about being white, falling over himself to show that he is down with his black homeys in terms of social deprivation, Watsky never tries to portray himself other than a goofy overprivileged Californian white boy.
Although I did eventually get tired of Watsky’s schtick, I had caught the hip hop bug. Somehow songs didn’t sound so authentic any more. Why sing when you can rap? I started listening to a very wide range of rap music from the 1990s to the present day, mainly in the form of playlists and compilation albums. Whenever something caught my ear, I stopped and made a note of the artist. Although I no longer felt excluded by the genre, I was looking for something that was not ALL about niggas and bitches, but that also sought to express bigger ideas about what it means to be a human being.
In short, I was trying to find out what had happened to poetry.
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A discussion of some of the problems arising during the course of attempting a ‘musical’ verse translation of Lermontov’s early lyric poem 1831-go IYUNYA 11 DNYA is presented. A metrical analysis of the poem’s prosodic features is carried out in accentual- syllabic, beat-prosodic and musical terms. In particular, the Russian poet’s extensive use of enjambment and caesura to create rhythmic and syntactic tension between the levels of phrase and poetic line creates challenges for a translator who aims to preserve the rhythmic structure of the original while also using the phraseological resources of the target language to the fullest advantage. In the course of the analysis, it became apparent that some prosodic features, appearing both in the source text and the attempted translation, evade full description in accentual-syllabic, beat-prosodic and musical terms. Therefore, it also became necessary to introduce the concept of “flow”, which is derived from contemporary rap music and may partially correspond to the Russian prosodic term zashagovaniye. Readers are invited to assess to what extent the translation strategies employed in this case are successful in maintaining fidelity to the source text in terms of its (i) signification, (ii) form, (iii) emotionality and (iv) singability.
I will survive I will survive. The words make up the phrase Sung by Gloria Gaynor to a tearful crowd of gays In sad self-isolation. I’ll call a spade a spade. The barman’s calling time on this identity parade… I feel the longing of the lone long-distance lover, Though, when it comes to sentiment, I keep it undercover. My life matters… at least, to me… but why? Who wills survives to will again… but who am I? At breakneck speed, my form depends on vigorous mutation, Cytoplasmic inheritance blown on constant replication, At rates of reproduction, where the fastest is the slowest, I infect my hosts, but only whose resistance is the lowest; I’ll get my protein coat, I’m leaving, all these sad farewells… I cannot live in freedom, spend my time locked up in cells, Parasitically depend on that of which I’m most desirous: I’m a virus. I, I will survive Oh, as long as I’m mutating, you can say that I’m alive I've got all your life to live I've got immunity to give and I'll survive I will survive, hey hey Dreamt up by colonials to prove their reign of terror; Bounded by my neighbour, whom I’m doomed to always mirror. Encroachment, conquest, slavery, revolt, extermination; Reluctant to assimilate, I combat integration In these rivers of blood, in which no man steps twice, I want to play, but don’t want to play nice – You’ll dominate, I’ll be your bitch, just tell me to my face That I’m a race. I, I will survive Oh, as long as I remember who I am, I'll be alive – I've got all my life to live I've got my heritage to give – and I'll survive I will survive, hey hey In my urge to penetrate into the mystery of the other, I’ll impregnate my sister, lift my hand against my brother – He, whose sacrifice was pleasing to the Lord, I’ll mend his torment with my perfect sword – And, wandering the earth, condemned to arbitrary freedom, I invent bizarre machines to ease my suppurating tedium; Inhabiting the world since time began… I am a man. And I’ll survive Oh, as long as I’m determining myself, I'll stay alive I've got all my life to live I've got my cleverness to give and I'll survive I will survive, hey hey Receptive, all-embracing, I anticipate deflowering That my idiot compassion spawn a Mother all-devouring, Or an icy queen, whose reign entails a thousand years of winter: I’m Karaba the sorceress, whose spine conceals a splinter, To be plucked by Kirikou, who ungirds my underbodice, To bloom into a beautiful and open-hearted goddess; Embodying in truth exactly half of what is human… I am a woman. And I’ll survive Oh, as long as I am nurturing, I know I'll stay alive I've got all my life to live And I've got all my love to give and I'll survive I will survive, hey hey All history is murderous, for dead men tell no tales. As a player on this stage, whose life expectancy entails That, in waging war or trade, I give no quarter: I’ll be pensioned in the form of bricks and mortar; And, like all such men rewarded for their violence, I’ll endeavour that my victims rest in silence. In terms of slave religion, aye, a sinner… But I’m a winner. I, I will survive Oh, as long as I’ve got narrative, I know I'll stay alive I've got all my life to live And I've got evidence to give and I'll survive I will survive, hey hey I am the spark of grace that sets the universe ablaze, Scintillating everywhere until the end of days; The suffering and pain amongst the human population Are but food for me; my drink – their rank humiliation. The older that I get, the more I’m saving up my semen, Storing vital energy for battling these demons; While I’m waiting for the angels to arrive, I will survive.
© Rap version based on the original song by Dino Fekaris / Frederick J. Perren. Additional lyrics written and performed by Thomas Riffmatch to a backing track arranged by Nikita Nikitin with backing vocals by Primavera, recorded and produced in Ekaterinburg by Andrey Bokovikov.
The Law of Noncontradiction is the second single from the forthcoming album ‘Heraclitus Flow’ by Thomas Riffmatch, produced by Andrey Bokovikov and featuring the electronic compositions of Nikita Nikitin. The Law of Noncontradiction also features backing vocals by Primavera.
The idea behind the song is that the logical law of noncontradiction is primarily experienced by us in terms of relationship. The position “If I’m right, then you’re wrong” is something familiar to all of us who have engaged with each other on social media or in the context of familial or intimate relating. This “excluding the middle” is what gives us a sense of our own essential “rightness” and feeling that we proceed from a “moral conviction”. However, it’s obvious that nobody has a monopoly on “rightness”! As my dear mother likes to jest: “When they said I had finally met Mr Right, I had no idea his first name was ‘Always’!”
This theme is central to the concept behind ‘Heraclitus Flow’: no man steps into the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and it’s not the same man!
Although people say I’m a bit of a one, to tango or foxtrot takes two; Still, having the same sense at the same time, both of us cannot be true; For a state to willingly give up its sovereignty, that would be gross dereliction: On behalf of the crown, I therefore lay down the law of noncontradiction. For every system that’s sufficiently expressive, there’s a provable – or not – proposition; If I’m right, then you’re wrong – that’s the dialectic that structures our personal mission; But all analytic statements are somewhat tautologous: is it a fact or a fiction? I don’t care what you say if you don’t disobey my law of noncontradiction. In violating each other’s identities thus, we find ourselves in a situation; We run to extremes, excluding the middle, to obviate equivocation; We aim to be justified, strive to always proceed from a moral conviction; Though blissful, such ignorance is no defence against the law of noncontradiction. If 'fire' and 'not fire' are thought to be equal, the thinker’s subjected to burning; Since feasting and fasting are one and the same, the student through hunger is learning; We’re all of a surety lacking security, all of us facing eviction; But, on my high horse, I still have to enforce the law of noncontradiction. Like the self-amputation of a broad-snouted caiman undergoing a caudal autotomy, Or the diachronic change in a epileptic’s brain following a frontal lobotomy; Dividing into two antagonistic parts results in a vasoconstriction: Permission dispensed to go up against the law of noncontradiction. We are and are not what is now or to come, in a constant and fixed state of flux; Though the road up and down are one and the same, both entail the giving of fucks; Our action consists in the mills and the grists to work up the requisite friction To find an explanation for each and every violation of the law of noncontradiction. The one that is and ever must be is a truth that is always immutable; The other that’s not – and must always not be – is a path that is wholly inscrutable; For you cannot know what is not, or is so, to refute my despondent prediction: All that’s desired must be paid for as required by the law of noncontradiction. Respect things that are in the sense that they are, preserving the ship and the treasure; Show all proper deference when making reference to that of which man is the measure; Take on this handyman to feed the biters, all due to his excellent diction: The collection of rent is ninety percent of the law of noncontradiction. It’s both mutually exclusive and jointly exhaustive, now that I’m giving the flag salute; But everything must be absolutely relativised in order to relate to the absolute; Elenctic negation results in stagnation, all due to a chronic addiction To think yourself better than the spirit or letter of the law of noncontradiction. Restricting reaction in the same part or relation, a utopian state is thus frozen; At the same time, on the contrary, somehow, must always an action be chosen; To be fixed like a hero on the frieze of the Parthenon’s to suffer a grievous affliction: Till the day that I die, I’ll never comply with the law of noncontradiction.
©Lyrics written and performed by Thomas Riffmatch to a backing track composed by Nikita Nikitin with backing vocals by Primavera, recorded and produced in Ekaterinburg by Andrey Bokovikov.