The great cyclone – Dancing Song of the great cyclone Wendy in 1972. Olrat is an Oceanic language spoken in the west of Gaua Island, in the Banks Islands, in northern Vanuatu. Olrat is one of the endangered languages.
“A cyclone has ravaged our country our bones are still shaking and the sorrow is taking hold of me for my offspring. It rose up above Maewo rose straight up to the top of our great volcano and then it slipped down to the lands wreaking havoc and ripping our country and off it fled, behind the clouds hooking on to Rocky Cape at Totghan on that shore to the bones o’ the Dead in the Weresur Hells drifted down to our Lake and to our Volcano it’s all shaking it’s all shaking in our country See yonder frigate birds hovering above our Makenwēn mountain they keep watch over our lands and fly away from me. *Meligho naslang* Sorrow has overcome all of us in this world in a thousand places o Hurricane o Rain falling till night Thunder dashing and bursting in the clouds the Ocean is roaring and crashing on the land and the ground keeps quaking we’re startled by its jolts our land’s collapsing all over a faraway collapse that keeps coming closer *a e we a* I can hear the waves crashing on the shore roaring away on the South Cape o Seasoiler, Boatholder, Moray-Eel! the ocean keeps pounding and crashing on the rocks.”
Des objets « cœuriformes » s’empoussièrent sur les étagères : boîtes à couture, boîtes à chocolat, bonbonnières en céramique, bouquets de fleurs séchées. À ces babioles, il faut ajouter des objets prétendument utiles : napperons brodés de cœurs, planches à pain. Cela donne du travail à Solange, la femme de ménage, qui a déjà assez à faire avec les poils de chats mais, pour n’offenser personne, Marcelle accepte avec gentillesse de se laisser envahir par les lectrices reconnaissantes. Elle ne refuse que les cadeaux de prix.
Letter from Glasgow: Weather Reports
Everyone tells me it is raining in Glasgow. We are suddenly centre stage — reports from our city are bounced back to us on the internet or from the mouths of friends in other countries. It is quiet on the streets, but a mile away is the zone of white conference tents along the river. There is the regular burr of helicopters and a high barrier has been erected at the end of the park, where you would head down to the river. We exchange rumours and facts. Snipers are stationed on the top floor of the old Children’s Hospital that looks over the river, training their guns on the ground below, taking aim all day long. The building and its last active clinics has been closed for the week, as has my children’s school for the opening days. Somebody says that the American president is flying in by helicopter from Ireland each day. Someone else went to greet the activist train, but they didn’t see Greta Thunberg. Someone is certain it was Patti Smith shuffling into the local Co-op on Friday night, wearing sunglasses and slippers. The Co-op has put a new sign up, Co-op 26. We speculate and wait.