Beryl Fletcher

When Language Goes on Holiday

 

Blog Number 13: 12 April 2009

 

I have stolen the title of this blog from the work of the glorious language philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein. Because that’s where I’ve been since late January: on holiday. I did not choose this, it chose me. First of all I came down with a virus which lingered for many weeks. If only I had been able to download a Microsoft patch to fix this. Alas, the body is more mysterious and recalcitrant than even the most sophisticated computer. My firewall slipped and a virus wasted no time in invading my lungs.

 

Then I injured my back. Excuses, excuses I can hear you say. But I am one of those writers who needs to feel whole and well in my body before I can write my daily quota.

 

So I sent language on holiday and decided to make something creative that did not use words. I decided to knit a complicated jersey in strong cream wool, using the traditional patterns developed by the women of the Aran Islands off the coast of western Ireland. What attracted me to Aran knitting was the discovery that there is a prototype jumper depicted in the ancient Book of Kells. Some people say that the Celtic patterns used in this style of knitting are taken from ancient carvings.  Some people say that each jumper is different so that when fishermen drown and their bodies are washed up on shore, they can be identified by the particular knitter who made their garments.

 

I am still trying to work out some of the very complicated stitches that make up the traditional cables, diamonds and basket patterns. Words don’t help me at all. Does anyone out there understand what Tw2R or Cr2L means?

 

I have almost given up but I am too stubborn to admit failure. What has intrigued me is that I can literally feel my brain stretching in the area that deals with logic and numbers. I was once an excellent knitter but have not attempted anything complex for many years. Rusty memories float to the surface. My fingers are stiff and un co-operative.

 

Today I have decided to bring language back from holiday. Each stitch of my Aran jumper will be assigned a word and each row completed will become a sentence. The whole garment will become a novella; a task done with acknowledgment of narrative tension and plot. 

 

A hand knitted jersey is a living record of events. This where I dropped a stitch from my cable needle, this is where my cat decided to undo C3B by reefing playfully at the wool, this is where a phone call came to report yet another redundancy in my extended family and I lost track of row 2 of Panel Patt B.

 

Come back metaphor, all is forgiven.

This entry was posted on Sunday, April 12th, 2009 at 3:22 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.