New Wine in an Old Bottle

I finished reading Walter Isaacson’s “The Innovators”. I was delighted by his previous work on Einstein and was hoping to be captivated by this one too. It was not the case, and when I reached the final pages a line from Isaacson, while written for another context, summed up my thoughts: it was “old wine in a new bottle”. I found little innovative thinking in this book, but that line made me think.

Where did the saying come from? Today it insinuates that one is “pouring” old ideas into a new framework and selling it as a new creation. Was that the origin of the saying?

So I did a bit of research.

Interestingly, “new wine in old bottle” is a conceptual transliteration of a parable found in the New Testament. There are different versions of it, but the one in Matthew 9:17 reads:

“Nor do people put new wine into old wineskins; otherwise the wineskins burst, and the wine pours out and the wineskins are ruined; but they put new wine into fresh wineskins, and both are preserved.”

A little more reading on this and I discovered delightful anthropology and philosophy to form the background for explaining this parable.

Indeed, historically wine was made by first fermenting the pressed juice in clay jars to let the gassy phase take its course. Then the fermenting juice was placed in new vats or if to be transported, in “wineskins”. The wineskins were actually the entire skin of a goat where the openings of the legs and tail were tightly sewn. The opening of the neck was the “neck” of this container and the partially fermented wine was poured in the opening at the neck then tied off securely. (Now I know where the “neck” of a bottle came from!)

One never puts freshly pressed grape juice immediately into the goat skin “container” as the gassy phase (Tumultuous Stage) of fermentation would burst the wineskin. But once partially fermented, the “calmer” fermentation of the juice can be accommodated by the stretchiness of the goat skin. But “old” wineskins stretch once, and if new juice is poured into old wineskins, even the calmer fermentation phase would tear the skin!

Wow!

So, the “new wine” is not really wine yet; and, the “old bottle” is not even a bottle! Instead, the parable has at least two philosophical implications:

            a. The container should be adequate for accommodating what is poured into it; and

            b. Tumultuous phases should be contained within flexible contexts.

Of course these are my interpretations and I am sure there are a multitude other ways for analyzing this parable.

… So, I believe that today we are using the old parable in a non-authentic way. But does the lesson, the implications and philosophy of the parable still hold true today?

The poet in me immediately placed wine within the context of love and passion. After all, even today, wine is often associated with romance, and from Rumi to Baudelaire has found its place in poetry. So I went to search in my favorite poets’ and philosophers’ works lines about wine and love.

Let’s start with Rumi:

“There are thousands of wines that can take over our minds. Don’t think all ecstasies are the same!”

Was he really talking about wine or about what passions can fill our lives and gives us the ecstasies we so pursue? If one replaces “wines” by “passions” would the message be the same?

Wine and”French” cannot be dissociated easily, so I looked into the works of Baudelaire, Colette, and even Pasteur.

According to Baudelaire:

“One should always be drunk. That’s all that matters…But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, if you so chose. But get drunk.”

Again, wine seems irrelevant to this saying. He is suggesting a life of passion, of going to the limit, of being totally driven and taken by our interests. Poetry, science, philosophy or love of nature – it does not matter.

Colette brings wine into the domain of “influence” and psychology when she writes:

“There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom, others when it is a bitter tonic, and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.”

While pharmacologically easily understood, these lines from Colette can very easily also dissociate themselves from wine. What will happen if I replace “wine” again with passion, or ideology, or professional drive? Would our psychological state show similar side-effects?

Since we are talking pharmacology, let’s go to Pasteur, who is often quoted to have said:

“Wine is the most healthful and most hygienic of beverages.”

There is no poetry here, nor any philosophy. It is the most famous bacteriologist who looked at the composition of wine from a biological point of view. Possibly Pasteur never got drunk, nor did he pursue Rumi’s ecstasies. For him it was a medium where fermentation took place.

… What about wine and love?

It can be as simple as a bucolic setting to which wine adds a special touch. Pablo Neruda said it simply and with grace:

“I like on the table, 

when we're speaking, 

the light of a bottle

of intelligent wine.”

Every time I read these simple lines I see a painting in aquarelle. What would have happened if Neruda and Monet were contemporaries?

Yet love is never pure aquarelle. It is never two-dimensional as a painting. It is rarely the “light of a bottle”.  W.B. Yeats, in a few words, brings love and wine together:

“Wine enters through the mouth, 

Love, the eyes.

I raise the glass to my mouth, 

I look at you, 

I sigh.” 

… So what to do with the wineskin and wine parable? Can one resemble the wineskin to a person’s soul? A soul where love had already fermented and given the passion, the ecstasies and their side-effects? So now would it be wise to pour new love into this used, expanded to its limits, and old soul? Would the “Tumultuous Stage” of a new love’s fermentation tear this soul to parts?  

In other words, and to stay conform to the original parable, should one pour new wine in an old bottle?

.. And I smiled realizing that our present day usage of the saying is “Old wine in a New bottle”!  The implications of this version deserve a discussion in a separate essay….

February 22, 2015

© Vahé  A. Kazandjian, 2015

I wanted a picture that also represents the old and the new, while touching on the topic of wine. So, I used the new technology of scanning film negatives and decided to use this picture of a man in a large city drinking wine in the street. The quality of the scan is so bad that it cannot be used for photographic work, but the bad quality also preserves the privacy of the person. I took this picture with a 1970’s Mamiya 645 medium format camera.

PS/ I hope this essay will also have an additional contemporaneous dimension as 2015 is the Chinese Year of The Goat!  

Thank You!

This is a special entry on this blog which I started 1 year ago. As many of my visitors have discovered by clicking the “About Me” icon, I do have two other blogs as well which are often visited regularly by my unknown-to-me readers… Indeed, while I can see the countries of the visitors and the pages they visited and read, I do not know who they are nor can I discover their email addresses. I think it is better that way.

The reason I am posting this short note is that my three blogs were visited 10,000 times as of today! It is an important milestone since my blogs’ focus areas (photography, poetry, and literary essays) are of interest to people who are not just surfing the Web but purposefully looking for specific topics.

Further, the tally of the countries shows that I have had the privilege to be read by visitors from 62 countries!  It sure gives me the encouragement to continue to share my street photos and literary essays with renewed passion.

So, to all of you who I do not know by name but who read my work, THANK YOU! And for those of you who after reading sent me an email (or two) and shared your thoughts and suggestions, please know that you have helped me tell my stories better.

Hope our joint and mutual journeys continue.

February 19, 2015

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

Flattening Identity

Of all the belongings one can have, belonging to an identity and keeping it is perhaps what defines us.

Born as an immigrant, I have been an immigrant on every continent where I have lived. I suppose one can call it “immigrant recidivism” when one never becomes indigenous to the context, even after decades of being there.

While that is the observation or outcome, the reason of the “thousand shades of an immigrant” surely varies. Some try to “melt” and become part of the pot’s porridge; others want to find a win-win alternative to remain an immigrant yet be mostly unnoticed as such; and there are those who feel at peace only when their inherited identity is protected and cherished only by remaining an immigrant.

I have written about identity, published essays and books in different languages, and ended up with a motto that seems to encapsulate my observations about myself and others. I have proposed that “There is no “I” in Identity”. That, being who we are, while it can be a personal decision, is often defined by who we were. And if it is true that with time and age we become our parents, then I think the definition of identity evolves over time, and eventually takes a dominant posture along that time spectrum.

… I finished reading Thomas Friedman’s “The World is Flat: a Brief History of the Twenty-First Century” and while the book is not about identity, it seems to indirectly touch on that topic. There was a specific passage in there where the author meets with young Indian job-seekers in India and helps them learn how to speak American English, specifically the pronunciation of words as Minnesotans would. The goal was for these young Indians to do telemarketing and not letting folks in America know that they were calling from India. This supports the book’s thesis that the world is increasingly flat and that the opportunities are available to all no matter where one is on this otherwise round globe.

But that passage on page 27 ended with this:

“On the surface, there is something unappealing about the idea of inducing other people to flatten their accents in order to compete in a flatter world. But before you disparage it, you have to taste just how hungry these kids are to escape the lower end of the middle class and move up. If a little accent modification is the price they have to pay to jump a rung of the ladder, then so be it—they say.”

I looked at that page for a long while. The author was talking about a purposeful changing of accent, but my mind was to change of identity. I have seen many who tried to melt and become part of that pot’s porridge by first changing their accent. Then changing their name (I have received many calls from India where the caller identified himself as “Burt” or herself as “Sandy”…) Then stop mentioning where they were born but instead stress where in America or The United Kingdom they went to college.

… As I continued to look at that page and letting my mind travel free, I recalled a line by James Allen from his work As a Man Thinketh:

                                              The oak sleeps in the acorn

Indeed. And in the case of identity, we are both oak and acorn: while we have extended deep roots in our ground, we need to make sure our acorns remember they came from oak trees. Not just this oak tree but the ones before.  In some way, the oak sleeping in the acorn need to have a dream.  An old dream.  A dream forests of oak trees have had, even if many have been cut with rusty axes.

The acorns have survived.

… As I turned the page, I remembered a line from Paulo Coelho in The Alchemist:

     The only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.

An oak tree drops many acorns. It does not matter if some do not wake up from that dream.

February 9, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

Frankincense

It was a feeble flame

But it warmed my house

It burned upon its own ashes

And upon ancient scars

From dusty temples of India

To floating altars of Kyoto

From Taiwan and Morocco

Incense somehow paved my way

How the swirl of a gray plume of smoke

Can fill one’s soul of grace and fear

How a trembling flame of sunsets makes us hope

Where colors exhale their brightness and peace

It was a feeble flame upon nuggets of resin

Trees in the Sahara had dripped one secret night

Yet they found their way to my room somehow

To take me where a kid I once was

Life was all sunrise then

And when the sun let its hair down to bathe

In the bluest of seas

I did not think of sunsets

…Tonight

It is dark outside

But that swirling flame

Makes me think about sunrises, again

February 7, 2015

©Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

The Spice Road: From Lebanon to Mongolia

I have lived half of my life around the Mediterranean Sea and Arabian Gulf. Among the dearest memories are those about food and the joie de vivre preparing, cooking and sharing food brings to social interactions. But more than food, my olfactile memories are about spices while preparing the food.

As a kid, then a young man I could not think of any kitchen without the aromatic presence of cumin, cloves, cardamom and anise. Rice was just rice without saffron; lamb lost its identity without cloves and garlic; morning coffee had to have cardamom in it; and evening coffee rose water.  As such, food and its preparation have been part of my appreciation, celebration and enjoyment of many cultures and societies I have had the privilege to be part of, be adopted by, and miss them when life took me from continent to continent.

But, like the ancient travelers of the Silk Road, I have taken the spices or at least the recipes with me. I still cook; experiment and love gatherings when from fish to lamb to hare, my new culinary creations are tried and often enjoyed… (1)

… So it was no surprise that when I saw the book “Cumin, Camels, and Caravans: A Spice Odyssey” (2) by Gary Paul Nabhan I decided to read it on a foggy January morning.

It is a very well researched book on the origins of spice trade. But the main thesis of the book is that the Silk Road and Spice Road had unified many parts of the world through culinary and economic factors. He shows recipes in Mongolia that are identical to recipes in Morocco or Lebanon; and spices that are commonly used both for medicinal and culinary purposes.  In some ways spices were the vectors through which a “culinary colonialism” took place with grand and sometimes not so desirable consequences.  For example saffron weighs less than gold but was worth multiple times more. Hence 600 pounds of saffron on a camel’s back were a true treasure and pushed merchants to cross deserts and continents. Unfortunately the wealth from spices also was a factor in military colonization and wars.

While many of the arguments and ethno-botanical analyses were not totally new to me, the story of Frankincense was a true discovery. This gum that oozes from tree trunks in the Nejd of Southern Oman has influenced my childhood. Indeed this fragrant, aromatic resin is used as an air purifier and religious ceremonial incense in many cultures, and has a central role in the Orthodox Gregorian church, including Armenian. As a kid I recall my grandfather burning Frankincense in a silver, ornate burner he had brought with him from Konya. I still have that burner, but no incense had been burned in it for decades… Here is the Frankincense (called Khoung in Armenian) burner of my grandfather:

As I read the book, I also realized that many of the traditions of the Silk and Spice Road are still continued both in recipes, songs, and attitudes toward life. As a photographer I have taken pictures in the ancient world and now I realize they still represent many aspects of what the book describes the historical traditions associated with cumin, camels and caravans.

So I went to my pictures from Morocco and chose a few to illustrate.

Gary P. Nabhan describes cities in the desert where spices were traded along the Spice Road. The places where the trade took place were called funduk, which made me smile as that is today the word used for “hotel” in Arabic. Now I know the origin of that word—it was the place where traders stayed, their camels got a rest, and they did business. What a wonderful historical testimonial! I have taken a picture of a small town in Morocco with a panoramic lens. Now for me that is the funduk, well preserved.

Camels have to be part of the picture, and I do have a couple from near the Sahel. Time seems to have stopped in those pictures.

The market, or souk, is still there and again, spices and vegetables are sold in the same context and tradition as what is believed to be the case thousands of years ago. Here is a spice merchant and streets sellers of vegetables and roots. Were those pictures taken a couple of thousand years ago?

… The author ends the book by saying:

“We must wake up and smell the incense – the kind that pervades the air where we live, among those for whom we care.”

I now smell the incense through my olfactile memories, among the memories of all those who were part of my life and who are not of this world anymore. A life lived in celebration of togetherness where cumin, frankincense and clove were part of the love we shared.

January 28, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

(1)   For those of you who read French, the last chapters of my new book “A Quand le Vol Paris- Ėrevan?”(2014) have some of my recipes. Here is the link to the description of the book: http://vahezen.blogspot.com/2014/04/this-posting-will-be-different-from-my.html

(2)   Gary Paul Nabhan “Cumin, Camels, and Caravans: A Spice Odyssey”. University of California Press, pp.305, 2014.

Moonstruck

I may not know why rivers run

Without pride and their shadows soft

But last night away from the moon

I cried for what I secretly know

It may have been the lonesome owl

Perched atop the barren oak tree

Or the smoke from a seasoned chimney

Burning woods of past proud trees

And I knew then that a poem

Was like the old woods burning slow

As if memories crackling and warm

I once cherished and are now smoke

Yet I do not want to hear or know

Why rivers run to find their sea

Last night hiding from the moon

I secretly smiled for a long while

January 18, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015

Kisses and Hugs

In the past two weeks I received cards and email from friends living in 3 continents. While the notes had personal characters, most shared the same last line: XO.

As I read a similar email today, I sat back and smiled: I did not know the origin of XO! It was time for me to learn.

... At first pass, my search yielded mixed messages: the “X” seems to come from the Middle Ages, but the “O” seems to come from nowhere!  There is consistent support to the documentation that the “X” was used in Europe as a signature by those who could not write and read. And it seems that it does have a religious background as the “X” is the first letter in XPIƩTOƩ, or Christ in Greek. The idea seems to be that, by marking an “X”, one pledges sincerity in signing a document.

But what makes it personal? Isn’t an “X” just and X? How would one know it was this and not that person who signed that document?

This is where things get exciting: After writing/drawing the”X”, the signatory was expected to seal it with a kiss!!!! That was the oath of honesty for the transaction.  

… I sat back on my chair and thought that today we still face similar situations when people who cannot write dip their thumb in ink and make an imprint. While the thumb print is more specific in identifying a person than perhaps the imprint of lips, the idea is the same. I even learned that the Japanese Samurai had a similar method of signing, this time substituting their blood to the ink on their thumb.

.. Of course “Sealing it with a kiss” is a popular statement between lovers when sending a letter. It is ultimately romantic, tender and very personal. It is the telemetry of an actual kiss…

Interestingly, the most recent song entitled “Seal it With a Kiss” belongs to Brittney Spears. Hmm, somehow I would have expected it to be a song by Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra. And when I checked the lyrics of that song I realized that the original intent, in the Middle Ages to seal a document with a kiss, was very different from what Brittney Spears had in mind…!

But the romantic idea of “sealing with a kiss” seems adopted universally. Indeed there was a 2011 very popular drama series on Chinese television called, well yes, “Sealed With a Kiss”! Further, in the past 50 years Bobby Vinton, Bryan Hyland and Jason Donovan sang a song called “Sealed With a Kiss”. Finally, there is a myriad of stores on the spectrum of camp equipment to bridal gowns with the same name…

Clearly, that medieval tradition of officially sealing a document has found a pan-human resonance in all aspects of our expressions and services.

… But what about the “O”? And how come that we translate “XO” as “Hugs and Kisses” if the “X” is a kiss?  Is the “O” a hug? What is its origin?

Well, there seems to be no consensus as to where the “O” came from. It is said that it is a recent Western construct to make a new abbreviation to a signature meaning “Hugs and Kisses”.

.. Hmm. Next time I get email ending in “XO” I will write back asking the sender what it means.

January 11, 2015

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2015