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Tzveta Sofronieva

January 29, 2012

I met a wonderful person on Thursday night. She’s a poet, author, friend, and teacher. She is originally from Bulgaria, but resides in Boston while teaching/writing at MIT. Smart woman. Her words were precise and she did not waste them. I would of known she was a poet if I didn’t know it beforehand. I greeted her afterwards and listened as she told of the discrepancies of language, especially between the folk tales of cultures. She mentioned the value of these tales, and the special language each is associated with. In Russia children hear about Babushka from an early age. There are western versions, but the value of a tale told in the language it originated in is amazing. There are certain words that cannot be emulated in other languages simply because they couldn’t do it justice. Knowing something in its virgin form is pure and untainted. It can bring a different vibe than something that has been handled with replacement words. Like a name, words have something behind them. Whether the meaning has a story, or evokes feelings is unique to the word, and words make up language. The small pieces of communication must be considered to understand the whole.

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