CHAPEAU

What's lost when a language disappears? Consider this analogy: Language is to humans as the ocean is to the planet. Simple. No language, no people. Or, looked at another way, how strange would it be if there were just one fish in the ocean?

To those who argue that biodiversity is a tempest in a teacup, the loss of language no doubt seems entirely inconsequential. That view seems too narrow to merit any consideration. If you wore blinders that limited your range of vision to a just a few degrees either side, what would you see? More importantly, what would you not see?

biolinguistics - the evolution of language

Tunnel vision is the name for this condition. By analogy, those people with a limited, literal viewpoint are said to suffer from tunnel vision.

A simple example is found in the French word chapeau. Literally, it means 'hat'. Figuratively, it is an exclamation that means 'I take my hat off to you' or 'good job', 'kudos' and the like. In Canada, the word is also used as a substitute for the name of the province of Quebec.

Every word has both a denotation and a connotation. The primary, or literal meaning is its denotation. The other ideas and feelings that the word invokes comprise its connotation. Quite often, the invoked meaning is so subtle that only native speakers understand the nuance.

The origin of words and language continues to be controversial. Biolinguistics studies this problem; and argues that language is innate, that it is more akin to the color of our eyes than our ability to multiply. This theory states that the basic components of language---grammar and syntax, for example---have evolved just as animals and plants have done. If we are ever to fully understand how we think, and thus why we behave as we do, biolinguistics is the path that will lead us to the answer.

The loss of a language then becomes far more critical than the simple disappearance of some remote linguistic group. Language is who we are. And, as poet John Donne wrote, 'no man is an island, entire of itself ... any man's death diminishes me ...'

Each language lost diminishes us all.

Vive la différence.

CANINES AND CORVI

Coyotes and wolves, ravens and crows share a long history of work and play. They are ubiquitous critters found in every clime and any terrain. They populate the myths of all Native people. The name coyote comes from its Aztec name huehuecoyotl which the Spanish corrupted to coyote. Raven comes from old English hræfn and similar words in Icelandic, Dutch, and proto-German.

The Chinook called coyote talapus, the trickster. One of the many tales of talapus relates how he created Hyas Tyee Tumwater, Willamette Falls.

Talapus came from across the mountains to the river valley. He found that skookums were rampaging about scaring the People. Frightened as they were and hungry, too, they asked Coyote to help them.

And so he did. First he baited the skookums with roots and berries laced with salamander juice. They ate their fill. As sick as they became, it was easy for Coyote to convince them that the country thereabouts was plagued with nothing but misery for skookums. That's how he rid the place of the beasts. They moved on into the mountains.

But the People were still hungry.

"Let's make a waterfall across the river," Raven said to Coyote. "Then the People can catch fish." So they made a rope by twisting together strands of dogbane root. Holding one end Raven flew to the west side of the river. Coyote stayed on the other side. Carrying the rope between them they went down the river looking for a good place to make the falls. They stopped just below where Salem is today and Raven said, "Let's make it here."

But the bird spoke in the Clackamas language and Coyote only knew the Chinook language. He misunderstood what she said. Instead of making a waterfall, he turned three beavers, two frogs, and a rubber boa into rock.

Raven squawked and shook her head. Coyote shrugged and grinned. They walked on down the river to where Oregon City is today. "Let's make the waterfall here," said Raven. This time she used sign language, and Coyote understood.

So they stretched the rope tight. Coyote pulled hard. Raven gathered some friends and they all pulled and pulled. Then Coyote called up another spell and turned the rope to rock. The river roared and rumbled, but had no choice. Over the rock the water cascaded creating a deep pool where the salmon gathered before making their leaps. Coyote and raven showed the People how to make nets woven onto long poles. And so a way of life was born.

A.D., B.C., C.E., B.C.E.

How curious that these common initials can create such confusion. A.D. stands for Anno Domini and translates to 'in the year of our Lord'. B.C. stands for 'before Christ'. C.E. simplifies to 'current (or sometimes 'common') era'. Leaving B.C.E. as the replacement for 'before the current era'.

Besides the general controversy concerning which set of initials to use, the most common error is to put A.D. after a century. The 9th century A.D. is an absurdity. Centuries and years just don't mix that way. Also, A.D. should always precede the year in question. The plaque marking the moon landing site does read: July 1969 A.D., a cosmic mistake, so perhaps use will prevail and this use will become common.

The general controversy concerns replacing the Christian designations with politically correct designations. This, when examined, is a non-starter. A fellow named Dionysius Exiguus of Scythia Minor devised this dating system in 525 C.E., and eventually it became the Gregorian calendar which is the most widely used in the world today.

The problem begins with the curious fact that the zero did not exist in 525. With no zero point, the year 1 represents no year at all. Additionally, the date is meant to mark the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. Most scholars mark that date some four years later than Dionysius' date.

Many think that replacing the Christian designations for the sake of political correctness is an overreaction. However, these abbreviations came into use in the early 17th century. They are used primarily for their inclusiveness. Greater accuracy is another reason to use the C.E./B.C.E. system. Yet another reason is simplicity.

A plethora of dating systems have existed over the centuries. Most have to do with the start and end points of a king's reign. The Japanese date their years with the name and time-frame of their emperors. If your ego was of sufficient girth, you might create your own calendar.

For example, it has been suggested by a creature who shall remain nameless that using dog years for the common calendar might prove interesting.The ratio to human years is generally considered to be 7 : 1 (a 2 year old pup is really fourteen). This year then becomes (trumpets sound): the Year of the Dawg 288 C.E.

WORDS GONE BAD

Words and language have one constant: change. And why should words be different? Don't like the weather? Wait an hour. It'll change. Mark Twain said that. Maybe. People keep changing their minds about that. Anyhow, change is just the way things work in the big wide world.

Any number of words no longer mean what they once did; and many of these words have reversed their polarity and now mean the opposite of what they once did. As I have already noted, usage makes meaning. Unique once meant a singular thing. Nowadays, it often means a rarity. The word is in the process of change. Purists may gnash their teeth, but what will be will be.

Let's have a look at words gone bad:

Animosity is a case in point. Originally, this Latin derivative (animas: mind, courage, passion), originally meant animation or spirit. Over the centuries the meaning of animosity changed from full of spirit to hatred, enmity. Shakespeare, in his play The Winter's Tale, uses animosity in the sense of a disturbed mind or body. From this Elizabethan take on the word, only a short journey is necessary to reach a meaning of rather strong dislike.

Other words have made similar jaunts.

Awful once meant full of awe. No longer.

Fizzle in middle English (1150-1500) was quiet flatulence. Probably imitative. Did you fizzle? Leave it to American college students, circa 1890, to extend the meaning to include failure.

Wench comes from wenchel, a word from the 12th century that referred to children of either gender. It then wandered to female children, to female servants, and ended as a label for wanton women.

Labyrinth of the Minotaur, C1st A.D.,
Archaeological Museum of Cremona caption

How clue came to mean evidence that leads to a solution at least has a logical derivation. A cleowen in the 10th century referred to a ball of yarn. The Greek myth of Theseus has this young hero finding his way out of the Labyrinth by unwinding a clew of thread then following it out (after slaying the Minotaur). Easy step from unraveling a ball of yarn to unraveling a mystery.

So if you don't care much for the meaning of a word, just wait a century. It'll change.

FOUR PRINCIPLES AND THE FIVE PARAGRAPH ESSAY

The four basic principles of Japanese aesthetics are: simplicity, subtlety, stillness, and restraint. Of the four, only stillness seems ambiguous. How might the absence of movement or sound apply to a written work?

Contention is the key; or rather, the absence of contention. Consider a conversation with a friend. If the dialogue becomes heated---push comes to shove---what ensues is usually a case of my stick is bigger than your stick. One pushes; the other shoves back. Repeat until blows are struck.

Writers often employ dialogue or description that is contentious. Usually, this is done to build tension in a narrative which can then be resolved---movement to stillness. Create a problem. Provide a solution.

The Japanese poem known as a waka does just that. The waka has a prescribed format: it is constructed in two sections, the first with 17 syllables, the second with 14. The first section presents a problem; the second resolves it. Haiku became the rendering of the first section on its own. Even within this short poem, a tension is created in the first lines, and then resolved.

Before embarking on the essay, consider something as commonplace as running. Deceptively simple, and fast running is especially so. There must not be any elaborate movements of the arms or legs. The upper body must be still. If the foot contends with the ground---listen as it slaps with each stride---the runner is literally braking with each footfall. Restraint is needed to keep stride length appropriate to speed---understriding is slow; overstriding is injurious. When done right: flying.

walk before you fly

The five paragraph essay, often referred to as 'classic' because its origins are found in the rhetoric of Roman orators, works in similar fashion. Dialectic, with its formula of 'thesis + antithesis = synthesis' provides a formula for this type of essay. State a subject simply, subtlely provide an argument or evidence, use restraint to restate the subject, and end with a cogent conclusion.

Some argue that the form is too restrictive and has little value. Others would have it that this essay form developes analytical skills. The ink drawing that the Japanese call sumi-e seems to argue with the former as do most of their traditional arts. Indeed, most skills, it seems to me, require a period of repetitive practice. Whether hammering a nail or running a trail, baking a cake or casting a fly, acquiring the skill begins with small steps done slowly.

The lesson, of course, is to walk before you run. Simple.

CONCISE AND CORRECT

Concise and correct with a modicum of grace. That's what writing should be. Doesn't much matter whether it's a classic five paragraph essay or a two line email, the parameters should hold true.

Concise means to get the most information with the fewest words. Minimalism of a sort. Comes form the Latin word concidere meaning to cut up or cut down.

Correct means using vocabulary, grammar, and syntax with clarity and precision. No moral judgments need apply. This is not about good or bad, right or wrong. As I've suggested before, words and language are either common or uncommon. Common usage makes for 'right', and uncommon usuage makes for 'wrong'. Nobody likes a stranger.

Grace is smoothness and elegance of movement. English prose depends primarily on the arrangement of words and phrases to create well formed sentences. Meter, rhythm, and other literary devices serve a similar role for poetry.

Brings to mind (my mind, anyways .. arf arf) those three beautiful goddesses of Greek mythology: Aglaia, Thalia, and Euphrosyne, believed to personify and bestow charm, grace, and beauty. Could do worse, when you're wasting pencils, than to keep those three beauties in mind.

More 'practicin' what a peach':

fishing

a creel

damp ferns and jack pine

a creek

the rippling and nibbling

a cree a crawk

the stellar jay's din

fishing

flys and

and dry wicker creaks

casting

reels with

the hissing and rippling

splashing

white water's fall

thigh deep

at dusk

fishing

AESTHETIC PRINICIPLES

The emphasis this week is again on practical applications of aesthetic principles. Aesthetics is usually associated with art and design, and often considered too abstract for daily use. However, even a cursory look at the following four principles of Japanese aesthetics will show them to be eminently practical.

1. Lose the clutter.

Simplicity is the key to most of what follows. Everyone knows the kiss principle. A tired cliché. Few people take this tired advice to heart. Eliminate what is not used or needed. Sell it or give it away. Keep only what you must. Have a place for it. This is called kanso in Japanese.

2. Tone it down.

Subtlety is the wink that goes with simplicity's smile. Better to suggest than to explicitly reveal. Obviously, this is the problem (one of many) with pornography, and the reason lingerie still sells. This is called Yugen, the power of suggestion.

rock garden Portland Japanese Garden (photo by L. Scudder)

3. Take a breath.

Learn to be still. This is the single most difficult item on the list. Sitting quietly, doing nothing more than focusing the mind on one thing until that thing is no more. Too esoteric? Then sit and watch birds and their business. Watch the wind blow. Count waves. This is seijaku. Stillness. Tranquility.

4. Do less.

Less is more (see CwHD7). Austerity in all its definitions describes this principle. Often translated as shibumi in Japanese, the nuances of austerity have to be softened with yugen. Harshness and negativity have no place here. Simply use some restraint as your life unfolds.

One might write pages on each of these principles. Next week I'll apply this aesthetic to the classic five paragraph essay. Two weeks hence, I'll introduce Henry. Or was it Hank?

The link below is to a performance by Esperanza Spalding of Abbey Lincoln's song 'Throw It Away'. Both the performance and the song exemplify the four principles.

LISTEN