Our crazy language, Part II
Following up on my June 1st
blog, here’s some more word play from that list that’s floating around in
cyberspace. Seems like somebody ought to get credit for this bit of
cleverness, but I’m told the author is unknown. (And thanks again to Dave
Ingles, an editor at Classic Trains, who passed this around among his colleagues at Kalmbach Publishing Co.)
--
Ron Kovach, senior editor, The Writer
Let’s face it--English is a
crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither
apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren’t invented in England or
French fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren’t
sweet, are meat.
We take English for granted.
But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing
rings are square, and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write but fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t groce
and hammers don’t ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the plural of
booth, beeth? One goose, two geese. So one moose, two meese? One index, two
indices? Doesn’t it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If
you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you
call it?
If teachers taught, why didn’t preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats
vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat?
Sometimes I think all the
English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In
what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck
and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise
guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in
which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by
filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity
of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when
the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are
invisible.
PS. Why doesn’t Buick rhyme with quick?
####
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Paul Callaghan
wrote
re: Our crazy language, Part II
on
Wed, Jun 15 2011 6:46 PM
As a former English teacher I have had to spend hours explaining this sort of stuff. A couple of my favorites are:
Always polish the Polish furniture.
You don't cough enough as you go through the boughs.
The pronunciation of that last one is almost impossible to explain to speakers of other languages.
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Never2Late
wrote
re: Our crazy language, Part II
on
Wed, Jun 29 2011 10:02 AM
Hi.
When I included this in my blog recently, I attributed it to Eugenie A. Nidia. (susan-swiderski.blogspot.com) As best I could ascertain, the poem about plurals may have originated in the mid 1800s, and what you've shared today was added onto the poem by Ms. Nidia at some later date. Caveat: I don't know if any of this is 100% accurate, since the info was gleaned by surfing the web, so please take it with a grain of salt. (hmm, why not pepper? Or paprika perhaps?)
Susan
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Ron Kovach
wrote
re: Our crazy language, Part II
on
Wed, Jul 6 2011 5:03 PM
Thanks for the info, Susan. -- Ron Kovach
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GretchenReeh
wrote
re: Our crazy language, Part II
on
Mon, Aug 1 2011 4:41 PM
Richard Lederer (b 1938) is the author of the abridged piece you've posted online. My copy of it is in a 1998 College Writing anthology. Lederer ends his piece: "...and that when I wind up my watch, I start it, but when I wind up this essay, I shall end it? English is a crazy language."
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Ron Kovach
wrote
re: Our crazy language, Part II
on
Thu, Aug 4 2011 11:06 AM
Thanks, Gretchen. -- Ron Kovach
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Myra Ting
wrote
re: Our crazy language, Part II
on
Sat, Aug 20 2011 8:06 AM
There's always more than one way to tell a story,(ha you thought I was about to write skin a cat) and how can we rhyme if there is only one word or one way to spell the sound. We must not take ourselves so seriously or we may lose our humanity.
We can die coughing with a cold on our chest, and be buried in a chest called a coffin.
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