Green Grass Growing

green (adj.)

Old English grene, Northumbrian groene “green, of the color of living plants,” in reference to plants, “growing, living, vigorous,” also figurative, of a plant, “freshly cut,” of wood, “unseasoned” earlier groeni, from Proto-Germanic *grōni- (source also of Old Saxon grani, Old Frisian grene, Old Norse grænn, Danish grøn, Dutch groen, Old High German gruoni, German grün), from PIE root *ghre- “grow” (see grass), through sense of “color of growing plants.”


grass (n.)

Old English græs, gærs “herb, plant, grass,” from Proto-Germanic *grasan, which, according to Watkins, is from PIE *ghros- “young shoot, sprout,” from root *ghre- “to grow, become green,” thus related to grow and green, but not to Latin grāmen “grass, plant, herb.”


grow (v.)

Middle English grouen, from Old English growan (of plants) “to flourish, increase, develop, get bigger” (class VII strong verb; past tense greow, past participle growen), from Proto-Germanic *gro-, from PIE root *ghre- “to grow, become green” (see grass).


EtymOnline

Vers d’un Veuf

El Desdichado

Je suis le Ténébreux, – le Veuf, – l’Inconsolé,
Le prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie :
Ma seule étoile est morte, – et mon luth constellé
Porte le Soleil noir de la Mélancolie.

Dans la nuit du tombeau, toi qui m’as consolé,
Rends-moi le Pausilippe et la mer d’Italie,
La fleur qui plaisait tant à mon cœur désolé,
Et la treille où le pampre à la rose s’allie.

Suis-je Amour ou Phébus ?… Lusignan ou Biron ?
Mon front est rouge encor du baiser de la reine ;
J’ai rêvé dans la grotte où nage la syrène…

Et j’ai deux fois vainqueur traversé l’Achéron :
Modulant tour à tour sur la lyre d’Orphée
Les soupirs de la sainte et les cris de la fée.

Gérard de Nerval, Les Chimères (1856)


The Misfortunate One

I am the Dark One, – the Widower, – the Inconsolable,
The Prince of Aquitaine in the ruined tower:
My only star is dead, – and my star-studded lute
Bears the black Sun of Melancholy.

In the night of the tomb, thou who consoledst me,
Give me back Posillipo and the Italian sea,
The flower that so pleased my desolate heart,
And the vine where the tendril entwines with the rose.

Am I Love or Phoebus?… Lusignan or Biron?
My brow is still red from the queen’s kiss;

I dreamed in the grotto where the siren swims…

And twice victorious I crossed the Acheron:
Fingering in turn from Orpheus’s lyre
The sighs of the saint and the cries of the fairy.

Maven of Mixcegenation

The obfuscating and intentional doublespeak swirling around the emotive cauldron ingredients of “immigration”, “illegal immigration” and “small boats” has been intentionally leveraged into mainstream political and media jargon by Reform UK, big tech algorithms, and thence into the baying mob. […] We are daily enriched by, and should feel deeply indebted to, the many people of colour in this and other sectors of our society. — “This capitulation to racist rhetoric will not end well for Labour or Britain”, letter by Quentin Cowen of Laxfield, Suffolk in The Guardian, 18xi25


Post-Performative Post-Scriptum

“The obfuscating and intentional doublespeak swirling around the emotive cauldron of…” woulda bin even betterer. If the ingredients aren’t bubbling away in the emotive cauldron, why would doublespeak bother to swirl around them? It certainly wouldn’t swirl around them as much, one would’ve thought. And does “emotive cauldron ingredients” mean “emotive-cauldron ingredients” or “emotive cauldron-ingredients”? Maybe it’s both. I’m also struck by the implications of “intentionally leveraged”. Is it possible to “unintentionally leverage” something? Not in this context, one would have thought. And if doublespeak is swirling, that is, if it’s fluid, it’s hard to see how one could exert leverage on it.

Etc, etc. Like all the best Guardianese, this passage is passionately pregnant with interrogation-inducing imagery in a way that is very difficult to achieve by conscious effort. Perhaps Quentin has been smoking some wacky baccy or other psychoactive stimulant supplied by one of the many Persons of Colour enriching his life and fighting da power in da extensive hoodz of Laxfield, Suffolk.

S’éteignent, S’encroûtent, S’allument…

« Des soleils s’éteignent & s’encroûtent, des planètes périssent & se dispersent dans les plaines des airs ; d’autres soleils s’allument, de nouvelles planètes se forment pour faire leurs révolutions ou pour décrire de nouvelles routes, & l’homme, portion infiniment petite d’un globe, qui n’est lui-même qu’un point imperceptible dans l’immensité, croit que c’est pour lui que l’univers est fait, s’imagine qu’il doit être le confident de la nature, se flatte d’être éternel, se dit le roi de l’univers ! » — Baron d’Holbach, Système de la nature (1770), Partie 1, Chapitre 6

“Suns are extinguished or become corrupted, planets perish and scatter across the wastes of the sky; other suns are kindled, new planets formed to make their revolutions or describe new orbits, and man, an infinitely minute part of a globe which itself is only an imperceptible point in the immense whole, believes that the universe is made for himself, flatters himself that he is eternal, calls himself king of the universe!”


Post-Performative Post-Scriptum…

Mais… Mens Major Est Quam Materia…

Rankle Biter

rankle, verb 1. (transitive or intransitive) To cause irritation, bitterness or acrimony. 2. (intransitive) To fester.

Etymology: From Middle English ranklen, ranclen, from Old French rancler, räoncler, draoncler (“to ulcerate, to form a boil”), from Old French draoncle (“a boil”), from Latin dracunculus (“little serpent”), diminutive of Latin dracō (“serpent, dragon”).

rankle at Wiktionary

So Tsu Me

The Japanese word for unread books, particularly books that have been bought but not yet read, is tsundoku (積ん読). This term refers to the phenomenon of acquiring books and letting them pile up unread, rather than reading them. — AI Overview at Google


Elsewhere Other-Accessible…

Tsundoku at Wikipedia

Apostrophizing Andy

If you get it, you’ll laugh. If you don’t, you won’t:

Eee, I know what you mean. Shine’s gone off this government faster than gravy off chips, as we say up here in the North, where I authentically am. What t’party needs is a leader who’s reet proper connected with t’working man. In terms of names, we’ll see to that when dog’s in t’barn, as Northerners like me say up here in the North. — “Mandelson: Let’s chat about Keir…”, 29ix25

Well, I laughed anyway. That’s Robert Hutton in The Critic joking about the prime-ministerial ambitions of Andy Burnham, the mayor of Manchester. And I’m wondering about the “In terms of names…” I think it’s there for deliberate contrast. As I’ve endlessly adumbrated in terms of Overlord-of-theÜber-Feral, “in terms of” is an ugly, pretentious piece of bureaucratese that’s keyly characteristic of politicians, lawyers, academics in the humanities, and other core communities of windbags. In short, it’s highly bourgeois.

And I reckon that’s why Hutton put it into his mockery of Burnham, who’s pretending to be reet down-to-earth but can’t help letting his true nature coom through. Whatever his roots, he’s a bourgeois bureaucrat now. If I’m right, then Hutton recognizes the rebarbativity of “in terms of”. Good on ya, Bob. But bad on ya for getting the northern accent wrong. The apostrophe’s in the wrong place: “t’party” and “t’working man” should be “’t party” and “’t working man”, because that northern form of the definite article doesn’t represent thet’ but that’t (in Old English þæt was the neuter form of the definite article, while the masculine and feminine forms were and sēo). You can hear the truth in the glottal stop, which is sometimes all that’s left of the original “that”. In fact, that’s what “t’” is generally a bad transcription of — a glottal stop, “ʔ” in phonetic transcription. But in some dialects of northern English, the glottal stop disappears too, so there’s no definite article and English weirdly seems like Latin or Russian or some other language that doesn’t use definite articles.

You can see Mancunian English moving towards no-definite-article with “Shine’s gone off this government…” But the most natural way to read that line is with a glottal stop: “ʔShine’s gone off this government…” If Hutton meant it to be read like that, he’s implicitly recognizing that “t’” is a bad transcription. “T’shine’s gone off…” would sound like “Chine’s gone off…” But no Mancunian would say it like that. Something else that no Mancunian would say is that the Fat Slags are from Newcastle. But that’s a story for another day.


Peri-Performative Post-Scriptum

As is usual with sociology or biology, the story of the northern definite article is much more complicated than a short discussion can cover. And I can’t remember where I read about its true origins and can’t find anything online at the moment. But this supports what I’m saying:

The phenomenon of Definite Article Reduction (DAR) is the realization of the definite article in northern British English dialects in a range of vowel-less forms, usually written t’ in literature. The origin of DAR is assumed to be the assimilation of the initial fricative of the Middle English definite article þe to produce a te form, a sound change recorded for many dialects of Middle English. This article examines the validity of this hypothesis by analysing the distribution of fricative allomorphs in the modern dialects in comparison with the details of the Middle English change. The predicted distribution of fricative forms is not found at most localities, indicating that the development hypothesis is incorrect, but the available data are too scanty to suggest an alternative model. — “The origin of Definite Article Reduction in northern English dialects: evidence from dialect allomorphy, Mark J. Jones in English Language and Linguistics, November 2002

Pooh Pooh-Poohed

A.A. Milne’s Winnie-the-Pooh (1926) is a core kiddy-culture classic. And I’ve always been a big fan. Especially of Eeyore. But it wasn’t till 2025 that I noticed a big bit of bad writing in the book. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe the redundancy here is more natural English than the same passage with the redundancy removed. But I still think removing the redundancy makes it read better. See for yourself:

One day when he was out walking, he [Winnie-the-Pooh] came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing-noise.

In this drawing, Winnie-the-Pooh is peering up. There are tiny things swarming around up there.

Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think.

First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing-noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing-noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.”

Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.”

And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree. — Winnie-the-Pooh, chapter 1

REMOVING

REDUNDANCY

One day when he was out walking, he came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing.

In this drawing, Winnie-the-Pooh is peering up. There are tiny things swarming around up there.

Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think.

First of all he said to himself: “That buzzing means something. You don’t get a buzzing like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing, somebody’s making a buzzing, and the only reason for making a buzzing that I know of is because you’re a bee.”

Then he thought another long time, and said: “And the only reason for being a bee that I know of is making honey.”

And then he got up, and said: “And the only reason for making honey is so as I can eat it.” So he began to climb the tree. — Winnie-the-Pooh, chapter 1


Elsewhere Other-Accessible…

Winnie-the-Pooh (1926) at Gutenberg

Previously Pre-Posted…

Noise Annoys — discussion of the redundancy of “noise”
Nice Noise — more discussion of the redundancy of “noise”

Weird Tails

Squirrel

Meaning

One or other of various species of slender, graceful, agile rodents (characterized by a long bushy tail, furry coat, and bright eyes), belonging to the genus Sciurus, or to the widely-distributed sub-family Sciurina including this; esp. the common species Sciurus vulgaris, native to Britain, Europe, and parts of Asia.

Etymology

Anglo-Norman esquirel, Old French esquireul, escureul, ‑ol, etc. (modern French écureuil), = Provençal escurols, Spanish esquirol, medieval Latin (e)scurellus, scurellius, scuriolus, diminutives from popular Latin *scūrius, for Latin sciūrus, < Greek σκίουρος, apparently < σκιά shade + οὐρά tail.

Oxford English Dictionary, entry for “Squirrel”.