namely: peristeronic

From the Oxford English Dictionary Online Word of the Day comes a timely and useful bit of vocabulary in the adjective peristeronic—that is, relating to or suggestive of pigeons.

It turns out of course that it was never breeding pigeons that was considered not halal, given that pigeon exhibitionism is well-nigh impossible and not suggestive of anything except maybe when the male gets all puffed up and cooing to woo a reluctant mate. Rather—arguably equally incredulously, the keeping of pigeons was banned (despite the rich and long heritage that this practise has in the Arab world, including distinct strategic advantages with homing and messenger pigeons already in antiquity) was because some lecherous spies were using it as an excuse for being on the rooftop and from that vantage point, peeping at neighbours. Peristeronic. PfRC invites readers to build their treasury of words as well by visiting the OED Online and subscribing to the Word of the Day.

quintain

Among all the varied and interesting books in my parents’ library, I discovered an old jewel in this big Playboy Press volume of ribald limericks, vintage 1972. The pictured verse was really the only one I could find safe to share and the poems were organised on all sorts of different subjects and themes, sort of like a cocktail recipe guide, including a very cosmopolitan gazetteer of international cities—should the occasion call for specific and regional innuendo.
One—for which you’ll need your filthy, filthy imaginations to limn the ellipses—began, “There once was a Queen from Bruges...” …. …. …. “And the King did exclaim, ‘Mon dieu! Après moi, le déluge.’”

writers’ block

So much ink has been spilt over the subject of writing, whether calling it recursive, self-referential or bestowing it with the intellectual shorthand of the affix meta- that’s really just become a tag for something bigger, super-, supra-, para- by recalling that the Metaphysics was only labeled as such owing to the fact, chapter-wise, came after the treatment on Physics, as if that were all to be said on the subject. Many lyrics, too, sing of composition—in this same tidy, higher-plane manner. This coupling is hardly a unique observation. I do believe that it is such a common and also tolerable theme because any of us can relate to the repairing and resurgence when a certain career has careened, as it were, and this exercise is needed for atrophied talents. Focus and attention have become commodities priceless beyond words because there’s a life-hack for that, there’s an app for that and oh, sitting is the little death, the new mind-killer and oh, one’s imagined dives and hangouts don’t exist except as those idealised gathering spots that are plot devices and the familiars of the tempo of situation-comedy exposition, and oh, those votes of confidence, those clicks of solidarity don’t mean don’t suggest readership or even comprehension—much less loyalty, oh, those literary magazines are only read by those who’ve gotten a by-line and attribution and maybe those whom apingly hope to.  Schuyler Greene thought about this litany of stereotype and out-modishness as he leaned rather demandingly over his interface device that remained ostensible external so that he might retain some sense of restraint or decorum—or helpful censure, planted in a familiar haunt though really nowhere, a romanticised sense of place that respected no special protocols nor drew any measure of notice, aside from what his more inchoate gadgets wished to broadcast, so as to to invite in more novelty and distraction. “Schuyler Greene,” he wondered and cursed with hushed incredulity, begging what could be more nostalgic, more old-fashioned than a name than announcing that’s what he’s called and continued to insist for inspiration among anonymity, which was a buffeting force of expectation.
Do the connoisseurs and gourmands only wish for this, to shy away and wilt from anything more challenging than a sequel or a re-awakening of an established classic that toyed with half-remembered impressions or the learned biopic of half-forgotten influences? Was he being too harsh? He only had his name, after all. In this environment, what had others done to become viral or at least to enjoy the ballast of the moment? Aggregating machines, maybe, were better suited to indulging and winning over such fickle and mutable fancies. It all came so quickly; the culture that had already been digitised—which was most of it and it was the only share that mattered since the ethnographies of the saboteurs and luddites and the late-adopters was incorporated as well, was landscaped for machine-access to filter by algorithm to its human pets, leaving out any efforts at direct curating and care-taking for automated and adaptive processes. Certainly there was an inexhaustible feel for the cannon, and the amalgamating machines had conjured up some very good and convincing protocols that had fooled Greene and many others by posing as fully undiscovered authors and genres, not that they weren’t very astute about being discovered and never neglected to reward someone for being mistook and got all the more clever for their transgressions and spoofs, however advertised. Toponyms, endonyms and exonyms were only honoured for those jobs—which Greene had had the sense to cleave to, which were grandfathered in a sense of minor celebrity and the legacy of systems that refused to talk to one another. Past the human vanity to make noise, Greene also enjoyed for the moment security from redundancy from his day job, codified by humans in the same predicament but surely ruthlessly calculated to whatever gain, admitting day-by-day that it was cheaper to keep him on. Humans, of course, were also capable of such efficient reckoning—only the machines excelled at it. It had become fashionable to worry about the singularity—the moment of no return when machines became self-aware but no one really was arguing that it had already occurred, that somehow intelligence had crawled out of the chaotic primordial soup of our social malcontent. Greene was supposing that the capacity to feel threatened, self-preservation and the instinct for fight-or-flight would come later, if those were even universal traits. “Let the Wookie win,” he thought with half a chuckle. Maybe though a sentient machine, extant or emergent, would foresee all possible outcomes with its first thought and would not be prone to the vanities of making the big spectacle of its birth and have the sense to be humble, regardless of how it was programmed. Machines must calculate into that formula that kept Greene employed, weighing in the labour-laws and the price of dismissal and severance packages, and concluded that maybe Greene was being retained solely for his moonlighting.

sturm und drang oder elective affinities

Though mostly doing the responsible thing and honouring his father’s wishes for him to study law, Johann von Goethe really of course wanted to pursue Oriental studies (Islam and the Arabic language being two subjects that fascinated him throughout his life) but grudgingly left his patrician home in the Free Imperial City of Frankfurt am Main to go to the University of Leipzig. There, Goethe fell in with some influential Bohemian types and while his grades suffered, he was did find inspiration in one students’ pub for his re-telling of Faust that would take torturing decades more to realise. These first few semesters were quite productive for Goethe, having gotten into the practise of churning out experimental short plays and poetry on a regular basis.  Either because Goethe himself was too harsh a critic, however, or because they really were sophomoric works, few survived from that early period. Waxing dissolute and not doing so well in school, Goethe returned home to Frankfurt and eventually remarshaled his resolve to again take up his studies, but this time in Strasbourg.
Although the land of Alsace had been in possession of the French Empire, annexed from the Holy Roman Empire, for more than a century in this most recent in a long chain of redrawing borders, there still was a large German student population at the illustrious university and the city’s architecture and high spires of its cathedral—though somewhat mistakenly—struck Goethe as quintessentially German but not in the nationalistic sense (there was no Germany, just a loose confederation of city-states, petty kingdoms and imperial monasteries with varying degrees of allegiance to the Emperor) but rather as a community united in language, in the artistic sense as well as the spoken word. Goethe became particularly keen on this notion, drawing from his own childhood experiences being educated with a very liberal curriculum that included the classics and world literature, and finding more and more frustration and dissatisfaction with his own writing projects—as meaning and passion seemed to retreat from his poems (overtures to one young mistress especially) the more he applied himself.

In Strasbourg, Goethe saw his horizons broaden and the literary world unfurled before him when he was introduced to the plays and sonnets of one bard called William Shakespeare, and found in Shakespeare’s free-wheeling and bold manner the conventions that he sought for own prose. Back at the family home, the prodigal son celebrated his first love fest to the Bard and his muse with a “Shakespeare Day” on 14 October with some of his classmates. Goethe’s family saw no harm in their son’s renewed interest in writing, as his marks had improved and would be allowed to open a small practise in first in Frankfurt then in Wetzlar. His career as a lawyer, however, was destined to be a short one—Goethe often courting contempt by demanding clemency for clients and more enlightened, progressive laws. Perhaps sensing that this was the wrong vocation or perhaps because of his moonlighting, Goethe worked extensively on his first novel, The Sorrows of Young Werther (Die Leiden des jungen Werthers)—a semi-autobiographical account of a failed love affair told in correspondence and climaxing in the anti-hero’s suicide. The novel was an instant sensation and helped to propel, just as Shakespeare had done for English, German into the pantheon of literary and scholarly languages. Though not the stylings of emo or goth, young men were dressing as Werther (Werther-Fieber it was called) and tragically, there were some urged to the same ending after reading the book—and not just in Germany but all over. Fearing the dangerous influence that this potentially subversive work might have if the international celebrity might be allowed to spread unabated, a writer and publisher called Christoph Friedrich Nikolai from Frankfurt an der Oder, in central Prussia, went so far as to give the story a Hollywood ending, under the title “The Joys of Young Werther.”
Napoleon was a committed fan as were many others. The political discontinuity that charaterised the Holy Roman Empire was a grave subject of consternation to outsiders, who lived under more centralised governments, but as the city-states of an equally fractious Italy during the Renaissance encouraged the arts through patronage—every little lord wanting to retain pet talent, the same sort of arrangement could be fostered in Germany, and Goethe’s book caught the attention of one young heir-apparent to the small but grand duchy of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach. This enlightened ruler ennobled Goethe—putting the von in his name—and kept him on in Weimar for the rest of his life.
The young duke was of the same line who had two-hundred fifty years earlier had the courage and the wherewithal to provide sanctuary in the Wartburg by Eisenach to another controversial figure, Martin Luther—whereas in a more unified society with no place to seek refuge, like France or England, the Reformer would have been burnt at the stake for heresy. Goethe held a number of royal offices through his career, which afforded him travel on diplomatic missions throughout Europe and experiences Goethe could not have otherwise obtained, meeting many other contemporary luminaries—while not infringing on his writing and scientific studies. Goethe was deeply interested in all facets of existence and was absolutely prodigious in many fields, having amassed the largest mineral collections in Europe, published several seminal treatises on botany, optics and anatomy (which included some inspiring observations that Charles Darwin took to heart), and meteorology (researching the forecasting nature of barometric pressure) among others.

mood board

Writing for Mental Floss, Miss Cellania introduces us to some clever alternatives to the boilerplate, filler text “Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet.” Sort of like the classic Kant-Generator, my favourite of the bunch is the Samuel L Ipsum. Unlike the other engines, however, that return gibberish based on a certain genre, the sample text that is delivered are actual blocks of dialogue spoken by the characters Mister Jackson has portrayed:

Do you see any Teletubbies in here?  Do you see a slender plastic tag clipped to my shirt with my name printed on it?  Do you see a little Asian child with a blank expression on his face sitting outside on a mechanical helicopter that shakes when you put quarters in it?  No?  Well, that's what you see at a toy store. And you must think you're in a toy store, because you're here shopping for an infant named Jeb.

And unlike the greeking that’s characterised the lorem ipsum (since it’s not even sensible Latin), one runs the risk of having readers focus on what the text says, rather than how the text-layout and type-speciment looks in the presentation.

hitch and bight

Laughing Squid features a splendidly executed teaching diagram of various knots and their application. The infographic, writ large at the link, is from the design studios of Fix and is called Tying the Knot. The expression “hanging on to the bitter end” and derivations like ‘til the bitter end is from rope tying terminology, referring to the working end of the rope, the length being worked and specifically secured to a bitt—the metal block on a pier. The opposite section of rope that’s not the anchor is called the standing end. I got the merit badge, I think, but I am not sure if I am the best visual learner when it comes to this skill and probably would need some hands-on instruction.

null-set or four-squares

Æon Magazine features a really inviting and illuminating essay from earlier this Summer on how Eastern thought, Buddhism in particular, which can come across to Western-thinkers as hopelessly mystical and too pliable for admitting contradictions, while saying nothing about inherent truths in any system, prevision—in a sense—and converge in the logical constructs of mathematics, modern set-theories which have applications in computing and high-level physics.

Again—I suppose that the inherent truth behind these disciplines, which appear rigourous and legitmate to the experts that create them, is not something unredoubtable in itself, like claiming that one of the two superficially different modes of philosophy is more enlightened than the other, plus religion and worldly informatics do not necessarily have the same aims. While Aristotle, championed by the Romans and the Church and became the influential standard for scientific investigation, insisted that everything was black and white—everything either was or was not—another, third option was not given, terium non datur, as the Romans called it. Around the same time, Buddha and his disciples were considering a fourth, with the option of a fifth up to the thirty-second degree, option in the range of possibilities by subjecting all question to what’s called catuṣkoṭi, a sort of four corners of being, wherein something is either true and only true, false and only false, partially both or neither true nor false. Concepts like this come across as infuriating often in Western contexts, though many thinkers have touched on this set of logical operators before and they appear contractually in programming and in the maths that allow it. Though on the surface the states of catuṣkoṭi might sound a little like the conjunctions of AND, OR, NOT and XOR, to really start seeing the states as non-contradictory, one can start to think of them in terms of relationship and functions.
The article illustrates this range of connexions through parentage and siblings: mother of is functional since any son or daughter has just one, whereas son of or sister of is relative since there could be any number of permutations, dependent on the family or none at all. This article and discussion is certainly something to step away from and reflect on—rather than reading in one sitting, but it is without a doubt fascinating that mathematicians and logicians came to restore to the same quiver of paradigms as Eastern philosophies, without being some closeted mystic or Buddha-apologist. The fifth option, which could explode into all sorts of other dimensions, is what’s called the ineffable (a pretty neat sounding word): when those paradoxes and fundamental contradictions are handed down to us, seemingly only for the sake of confusion, a kōan—the sound of one hand clapping, we have to admit that it’s an experience too big to get our heads around and thus unspeakable. Presented with this possibilities—that there are things in the cosmos which we cannot articulate or even perceive, certainly seems very real and probably comprises an infinitely bigger part of reality, it seems however that we are just pushing back contradiction by a few powers, which may be significant in itself, by knowing of something that we can’t hope to address or not knowing about it at all.

in der silvester-nacht

Though not to be characterised as weird or foreign and not exclusive to Austria, the country’s edition of the English daily, the Local, present a nifty summary of some of the ways Austrians ring in the New Year. Special credit, I believe, is due for not shying away from terms like agora- and ochlophobia (the latter being specifically the fear of crowds and not just being exposed and out in the open, fear of the Marktplatz) and molybdomancy (Bleigießen)—that is, divination by molten lead quickly cooled in water, complete with a description of the fun and an exhaustive Rorschach list of interpretations.

There are also some delicious recipes and more on merry-making. New Year’s Eve is goes by the name of Silvester for the sainted pope who baptised the Roman emperor Constantine and legitimised Christianity within the Empire, whose holy day is commemorated on the last day of the year and is combined with traditional celebrations and customs in Central Europe, like the countdown and fireworks. What are some peculiar traditions and rituals of your own? There’s still time to go out and augur your fortune with some ingots, a candle and spoon.  In der Silvester-Nacht wird das Blei zum schmelzen gebracht.

affix oder oh won’t somebody please think of the children

The Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers—under no official charter but not in the public-trust either—after a year of planning and negotiations, with deference to actual lexica and corporate nonce-words, is releasing an onslaught of new internet suffixes (DE/EN), some two-thousand new possibilities culled from different languages and markets. New German top level domains expand from .de to a whole uncharted wilderness of tags with the new naming conventions, like .gay, .islam, and .kinder as well as names of retailors and brands.
English speaking areas have the monopolisation potential as well with choices like .shoes, .pizza, .ninja—as if .biz and .free weren’t already chintzy and fly-by-night enough. All this cacophony strips dominance away from some appellation-squatters, I suppose—and maybe bursts a bubble for the online real-estate market, but it also makes for a lot of confusion too—where nothing’s not miscellaneous and not parsed and not delivered through search-engines.
I imagine most trafficking comes this way already anyway and most people are not willing to venture a guess at something new—for the very real fear of being led down a rabbit-hole and come to a look-alike site that’s maybe stealing one’s data. This move is rife, I think, for ideologues and for more spoofs, dodging and forgeries, but it is the off-chance that cartels go after one of the new domains that has people most concerned—seeing that confectioners are staking claim to the .kinder name to build brand loyalty to certain candies. What do you think? Are you prospecting for a new style, a manner of address?

glücksbringer oder ganz happy

It always used to strike me as strange that one word in German, Glück, signified both luck and happiness—but somehow satisfying, comforting since the association with fortune, an unexpected windfall, is coloured as positively as they effort to create good cheer—until realising that English had a similar construction and derivation.

The state of being happy also harks back to a chance occurrence in the parent terms happenstance and mayhap, though these words are usually reduced to just something happening in the neutral sense, and English has borrowed a lot of different ways to convey fate, luck or fortune, as well as the more facetious sense of wishing lotsa luck. It turns out the French way of expressing the same feeling, heureux, covering both the portentous having derived from the Latin word for art of augury and the exalted, forms this zeugma. The ultimate source of this divining and the lucky omens themselves, however, are both unknown.  I wonder if in other languages the same connections hold.

bon mot

Although we have only last left our intrepid Language at the mercy of the Viking raiders and have not yet gotten to the Norman Invasion and that cliff-hanger for the Anglo-Saxons, which lent English fully one-third of its vocabulary and influenced grammar and orthography to a great deal, the Mental Floss list of French phrases that ought to be brought back into common-parlance was to good to wait on until the narrative catches up. There were quite a few priceless expressions that could easily be incorporated into everyday speech and it is pretty lamentable that lingual affinities are not as wide-spread as they once were. I especially like le roi fainéant, a do-nothing king and a term that could describe our friends the Merovingians or Charlemagne’s ineffectual issue, mise en abyme which describes something akin to the Droste effect, an image within its own image, and honi soit qui mal y pense—shame on him who thinks ill of it—do not jump to conclusions or talk something down prematurely, which was a quip by Edward III, the English courtly language being French in his day, which has a pretty interesting provenance.
Mad Princess Joan of Kent curried, unfairly, such a name because of eccentricities that were deemed unbecoming of the royal family, including eloping with a a young lover, a commoner, and subsequently also marrying the baron that her parents had arranged for her to and apparently unconcerned about bigamy or secret weddings. Although not the most conventional creatures of the court, the later mother to the unstable Richard II was still welcome at official functions. During a ball, Joan experienced a wardrobe malfunction while dancing with the king—who, suffering the snickers of some of his nobles and Joan’s withering humiliation, retrieved her fallen garter and adjusted her stocking. Presumably reserving this new honour for those who had not laughed at this act of chivalry, Edward III went on to establish the Most Noble Order of the Garter, the motto of the knights being the above phrase.

carolus simplex ou roman-savon

Meanwhile back in France, the hopes pinned to Charlemagne soon faded as his children and his children’s children began to squabble over the right to rule and supremacy.
The Carolingian dynasty, named not for Charlemagne but his line’s founder majordomo and usurper Charles Martel (Karl der Hammer) who persuaded the Pope in Rome, wrestled his blessing away from the Merovingians by primarily sending in an army to liberate Rome from the Lombards—and secondarily, rebuffing the advance of the Islamic Caliphate in the year 732 after the Sack of Bordeaux in the Battle of Tours, but I believe Charles the Great (Karl der Grosse) was an honorific earned by this descendant rather than just another choice epithet to distinguish him from a number of similarly named male heirs, whom by all accounts lived up to their sobriquets.
Though called the Father of Europe, as emperor of much of France, Germany and Italy and instituting many social and educational reforms, his offspring could not live up to those high standards, and regressing towards the old Gallic custom of dividing up a land among the children, the kingdoms soon splintered among the slow and doltish with no allegiance on the part of the aristocracy—returning the lands of the Franks to the fractured environment it had under the impotent Merovingian kings. Charles the Fat, Louis the Stammerer, Charles the Bald, Louis the Pious and Louis the Blind vied over successive generations over control of a divided western France, the Middle Kingdom of Lorraine and eastern German lands—the region still called Franconia.
The parallels to the Roman problems with succession and stability are interesting, and there be an opposite antagonizing principle at work here: the Romans restored to adult-adoption to pick their beneficiary—not out of noble illusions of meritocracy over family, but rather, for those hundreds of years, incredibly none fathered a son that survived to rule, and contrarily, it seemed that the Franks were too prolific and produced sons that divided and sub-divided the realms.  It was not until the summer of the year 911 that events started to coalesce and reunited the lands of Western Europe. After having paid-off the Viking raiders to leave Frankish cities and ports alone and take their pillaging elsewhere, they stuck to the English coasts for a time until Alfred’s fortified cities and policies that led to cultural inclusion again made France the more attractive target. This beggar-thy-neighbour and bribery exacerbated the situation and the Vikings became bolder and more demanding.
This was another worse-practise tactic that the Franks took from the Roman playbook. Desperate and bankrupt, the French watched in horror as a raiding party made its way down the Seine to sack Paris with their monarch unable to raise an army. The city, however, mounted its own defenses and eventually, miraculously beat back the invaders. The monarch nearly snatched defeat from the clutches of a hard-won and tense victory by refusing to negotiate with the Vikings and just offering some more silver to make themselves scarce. Outraged, the aristocracy deposed the monarch, electing to install the hero of the Siege of Paris, Odo, who made a truce with the Viking commander Rollo (Hrólfr) and allowed his tribe to settle (in exchange for fending off attacks by any Norse brethren) in the area that would be called Normandy. Rollo, converting, to Christianity, was styled Robert I, Duke of Normandy. After the nobles grew weary with the worshipful Odo, they elevated another Carolingian to the throne, a son of the previous monarch called Charles the Simple. In this context, simple meant guileless and a straight-shooter but the elite soon tired of this frankness as well.

alfred the great or yakety sax

Recently, I learnt about a seminal character of British history who was quite enlightened for living in the Dark Ages. King of Wessex, Alfred the Great, during the latter half of the ninth century, instituted many calculated reforms—only in part driven by the incursions of the Anglo-Saxons’ former neighbours, the Danes, drawn by the outrageous fortune of this island—which elevated his character to legendary proportions through his very real measures, ensuring the English identity at a time when it was buffeted by many outside threats.
Although a late-learner himself, like his more famous precedent influence to the south, Charlemagne, after negotiating an uneasy peace with the Nordic raiders that were given domain over the east of England in the Danelaw (Danelag) and persuading those tribes to embrace Christianity, Alfred lamented his ignorance and the general decay in scholarship in his land. There were no more experts in classical Latin, the language of the Church, left in England—in part because Charlemagne had prosecuted such a talent-drain by luring literacy to his court in order to evangelise to the continental Saxons. Absent classic academics, Alfred undertook to learn Latin and decreed that the native language, Old English, become the primary language of erudition. Wessex and Mercia, the formerly antagonising western kingdom won over by a clever union by Alfred’s daughter Æthelfæld—who got to rule the kingdom in her own right, cohabited with the raiders—just as they had done themselves some centuries before. Subsequently, there was a veritable explosion in literacy and a sizable body of literature, including the Chronicles of the Anglo-Saxons, an invaluable extant historic resource which first sought to document the people’s past and then faithfully maintained as a yearbook for the next four centuries. What is truly amazing is that Alfred accomplished all these reforms while on the run from the Danes.
Instead of retreating to the mainland as many of his fellow English regents had done, Alfred remained in Wessex and set up camp deep in the marshes of Somerset on the island of Athelny. Although there are some parallels to the capital of Rome repairing to the swampy protection of Ravenna, I can imagine, comically, Alfred staying one step ahead of the “Heathen Armies” and rushing here and there. After cleaning up the classroom, Alfred undertook the task of ensuring that the English identity would not just survive in letters but also thrive militarily. Ordering the fortification of key cities, the king ensured that no settlement was isolated and vulnerable to attack. Alfred established the English armada to counter Viking incursions—though with mixed success as Alfred insisted on designing the warships himself. Because the vast majority of conscripts were farmers with crops to look after, the season for waging battle was formerly a designated time of the year. As the invaders, however, did not respect these constraints, the peasantry was at a marked disadvantage, facing either poverty and starvation or being pillaged and massacred.

To remedy this situation, a rotating cycle of deployments was instituted so duty to family and duty to country imposed less of an egregious choice and a standing-army was ready at all times.  Alfred’s greatest coup was a diplomatic one, allowing the Danes to enjoy an independent society, cleaving to the east but slowly accepted into the fold, both sides exchanging cultural memes and vows that blended the two peoples and became an integral component of an English identity.

troll the ancient yuletide carol

Mental Floss has an excellent, brief grammar lesson about the finer and arcane points of English syntax frozen as it were in the lines of traditional Christmas songs. It was certainly a fun and lively read and causes one to think of other examples, quirky little conventions that reveal how language evolves.

The etymological curiosity in the word troll, sometimes sung as toll or trawl, is especially interesting, as it reflects both Anglo-Saxon roots and the more familiar mage in later Norse influences. In the sense of the carol, it reflects Old English origins, prior to the arrival of the Vikings, to go about or to stroll. The connection with fishing, a drag-net, also extends from this source. The sense of a monstrous creature has old Germanic roots and though the English had their own words for native orcs and demons, they borrowed the word of the newcomer. Perhaps the two meanings again converge in the ultimate sense of a horrid individual who is trawling for attention with nasty comments. English did borrow a lot of basic vocabulary from the Scandinavian languages, and interestingly what’s been retained of—or edged out by—Norse terminology are words with an overwhelmingly negative connotations, which probably bespeaks their uneasy cohabitation: anger, awkward, blunder, bug, crook, cur, death, dirt, dregs, gawk, heathen, Hell, irk, mire, muck, muggy, odd, outlaw, rotten, skull, slaughter, thwart, ugly, weak and wrong—to name a few. Of course, there are numerous exceptions, too—like that word Yule, for the midwinter months and associated festivities, which was later appropriated by the Christians.

six-penny or landed-gentry

Absent Roman influence and insular trading practices, the British Isles were relative late-comers to fiat currency, which perpetuated the tradition role of kingship that had existed among the Germanic tribes even as kingdoms grew beyond the tribal clan. Essentially without coinage—though some charters did exist for so called moneyiers to produce crude blanks of specie for trading purposes, the old ways of the continental Saxons held with the king collecting tribute from peasants, whom were otherwise free, in the form of conscription and an annual food tax, figured on the size and arability of their parcel of land. Of course being a French term, the farmers in Britain did not pay taxes, though the concept is pretty universal, but rather a mol or male—which incidentally is the source of the idea of blackmail, given that there were bullying vigilantes who tried to supplement the king’s army and forced individuals to pay up for extra protection—blaichmol, protection rent, rather than the alledged latter day practise of posting letters of extortion in darkly coloured envelopes so the receiver did not know where the stamp was canceled. Matters, however, began to change for England with the Norman Invasion, who reintroduced economic policy and a currency over barter system that they had inherited from the Romans. The Normans, through the Franks, also employed some housekeeping methods that the Romans had failed to comprehend, which led to hyper-inflation and the eventual collapse of the Empire. Though Emperor Diocletian had made a good-faith effort to round up all the destructive and worthless currency he could managed, these gestures fell short.
The Franks and later the English, however, were more savvy about the face-value of coins, and began to issue legal-tender with an expiration date that better ensured that there would be no runaway inflation. Say shepherd Dagofirþ had earned sixty shillings—twelve pence (the penny being named for former uniting force Penda, with no relation to the Welsh dynasty of Pendragons from Arthurian lore) to a shilling and twenty shilling to a Pound (£ being a symbol for libre pondo from the Latins) having derived from the French style of twelve denier to the solidus (being the wage a soldier) and twenty of these to a livre—and in order to keep what he earned current, he must redeem his coins after three years at the counting-house of his liege, King Æþelƹorn. Dagofirþ, however, might be surprised to find he is only getting back, say, three-and-fifty shillings in the new, up-to-date coinage, minus some administrative costs of mining and minting the silver in Æþelƹorn’s good name, plus as a mechanism for market-corrections if, say, there had been a poor grain harvest or royal ransoms to pay. It was clever and responsible on the part of the government to cast such bounds over money, but after its introduction, matters escalated rather quickly. Pretty soon, Dagofirþ could not manage to keep up with his obligations to his family with his devalued coin, and so so luckier personage, a apiarist who had connections perhaps with that blackmailing crowd, named BeǷofief, graciously steps in and offers to help Dagofirþ in his plight. BeƐofief will be responsible for the shortcomings (and profit) in exchange for holding title to the land Dagofirþ was working for Æþelƹorn directly. Many of BeǷofief’s peers got keen to this scheme as well, and soon the an aristocratic class of landed-gentry was formed, that alienated the worker from his king and keep and came to be called the feudal system. A hierarchy of counts, dukes, earls, barons was soon established that all compounded this estranging effect and put more distance between the monarch and subject.  Rich with actual money that resembled coinage encountered elsewhere, England soon entered in the world stage as a trading partner, with suppliers pleased to receive legitimate-looking money in exchange instead of pledges, rough-hewn coins, or bushels of perishable turnips. This success, however, was also soon to attract the notice of their former neighbours, the Vikings occupying lands adjacent in Scandinavia, from whence the Anglo-Saxons vacated, and soon summoned raiding parties from across the seas, thinking these wealthy lands might be easy targets.

lycanthrope or heutoscopic

I had always thought that the majority of the corporeal menagerie of beastly creatures could be chalked-up to dull glances and keen imaginations, like witnessing the novelty of horseback riding and constructing the centaur—to be later embellished with a mythological pedigree and literary tradition.
I am learning, however, that chimera—and not just to philosophically quizzical kind from Greek lore (like our old friend, poor sad Cyclopes, whom was just a normal oafish giant until he traded one eye for the ability to see into the future—however, that gift of foresight was limited to being able to see his time of death), often carry a pretty heady cerebral burden as well, which may not have followed too long after or may well be the manifestations our mental-constructs were looking to project.  I had believed that werewolves and were-bears (Beowulf means bee-hunter or rather honey-bear) were frightened hearsay from survivors who had encountered fierce warriors who dressed in animal skins and head-dresses, and while that may be the original inspiration from an outside perspective, there was also something highly ritualistic and complex going on for those who donned and doffed the pelts themselves. Like the game-face of the brutal Achaean fighter Ajax, the ancient Vikings also had a tradition of working themselves into a frenzied rage before going into battle, making themselves berserk.

These possessed Berserkers were named after the bear-shirts that the wore and fought with super-human strength. From the psychological perspective of the Germanic peoples, however, the warrior was not transformed into an animal—at least not in a straightforward manner. These people put stock in the belief of out-of-body experiences and though the human soul, which was taken to be a shadow of its corporeal self—a Doppelgänger, would vacate the body to allow an animal spirit to inhabit it and the displaced human soul popped up somewhere else, usually as one of the relief crew sleeping through the first phase of the skirmish while its Berserker-self was engaged in the fight. Heutoscopy is the clinical term for seeing one’s divided self. It was a very bad omen to encounter one’s own evil twin, and usually the strength was sapped from both.

iberia-hispania or elegant variation

Although we can identify a classic period of the language and Rome had institutions to preserve and promote a standard, there was probably never a universal Latin spoken across the Empire.
Romance languages descended from Latin but as conquests of Gaul, Iberia and the Balkans came centuries apart, the spoken language that supplanted their native tongues had changed as well. Early on during the Punic Wars as the Empire was expanding across the Mediterranean, Rome secured the lands of Spain from Carthage, and through the discontinuity of the French speakers, Spain remains one of the vulgar languages most true to that original language. Euskara, the language of the Basque people, seems to have developed prior to the arrival of Indo-Europeans and has endured to modern times. The subjugation of the Gallic tribes came later, after Rome had absorbed Greece and Macedonia and incorporated many Greek words, reflected in modern French. Of course, other powers came to dominate these provinces as Rome’s influence waned and these Germanic speakers helped shape the vernacular dialects to a greater or lesser extent. Owing to the Franks, French has inherited a smattering of Germanic loan-words. 
The Visigoths, however, who came to rule the Iberian peninsula, due to extended contact with the Roman civilization, were bilingual in Latin and Gothic, and Latin and its derivative local languages remained in common-parlance for day-to-day activities and native Gothic remained mostly in the background. Exceptions were found in the Church, Gothic having been the first Germanic language to be written down in order to produce that Gothic Bible commissioned by the Arian bishop Ulfilas, until the Roman Catholic Church consolidated authority, and interestingly in family names to this day. Many of the most common surnames of Spain, Portugal and Latin America reflect remnants of Visigoth rule: Hernández from Ferdinand (protector of the peace and probably a title rather than a name originally), Gutiérrez from Walter—wielder of hosts, Rodríguez, son of Roderik, the name of one of the last kings of the Goths before the Muslim incursions into the area and meaning rich in glory.

lit crit or synecdotes and dozy doats

The writing staff at the wonderfully studious Mental Floss must recall the salad days of the Academic Decathlon going by one of their latest lists of rhetorical devices.

One can really fill one’s oratorical quiver with these terms, illustrated by modern, accessible examples. A couple of my favourites that I don’t recall encountering before—at least not presented in a penetrable way, are antimeria, a figure of speech describing a change in a word’s usage, most commonly turning a noun into a verb (Shakespeare’s line from King Lear—“The thunder would not peace at my bidding”) as into to message someone or to gift something—fortuneately, one can yet befriend another—but also in the growing trend of using a slash (/ a virgule) as a grammatical conjunction rather than just a juxtaposition between two related things and the construction called an anacoluthon for something that is non sequitir and disjointed or galloping forward, often what rambles on after the em-dash.

poetic license or stock-epithet

Poetry? Oh noetry! Not to worry—it’s rather just a troupe of merry minstrels coming to give us a lesson on the mnemonics of the oral tradition, which played a vital role in transmitting noble exploits, both real and conflated, and helped shaped the language in important ways before writing caught on in Anglo-Saxon England. The Greeks, Romans and other ancient people of course had comparable poets and troubadours, who also enjoyed a good degree of esteem and respect, and although their compositions differed according to their own grammars and lexicons, similar aides to recalling epic works were embedded into the lines. Even today, we do this unconsciously to help remember staples of learning by hitching one part to another rhyming part: think of the alphabet song and where the pauses are and what letters are grouped together (incidentally, pupils used to recite the finale “x, y, zed, &,” including the symbol for “and” at the end because they were expected to know how to write this as well but as it was not the word a-n-d but rather the symbol for and called And, they made this clear as mud by calling it And-per-se-And or ampersand).

Those ancient languages and English too until it dropped most of its inflected endings had no concept of rhyming since one could not go around changing the endings of words and preserve the meaning of the sentence, so they mostly relied on alliteration to cue them as to what came next. Each stanza in a poem or song in Old English was split in two and the first half was bound to foreshadow the first stressed sound of the second half. To illustrate this idea of alliterative meter in a contemporary example, here’s a passage from American Poet Laurate Richard Wilbur’s Junk:

An axe angles      from my neighbour’s ashcan

It is Hell’s handiwork,      the wood not hickory. 

The flow of the grain      not faithfully followed.

The shivered shaft rises      from a shellheap

Of plastic playthings      and paperplates. 

One could imagine our gleemen chanting this opening as easily as one could imagine them performing Beowulf. Although we cannot rule out that ancient and medieval people did not have memories far more expect than ours, having to do without the crutch of a written language, but one can probably safely assume that there was quite a bit of improvisation going on.

Though the poem was painstaking composed and each hung together, if a minstrel forgot a line or a particular passage, a really good showman could recover and reinsert the stumbled line without violating the meter or structure of the story. As Old English did not have a huge vocabulary to draw from (though maybe traveling helped also to keep redundant words in circulation as they traveled from court to court singing the praises of their own lord and sometimes it was handy to have a few different sound options at one’s disposal even if they meant the same thing and it did just sound like a lyric-conceit) and adjectives and attributions were limited, the minstrels often invented so called stock-phrases as colourful metaphors and euphemisms.

When needed, a resourceful performer could add a “fleet-footed,” “rosy-fingered,” “broad-pastures,” etc to substitute for a stray sound. These were not just cliches as the French invaders disdained them as but led to new compound words and concepts that were in common-parlance. The tradition slowly withered away with the advent of writing and nobles (the titles lord and lady were once kenning-words that came about through this method, originally a compound for loaf- guardian and kneader slurred into single syllables, among many other inventions) no longer needed to retain entertainers to spread their good deeds and heroics and transformed into itinerant groups of actors, story-tellers and artists yet but no longer journalists.

lexis-nexus or a language is a dialect with an army and a flag

The wonderfully peripatetic web magazine Vox has a stellar installment with a series of approaches to plotting the languages of the world. The maps are introduced with a quote from Ludwig Wittgenstein, which limits our experiences to those which we can find the words for. Though mostly Anglophone, the maps could be an important point of departure for understanding a bit more and pushing the envelope a little. Be sure to check out the site’s other articles and features.