I discovered today that in Romanian a bookworm (a keen reader) is un şoarece de bibliotecă (a library mouse), which I rather like, being a bit of a bookworm / library mouse myself.
In French there is a simliar term for a bookworm – rat de bibliothèque (library rat), and in German voracious reader or bookworm is known as a Leseratte (reading rat), and in Spanish the equivalent is ratón de biblioteca (library mouse).
Are there interesting words for bookworm in other languages?
Today I saw a post on Facebook asking why words for horse are so different in languages like English and German, so I thought I’d investigate.
In English horse-related words include horse, stallion (male horse), mare (female horse), foal (young horse), filly (young female horse), colt (young male horse), pony (a small breed of horse), palfrey (a small horse with a smooth, ambling gait) and equine (a horse or horse-like animal; related to horses).
Horse comes from the Middle English horse / hors, from the Old English hors (horse), from the Proto-Germanic *hrussą (horse), from the Proto-Indo-European *ḱr̥sos (horse), from Proto-Indo-European *ḱers- (to run) [source]. This is also the root of the Proto-Celtic word *karros (wagon), from which we get the Latin currus (chariot, wagon), and the English words car, cart and chariot, and related words in other languages.
Stallion comes from the Middle English stalion, from the Middle French estalon and is of Germanic origin [source].
Mare comes from the Middle English mare / mere, from the Old English mere / miere (female horse, mare), from the Proto-Germanic *marhijō (female horse) [source].
Foal comes from the Middle English fole, from the Old English fola, from the Proto-Germanic *fulô, from the Proto-Indo-European *pōlH- (animal young) [source]
Filly comes from the Old Norse fylja [source].
Colt comes from the Old English colt (young donkey, young camel), from the Proto-Germanic *kultaz (plump; stump; thick shape, bulb), from the Proto-Indo-European *gelt- (something round, pregnant belly, child in the womb), from *gel- (to ball up, amass) [source].
Pony comes from the Scots powny, from the Middle French poulenet (little foal), from the Late Latin pullanus (young of an animal), from pullus (foal) [source].
Palfrey comes from the Anglo-Norman palefrei (steed), from the Old French palefroi, from the Late Latin paraverēdus (post horse, spare horse) [source].
Equine comes from the Latin equīnus (of or pertaining to horses), from equus (horse) [source].
The equivalent words in other European languages include:
Germanic languages
| German | Dutch | Danish | Norwegian | Swedish | Icelandic | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| horse | Pferd | Paard | hest | hest | häst | hestur |
| stallion | Hengst | hengst | hingst | hingst | hingst | graðhestur |
| mare | Stute | merrie | hoppe | hoppe | sto märr |
hryssa |
| foal | Fohlen | veulen | føl | føll fole |
föl | folald |
The German word Pferd and the Dutch paard come from the Middle High German phert / pherit / pferift (riding horse), from the Old High German pherit / pfarifrit / parafred, from the Late Latin paraverēdus (substitute post horse) [source], from para-, from the Ancient Greek παρά (from, by, near) & verēdus (a fast or light breed of horse), from the Proto-Celtic *uɸorēdos (horse) [source], *uɸo- (under) & *rēdo- (to ride; riding, chariot), from the Proto-Indo-European *(H)reydʰ- (to ride) [source].
The words hengst and hingst come from the Proto-Indo-European *ḱanḱest- / *kankest- (horse), which is also the root of the Welsh, Cornish and Breton words for mare, and of the Old English word for horse or stallion, hengest.
Romance / Italic languages
| French | Italian | Romanian | Spanish | Portuguese | Latin | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| horse | cheval | cavallo | cal | caballo | cavalo | equus |
| stallion | étalon | stalone | armăsar | padrillo | garanhão | celo |
| mare | jument | giumenta cavalla |
iapă | yegua | égua | equa |
| foal | poulain | puldero | mânz | potro | potro | equuleus equulus pullus vitulus |
In Latin there was another word for horse – caballus, which was only used in poetry in Classical Latin, and was the normal word for horse in Late and Vulgar Latin. It possibly comes from the Gaulish caballos [source]. This is also the root of the English words cavalry, cavalier, cavalcade and chivalry,
The word equus comes from the Proto-Italic *ekwos, from the Proto-Indo-European *h₁éḱwos (horse) [source].
Celtic languages
| Breton | Cornish | Welsh | Irish | Manx | Scottish Gaelic | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| horse | marc’h | margh | ceffyl | capall | cabbyl | each |
| stallion | marc’h | margh | march stalwyn |
stail | collagh grihder |
greadhair |
| mare | kazeg | kasek | caseg | láir | laair | làir |
| foal | ebeul | ebel | ebol | searrach | sharragh | searrach |
The Scottish Gaelic word for horse, each, comes from the
Old Irish ech (horse), from Proto-Celtic *ekʷos (horse), from the Proto-Indo-European *h₁éḱwos (horse), which is also the root of the Breton, Cornish and Welsh words for foal.
The Breton marc’h (horse), the Cornish margh (horse) and the Welsh march (stallion) come from the Proto-Brythonic *marx (horse), from Proto-Celtic *markos (horse), from the Proto-Indo-European *márkos (horse). [source]. This is also the root of the Irish marcaigh (to ride), the Scottish Gaelic marcaich (to ride), and the Manx markiagh (to ride).
You can find more about Celtic words for horse on my Celtiadur blog
Slavic languages
| Bulgarian | Czech | Polish | Russian | Serbian | Slovak | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| horse | кон | kůň | kón konno |
лошадь | коњ | kôň |
| stallion | жребец | hřebec | ogier rumak |
конь жеребец |
жребец | žrebec |
| mare | кобила | klisna | klacz kobyła |
кобыла | кобила | kobyla |
| foal | жребец | hříbě | źrebak | жеребёнок | фоал | žriebä |
The Russian word for horse, лошадь, is a borrowing from a Turkic language, probably Tatar [source].
The other Slavic words for horse come from the Proto-Slavic konjь (horse), of unceratin origin [source].
Other European languages
| Latvian | Lithuanian | Albanian | Greek | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| horse | zirgs | arklys | kalë | άλογο ίππος |
| stallion | ērze | erelis | hamshor | επιβήτορα |
| mare | ķēve | kumelė | merak | φοράδα |
| foal | kumeļi | kumeliukas | pjellë | πουλάρι |
Sources: Reverso, Linguee, bab.la, Google Translate
Yesterday I say a post in the Silly Linguistics Community on Facebook challenging people to write a sentence in all the languages they speak. This is what I came up with:
Tha e duilich writing une phrase ym mhob språk atá agam, pero ich 試試 red ennagh symoil を書く, kaj nun я хочу říct že il mio tomo tawa supa está cheio de țipari.
This means “It is difficult writing a sentence in every language I speak, but I will try to write something interesting, and now I want to say my hovercraft is full of eels”.
The languages, in order, are Scottish Gaelic, English, French, Welsh, Swedish, Irish, Spanish, German, Chinese, Manx, Japanese, Esperanto, Russian, Czech, Italian, Toki Pona, Portuguese and Romanian.
It’s not the best sentence ever, perhaps, but I enjoyed the challenge of putting it together. It also got me thinking about how many languages and writing systems I could use in a version of my motto “one language is never enough“. This motto appears on some versions of my logo, such as the one above, and I usually try to write it in several difficult languages.
Here are some versions I came up with today. The first version incorporates some of the languages I speak and am learning, plus a few others.
Une singură 语言 är nikdy недостаточно – languages = French, Romanian, Chinese, Swedish, Czech / Slovak, Russian.
Ett seule 言語 ist nunca yn ddigon – languages = Norwegian / Swedish, French, Japanese, German, Portuguese / Galician / Spanish, Welsh.
Jeden lingua er niemals suficiente – languages = Czech / Polish / Slovak / Rusyn, Asturian / Chamorro / Corsican / Galician / Italian / Latin / Sicilian / Interlingua, Danish / Faroese / Icelandic / Norwegian, German, Spanish / Asturian.
Can you incorporate more languages and/or writing systems into this phrase?
When someboday sneezes, do you usually say anything? If so, what?
In the UK it’s common to say ‘Bless you!’ after a sneeze.
In French they say à tes souhaits or à vos souhaits – souhait = wish, so these mean something like ‘to your wishes’.
In German they say “Gesundheit!” (Health). I’ve heard this used by English speakers as well.
The Welsh equivalents of ‘Bless you’ are:
– Rhad arnat ti! = Bless you! (to one person you know)
– Rhad arnoch chi! = Bless you! (to several people or a stranger)
– Bendith y Tad! = Blessing of the Father!
However I’ve never heard these used in Welsh.
How do you represent the sound of a sneeze writing?
Here are a few ways: achoo, atchoo, ahchoo, ah-choo, a-choo, atishoo, atchoum (French).
Here’s an infographic showing how people respond to a sneeze around the world:
How the world responds to sneezing, courtesy of Expedia.ca
In English you could say that you know a person, a place, a language or a fact. You could also talking about knowing about things, knowing of people, knowing how to do things, knowing hardship, knowing what’s what, knowing the ropes, and so on.
In Welsh to say you know a person or place you use adnabod or nabod. For exmple Dw i’n ei nabod nhw yn dda (I know them well), Wyt ti’n nabod Caerdydd? (Do you know Cardiff?).
When talking about knowing a fact you use gwybod. For example, Mae hi’n gwybod popeth (She knows everything), Dan ni’n gwybod tipyn bach am weu (We know a little about knitting).
In some cases you can use nabod and gwybod to show how well you know something. If you say Dw i’n nabod y gân ‘ma (I know this song), you mean that you are familiar with it, but can’t necessarily sing it. If you say Dw i’n gwybod y gân ‘ma it means you it well.
There are quite a few ways to say ‘I don’t know’ in Welsh: Dydw i ddim yn gwybod, Dw i ddim yn gwybod, Dwi’m gwybod, Sa i’n gwybod, Wn i ddim, ‘Dwn i ddim, and apparently in Bala they saw Wmbo.
To know how to do something is also medru, e.g. Mae o’n medru darllen (He can/knows how to read), and to not know how to do something is methu, e.g Dw i’n methu siarad Basceg eto (I can’t / don’t know how to speak Basque yet), at least in North Wales. In South Wales they say Mae e’n gallu darllen and Dw i ddim gallu siarad Basceg eto.
Irish equivalents of the above Welsh examples are:
– Tá aithne maith agam acu = I know them well
– An bhfuil tú eolach ar Chaerdydd? = Do you know Cardiff?
– Tá a fhios aici gach rud = She knows everything
– Tá beagán eolas againn faoi chniotáil = We know a little about knitting
– Tá a fhios agam an t-amhrán seo = I know (of) this song
– Tá an amhráin seo ar eolas agam = I know this song (well)
– Níl a fhios agam = I don’t know
– Is féidir leis léamh = He can read
– Níl Bascais agam go fóill / Níl mé abalta Bascais a labhairt go fóill / Ní féídir liom Bascais a labhairt go fóill = I don’t / can’t speak Basque yet
The other Celtic languages have various ways to express knowing, as do quite a few other languages, such as French, Spanish, German, etc.
Incidentally, when asked which languages you ‘know’? How do you answer? At what level would you say that you ‘know’ a language?
Sources: Geiriadur Yr Academi, WordReference.com, Reverso, fócloir.ie
Corrections are always welcome if I’ve made any mistakes.
Here some nice examples of pictures made from words that illustrates interesting idioms in a variety of languages. I really like the way they’re done.
Idioms that get lost in translation, courtesy of Expedia.com
In Romanian the word for orange (the fruit) is portocală [portoˈkalə]. This comes from the Greek πορτοκάλι (portokáli – orange), from the Venetian portogallo (orange), from the Italian Portogallo (Portugal).
An number of other languages get their word for orange from the same root:
– Albanian: portokall
– Amharic: ብርቱካናማ (biritukanama)
– Arabic: برتقال (burtuqaal)
– Azerbaijani: portağal
– Bulgarian: портокал (portokal)
– Georgian: ფორთოხალი (p’ort’okhali)
– Macedonian: портокал (portokal)
– Persian (Farsi): پرتقال (porteghâl)
– Turkish: portakal
Portuguese merchants were probably the first to introduce oranges to Europe, hence the link between oranges and Portugal.
In some languages oranges are known as “Chinese apples”: Apfelsine (German), appelsien / sinaasappel (Dutch), apelsin (Swedish), etc. This makes sense as oranges were first cultivated in China in about 2,500 BC.
Words for oranges in some Slavic languages come from the Old French pomme d’orenge: pomeranč (Czech), pomaranča (Slovene), pomarańcza (Polish).
The word orange derives from नारङ्ग (nāraṅga) – “orange tree” in Sanskrit, which is probably of Dravidian origin. The word for orange in Portuguese, laranja, comes from this root.
The colour orange was named after the fruit. In Old English the colour orange was referred to as ġeolurēad (yellow-red), or ġeolucrog (yellow-saffron) [source].
Souces: Wiktionary, WordReference.com, Google Translate, Wikipedia, Flickr
The Polyglot Conference is over now for another year, and I arrived back to Bangor yesterday. Although the conference only lasted two days, a lot was packed into that time.
On the Friday I went on a Golden Circle tour with two coach loads of other polyglots. Unfortunately it was a wet, cloudy and cold day, so the views were not great, but the landscape we could see was rather fine.
The first stop was Þingvellir (Thingvellir), a World Heritage Site where the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates meet. It is also where the Iceland parliament (Alþingi) met from AD 930 until 1798.
Next we went to Geysir, and area of volcanic activity with a number of sprouting hot springs, including the famous Great Geysir, which is currently inactive, and Stokkur, which erupts every few minutes (see photo below). We also had lunch here – there are a number of eating places and souvenir shops in the complex near the hot springs. I was expecting the whole place to stink of sulphur, but it didn’t really.
Our final stop was Gullfoss (“Golden Falls”), waterfalls in the canyon of Ölfusá river. They were spectacular, and well worth seeing.
In the evening, after we arrived back in Reykajvik, I went for dinner at an Indian restaurant with a few other polyglots.
The conference started on Saturday morning with interesting speeches by Dr Sebastian Drude, the director of the Vigdís International Centre for Multilingualism and Intercultural Understanding, and Vigdís Finnbogadóttir, the former President of Iceland and UNESCO Goodwill Ambassador for languages.
Then there were talks on a variety of topics, with themes including Icelandic language and culture, bilingualism and autism, and maintaining ‘small’ languages. Some of the speakers were lecturers or researchers in universities, others were language enthusiasts. The talks I found most interesting were the one by Daniel Tammet and Sigriður Kristinsdóttir about how he learnt Icelandic in a week with her help; one about bilingualism and autism, one about the cognitive effects of language learning, and one about Mongolian.
There was plenty of time between the talks and at lunch to catch up with old friends, meet new ones and practise languages. During my time in Iceland, I had conversations in English, Welsh, French, German, Spanish, Italian, Russian, Mandarin, Japanese and Irish, and spoke bits of Czech, Scottish Gaelic, Breton, Manx, Swedish and Icelandic.
Lunch was provided – small sandwiches and wraps, though didn’t appeal to me, so I bought something else in a supermarket.
There weren’t any organised activities in the evenings, as there are at the Polyglot Gatherings. Instead babbles of polyglots went off to do their own thing. I went for dinner with some polyglot friends and had very interesting discussions about all sorts of things, not all of which were related to languages – we do have other interests.
The next Polyglot Conference will be in Ljubljana in Slovenia from 5-7 October 2018 (as you might have guessed from this photo). So next year I will learn some Slovenian before the conference in Ljubljana, and some Slovak before the Polyglot Gathering in Bratislava in Slovakia.
On Monday I did some work on Omniglot in the morning, explored Reykjavik a bit, had lunch in a restaurant in the old harbour area of Reykjavik, did some more work, then explored a bit more with the two Russian teachers who were staying in the same place as me.
Iceland is a very expensive place, which I expected. Meals in restaurants cost at least twice as much as in the UK, as do most other things. It wasn’t as cold as I expected – about 7-10°C during the day and 2-5°C at night. All the locals I met speak very good English, but if you speak Icelandic, they’re happy to speak it with you. There are apparently quite a few people who have moved to Iceland recently for work, most don’t speak Icelandic. On a clear, dry day, the scenery is spectacular. Even on grey, wet days, it’s still impressive and dramatic.
There are some more photos on Flickr:
An Icelandic word I learnt recently is (að) labba [ˈlapːa], which means ‘to walk slowly, to amble, to stroll’ [source].
Here are a few examples of usage:
Other Icelandic words meaning to walk include:
að ganga [að ˈkauŋka] = to walk, go on foot, to climb; to move, run, go; to go around, be passed on [source].
Here are some examples:
This word comes from the Old Norse ganga (to go, walk), from the Proto-Germanic *ganganą (to go, walk, step), from the Proto-Indo-European *ǵʰengʰ- (to walk, step) [source]. This is also the root of the Old English words gangan (to go, walk, turn out) and gang (a journey; way; passage), which is used in some northern dialects of English to mean to go – e.g. in Geordie gan yem = go home [source]. It’s modern meaning of a group of people probably comes from the idea of people travelling (ganging) together [source].
að troða [að ˈtʰrɔːða] = to trample, tread on, step on; to tread, walk; to stuff, fill, pack; to press forward, elbow one’s way [source].
This word comes from the Old Norse troða (to tread, walk), from the Proto-Germanic *trudaną (to tread, step on), which is also the root of the English words tread and trot.
að rölta [að ˈrœlta] = to stroll, saunter [source].
Incidentally, the English word amble comes from the Old French ambler (to walk as a horse does), from the Old Provençal amblar, from Latin ambulō (I walk) [source], and stroll comes from the German strollen, a variant of the Alemannic German strolchen, from Strolch (vagabond; rascal) [source].
In interesting word I learnt recently in Icelandic is spjall [ˈspjatl̥], which means chat, converstation, talk or gossip.
It comes from the Old Norse spjall [ˈspjɑlː] (saying, tale, words, tales, tidings); from Proto-Germanic *spellą (news, message, tale, story), from the Proto-Indo-European *spel- (to tell).
A related word is spjalla, which means ‘to converse, to chat’. You could use it like this, I think,
– Ég er að spjalla á íslensku = I am chatting in Icelandic.
The Proto-Indo-European *spel- is also the root of the English word spell, the German -spiel in Beispiel (example – literally “by talk”) There were similar words in Old English: bīspel (proverb, pattern, example), and Scots: byspel (byword, rarety, outcast).
The German word spielen comes from a different root: the Proto-Germanic *spilōną (to play, to dance, to move), from *spilą (game, play, dance).
Icelandic words with related meanings include:
– tal = speech, conversation
– tala = to talk, to speak
– talmál = spoken language
– talsháttur = phrase, idiom
– talsmaður = advocte, spokesperson
– talsmát = manner of speaking, expression
– ræða = speech, address; to speak, talk, discuss
– ræðinn = talkative
Sources: Wiktionary, Íslensk – ensk orðabók / Concise Icelandic – English Dictionary
