If something doesn’t happen very often, you might say that it happens once in a blue moon English. What about in other languages?
The phrase once in a blue moon first appeared in first around 1821 and refers to something that happens very rarely, very infrequently or almost never. An alternative version is apparently once in a purple moon [source].
A blue moon is a second full moon during a calendar month, which happens once every 32 months. A blue moon can also refer to a full moon that appears to be blue and bigger than usual [source].
In (Mandarin) Chinese, the equivalent is 千载难逢 [千載難逢] (qiānzǎinánféng), which means “an opportunity difficult to come by even in a thousand years”. This expression comes from folk tales, in which such rare opportunities might lead to success or life-changing events [source].
In Czech, the equivalent is jednou za uherský rok , which means ‘once in a Hungarian year’. Apparently this idiom dates from the Turkish wars, when Czech soldiers were hired in Hungary for a certain period of time, which was constantly extended [source]. The Slovak equivalent, raz za uhorský rok (“once a Hungarian year”), probably comes from the same roots.
In Polish, they say raz na ruski rok (“once in a Ruthenian year”), which refers to the fact that the Gregorian calendar used by East Slavs has longer months [source]. Alternatively, they say od wielkiego dzwonu (“from the big bell”), which refers to The Sigismund Bell, the largest of the five bells in the Sigismund Tower of Wawel Cathedral in Kraków, which is used only on special occasions [source].
In French, you might say tous les trente-six du mois (“every 36th of the month”) or une fois toutes les lunes (“once every moon”) [source].
In German, you could say alle Jubeljahre (“every jubilee year”), which refers to biblical jubliees that come round every 50 years [source].
In Russian, they say раз в сто лет (“once every hundred years”) [source].
In Spanish, they say cada muerte de obispo (“every death of a bishop”), or de Pascuas a Ramos (“from Easter (Day) til Palm Sunday”) – Palm Sunday comes before Easter Day [source].
In Welsh, one equivalent is unwaith yn y pedwar amser (“once in the four seasons”) and another is unwaith yn y pedwar gwynt (“once in the four winds”) [source].
Are there interesting similar idioms in other languages?
If you are generally optimistic, and/or view things in a positive way, you could say that you see the world through rose-tinted spectacles or rose-colored glasses. What have roses got to do with positivity? Let’s find out.
Here in the UK we might talk about rose-tinted spectacles or rose-coloured spectacles, while elsewhere, you might talk about rose-colored glasses, rose-tinted glasses or rose-colored lenses, and you might look through, see through or wear them.
These phrases refer to an optimistic perception of something; a positive opinion, or seeing something in a positive way, often thinking of it as better than it actually is. Apparently the use of rose-coloured spectacles to mean something pleasant dates back to the 1830s, and is based on the idea that roses are widely regarded as uncommonly beautiful.
Rose-colour was used to refer to a “pleasant outlook”, and is possibly based on the French phrase coleur de rose (rose colour), which was used in poetry.
English isn’t the only language to associate the roses or particular colours with positivity:
However, in Italian, you might see the world through gli occhi di un bambino (the eyes of a child), and in Croatian you might talk about svijetla strana medalje (the bright side of the coin.
You might also talk about people being rosy-eyed (optimistic, idealistic), or say that everything in the garden is rosy (things are going well, everything is fine), or even paint a rosy picture (to describe a situation or events in an upbeat, optimistic manner, especially if everything is coming up roses (favourable, developing in a pleasing or advantageous manner), and you want to come up smelling of roses (be regarded as appealing, virtuous, respectable, untainted or unharmed).
Then again, every rose has its thorn (every good situation includes some aspect of misfortune or adversity), and there’s no rose without a thorn (to enjoy a pleasant subject or thing, one must take trouble and hardship).
Incidentally, the word rose, which refers to a shrub of the genus Rosa, a flower of the rose plant, and various other things, comes from Middle English ro(o)se (rose, a morally upstanding and virtuous individual, reddish-purple), from Old English rōse (rose), from Latin rosa (rose, dear, sweetheart, love), probably from Ancient Greek ῥόδον (rhódon – rose), from Proto-Hellenic *wródon, maybe from Proto-Iranian *wardah (flower, rose).
Related words in English include roseate (like the rose flower, pink, rosy, full of roses, excessively optimistic), rosette (an element or ornament resembling a rose), and possibly rosemary (a shrub Salvia rosmarinus that produces a fragrant herb used in cooking and perfumes), although this might come from Latin rōsmarīnus (rosemary), from rōs (dew, moisture) & marīnus (marine, of the sea).
What connects the names Cathal, Ronald, Valerie and Walter? Let’s find out.
Where’s Walter / Wally?
The name Cathal comes from Irish Cathal [ˈkahəlˠ], from Old Irish Cathal, from Proto-Celtic *Katuwalos from *katus (battle) and *walos (prince, chief), from Proto-Indo-European *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong). The Welsh names Cadwal and Cadwaladr come from the same roots [source].
Names that also share the Proto-Celtic root *walos (prince, chief) include Conall – from *kū (dog, wolf) and *walos; Donald / Domhnall from *dubnos (world) and *walos, and (O’)Toole – from *toutā (people, tribe, tribal land) and *walos [source].
The name Ronald comes from Scottish Gaelic Raghnall [ˈrˠɤ̃ː.əl̪ˠ], from Old Norse Rǫgnvaldr, from Proto-Germanic *Raginawaldaz from *raginą (decision, advice, counsel) and *waldaz (wielder, rule), from *waldaną (to rule), possibly from Proto-Indo-European *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong) [source].
Names that also share the Proto-Germanic root *waldaz (wielder, rule) include Harold – from *harjaz (army, commander, warrior) and *waldaz; Oswald – from *ansuz (deity, god) and *waldaz; Gerald – from *gaizaz (spear, pike, javelin) and *waldaz, and Walter – from *waldaz and *harjaz (army, commander, warrior) [source].
The name Valerie comes from French Valérie, from Latin Valeria, a feminine form of the Roman family name Valerius, from Latin valere (to be strong), from valeō (to be strong, to be powerful, to be healthy, to be worthy), from Proto-Italic *waleō (to be strong) from Proto-Indo-European *h₂wl̥h₁éh₁yeti, from *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong) [source]. Names from the same Latin roots include Valentine, Valeria and Valencia.
Parts of all these names can be traced back to the Proto-Indo-European root *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong) – the same is true for the names Arnold, Reginald, Reynold and Vlad(imir) [source].
Other words from the same PIE root include: ambivalent, cuckold, evaluation, invalid, prevalence, unwieldy, valour and value in English, gwlad (country, sovereignty) and gwaladr (ruler, sovereign) in Welsh, walten (to rule, exercise control) in German, vallita (to prevail, predominate, reign) in Finnish, vládnout (to rule, reign) in Czech, and власт (vlast – power, authority, influence, government) in Bulgarian [source].
A hat trick usually involves achieving three things in a row, and has little or nothing to do with hats. So where does this expression come from?
A hat trick (also written hat-trick or hattrick) can refer to
Any magic trick performed with a hat, especially one involving pulling an object (traditionally a rabbit) out of an apparently empty hat.
(sport) Three achievements in a single game, competition, season, etc., such as three consecutive wins, one player scoring three goals in football or ice hockey), or a player scoring three tries in rugby
Three achievements or incidents that occur together, usually within a certain period of time. For example, selling three cars in a day
Historically, it referred to a means of securing a seat in the (UK) House of Commons by a Member of Parliament placing their hat upon it during an absence.
The sporting senses of the expression come from cricket – in the past, a bowler who took three wickets in three consecutive balls would be presented with a commemorative hat as a prize. It was first used in this sense in 1858, when H. H. Stephenson (1833-1896) achieved such as feat in a game of cricket at Hyde Park in Sheffield. On that occasion, fans held a collection and presented Stephenson with a hat, or possibly a cap – I like to think it was a bowler hat, but haven’t been able to confirm this.
So in the magical sense, the sporting sense, and the political sense, hats were originally involved.
Hat trick has been borrowed into many languages. In Czech, Danish, Dutch, Faroese and Swedish it’s hattrick. In Portuguese, Romanian, Slovenian and Vietnamese it’s hat-trick, in German it’s Hattrick, in Japanese it’s ハットトリック (hatto torikku), in Korean it’s 해트트릭 (haeteuteurik), and in Greek it’s χατ τρικ (khat trik).
In Welsh, it’s hat-tric, camp lawn (in rugby and football), or trithro (in cricket). Camp means feat, exploit, accomplishment, achievement, game, sport, etc., and llawn means full, complet, whole, etc., so camp lawn could be translated literally as “a full feat”. Trithro also means three turns, three times or three occasions, and comes from tri (three) and tro (rotation, turn, lap, etc).
Are there interesting expressions in other languages with similar meanings?
Incidentally, the practise of awarding people caps for representing a team in a particular sport comes from the UK as well. In the early days of rugby and football, players on each side didn’t necessarily all wear matching shirts, and they started wearing specific caps to show which team they were on. From 1886, it was proposed that all players taking part for England in international matches would be presented with a white silk cap with red rose embroidered on the front. These were known as International Caps. This practise spread to other sports, although the caps in question are often imaginary rather than real.
Did you know that the Italian word rumore doesn’t mean rumo(u)r, as you might expect, but rather noise, rumble, sound or clatter. Is it connected to the English word rumo(u)r? Let’s find out.
Rumore comes from Latin rūmōrem (vague noises, rumours), from rūmor (rumo(u)r), hearsay, gossip, rustle, murmur, a murmuring, the voice of the people), from Proto-Italic *roumōs, from Proto-Indo-European *h₃rewH- (to shout, to roar) [source]. A related word in Latin is rūmusculus (idle gossip) [source].
la notizia ha fatto molto rumore = the news aroused great interest [source]
Words from the same Latin roots include rumoer (rumo(u)r, noise) in Dutch, rumo(u)r in English, rumeur (rumo(u)r) in French, rumur (rumo(u)r, continuous noise) in Portuguese, and rumor (rumo(u)r, murmur) in Spanish [source].
Words from the same PIE roots include řvát (to yell, roar) in Czech, реветь [rʲɪˈvʲetʲ] (to roar, bellow, howl, cry, weep) in Russian, and possibly ωρύομαι [oˈri.o.me] (to howl) in Greek, and rāvis (hoarseness) in Latvian [source].
So the English word rumo(u)r is related. It means “A statement or claim of questionable accuracy, from no known reliable source, usually spread by word of mouth.” or “Information or misinformation of the kind contained in such claims.”. It used to mean a report, new, information in general, fame, reputation, clamour, din or outcry [source].
It comes from Middle English rumour (rumour, gossip, hearsay; a report, tidings, news; loud shouting, noise, din; outcry of protest or disapproval; a disturbance, stir, tumult) [source], from Old French rimur (noise [produced by an army on the march]), from Latin rūmōrem [source].
In Old English, the word hlýd meant rumo(u)r or the noise made in discussing an event [source], and also noise, sound, tumult, disturbance or dissension. Another word for rumour was hlísa, which also meant sound, fame or glory [source].
I have some news – I’ve had enough of learning languages and am giving up, throwing in the towel, putting the fiddle in the roof, throwing a spoon, and throwing the axe in the lake.
This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I like speaking other languages, at least sometimes, but the process of learning them can be a bit tedious. I already speak some languages reasonably well and don’t currently need to learn any more, so maybe my time would be better spent doing other things.
My other main passion is music – I like to sing, to play instruments, and to write songs and tunes. I’ll be spending more time doing this, and will maybe even focus on one instrument, at least for a while, and learn to play it better.
The question is, which instrument? I have a house full of them, including a piano, harps, guitars, ukuleles, recorders, whistles, ocarinas, harmonicas, melodicas, a mandolin, a bodhrán and a cavaquinho.
The instrument I play most often at the moment is the mandolin, so maybe I should focus on that.
If you’ve noticed the date, you may realise that this post is in fact an April Fool. I’m not giving up on learning languages, and actually do enjoy the process, most of the time, and while I do want to improve my mandolin playing, I also want to improve my playing of other instruments.
Incidentally, let’s look at some ways to say that you’re giving up.
In English you might say you quit, you’re calling it a day, you’re calling it quits you’re throwing in the towel or the sponge or the cards, or you’re throwing up your hands.
Equivalent phrases in other languages include:
hodit flintu do žita = to throw a flint into the rye (Czech)
jeter le manche après la cognée = to throw the handle after the axe (French)
leggja árar í bát = to put oars in a boat (Icelandic)
do hata a chaitheamh leis = to throw your hat in (Irish)
gettare le armi = to throw away your weapons (Italian)
匙を投げる (saji o nageru) = to throw a spoon (Japanese)
подня́ть бе́лый флаг (podnjat’ belyj flag) = to raise the white flag (Russian)
leig an saoghal leis an t-sruth = to let the world flow (Scottish Gaelic)
baciti pušku u šaš = to throw a gun into the sedge (Serbian)
kasta yxan i sjön = to throw the axe into the lake (Swedish)
rhoi’r ffidl yn y to = to put the fiddle in the roof (Welsh)
More details of these phrases can be found on Wiktionary.
The Irish word ceolchoirm [ˈcʲolˠ.xorʲəmʲ] means concert. It is made up of ceol (music) and coirm [korʲəmʲ] (feast, banquet, ale, beer). There are similar words in Scottish Gaelic (cuirm-chiùil), and Manx (cuirrey kiaull) [source].
The word coirm comes from the Old Irish word coirm (ale, beer), from the Proto-Celtic *kurmi (beer). Words for beer in the Brythonic Celtic languages come from the same root: cwrw in Welsh, and korev in Cornish and Breton [source].
The Latin word cervēs(i)a [kerˈu̯eː.si.a], which means beer made of wheat, especially of higher quality, comes from the same Proto-Celtic root, as do words for beer in some Romance languages, including cervexa in Galician, cervesa in Catalan and Occitan, cerveza in Spanish and cerveja in Portuguese [source].
From the same Proto-Celtic root we get the French word cervoise [sɛʁ.vwaz], which was a kind of ale or beer made from barley or wheat and without hops during the Middle Ages [source]. The archaic Italian word cervogia [t͡ʃerˈvɔ.d͡ʒa] (beer, ale made from barley or oats) was borrowed from the Old French cervoise [source].
The usual French word for beer is bière [bjɛʁ], which was borrowed from the Middle Dutch bier/bēr (beer), from the Old Dutch *bier, from Frankish *bior (beer), from the Proto-Germanic *beuzą (beer) [source].
Words for beer is some Germanic languages come from the same root, including Bier in German, bier in Dutch, and beer in English [source].
The Italian word for beer, birra, was borrowed from the German Bier, and the Greek word μπίρα (bíra – beer, ale) was borrowed from Italian, as were words for beer in Arabic, بِيرَا (bīrā), Maltese, birra, and Turkish, bira [source].
The Irish word beoir (beer) comes from the Middle Irish beóir (beer), from Old Norse bjórr (beer), which also has descendents in Scottish Gaelic (beòir), Manx (beer), Icelandic (bjór) and Faroese (bjór) [source].
Another word for beer or ale in North Germanic languages is øl (in Danish, Faroese, Norwegian) / öl (in Swedish and Icelandic). This comes from the Old Norse word ǫl (ale, beer), possibly from the Proto-Norse ᚨᛚᚢ (alu – ale), from the Proto-Germanic *alu (beer, ale), from Proto-Indo-European *h₂elut- (beer) [source].
Words for beer in Finnic languages possibly come from the same Proto-Germanic root, including õlu in Estonian, olut in Finnish, Igrian, Karelian and Veps, and oluq in Võro [source].
In Slavic languages words for beer come from the Proto-Slavic *pȋvo (drink, beer, beverage), including пиво (pivo) in Russian, Rusyn, Ukrainian, Bulgarian, Macedonian and Serbian, pivo in Slovenian, Czech and Slovak, and piwo in Polish and Sorbian [source].
Here’s a map of words for beer in European languages:
Well, in English the word chaise longue [ˌʃeɪz ˈlɒŋ(ɡ)/ˌʃeɪz ˈlɔŋ] refers to a long kind of seat, like the one pictured above, designed for reclining on. The word chaise longue was borrowed from French and literally means “long chair” [source].
In French the word chaise longue [ʃɛz lɔ̃ɡ] refers to deckchair, sunlounger, lounge chair or chaise longue (in the English sense) [source].
Other kinds of chaise include:
chaise haute / chaise de bébé = highchair
chaise pliante = folding chair
chaise berçante = rocking chair
chaise roulante = wheelchair
chaise à porteurs = sedan chair
The word chaise longue appears in quite a few other languages, such as Italian and Portuguese, with the same spelling and the same meaning as in English and French. Another word for this type of chair in Italian is agrippina, named after Agrippina the Elder, the daughter of Marcus Agrippa [source].
Yesterday I added details of a language called Akawaio (Ka’pon) to Omniglot. It’s a Cariban language spoken mainly in northern Guyana, and also in northern Brazil and eastern Venezuela, by about 6,380 people.
You may be wondering why I mention this. What’s so special about this language? Well, it just happens to be the 1,500th language I’ve written about on Omniglot, and it feels like a significant milestone to me. There are many more languages out there: 7,139, according to Ethnologue – so only another 5,639 to go! That should keep me busy for a while.
Of the languages on Omniglot, the majority (1,107) are written with the Latin alphabet. There are also 126 written with the Cyrillic alphabet, 75 written with the Arabic alphabet, 72 written with the Devanagari alphabet, and smaller numbers of languages written with other alphabets and writing systems. [More language and writing stats]
It’s becoming increasingly challenging to find information about languages that don’t yet appear on Omniglot. About 4,065 of the world’s languages have a written form, although many are rarely written, and the remaining 3,074 are probably unwritten [source]. There is little or no documentation for many languages, and what documentation there is can be difficult to find. Inspite of this, I will continue to add new language profiles to Omniglot, and appreciate any help you can offer.
I’ve been working on Omniglot on my own since 1998 – there are no minions or other assistants to help me. However, many other people have contributed to Omniglot, by sending me corrections, new material, suggestions, donations and so on, and I am profoundly grateful to all of them.
This is the 3,414th post I’ve written on this blog since launching it in March 2006. At first I tried to write something every day, but soon realised that was too much. At the moment I aim to write two posts a week, plus the language quiz on Sundays.
In April 2007 I started uploading videos to YouTube. Some of the videos feature silly little conversations in languages I’m learning. Others involve music-related events I’ve taken part in, and tunes and songs I’ve written. In 2021 I started uploading videos more regularly, particularly videos about words and etymology, and some songs as well. As well as the Adventures in Etymology videos I upload on Sundays, I plan to make videos featuring alphabets, phrases, etc in a variety of languages. Here’s one I made of the Danish alphabet:
Since June 2018 I’ve made 42 episodes of the Radio Omniglot Podacast, and 5 episodes of Adventures in Etymology, a new series I started in March 2021. It started as a series of videos I made for Instagram and Facebook, then I posted them on Youtube as well, and decided to add them to the Radio Omniglot site. I have ideas for other series I could make for Radio Omniglot, and would welcome any suggestions you may have.
In September 2018 I launched the Celtiadur, a blog where I explore connections between Celtic languages. This is based the Celtic cognates part of Omniglot. So far I’ve written 227 posts, and add a new one every week.
Since 1998 I’ve become fluent in Welsh and Irish, regained my fluency in French, maintained my fluency in Mandarin Chinese, more or less, and have learned enough Esperanto, Scottish Gaelic, Manx, Spanish, Swedish, Danish and Dutch to have at least basic conversations. I’ve also learnt quite a bit of Russian and Czech, and some Romanian, Cantonese, Slovak, Slovenian, Serbian, Icelandic, Faroese, British Sign Language, Breton and Cornish.
I’m currently concentrating on Spanish, Swedish, Danish and Dutch, while trying to maintain my other languages, particularly French and Welsh. For the past 4 years or so I’ve studied languages every day on Duolingo – my current streak reached 1,369 today. I’ve also been using Mondly and Memrise. [More about my language learning adventures].
While not working on Omniglot or learning languages, I like to sing, play musical instruments and write songs and tunes. My musical adventures started long before Omniglot, but for many years after leaving school I only really listened to music. In 2005 I started going to Ireland every summer to learn Irish language, and also Irish songs, tunes and dances. This inspired me to take up music again. Since then I’ve learnt to play the guitar, mandolin, ukulele, cavaquinho and harp, and started playing the recorder, piano and tin whistle again. I’ve learnt songs in many different languages, and written quite a few songs and tunes.
Here’s a song I wrote in 33 different languages:
Enough of this shameless self-promotion. What about you? Have you reached any significant milestones recently?
In French if you don’t speak a langauge very well, you are said to speak it “like a Spanish cow”, or “comme une vache espagnole” [source]. For example:
Il parle anglais comme une vache espagnole He speaks English like a Spanish cow
Elle parle français comme une vache espagnole She speaks French like a Spanish cow
This expression was first used in writing in the 17th century, and possibly referred to vasces, that is Gascons or Basques, rather than vaches, or cows. At the time, Basque people from Spain probably didn’t speak French very well. Or it might come from basse (servant, maid), or from the use of comme une vache as an insult. Also, calling people and things espagnole (Spanish) was also an insult at the time [source].
In English you might say that someone speaks broken English or bad English, or that they butcher or murder English. Although, as the American author H. Jackson Brown Jr. says “Never make fun of someone who speaks broken English. It means they know another language” [source].
You could make up other ways to say you speak a language badly:
I speak Russian like a Pavlovian pig
I speak Czech like a Bohemian badger
I speak Romanian like a Ruritanian rabbit
Are there idioms in other languages to refer to people speaking them badly, or indeed well?
