Sun dribbles

By Simon

Sand ripples / Sun dribbles

While walking along by estuary of the River Dwyryd at Portmeirion yesterday, the Czech friend I was with asked me the name of the patterns in the sand and mud made by water. I wasn’t sure and suggested ripples or sand ripples. She misheard the latter and thought I said sun dribbles, which I really like the sound of.

I checked today and discovered that the marks in sand and mud left by flowing water are known, rather boringly, as ripple marks, or wave-formed ripples, according to Wikipedia.

Do they have more poetic names in other languages?

Les mots de la semaine

By Simon
français English Cymraeg
braiser; cuire à l’étouffée to braise mudstiwio; brwysio
bœuf braisé/mode/en daube braised beef cig eidion wedi ei frwysiedig
faire une purée de (pommes de terre) to mash (potatoes) mwtro/stwnsio/stompio (tatws)
une purée de pommes de terre mashed potatoes tatws stwmp/stwmsh; stwnsh tatws
le joint de culasse gasket gasged
casser/griller un joint de culasse to blow a gasket (car) chwythu gasged
péter un fusible; se mettre en colère to blow a fuse chwythu/llosgi ffiws
péter les plombs to blow one’s top gwylltio’n lân/ulw; colli’ch tymer; mynd ar gefn eich ceffyl
faire un bruit de pet to blow a raspberry hisian; hwtio; wfftio

Compulsory languages

By Simon

In an article I came across today in the Irish Times the writer, an Irish speaker, wonders whether the compulsory teaching of Irish language in schools in Ireland is the best way to keep the language alive. He argues that those who are interested in the language will continue to learn it and speak it even if it is no longer compulsory in schools. I’ve seen suggestions like this many times for Irish and other minority languages, and it is difficult to say what is best as there is some truth in the idea that making a subject compulsory isn’t necessarily the best way to get people to study it.

What are your thoughts on this?

Nemocnice

By Simon

One of the Czech lessons I studied yesterday included the word nemocnice (hospital), and though I hadn’t seen or heard it before, I was familiar with the word nemocný (ill; sick) and guessed from the context that nemocnice was a hospital. It feels good to be able to work out the meanings of words from their form and context, and this is somewhat easier in Czech as most words seem to be built from native roots, rather than being borrowed from other languages.

Words related to nemocnice include:

– nemoc = illness; disease
– moc = power, potency, force, forcefulness; strength
– mocný = powerful; mighty
– mocnost = power (nation, state)
– bezmoc = helplessness, powerlessness
– bezmocný = powerless, helpless

Source: Wikitionary

Hospital in Czech is also špitál or lazaret, which is probably related to the Italian lazzaretto (a leper hospital; place of quarantine) or the French lazaret (an isolation hospital for patients with contagious diseases). The Italian word comes from Nazaretto, a quarantine station in Venice, which was named after Santa Maria di Nazareth, a church on the island where it was located [source].

The historical present

By Simon

The year is 1066 and William, Duke of Normandy, invades England to claim the throne he believes to be rightly his. Meanwhile King Harold Godwinson rushes to Hastings to do battle with William after defeating the Norwegian army of Harald Hardrada at Stamford Bridge.

This is an example of the historical or historic present, which involves using the present tense to talk about past events. It is also known as the dramatic present or narrative present. I’ve noticed its use in a number of documentaries I watched recently. It also appears in novels, such as Charles Dicken’s David Copperfield, and Margaret Atwood’s novel, The Handmaid’s Tale, is written entirely in the historical present. It sounds rather strange to me. Does it sound strange to you?

Les mots de le semaine

By Simon
français English Cymraeg
appuyer sur le champignon;
mettre les gaz		 to put one’s foot down (to accelerate) rhoi dy droed ar y sbardyn; cyflymu
mettre les pieds dans le plat to put one’s foot in it rhoi’ch troed ynddi; cael caff gwag
faire de son mieux to put one’s best foot forward rhoi’r troed gorau ymlaenaf;
prysuro; brasgamu; estyn camau
se détendre to put one’s feet up cael (pum) munud; cael hoe fach;
cael seibiant; cael sbel, gorffwys
la grille railings rheiliau; barrau; rheilin
un accident (car) crash trawiad; gwrthdrawiad
avoir un accident de voiture to crash one’s car dryllio’ch ar; malu’ch car
emprunter (qch à qn) to borrow (sth from sb) benthyca (rhywbeth gan rywun);
cael benthyg (rhywbeth gan rywun)
prêter (qch à qn) to lend (sb sth) benthyca (rhywbeth i rwyun);
rhoi benthyg (rhywbeth i rwyun)
trembler to quake crynu
les régions sauvages (fpl) wilderness diffeithwch; anialwch; anialdir; gwylltir
l’espace (m) naturel wilderness area ardal wyllt/naturiol
en pleine traversée du désert in the wilderness (not prominent/active) yn y diffeitwch/anialwch;
allan o rym; heb rym
le chien courant; le chien de meute (hunting) hound bytheiad; helgi; ci hela
la meute the hounds; a pack (of hounds) cŵn; helgwn; haid o gŵn

Vellichor

By Simon

I came across a number of interesting words today on BuzzFeed, including vellichor, the strange wistfulness of used bookshops, and limerence, the state of being infatuated with another person.

The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows defines vellichor as:

n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.

I suspect it might be a made-up word, but it’s a good one.

According to Wikipedia, Limerence is:

… an involuntary state of mind which results from a romantic attraction to another person combined with an overwhelming, obsessive need to have one’s feelings reciprocated. Psychologist Dorothy Tennov coined the term “limerence” for her 1979 book Love and Limerence: The Experience of Being in Love to describe the concept that had grown out of her work in the mid-1960s, when she interviewed over 500 people on the topic of love.

So it’s a genuine word, though not one I’ve come across before.