 Sometime around the year 1200, Norse speakers generously gave English speakers the word bull. Since then, bull has had a wild ride.
That original bull meant male bovine. Its Norse source may have come from a Proto-Germanic word meaning to roar. Some etymologists argue that the word boulder may have come from this same source, because water in a river roars over the boulders. Hmmm. Other etymologists argue that bull’s Norse source came from a Proto-Indo-European word meaning to blow or swell. That same Proto-Indo-European source meaning to blow or swell gave us the bull in Papal bull. It appears the Pope’s new policies (or clarifications of old policies) were documents sealed with wax, & the wax appeared to be a swelling on the paper of the document, & voila — a bull! By 1610 or so, the original meaning of bull expanded, applying not only to male bovine, but to male alligators, elephants, & whales. In 1711 anyone boldly grappling with a difficult situation could be said to be taking the bull by the horns. By 1714 bull could be used to refer to an upward trend in the stock market. In the early 1800s, a popular song introduced the idiom bull in a china shop to refer to someone recklessly using force in a delicate situation. By 1859 a policeman could be pejoratively referred to as a bull. There are three potential sources for the bull that means insincere or deceptive talk. Yes, indeed, it may be a shortening of the crass word bullsh**, however, some records suggest its use preceded its crasser comrade. Bull’s other possible sources include an Icelandic word meaning nonsense, an Old French word meaning deception or trick, & a Middle English word meaning false or fraudulent talk. If any of the latter three are the true source, then the four-letter word bull likely gave birth to the cruder eight-letter term bullsh**. The word bulldoze was born during one of America’s uglier times. In the late 1800s a bulldose was a severe beating or lashing -- a dose strong enough to subdue a bull. These lashings weren’t being administered to bulls, but to humans, specifically, Black citizens trying to exercise their right to vote (specifically granted by the 15th amendment in 1870). By the 1880s, bulldose/bulldoze came to also mean to intimidate by violence. It wasn’t until 1942 that an earth-moving piece of heavy equipment was called a bulldozer. Any thoughts on all this bull? Leave a note in the comments section. My thanks go out to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, & Etymonline.
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 Hoosegow. Slammer. Clink. Cooler. What’s up with all these synonyms for jail?
The word jail comes from a Medieval Latin word for cage which was born of an earlier Latin word for hollow place or cavity. The noun form of jail showed up in English in the 1300s through a dialect of Northern France. The verb form didn’t show until the 1600s. The term cooler began to mean jail in 1884. Its source word, cooler, showed up only ten years earlier, meaning a vessel in which liquids or other things are set to cool. Slammer appeared in 1952, from the idea of the jail door slamming shut. Its source, slam, probably came from a Scandinavian source, & appeared in English in the 1670s meaning a severe blow. The word prison has been with us since the 1100s and came from Latin through Vulgar Latin & French. The original Latin term, prehensionem, meant a taking. The verb clink has been with us since the early 1300s — it’s thought to be an imitative word — imitative of the sound made by links of chain abrading one another. Though Southwark London’s infamous prison, the Clynke on Clink Street, was commissioned in 1144, the noun use of clink didn’t get generalized to mean jail until the 1770s. The Mexican/Spanish word juzgao, meaning tribunal or court, gave us the Englishword hoosegow in 1911. Juzgao is one of many offspring of the Latin word iudicare, which meant to judge. Though joint didn’t officially mean jail until 1953, etymologists are pretty sure this meaning came from an older meaning of joint popular in the early 1400s, when joint meant building or establishment where shady activities take place. In the 1700s the word brigantine was born to refer to two-masted schooners. Sailors quickly shortened the word to brig. About a century later, when many older brigs had been retired & deemed prison ships, the word brig took on new meaning. Did any of these etymologies startle you? If so, please let me know in the comment section. My thanks go out to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, The Clink Prison, & Etymonline.  A hearth is a significant place — significant in many ways. This is a tale of two hearths.
You can find the first hearth in many languages. Versions landed in Lithuanian, Russian, Gothic, Old Norse, Old English, Latin, & Sanskrit. Its source is the Proto-Indo European word meaning heat or fire. As one might expect, the English version is the word hearth. But this root meaning heat or fire also gave us: cremate — to burn or consume by fire — 1620s & cremation — the process of burning or consuming by fire -- 1620s carbon — non-metallic element occurring in all organic compounds -- 1789 carboniferous — containing or yielding carbon or coal — 1799 carbuncle — originally a red, inflamed spot — 1200s Our second hearth is less expected — nearly incognito. This group of related words came to English through the Latin word focus, which meant home or family, hearth or fireplace. In time it came to mean point of interest. Focus appeared in English in the 1640s. Back in the 1100s, this same Latin root made its way through French & gave us foyer, which initially meant fireplace, but because a fireplace was often an amenity in the greenroom of a theater, the word foyer began to refer to the room for actors who are offstage. By 1859, the word foyer referred to the theater’s lobby. The word fuel comes from this same root, & appeared in English about 1200. And in the 1300s at the end of the evening, one had to cover the fire — the Anglo French word for this practice was couvre-feu, which in English became the word curfew (it took until the 1800s for our modern meaning to come into existence), And though it didn’t officially make its way to English until 1994, the word focaccia, a bread baked on the hearth, came to us through Latin & Italian from that same root meaning home or family, hearth, or fireplace. May your hearth always be warm & may your words all have intriguing stories. My thanks go out to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, & Etymonline.  This week’s celebration of one African language & one African language family follows last week’s post on Bantu & Kimbundu. English gets its words from many sources.
The word ibis, meaning a stork-like bird came to English in the 1300s from Egyptian. Though modern English speakers use the word ibis to refer to dozens of different types of birds, only one ibis is the sacred ibis of Egypt (Threskiornis aethiopicus), for whom all the others were named. Mumbo-jumbo came to English meaning big, empty talk in 1786 from a language spoken in the region of Niger, from a language in the Niger-Congo family of languages. Caiman (or cayman) showed up in English in the 1570s & appears to have navigated some messy linguistic waters through Carib and Spanish. Etymologists’ best guess is that the Nile crocodile or one of its close cousins was called caiman by people of the Congo region, who were enslaved by Europeans & brought to the new world. The etymologically messy part of the equation is that today’s caimans are South American alligators, yet the word caiman is no longer applied these days to any animals of the African continent. The Niger-Congo language family also gave us the word tango, through Argentinian Spanish. Starting on the African continent as tamgu, to dance, it made its way to South America, before arriving in Europe & installing itself in the English language in 1913. The word pharoah made its long way from Egyptian through Hebrew, Greek, & Latin to land in Old English. Pharoah comes from the Egyptian word pero, which means great house. Oasis landed in English in the early 1600s from Egyptian after a trip through Hamitic, Greek, Latin, & French. The original Egyptian word appears to come from a word meaning dwelling place. Though no one is certain, the word canopy probably came from an Egyptian word that arrived in English in the 1300s after touching down in Greek, Latin, & Old French. The Greek form meant Egyptian couch with mosquito curtains, & the Egyptian source word for canopy meant gnat. Gum made its way from Egyptian through Greek, Latin, & Old French before arriving in English around 1300. Originally meaning resin dried from the sap of plants, it gained the meaning sweetened gelatin candy mixture in 1827. Who knew? Thanks for joining me in this romp through a few of the languages that contribute to this wacky & glorious thing we call the English language. My thanks go out to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, & Etymonline.  Woody Guthrie once said of another songwriter, “Sure, he stole from me, but Hell, I steal from everybody.” The English language appears to have a similar attitude when it comes to word acquisition.
One of the lesser-acknowledged languages from which English has stolen is Bantu, a family of languages spoken across much of southern Africa. Here are a few words that started out in one of the Bantu languages (including Kimbundu, mostly spoken around Angola). And darned if they didn’t make their way into Modern English. Chimpanzee - appeared in English in 1738 from the Bantu word for a gregarious, anthropoid, intelligent ape, known in biological circles as pan troglodytes. Gumbo - a vegetable and seafood soup thickened with okra. The word gumbo arrived in English in 1805 through Louisiana French from the Bantu word ngombo, which means okra. Tote appeared in English in the 1800s from the Kimbundu word tuta, meaning both a load & to carry. Marimba came to English in 1704 from the Bantu word for an indigenous xylophone-like instrument. Goober arrived in English in 1833 from the Bantu, Kimbundu, or Kikonga word nguba, meaning peanut, a leguminous plant. Zombie arrived in English in 1781 from the Kimbundu word nzambi, originally meaning god, then picking up the meaning re-animated corpse in the world of voodoo. Tsetse came to English in 1849 through South African Dutch from the Bantu word for fly — all species in the genus glossinidae, Tsetse is also excellent evidence that the Bantu indulge in onomatopoeia. Banjo appeared in English in 1764 from the Bantu word mbanza, which referred to an indigenous African instrument not terribly unlike the modern banjo. I’m curious. Had you ever wondered about the origins of any of the words above? Did you already know some of them were of African origin? My thanks go out to this week’s sources: Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Wordnik, & Etymonline.
 Since last week’s post covered words related to caca, why not move onto synonyms for stinky?
Though the word stinky didn’t come to English until 1888, its root word stink came from an Old English word stincan, a verb that meant to emit a smell of any kind. Its cousin, stench was also in the Old English lexicon. Both came from a Proto-Germanic word meaning bad smell. So originally, stench & stink had a similar noun/verb relationship to our modern words drench & drink. One of the two original meanings of the Old English word foul was rotten, unclean, vile or offensive to the senses. Its second meaning was ugly. This second branch of meaning is the source for foul play, which likely led to the term foul ball. Malodorous is an English construction that occurred in 1832, combining the Medieval Latin word for having a smell (-odorus) with the French word for bad (mal-). The modern word rank came from the Old English adjective ranc, which meant overbearing & showy. During Middle English, it evolved to mean large & coarse, then excessive & unpleasant, then foul. Some etymologists suggest this last shift was influenced by the English acquisition of the French word rance, which meant rancid. In the late 1300s the word fusty arrived in English, meaning stale-smelling. It came from a French wine-related word meaning tasting of the cask, which came from a Latin word meaning sticks of wood. And frowsty showed up in 1865, meaning having an unpleasant smell. It may have come from a French word meaning ruinous. Though hard-working etymologists haven’t nailed down the connection, they have identified a connection to the word frowsy, which means both musty/stale & slovenly/uncared for. Nothing like a few stinky words, eh? Please consider commenting on which of these words’ histories most surprised you. My thanks go out to this week’s sources: the Merriam Webster, OED, Wordnik, Oxford Dictionary, & Etymonline.  Since wallowing in the wonder of Norton Juster’s The Phantom Tollbooth back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I’ve loved the onomatopoeic words cacophony & cacophonous - wonderfully honest words that sound like what they mean. At the time I was probably a nine- or ten-year-old boy with all the disgusting proclivities of that easy-titillated crowd. How the younger me would’ve loved to have known the etymology of cacophony.
The last part isn’t all that titillating: -phony comes from the Greek word for sound. The first part, though, comes from the Proto-Indo-European word *kakka-, which meant defecation. And yes, this same root traveled through Spanish to give us caca. It also gave us these cacophonous cousins: Cachexia, meaning a generally bad state of health appeared in English in the mid-1500s. Poorly chosen or incorrect taxonomic names of organisms are known as caconyms, a term that’s been around since 1888. Poppycock, which appeared in 1865 through Dutch, meaning nonsense. And since the 1500s, bad handwriting or spelling has been known as cacography. Kakistocracy, coined in 1829 by Thomas Peacock, meaning government by the worst element of a society. So readers, did you know about these caca-related words? My thanks go out to this week’s sources: the Merriam Webster, OED, Wordnik, Oxford Dictionary, & Etymonline.  These days novels and films are filled with quirky characters. What exactly is quirky, & what words come close to meaning the same thing?
The word quirky was born in 1806, when it meant shifty. It came from the 1500s word quirk, which meant evasion. It wasn’t until 1960 that quirky meant idiosyncratic. Coined by Hunter S. Thompson, the word gonzo came to English in 1971, meaningweird, bizarre, idiosyncratic. Though we’re not 100% certain, & Thompson’s gonzo leanings have kept him tight-lipped on the matter, gonzo may have been inspired by an Italian word meaning rude & sottish, or a Germanic word for goose. In the 1400s, nutty meant nut-like. By the 1820s, it meant in love, & by 1898 it came to mean unbalanced or idiosyncratic. Someone who is aberrant is wandering from the usual course. We’ve had this word since 1798. Its initial usage applied generally to the animal and plant kingdoms. Since 1938 we’ve had the word off-beat (or offbeat). It was born in the world of music, & was almost immediately applied to idiosyncratic humans. The Old English word utlendisc referred to the customs or people of a foreign country. In time, xenophobia & discomfort with “other” took their toll on this word’s meaning. The word it has become, outlandish, now means odd or bizarre. In 1866 the word screwball referred to an unexpected sort of pitch in the game of cricket. By 1928, baseball welcomed screwball into its lexical arms to refer to an erratic pitch. By 1938, Carol Lombard’s comedy got labeled screwball comedy, & ever since, the word screwball can be used to identify a person who is unbalanced or idiosyncratic. In the comments section, I’m hoping you’ll nominate a character from fiction or the silver screen who might be defined with one of the above words. My thanks go out to this week’s sources: the Merriam Webster, OED, Collins Dictionary, Oxford Dictionary, & Etymonline.  The process of preening ourselves to look smart, tidy or stylish, has any number of labels. Here are a few.
Since the late 1800s we can get duded up (or dooded/doodied up if preferred). This term came about in the late 1800s from the word dude (city slicker). The Proto-Indo European word *sleigh- meant to glide smoothly, & gave us the English word slick, which made its way across the pond to America, where one variant came to mean preening oneself to look smart, tidy or stylish -- slicked up. We can also get spruced up. This idiom seems to have been born of the fancy leather jerkins worn by Prussian soldiers back when the word spruce used to refer to Prussians. In the early 1800s a fancily dressed individual could be referred to as a spiff, which gave birth to the late 1800s idiom spiffed up. And since the 1940s we’ve had the term gussied up. Though nobody’s certain of its origins, it may have come from a familiar name for Augustus (Gussie), or from the word gusset. In the early 1800s when one tidied oneself, the verb tidivate came along (from the word tidy + verb ending -vate). It soon shifted to titivate. So, next time you need to look fancy, what term will you use for the process of getting there? My thanks go out to this week’s sources: the OED, Etymonline. Free Dictionary, Merriam Webster, Collins Dictionary, Oxford Dictionary, & Wordnik |
I write for teens, narrate audio books, bake bread, play music, and ponder the wonder of words in a foggy little town on California's central coast.
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