| The other day, I shared an enigmatic comment made by poet Genevieve Taggard in the margin of her book The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (1924) next to the poem “If I can stop one heart from breaking.” Taggard wrote, “the lowest she ever went.” In my post “How Low Can She Go?” (HERE), I questioned what Taggard meant by that. On Counter Social, I heard from @misterfive: |  |
 | Interesting point, and one I had not considered. I explored the word “low” at the OED and found some interesting details about the word. First, the term is a borrowing from early Scandinavian: < early Scandinavian (compare Old Icelandic lágr (comparative lægri, superlative læstr) a short distance from the ground, short in stature or height, low-lying, humble, (of the voice) quiet, muted (Icelandic lágur, lár), |
Concerning its pronunciation, this point jumped out at me for it validates what I have always told friends about the intervocalic voiced velar fricative:
The usual modern Scots form laich (also laigh) at α forms is the reflex of early Scots (uninflected) *lāh, and shows the regular development of Middle English long ā to long close ē by the operation of the Great Vowel Shift; in contrast, the doublet form law at δ forms is the reflex of early Scots (inflected) *lāg-, with the regular development of the intervocalic voiced velar fricative /ɣ/ to /w/ (compare γ forms), and the consequent creation of a new diphthong /au/ (subsequently monophthongized to /ɑː/ and raised to /ɔ(ː)/ ).
The usual modern Scots form laich (also laigh) at α forms is the reflex of early Scots (uninflected) *lāh, and shows the regular development of Middle English long ā to long close ē by the operation of the Great Vowel Shift; in contrast, the doublet form law at δ forms is the reflex of early Scots (inflected) *lāg-, with the regular development of the intervocalic voiced velar fricative /ɣ/ to /w/ (compare γ forms), and the consequent creation of a new diphthong /au/ (subsequently monophthongized to /ɑː/ and raised to /ɔ(ː)/ ).
Regarding its spelling, I was surprised by how many variations there were:
| Below: Usage of "low" through the years:  | Conerning its definition – particularly related to what Taggard might have meant – I found this: “Originally: of or relating to the realm of the mundane or commonplace… of modest pretensions.” However, this definition also emphasized “inferior in quality and refinement…less worldly or holy.” I also found this: “Humble in character or disposition; meek.” This definition could certainly fit in with Taggard’s comment. What do you think? |
In response to my post “How Low Can She Go?” I also heard this from @jonathanmorse on Tumblr:
| Below: Morse's AI depiction of Miss Emily and her ladder to help a fainting robin:  | Below: The video of W. C. Fields as "The Dentist" is HERE. He says "again" ("eggayne") at 19:33.  |
Mr. Morse's comments on the pronunciation of "again" intrigued me, so I explored the word at the OED, and I found this:
In Old English, early West Saxon ongeagn shows diphthongization of early Old English æ after preceding palatal g, while Anglian ongægn preserves the inherited vowel, although occasionally a form with a glide after the palatal is found in Northumbrian (ongeægn). The form ongegn occurs chiefly in Mercian and texts influenced by that variety; it appears to show fronting of æ in these sources, but it has also been suggested that it represents the reflex of either a variant of the same Germanic base with suffix causing i-mutation or an ablaut variant (e-grade) of the same Germanic base.
Again (no pun intended), I feel validated. For years and years I have told friends of a mutation and an ablaut variant (e-grade) of the same Germanic base with the pronunciation of “again.”
Now let’s get to Mr. Morse’s comments of Dickinson’s “letter about killing an ovipositing moth because she thought it look tired.” The math, as they say, does not seem to be mathing here, and the killing of a moth does not sound like something Dickinson would advertise.
I did find this in a letter to her friend Abiah Root:
"I found a little moth in my stores the other day - a very subtle moth that had in ways and manners to me and mine unknown, contrived to hide itself in a favorite worsted basket - how long my little treasurehouse had furnished an arena for it's destroying labors it is not mine to tell - it had an errand there - I trust it fulfilled it's mission; it taught me dear Abiah to have no treasure here, or rather it tried to tell me in it's little mothy way of another enduring treasure, the robber cannot steal which, nor time waste away. How many a lesson learned from lips of such tiny teachers"
Could Mr. Morse have been alluding to Virginia Woolf's "The Death of a Moth" (HERE):
He settled on the window ledge in the sun…He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window-pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed...It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
I also found a poem by Dickinson's sister-in-law Susan called "Crushed before the Moth":
In Old English, early West Saxon ongeagn shows diphthongization of early Old English æ after preceding palatal g, while Anglian ongægn preserves the inherited vowel, although occasionally a form with a glide after the palatal is found in Northumbrian (ongeægn). The form ongegn occurs chiefly in Mercian and texts influenced by that variety; it appears to show fronting of æ in these sources, but it has also been suggested that it represents the reflex of either a variant of the same Germanic base with suffix causing i-mutation or an ablaut variant (e-grade) of the same Germanic base.
Again (no pun intended), I feel validated. For years and years I have told friends of a mutation and an ablaut variant (e-grade) of the same Germanic base with the pronunciation of “again.”
Now let’s get to Mr. Morse’s comments of Dickinson’s “letter about killing an ovipositing moth because she thought it look tired.” The math, as they say, does not seem to be mathing here, and the killing of a moth does not sound like something Dickinson would advertise.
I did find this in a letter to her friend Abiah Root:
"I found a little moth in my stores the other day - a very subtle moth that had in ways and manners to me and mine unknown, contrived to hide itself in a favorite worsted basket - how long my little treasurehouse had furnished an arena for it's destroying labors it is not mine to tell - it had an errand there - I trust it fulfilled it's mission; it taught me dear Abiah to have no treasure here, or rather it tried to tell me in it's little mothy way of another enduring treasure, the robber cannot steal which, nor time waste away. How many a lesson learned from lips of such tiny teachers"
Could Mr. Morse have been alluding to Virginia Woolf's "The Death of a Moth" (HERE):
He settled on the window ledge in the sun…He was trying to resume his dancing, but seemed either so stiff or so awkward that he could only flutter to the bottom of the window-pane; and when he tried to fly across it he failed...It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
I also found a poem by Dickinson's sister-in-law Susan called "Crushed before the Moth":
 | More about this poem is found HERE. I also discovered a post from 2018 about this poem at the Parlando Project, "Where Music and Words Meet," HERE. In particular, I would like to point out the opening statement by Frank Hudson, author of the post: Increasingly, I am comprehending the miracle of Emily Dickinson. Preach, Brother Hudson, preach! Finally, I have yet to share "something blue" (as noted in the title of this post), so I would like to remind readers that "low" can also mean "Emotionally depressed; dejected, dispirited; despondent. Frequently in low spirits." |
Some OED examples of usage of "low" as "emotionally depressed" are below:
Hmm...did you see that last one from William Hazlitt in 1822? Looks like I have some further research to do! LOL.
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