To recap, I noted in yesterday’s post that Emily Dickinson never used the word “bombilating” in any of her poems, but she did use various synonyms – like “buzz.” Therefore, yesterday’s focus was to be on “buzz,” but I veered off track with a look at the word “onomatopoeia,” including this example from the OED of the word’s usage from 1870:
“Without..supposing..that all our root-words have originated from onomatopœia.”
From that I explored various “bow-wow theories” on the evolution with human language – including the “pooh-pooh theory, which holds that the original language consisted of interjections; and…ding-dong theory, which posits that humans were originally a kind of improved bell capable of making all sounds…(and) the ho-hiss theory, which held that grunts were also the origin of singing.”
As I was examining all of this, I caught sight of a link to an article entitled “The Gestural Origins of Language: Human language may have evolved from manual gestures, which survive today as a ‘behavioral fossil’ coupled to speech,” by Michael C. Corballis, published in the March-April “American Scientist” in 1999.
I’ll be honest, Mr. Corballis, wherever you are – that blew my mind. The thought that gestures tied to sounds led to “words” which led to grammar and language never really crossed my mind – but it makes perfect sense! And the idea of “behavioral fossils”? Again: MInd. Blown.
Curiously, though, last night I could not access the article. I do have an account with JSTOR (where the link delivered me), and usually I get access to 100 articles per month, but evidently this one did qualify? I was glum, “bummed,” as the young folk say. Not quite crambazzled, but in the mopes to be sure.
Fear not, dear reader, for continued research remedied this woebegone tale, and my mirth and merriment were restored! It took some time, but I was finally able to shed my mubble-fubbles and embrace respair: This morning I ran an additional search for information, and lo and behold, look what I came across, the very article published on the American Scientist site, HERE.
I shall print the article this dawn and peruse it! For now, let’s take a quick look at Dickinson’s use of “buzz.” The term generates eleven entries on the online Dickinson archive, representing four poems – the most famous being “I heard a Fly buzz – when I died.” The other three are “Because the Bee may blameless hum,” “Bees are black, with Gilt Surcingles,” and “How many times these low feet staggered.”
“Without..supposing..that all our root-words have originated from onomatopœia.”
From that I explored various “bow-wow theories” on the evolution with human language – including the “pooh-pooh theory, which holds that the original language consisted of interjections; and…ding-dong theory, which posits that humans were originally a kind of improved bell capable of making all sounds…(and) the ho-hiss theory, which held that grunts were also the origin of singing.”
As I was examining all of this, I caught sight of a link to an article entitled “The Gestural Origins of Language: Human language may have evolved from manual gestures, which survive today as a ‘behavioral fossil’ coupled to speech,” by Michael C. Corballis, published in the March-April “American Scientist” in 1999.
I’ll be honest, Mr. Corballis, wherever you are – that blew my mind. The thought that gestures tied to sounds led to “words” which led to grammar and language never really crossed my mind – but it makes perfect sense! And the idea of “behavioral fossils”? Again: MInd. Blown.
Curiously, though, last night I could not access the article. I do have an account with JSTOR (where the link delivered me), and usually I get access to 100 articles per month, but evidently this one did qualify? I was glum, “bummed,” as the young folk say. Not quite crambazzled, but in the mopes to be sure.
Fear not, dear reader, for continued research remedied this woebegone tale, and my mirth and merriment were restored! It took some time, but I was finally able to shed my mubble-fubbles and embrace respair: This morning I ran an additional search for information, and lo and behold, look what I came across, the very article published on the American Scientist site, HERE.
I shall print the article this dawn and peruse it! For now, let’s take a quick look at Dickinson’s use of “buzz.” The term generates eleven entries on the online Dickinson archive, representing four poems – the most famous being “I heard a Fly buzz – when I died.” The other three are “Because the Bee may blameless hum,” “Bees are black, with Gilt Surcingles,” and “How many times these low feet staggered.”
Before I depart this morning, one quick thing about each poem:
1. “I heard a Fly buzz – when I died” uses the word “buzz” twice – with it’s “Blue – uncertain – stumbling buzz.”
2. “Because the Bee may blameless hum” includes the word “Furze” in the penultimate line. Do you need to look that up (like I did)?
3. A “surcingle” is a wide strap that runs over the back and under the belly of a horse, used to keep a blanket or other equipment in place – so "Bees are black, with Gilt Surcingles” is the perfect way to describe bumble bees (and be sure to check out that second line).
4. Take a look at “How many times these low feet staggered,” a somber lamentation of a deceased housewife. If you were to provide a title for this poem, what would you call it? I’ll fill you in tomorrow on the title provided by Mabel Loomis Todd when the poem was first published in 1891 – I think it’s a bit…odd.
1. “I heard a Fly buzz – when I died” uses the word “buzz” twice – with it’s “Blue – uncertain – stumbling buzz.”
2. “Because the Bee may blameless hum” includes the word “Furze” in the penultimate line. Do you need to look that up (like I did)?
3. A “surcingle” is a wide strap that runs over the back and under the belly of a horse, used to keep a blanket or other equipment in place – so "Bees are black, with Gilt Surcingles” is the perfect way to describe bumble bees (and be sure to check out that second line).
4. Take a look at “How many times these low feet staggered,” a somber lamentation of a deceased housewife. If you were to provide a title for this poem, what would you call it? I’ll fill you in tomorrow on the title provided by Mabel Loomis Todd when the poem was first published in 1891 – I think it’s a bit…odd.
 |  |
 |  |
RSS Feed
