As soon as I started reading Joseph O’Neill’s “Forward Into Foreignness” (called “Polyglotism” in the paper version of the issue of the New Yorker I was reading; archived), I knew I was going to post it:
In the nineteen-sixties, my father, a Corkman, was employed by Chicago Bridge & Iron, an American corporation that built industrial plants worldwide. He worked in hardhat management positions. An early project took him to Mersin, in Turkey. There, he met my mother. She had just spent a year at Langham Secretarial College, in London. They courted in English, then married at Mersin’s Church of St. Anthony of Padua, the patron saint of lost things.
My mother belonged to Mersin’s well-off Christian community, which was mainly of Syrian origin. This Levantine subculture socialized in French, voiced endearments in Arabic, communicated with functionaries in Turkish. Polyglotism was prized. My mother’s father spoke French, Arabic, Turkish, German, English, Italian, and Ladino. He sent my mother to French-language boarding schools in Lyon and Aleppo. She used French with her four children. We called her Maman and my father Papa. My first word was “attends,” because “attends” was my mother’s invariable response to my cries from the crib.
That was in Neuchâtel, in Switzerland. We kept moving—to Tripoli, in Lebanon; to Amanzimtoti, in South Africa; and to Matola, in colonial Mozambique. Our nanny there, Victoria, chatted to us in the language of Lisbon, and my first ironic remark was made in Portuguese. I was four years old. The remark came in response to my parents turning off my bedroom light. “Muito obrigado,” I said. I added, translating, “Thank you very much.”
During my father’s next assignment, in Ras Lanuf, Libya, mother and children stayed in Mersin. At preschool, I rapidly acquired fluent preschool Turkish. My teacher selected me to recite a Mother’s Day poem. I wore a navy-blue velvet suit handmade by my grandmother (her languages: French, Arabic, Turkish, and Greek). The poem began, “Annecim, dünyanın en iyi sin.” My maman, you are best in the world.
My father was posted to Iran. I didn’t want to go. After a family friend procured the airplane tickets, I cursed him: “Allah belanı versin, Georges Chalfoun!” We moved to Kermanshah, in the Zagros Mountains. There I lost almost all my Turkish.
A year later, in 1970, we moved to Den Haag. I learned Dutch. My mother, too, learned Dutch, well enough to attend Leiden University and teach French at the Eerste Vrijzinnig-Christelijk Lyceum. Near the V.C.L. was the Lycée Français de la Haye, at the front gate of which I was deposited, without my consent, aged ten. I’d been happy at the English School of The Hague. Now I faced two years in the French education system. I had learned an important Gallic concept: the fait accompli.
When I was eleven, my mother signed me up for private German lessons with an enigmatic German lady. With her, I reluctantly studied a book called “Die Drei Schwarze Katzen.” Later, I studied German more systematically. I can still affirm the dative prepositions: aus, bei, mit, nach, seit, von, zu, and gegenüber. And außer.
That’s how we did things in my family. You went forward into foreignness. Tabbouleh, hurling, helva, “Inshallah,” “godverdomme,” Georges Brassens, George Best, the Dubliners, Kaptan Swing, Sinterklaas, “Shoot!,” Johan Cruyff, “çok güzel,” “ya’aburnee shuhelwa,” Louis de Funès, “à table,” “Le Trésor de Rackham le Rouge,” “Revolver,” Roger Casement, “Guerilla Days in Ireland”—all of it was our culture.
Click through for the rest. A good deal of it resonates with me, even though my own collection of foreign locales was different; I recognize most of his list of cultural items from my vast reading (though Louis de Funès was barely a name to me — apparently “he remains a household name throughout most of continental Europe including the former Eastern Bloc, the former Soviet Union, as well as Iran, Turkey, and Israel”), but does anyone know what “Shoot!” refers to?
Oh, and Amanzimtoti has an interesting onomastic story:
According to local legend, when the Zulu king Shaka led his army down the south coast on a raid against the Pondos in 1828, he rested on the banks of a river. When drinking the water, he exclaimed “Kanti amanzi amtoti” (isiZulu: “So the water is sweet”). The river came to be known as Amanzimtoti (“Sweet Waters”). The Zulu word for “sweet” is actually mnandi, but, as Shaka’s mother had the name Nandi, he invented the word mtoti to replace mnandi out of respect not to wear out her name. Locals frequently refer to the town as “Toti”. In 2009 the KwaZulu-Natal Provincial Geographical Names Committee recommended changing the town’s name to aManzamtoti/eManzamtoti.
Frankly, “he invented the word” sounds like hokum, but I leave it to others to provide whatever fact-checking might be available.
Is there any difference in denotation and/or connotation between Corkman, Corconian, and Leesider, and does *Corklady or *Corkwoman exist?
I’ve always though of hlonipa as women avoiding syllable-sequences that sound like parts of the names of their husbands or male in-laws, but it seems there’s a lot more to it:
https://academicjournals.org/journal/JLC/article-full-text-pdf/014637A2013.pdf
I was also under the impression that what happens is substitution of other words rather than whole-cloth invention of new ones. Maybe mtoti is not an invention but a substitution.
That was my uninformed guess.
@M
Corkwoman definitely.
Re Corconian v. Corkman, the first is more literary or elitist, I would say (the Corconian might be more likely to be a member of the RCYC). But what would I know? Calling mollymooly….
I think substitution of syllables also happens in hlonipha speech (which could certainly create new words), but my searching has turned up a fair bit about the sociolinguistics but practically nothing about the nuts and bolts of the actual linguistic mechanisms.
“Shoot!” may well be the popular UK magazine about football (assoc./soccer)
You must be right — thanks very much!
Wikipedia.
I can confirm that anyone who grew up in 70s Germany is very likely to be aware of Louis de Funès’s cinematic oeuvre, where it’s to their taste or not. And he’s also quite well known in the former Soviet Union.
Indeed, even though the dubbed versions of his movies are extremely bad (this was a time when some Synchronstudios found nothing wrong with inventing dialogues that had absolutely no relation to the original — they were even proud of it).
…but not adjective declension: Die drei schwarzen Katzen.
Recommended.
I think I first saw him mentioned in Russian, in something short we read in school (late 90s).
Given the presence of godverdomme in the list, could it just be the euphemism for “shit!”?
No, it’s clearly the soccer publication. There would be no reason for a random euphemism to appear in the list. (Plus nobody actually uses it.)
@David Marjanović: Why should the title be in the Dativ? I assume this book* wasn’t what O’Neill was reading, but there die Katzen are also “schwarze.” (“Die drei ???” is pretty weird, but I understand where it comes from and that it might actually have been a clever branding decision for the series.) I admit, however, that I also thought the title ought to have been “Die drei schwarzen Katzen.”
* The linked image appears to be the most common cover for the book. However, showing the cat angry, teeth bared, is not very accurate, since the “crooked cat” in the story is actually a stuffed toy.
There’s a Louis de Funès museum in Saint-Raphaël, where we’ve got a flat, so I knew about him. I must admit that otherwise …
His popularity in Russia was aided by his being dubbed by this guy.
Is there any difference in denotation and/or connotation between Corkman, Corconian, and Leesider, and does *Corklady or *Corkwoman exist?
“Leesider” is mainly sports journalists’ elegant variation. See List of Irish county nicknames
Corkwoman certainly exists. (Of course so do “Cork man” and “Cork woman” as with any place, as in “Cork man killed in gardening accident” or the like)
I was unaware of any pair Fooman/Foolady in English. I checked onelook.com and found “saleslady”…OK I guess… and forelady, surprising.
I learned the word Corkonian* at school when my family moved from West Corn to Cork City. I have always regarded Corkonian as the demonym for the city and Corkman/-woman for the county. The latter is never wrong, since the city is part of the county (except in the trivial matter of local government). I have encountered some use of Corkonian for the county, so I could not go so far as to call it incorrect, but it is unusual. I should do a survey.
Most Irish counties have a town of Identical name; I don’t know how many such pairs have contrastive demonyms. Foo-man/-woman will always do as regards the county. Perhaps some people contrast Dubliner/Dublinman for city/county? I wouldn’t count on it.
*not Corconian, although the University and Bishop are Corcagensis rather than Corkagensis. Other Latinesque Irish demonyms include Galwegian, Carlovian, Wicklovian
For “West Corn” read “West Cork”. I have been to West Cornwall; it’s not the same.
I saw Louis de Funès movies when I was a kid. They were popular in Israel, even the cringy The Mad Adventures of Rabbi Jacob (about a noxious, somewhat antisemitic guy having to disguise himself as a rabbi to elude assassins). I thought they were all kinda stupid.
Louis de Funès reminds me of Peter Sellers: national treasure vs dated mugging
I saw Adventures of Rabbi Jacob, which is silly, but ok to my very unrefined taste. But to my very uninformed opinion, the best known role of Louis de Funès in Soviet parts is inspector Juve in Fantômas. No personal memories about the 1960s trilogy, but some residual warm feelings.
@Brett:
Die drei schwarzen Katzen isn’t dative (which would have been Den drei schwarzen Katzen).
The difference from Die schwarze Katze is because that’s singular; one black cat.
mollymooly:
Well, chairlady. But nowadays people say chair for both.
The resemblance to charlady made me wonder if there is a charman. Apparently there is.
That’s no charlady, that’s my charwife!
@Andreas Johansson: Yes, of course. My gut feeling was correct, but my German is sufficiently out of practice that I couldn’t figure out why.
@maidhc: I remember it being a regular joke in Bloom County that Mary Kay used the term saleslady.
A lollipop lady’s male colleague is certainly a lollipop man, but I’m not sure about a lunch lady/dinner lady. Let it be lunch lord and dinner gentleman.
I’ve met someone who does – spontaneously. Might be a Berkeley thing or something.
And the difference to Schwarze Katzen is the definite article.
FWIW, when I was a teenager first learning German at the very end of the Seventies I found _gegenüber_ a particularly charming-and/or-hilarious preposition.
Separately, the google books ngram viewer asserts that “chairwoman” has been more frequent than “chairlady” for the last 70+ years.
I say “Shoot!” when the situation isn’t bad enough to call for “Shit!” And I hear “Shoot!” now and then.
Is not “shucks” the better alternative? Perhaps one of those “de gustibus” things …
Louis de Funès was funny when you were a pre-teen or early teen like I was at the time; when I grew up I found the films often more cringe than fun. Basically the same as with the Bud Spencer and Terence Hill films that were popular around the same time.
I say “Shoot!” when the situation isn’t bad enough to call for “Shit!” And I hear “Shoot!” now and then.
OK, I exaggerated. But it’s still rare enough it wouldn’t make sense to use it as an example of cultural touchstones picked up in a peripatetic life.
My dad (Chinese Indonesian, via Netherlands) also worked for CBI, in London, and was the only person I knew who said “Shoot!” rather than “damn”, I assumed it was the American dominated office speak
I thought “shucks” is more like “ah well, too bad” than like genuine anger?
Oh, those vary. Their Westerns are exquisite.
I thought “shucks” is more like “ah well, too bad” than like genuine anger?
Yes, I can’t imagine anyone saying it in genuine anger (which is not to say it doesn’t happen, it’s just not in my linguistic universe).
I don’t associate “shoot” with “genuine anger” either. For that you need a “Dadgummit!” at a minimum.
Beyond Corconian, what’s the demonym for his Mersin-born mother? I see that that city (or a previous one on the same site, if you prefer) was known in Roman times as Zephyrium, which seems like it ought to enable some suitably posh options.
In my mind “Shoot!” is reserved for milder annoyances, even among unabashed shit-sayers. As in, “where did I put my glasses?” or “we just missed the bus and will have to wait 15 minutes.”
“Shucks” is not even that. It’s an ironic reference to what mild-mannered rurals might say in moments of mild discontent, or not even that. I can’t think of it taking an exclamation point, in writing or in speaking. “Shucks, I didn’t mean it.”
I’ll say shoot sometimes in genuine but mild irritation. For me, shucks expresses apology or chagrin. But I don’t use shucks.
>what’s the demonym for his Mersin-born mother?
Primitive?
For me, shucks expresses apology or chagrin
That matches my foreigner’s impression that “aw shucks” is American for “silly me.”
Or was many decades ago. I don’t dispute that it still exists in some corners, but I have never heard it except as a conscious evocation of bygone times.
The way, for instance, I sometimes say “Balderdash!”
@DE: Not only. Also to express sympathy, say “Shucks, he didn’t mean it,” to console a child who was called an unflattering name by another child, or “Aw, shucks” when a friend tells you that their regular coffeehouse decided to stay closed on Mondays.
Ghanaians say “sorry” in such cases (one of the things that throws a Brit L1 speaker initially.) Same in Kusaal: gaafara can mean both “I apologise for standing on your foot” and “I sympathise, after seeing how you carelessly tripped over that stone.”
No admission of fault is implied …
And also ironically, say if you hear that a hated politician fell victim to an embarrassing situation.
@DE: Is that a more general thing in the region? I remember reading somewhere that Hausa speakers do the same, using “sorry” to express commiseration when speaking English, because the Hausa word for sorry (reported as sannu) is used the same way.
I certainly encountered this all over Ghana and in Nigeria; not sure about Francophone West Africa, though. I don’t think I came across pardon used in a no-fault way. English “sorry” is kind of half way there already, in a way that pardon is not.
Hausa sannu is often just “hello” or “thankyou”; I think its original sense is “slowly.” Take it easy – it’s all cool, man …
Kusaal gaafara is actually from Arabic via Hausa, but I’m not sure if Hausa gafara is used in that way.
If you really are asking for forgiveness for a fault in Kusaal, you say dim suguru “have forbearance/forgiveness!”; suguru is another borrowing, but I’m not sure of its ultimate origin.
The Hausa dictionaries say that gafara is what women call out when announcing that they have come to pay a visit (in West Africa, knocking is for robbers trying to find out if anyone is at home.) That would be kabire in Kusaal, yet another borrowing of unclear origin.