languagehat.com

I recently ran across the term block ornament, completely opaque unless you know the meaning; OED (entry revised 2022):

slang (British and Australian) Obsolete.

A small piece of inferior meat placed for sale on the butcher’s block, as opposed to a joint hung on a hook; cf. blocker n.¹ I.3.

1843 ‘Block Ornaments’ made into stew!
Sun (Sydney) 18 March

1909 How often, after a search through the old purse they clutch so tightly, they turn away the coveted ‘block-ornimint’ being beyond their means.
Westminster Gazette 7 January 2/1

And blocker n.¹ I.3 reads:

I.3. † colloquial. A small piece of inferior meat placed for sale on the butcher’s block, as opposed to a joint hung on a hook; = block ornament n. Obsolete.

1848 Forced to substitute a ‘blocker’ of meat, with its cheap accompaniment of bread and vegetables..for poultry and rump-steaks.
Fraser’s Magazine April 396/2

I’m sorry those terms fell out of use; they sound great to me. (One has to wonder about the excitement expressed in “‘Block Ornaments’ made into stew!”)

Or, to put it more expansively and comprehensibly, Toukley’s Kooloora Preschool revives endangered Darkinjung Aboriginal language; Sarah Forster and Emma Simkin report for ABC on the kind of program I like supporting (I’ve added links):

Students at a NSW Central Coast preschool start their day talking about their feelings in Darkinjung, the local Aboriginal language. Darkinjung is the predominant First Nations group in the region, but the language became endangered fairly quickly after colonisation due to its proximity to Sydney.

“It’s taken a lot of research, a lot of hard work from people that have come before me to get those words so we can start learning them again,” preschool educational leader Sharon Buck said. Ms Buck is a proud Gamilaroi woman who has lived and worked on Darkinjung country her whole life.

Kooloora is a targeted Aboriginal preschool attached to Toukley Public School. About 75 per cent of students identify as Aboriginal, but Ms Buck said all families appreciated the opportunity to learn language and culture. Amber Clenton’s daughter, Islah, has attended Kooloora since the beginning of the year. She has started bringing the language and songs home. “Our whole family is Aboriginal, so we love to learn the language,” Ms Clenton said. […]

Arliah James is one of Kooloora’s non-Aboriginal students. Her mother, Kelsey, said she was benefiting from the Darkinjung language program. “I just love how this school incorporates it [culture] a lot and it is not getting forgotten,” Ms James said. […]

Ms Buck’s commitment to restoring language has resulted in the preschool earning the highest rating achievable for an early childhood education and care service. The rating of excellent, from the Australian Children’s Education and Care Quality Authority, is an honour Kooloora shares with just 10 other facilities in NSW. “It validates that the service is a leader in our community and for other early childhood services, and that our initiatives are recognised and valued as making a difference for children and families,” Ms Buck said.

The preschool is working with other local schools to share the localised Aboriginal curriculum.

The ethnonym Gamilaroi is from gamil ‘no,’ a common pattern among Australian languages.

Laudator Temporis Acti presents a set of translations of Horace, Epistles 1.20.5, “addressing his soon to be published book”:

Indulge the fond Desire, with which You burn,
Pursue thy Flight, yet think not to return. (Philip Francis)

Well, you’re keen to be off. Goodbye. (Niall Rudd)

Off with you, down to where you itch to go. (H. Rushton Fairclough)

But off you go, down where you’re itching to go (David Ferry)

But follow your urge for a come-down (Colin MacLeod)

Vete, pues a donde tan ansiosamente deseas ir (Alfonso Cuatrecasas)

Foge para onde estás louco por descer (Frederico Lourenço)

Vai, scappa a precipizio dove hai tanta voglia (Enzo Mandruzzato)

Fuggi pur dove sogni di scendere (Luciano Paolicchi)

Va donc où tu brûles d’aller. (Ch.-M. Leconte de Lisle)

Flieh, wohin du Lust hast hinabzusteigen (Epstein)

I’ll add a Russian version (I can’t find the translator’s name): Ну что же, ступай, куда хочешь! [Well then, go wherever you want!] But Roland Mayer provides a “dissenting voice”; in his commentary he says:

Fuge quo avoid (10.32n.) the place to which …; the verb cannot imply dismissal yet, but it gives a warning. descendere ‘to go down (to a place of business or other activity)’ (OLD 4).

10.32 fuge magna ‘avoid (OLD 10) anything grand’, fuge echoes fugitivus 10[…].

Correspondingly, John Davie has “Avoid the place you are so eager to go down to”; again, I’ll add a Russian equivalent, Nikolai Ginzburg’s Избегай, куда тянет, спуститься [Avoid going down to the place you are drawn to]. Eric Thomson, who provided the quotes, says “My opinion’s not worth a fig, but I don’t find Mayer wholly convincing except in so far as there have may been for the Roman reader/listener a jolt of ambiguity, one that would underline how pained a bon voyage it was”; my opinion is worth even less, but I enjoy this kind of dissection of the semantics of verse.

The Onion has remained amazingly reliable over the decades; back in 1995 they published the immortal Clinton Deploys Vowels to Bosnia, and in 2008 they posted Idiom Shortage Leaves Nation All Sewed Up In Horse Pies, which I missed at the time but which has now come to my attention (thanks, Sven!):

WASHINGTON—A crippling idiom shortage that has left millions of Americans struggling to express themselves spread like tugboat hens throughout the U.S. mainland Tuesday in an unparalleled lingual crisis that now has the entire country six winks short of an icicle.

Since beginning two weeks ago, the deficit in these vernacular phrases has affected nearly every English speaker on the continent, making it virtually impossible to communicate symbolic ideas through a series of words that do not individually share the same meaning as the group of words as a whole. In what many are calling a cast-iron piano tune unlike any on record, idiomatic expression has been devastated nationwide.

“This is an absolute oyster carnival,” said Harvard University linguistics professor Dr. Howard Albright, who noted that the current idiom shortage has been the country’s worst. “I don’t know any other way to describe it.”

Albright said that citizens in the South and West have been hit by the dearth of idioms like babies bite the bedpost, with people in those colorful expression–heavy regions unable to speak about anything related to rain storms, misers, sensations associated with nervousness, difficult or ironic predicaments, surprise at a younger relative’s rapid increase in height, or love. In some areas, what few idioms remain are being bartered or sold at exorbitant prices. And, Albright claims, unless something is done before long to dry out the cinnamon jars, residents of Texas may soon cease speaking altogether.

“These people are desperate,” said Albright, gesturing with his hands to indicate the severity of the problem there. “We’ve never seen anything like it. Some are being forced to choose between feeding their family and praising especially talented professional athletes. It’s as if—it’s really—it is bad.” […]

[Read more…]

The OED’s June set of New word entries is particularly full of good things, although there are, of course, boring items like “Anglo-Dutch, adj.: ‘Of, belonging to, or involving both England (or Britain) and Holland (or the Netherlands)’” — how did that not make it in until 2025? Some that caught my eye:

asweddumize, v.: “transitive. To prepare (fallow or disused land) for cultivation, esp. for the growing of rice.” (It’s Sri Lankan English, from Sinhala asvedduma ‘cultivation (of land),’ whose origin is unclear.)

Avurudu, n.: “The first day of the Sinhala and Hindu New Year, occurring on the spring equinox.” (The pronunciation is unexpected: British English /ˈaʊrᵿduː/ OW-ruh-doo, U.S. English /ˈaʊruˌdu/ OW-roo-doo, Sri Lankan English /ˈaurud̪u/ or /ˈaurud̪ə/.)

bag of dicks, n.: “Coarse slang. In various expressions used to convey hostile or contemptuous dismissal, esp. to suck (or eat) a bag of dicks (frequently in imperative).” (First cite: 1995 “Doesn’t the food suck the biggest bag of dicks you’ve ever tasted?” New York Magazine 19 June 54/3)

baggywrinkle, n.: “A material used to prevent rigging from chafing, made by weaving many short strands of rope, the edges of which are left to fray, across two long strands.”

bagus, adj.: “Of high quality; excellent, splendid. Also as int., expressing approval or assent.” (This is Southeast Asian, from Malay and Indonesian bagus ‘good, fine, beautiful, nice, excellent’; the stress is on the second syllable: British English /bɑːˈɡuːs/ bah-GOOSS, U.S. English /bɑˈɡus/ bah-GOOSS, Singapore and Malaysian English /ˌbʌˈɡus/.)

bee’s dick, n.: “Slang. A very small distance or amount.” (First cite: 1988 “If I was a second out it would have been easier to accept but I was only a bee’s dick out.” Sydney Morning Herald 21 May 28/3)

And that’s just the a’s and b’s; click the link for many more. One that startled me was gunzel, n.: “A tram or train enthusiast”; it turns out to be Australian slang and, according to the etymology, is in fact from the gunsel I was thinking of: “Among vagrants: a boy, a youth; a young male companion of a vagrant, esp. one who is made use of as a sexual partner. Hence: a young man who is made use of as a sexual partner by an older man.” They say “The U.S. slang word was probably transmitted to Australia via American popular culture; compare e.g. its use in the film The Maltese Falcon (1941) and in the book on which this was based,” but the semantic transition is not clear to me.

From the About the Project page:

ARETE is a project of the UCLAB at the University of Applied Sciences Potsdam. The central result of the project is the interactive visualization of the history of the Latin alphabet. In particular, the visualization shows the temporal and formal relationships of the different scripts and typefaces to each other.

Our main concern was to show the diversity and variance of the Latin alphabet over the centuries. It is often suggested that the Roman Capitalis evolved to Antiqua scripts to today’s Grotesk in a linear way. However, we believe that this is only one possible view among many. Like any cultural development, the history of type and script is, at its core, a network. Over the centuries, designers have learned from others, referred to existing designs, and developed variants. There were times of greater standardization and then again times of great variance. The Arete project wants to show and clarify this diversity and these different design lines.

Another concern was to show not only the typographic history, but also the history of calligraphy and handwriting. Even after the invention of printing, a lot of text production occurred by hand. In the 17th and 18th centuries, various social, economic and cultural developments even caused handwriting to flourish.

Lots more info at the link; it’s a pleasing layout, even if I don’t understand all the ins and outs — there are lots of things to click on. (Via chavenet’s MeFi post.)

Brilliant Maps has a page with two terrific images, one “a colourful map of Toronto’s most widespread languages” shown together, and another, “54 Languages in Toronto,” with separate (tiny) maps for each language showing where in the city each is spoken; they “are both the work of Alex McPhee, aka Pronghorn maps,” and there’s a link to his site, where you can buy copies if you so desire. I do love this sort of thing, and there’s a lot more information at the Brilliant Maps link.

As I anticipate my chicken curry and lemon bars, I’ll mention some of the gifts that have come my way. There was a group of movies, for some reason all Asian: two by Tsai Ming-Liang (Rebels of the Neon God and Vive L’amour), Mother by Bong Joon-ho (I loved his Parasite and Memories of Murder), and the new 2-Blu-ray Criterion edition of Seven Samurai (replacing my ancient DVD), one of my favorite movies (I last watched it in conjunction with a reread of The Last Samurai and am due for another viewing). Oh, and I almost forgot Gimme Shelter, one of the greatest and most troubling of rock movies. My lovely and generous wife gave me this Mingus box set (7 CDs!). And I got a book of great Hattic interest: Taiwan Travelogue: A Novel, by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ (her name has the tone marks on the cover, the first time I remember seeing that). The NY Times review by Shahnaz Habib (archived) gives an idea of what I mean about its interest:

Aoyama Chizuko, a Japanese novelist, is traveling around Taiwan with O Chizuru, a brilliant translator with deep knowledge of the island’s layers of culture. Having received an official invitation to conduct a lecture series, Chizuko plans to spend a year on the island writing travel articles for Japanese publications. […]

Who better to answer these questions than a translator, adept in the language and culture of the colony and the colonizer? Translation, after all, can be both a capitulation and an act of resistance to the soft power of an empire. Having mastered the master’s toolbox, the translator understands precisely how cultural domination works.

Perhaps this is why Yang fashions “Taiwan Travelogue” as a nesting doll of translations. Richly detailed conversations about food, for example, serve as code for the growing erotic tension between Chizuko and Chizuru, which remains unspoken.

Beyond this, the book itself is presented as a fictional translation of a Japanese novel written by Chizuko years after she returns to Nagasaki. According to this framing device, the novel was published in Japan in 1954, and translated into Mandarin twice, first by Chizuru, and then decades later by Yang. There are multiple afterwords and many footnotes from both fictional and real translators. It all amounts to a virtuosic performance of literary polyphony.

In her disorientingly convincing afterword, Yang, writing as the book’s fictional translator, recounts how she discovered Chizuko’s novel by following a breadcrumb trail of archival material. (To complicate matters further, Yang Shuang-zi is actually a pseudonym, but, for your sanity and mine, I refer to her as the author in this review.)

A few pages later, the novel’s English-language translator, Lin King, writes in her own (real) afterword that she consulted the Japanese translation of “Taiwan Travelogue” for help with certain terms, noting the irony of turning to “the Japanese translation of a Taiwanese novel that claims to be a Taiwanese translation of a Japanese novel.”

I imagine I’ll be posting about it in due course.

Update. A couple of later-arriving novels: Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward and A Stranger in Olondria by Sofia Samatar.

I just heard an announcer say he was going to play Schumann’s Rhenish Symphony, which he pronounced /ˈrɛnɪʃ/ (REN-ish). I was irritated, because I myself say /ˈriːnɪʃ/ (REE-nish), so I looked it up to see what reference works said. Imagine my horror on learning that the OED, AHD, and M-W only give the former version, with the short vowel. I was relieved to see that Collins gives both, with mine first (/ˈriː-, ˈrɛnɪʃ/), and downright triumphant to discover that Daniel Jones gives mine as the main entry, with the other in square brackets (“rare”). But I am perturbed, so herewith one of my pop-quiz survey questions: how do you say this word? And does anyone know anything about the history of its pronunciation?

By the way, in the course of my researches I learned of the existence of the Rhenish Republic (1923 – 1925); I have mentioned my affection for long-forgotten, short-lived territorial entities before, e.g. here.

In my continuing investigation of the movies of Jacques Rivette (lately Jeanne la pucelle and La Bande des quatre), I recently watched Va savoir and enjoyed it enough that I’ll doubtless be getting the Radiance Blu-ray, which has not only the theatrical cut that I saw — a mere two and a half hours — but the 3:44 director’s cut, which includes much more of the play-within-the-film, Pirandello’s Come tu mi vuoi (Italian text; translated by Samuel Putnam as As You Desire Me). Needless to say, I took time off from the movie to read the play, checking against the translation (my Italian is OK but not dependable), and I noticed one idiom that Putnam got wrong even though, as he says, “I have enjoyed the advantage of close association with Signor Pirandello himself, and I am indebted to him for constant encouragement and sympathy and for frequent and always helpful suggestions.” The plot concerns a woman, identified only as L’ignota ‘the Unknown,’ who may or may not be the wife of the Venetian Bruno — she disappeared a decade ago and has been presumed dead. When she is brought to Venice in that capacity, various squabbles ensue, and at one point the exasperated Zio Salesio says “Ma no! Io non c’entro piú! Son fuori causa, io, ormai! Tagliata la testa al toro, col tuo ritorno!” Putnam renders this as “No, no! I’m out of it! I’m out of the case, from now on! You put a crimp in everything with your return!” But tagliare la testa al toro, literally ‘to cut off the bull’s head,’ is an idiom meaning ‘to definitively settle a matter.’ (One would like to know how it arose!)

Unrelated, but I got a chuckle out of the title of a collection of the Parisian poetry of Boris Bozhnev (Russian Wikipedia, French), an émigré of the first (post-Revolution) wave: Вниз по мачехе, по Сене ‘Down stepmother Seine,’ a play on the famous song Вниз по матушке, по Волге ‘Down mother Volga.’ Clever!