Exquisite Words

Language is an incredibly beautiful thing is the foundation it is the seed of every civilisation, every conversation, every love, every hate, every rivalry, and every friendship. And furthermore it has the ability to stir us in ways that otherwise entirely inconceivable. This is because, in some ways, it controls even our perception of beauty. A contemporary psychological theory is posits an intimate connection between our language and our perception.  For example in a particular tribal African language  red and orange are all under the banner of a single word this in itself is as uninteresting as any other linguistic quirk. What is, however, interesting is that people who speak only this language find it almost impossibly difficult to differentiate the two colours. And I don’t mean subtly orange or subtly red I mean oranges and strawberries. The implications of this are clear.  Lacking a word for orange somehow inhibits the experience of the colour; this is a gross simplification but roll with me, because language forms our reality. Perhaps this is the reason why we English seem incapable of making a good omelette. I suppose at this point it’s important to acknowledge that Orange or perfect omelette texture can be expressed, an almost gelatinous, firm yet yielding, almost creamy texture created by slight under cooking of an egg at high temperatures with butter, this perhaps an accurate description but it lacks a certain quality the precision and evocation of the French word that I believe is something like Vabose, almost a silent onomatopoeia.

Yet even this is not enough language. The fact remains that the English language, I’m going to wax lyrical about English now please edit to include your language if you feel it appropriate, is  pure aesthetic pleasure. Poetry is to me an obvious example. Indulge me by reading the opening monologue to under milk wood out loud http://gutenberg.net.au/ebooks06/0608221.txt or listening to it on YouTube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pyI2YOC0rhU. The meaning of the words is unremarkable the scene described the events almost entirely prosaic. But the shapes of the words as you pronounce them, the cadence and phonetic form of each sentence pushes the monologue beyond mere meaning into the intoxicating realm of art. I love that sort of pleasure and it gets me in trouble sometimes.  The problem is that I sometimes get carried away and say things that I don’t entirely, or indeed even remotely, mean because it sounds pretty or rolls off the tongue.

Language is everything; pleasurable and practical; all reality and all fiction.

 This post didn’t really ever find its point but if you enjoyed it I think we can live without a point just this once.