Groovin' on the Friday Night--The Second Essay on Words

A few years ago I wrote tons of essay on this site on ancient rhetorical terms. I love learning some of the hundreds of these words, with examples, because knowing the terms can make me more conscious of using langauge well when I speak or write. So, I decided to begin with two rhetorical terms: paregmenon and parembole. Let's begin with the second. Derived from the Greek word of the same name, it means, literally, to "put in beside." So, in rhetoric it is the insertion of something relating to the subject in the middle of a period or sentence. It supposedly has closer connection to the subject than a parenthesis does. This may be splitting hairs, but, indeed, we think of hair-splitters as skillful and often patient people.

Paregmenon is arguably very similar to polyptoton, and this is a very useful device to know. The Greek word underlying it means "to lead beside," and it may be defined as using several words with a common origin in the same sentence. The classic example is from St. Paul, where he says, "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise." The word polyptoton stresses the many "cases" [greek word ptosis, which means "falling off," is one of the cases that "fall off" from the nominative, such as the genitive, accusative, dative] in which the word is found. Since English really isn't a case-oriented language, we might do better to learn paregmenon and then multiply the examples--for our rhetorical good.

Returning to "Normalcy"

I had to stop and look at annuent for a moment because it looked like several words I knew, but in fact it is completely different from them. It has nothing to do with something that is "annual" and it isn't related to the word for "ring" (annular), nor is it in any way connected with an "annuitant," who receives an "annuity." Rather annuent is derived from Latin words "ad" ("to or towards") and "nuere" ("to nod"). Thus, it is a "big word" for "nodding" or "serving to move the head forward." So a medical person might talk about the annuent muscles or something like that, but I would rather wrest the word away from our good physician friends and talk about an annuent action or a friendly annuent visage or something like that. "He desperately sought her approval. A gesture, a wink, any kind of annuent movement would have set his heart afire." That is how I would like to capture the word today.

Now that we are back to terms from today, let's differentiate blunge and bludge and then bodge and botch. Bludge is such a beautiful 20th century verb. The OED tells us that the it is a back-formation of the word bludger, which is either a prostitute's pimp or a "hanger-on, a loafer." The most useful definition of the verb is "to cadge or scrounge." I suppose a person who loafs or "hangs on" is always trying to beg from other people. From 1931: "I've stood you too long already, loafing around her, and bludging on your mother." From the 1960s: "He bludged three cigarettes off of me." Then, "The bludging, dirty mong to whom she had...entrusted heart and hand." A mong, by the way, is short for "mongrel." So, bludging, cadging, scrounging these three. But the greatest of these may be bludging.

To blunge, on the other hand, is a term from pottery and means "to mix (clay, powdered flint, etc.) up with water." Perhaps it is a portmanteau word, combining the onomatopoeic plunge and the word blend. In any case, that is how you should think of it, and you will never forget it.

Bodge and botch mean just about the same thing--to patch clumsily. Actually, at first botch just meant to patch up a garment or to mend or repair, generally. From 1530: "I botche or patche an olde garment..I have botched my hosen at the heles." Still the positive use is evident in 1551: "Sicke boies..to be kept and botched up." But its more frequent use today is figurative: "to put or stitch together clumsily or unskilfully" or "to bungle." Bodge or to bodge up means to do something in a clumsy fashion or to put something together clumsily. Of course the religious writers got into the act early. In 1593 we have: "They..that bungle and buge uppe wicked verses."

Speaking of Patches...

So, if you bodge or botch something, you patch it clumsily. You unskilfully put on a patch, and the garment either rips again or looks so bad that it is ruined. But let's pause on patch for a second. A person who engages in hypocrisy is said to be practicing patchery. "Here is such patchery, such juggling and such knavery." Who said that? Why, William Shakespeare. I love the quotation from 1533:

"Tis a bag of Rye in dede, usiree (usury), periuree, pitcheree, patcherie, pilferie, briberee, snatcherie, catcherie."

I think the last six nouns are worthy of committing to memory-- pitchery, patchery, pilfery, bribery, snatchery and catchery. Just as major news outlets already have obituaries of "big names" written so that they can just print them when the person actually dies, with an extra paragraph or two describing the circumstances of his/her death, so I think it is good to have phrases memorized and "at the ready" so that you can pull them out of your Rucksack and use them in a variety of situations. These six nouns are particularly useful if you want to go on a moral rant against someone or many people.

Let's conclude with a few more. If you do something patchingly you do it in a bungling or hypocritical manner. A patchock is a "clown; a mean or paltry fellow." If you do something patchily you do it "in a patchy manner" or "inpatches." From 1999: "Public paths in both Scotland and Northern Ireland are..patchily and thinly distributed." A patch-box was a small, triangularly-shaped box with mirror on the section raised, in which a woman placed her black beauty patches. I would love to know more about the subject of self-beautification in Victorian and earlier times. What were the things that women put on their faces? Why did they think it made them beautiful? Etc. Etc...

And, Finally, Patchouli

Often I will wake up in the morning with some words on my brain, words that I know how to spell but whose defintion eludes me for the moment. Patchouli was one of those terms a few days ago. Actually, it led me not only to look up patchouli, but it led me on my long "patches" and "bodge/botch" journey, indicated above. Patchouli is an East Indian odoriferous plant, Pogostemon Patchouli, of the mint family. Here is a picture of the plant. But it is not simply a plant, but a perfume made from that plant. I didn't know, for example, that patchouli is the star item of the brand Reminiscence, a Parisian fashion jewelry and accessory line of boutiques. This fragrance was created in 1970 by perfumer Francis Camail, and was an instant hit. The web site describes the scent in great detail--almost reminded me of the line from the fairly recent cult-movie Sideways, when diappointed middle-aged author Paul Giamatti engages in some wine tasting and observes that the one he has just sampled has a "hint of Edam cheese." One can get carried away with these things. But now we know a little more what patchouli is. The next time I am in Nordstrom, I will march right up to the counter and demand to be sprayed with it. I will tell you what happens.

Thanks for joining me on this, for me, Friday evening.

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