In the north of England, particularly in Cumbria, the word tarn is used to refer to a small mountain lake. It is also apparently used in the USA, mainly in Montana, to refer to small mountain lakes or ponds.
Little Langdale Tarn
According to Wikipedia, “a tarn or corrie loch is a mountain lake, pond or pool, formed in a cirque excavated by a glacier. A moraine may form a natural dam below a tarn.”
Tarn comes from the Middle English terne/tarne (lake, pond, pool), from the Old Norse tjǫrn (small lake, pond, pool), from the Proto-Germanic *ternō (a mountain lake without tributaries, watering hole, small pool), from the Proto-Indo-European *der (to split, separate, tear, crack, shatter) [source].
Words from the same Old Norse root include tjörn (pond) in Icelandic, tjørn (pond) in Faroese, tjärn (small forest lake) in Swedish, and tjern (a small forest or mountain lake) in Danish and Norwegian [source].
English words from the same PIE root include (to) tear, derma (the inner layer of the skin), and dermic (of or relating to the dermis or skin) [source].
Other words from the same PIE root, via Proto-Celtic, include: darn (piece, fragment, patch, part) in Welsh, darn (fragment, part) in Breton, and possibly dréacht (part, portion, draft) in Irish and dreuchd (job, occupation, role, function) in Scottish Gaelic [source].
While putting together a Celtiadur post today about words for six and related things in Celtic languages, I noticed that in Cornish a semester is hweghmis and that it’s c’hwec’h-miz in Breton. Both mean “six months”. This lead me to wonder about the origins of the word semester. Does it have anything to do with six?
In English the word semester means half a school year or academic year, or a period or term of six months. It was borrowed from the German Semester (semester), from the New Latin sēmestris (lasting six months), from sex (six) and mēnsis (month) [source].
In the UK, academic years used to be divided into three terms. However, these days many UK universities divide their academic years into two semesters, like in the USA.
Another word for term is trimester, which also means a period of (about) three months, or a (financial) quarter. It was borrowed from the French trimestre (quarter [period of 3 months], term, trimester [of pregnancy]), from the Latin trimēstris (three months), from trēs (three) and mēnsis (month) [source].
Incidentally, the word six comes ultimately from the Proto-Indo-European *swéḱs (six) [source]. Words from the same root include:
sixfold = having six component parts; times/multiplied by six
sixsome = a group of six persons or things
senary = of sixth rank or order; of, pertaining to, or based on six.
sexennium = a period of six years
sextant = a navigational device for deriving angular distances between objects so as to determine latitude and longitude; one sixth of a circle or disc
sextet = a group of six people or things; a composition for six voices or instruments; a group of six singers or instrumentalists.
sextuple = a sixfold amount, having six parts, having six beats to a bar
sextuplet = a group of six objects; one of a group of six persons or animals born from the same mother during the same birth; a group of six notes played in the time of four
hexad = a group of six; an element or radical with the combining power of six units
hexaglot = in six languages
hexahex = a polyhex composed of six hexagons
hexahectaenneacontakaiheptagon = a polygon with 697 sides. Coined humorously to describe the shape of the US state of Colorado. [source]
One of the interesting words that came up in my Finnish lessons recently is iloinen [ˈilo̞i̯ne̞n], which means happy, cheerful, glad or merry.
It comes from ilo (joy, happiness, delight, pleasure, love, lover) from the Proto-Finnic *ilo (joy, delight, happiness), and the adjective suffix -inen [source].
Some related words include:
iloisuus = joyfulness
iloista = to be happy, glad, cheerful
iloiesti = happily, merrily, gaily
iloistua = to become delighted
iloittelu = frolicking
iloistutta = to delight, cheer up
ilottomuus = joylessness
iloton = gloomy
Related words in other languages include: ilo (joy, happiness) in Ingrian, ilo (fun, joy) in Veps, ilo (joy, elation, happiness, celebration) in Votic, and illu (happiness) in Northern Sami, which was borrowed from Finnish [source].
A related word in Estonian, ilu, used to mean joy delight, happiness or glee, but now means beauty, splendor or ornament [source].
Incidentally, the word ilo (tool) in Esperanto is completely unrelated [source]. It’s a back-formation from the suffix -ilo, which means an instrument or a tool for performing the action of the root. For example, tondilo (scissors) comes from tondi (to shear), and komputilo (computer) comes from komputi (to count, compute) [source].
Ilo can be combined with other suffixes to make words such as ilaro (a set of tools), ilujo (toolbox), and ilarujo (a toolbox for a toolset) [source].
If you’d like to learn some Finnish, you could try FinnishPod101 [Affiliate link], which looks pretty good, and you can try it for free. Here’s a sample:
What links the words desk, dais, disc, disco, dish and discus?
My desk in my office/studio
The answer is, they share the same roots: the Latin word discus (a discus, quoit, dish-shaped object, disc of a sundial), but arrived in English via different routes [source].
Desk comes from the Middle English deske (a reading desk or lecturn), from the Medieval Latin desca, from the Latin discus [source].
Dais (a raised platform in a room for a high table, a seat of honour, a throne, or other dignified occupancy) comes from the Middle English deis (podium, dais, high table), from the Anglo-Norman deis (dais, high seat/table, table of honour), from the Old French deis/dois, from the Latin discum, the accusative singular of discus [source].
Disc (a thin, flat, circular plate or similar object; a gramophone record) comes from the French disque (disc, discus, record, disk), from the Latin discus [source].
Disco, is an abbreviation of discoteque, which was borrowed from the French discothèque (discotheque, nightclub), from disque (disc, record) and bibliothèque, (library). It originally it meant “a library of discs/records”. Disque comes from the Latin discus [source].
Dish comes from the Middle English disch (dish, plate, bowl, discus), from the Old English disċ (plate, dish), from the Proto-West Germanic *disk (dish) from the Latin discus [source].
Discus comes directly from the Latin discus, from the Ancient Greek δίσκος (dískos – disc, dish, round mirror), the origins of which are uncertain [source].
Disk is used interchangeably with disc, and means more or less the same things. However, it comes straight from the Ancient Greek δίσκος [source].
In an email I received yesterday the phrase “I teach school” appeared. Although I understand what it means, it sounds a bit strange to me. I suppose it’s a difference between American English and British English.
If I were a teacher, I might say that “I teach in/at a school”, “I’m a teacher” or just “I teach”, but not “I teach school” – that sounds to me like I teach a subject called ‘school’. You could also say “I teach languages/music/physics/[insert name of subject]” or “I teach school children [subject]”.
Would American English speakers, of speakers of other flavours of English, say “I teach college”, “I teach university” or “I teach kindergarten”, or is this structure just used with school? Is it used only in informal writing/speech, or also in formal writing/speech?
The French word chez [ʃe] is used to mean ‘to, at, in or into a home, office etc’. For example, chez moi means ‘at my house’, and chez le dentiste means ‘at the dentist’.
It can also mean ‘to, at or in a country or other place’, e.g. une spécialité bien de chez nous = ‘a true specialty of our country’. In the title of this post I use chez nous to indicate we are in the world of Omniglot.
Other meanings include: ‘in or among a group of people or things of the same type’, e.g. chez les chiens = ‘among dogs’, or ‘in the work of an author or artisit’ – chez Baudelaire = ‘in Baudelaire’s work’ [source].
It has been borrowed into English and just means ‘at the home of’ [source].
Chez comes from the Middle French chez (in the house/home of), from the Old French chies (house), from the Latin casa (hut, cottage, cabin, small farm, dwelling, house), the origins of which are uncertain [source].
The French word case [kaz], which means a box or a square in a board game, and used to mean a hut, cabin or shack, comes from the same roots, as do words like casino in English (via Italian), and casa, which means house in most Romance languages [source].
Another word for house in Spanish is hogar [oˈɡaɾ], which appeared in my Spanish lessons today and inspired this post. It also means fireplace, hearth, fireside, furnace, home, home life, family life, housekeeping, homeland or household.
Is it used more in some Spanish-speaking countries than in others?
It comes from the Old Spanish fogar, from the Vulgar Latin focāris, from the Latin focus (fireplace, hearth, brazier, house, family), the origin of which is uncertain [source].
Related words in Spanish include hogareño (home, family, fireside; (of a person) home-loving, stay-at-home), hoguera (bonfire, blaze) and hogaraza (large loaf, cottage loaf).
Related words in other languages include focus and foyer in English, words for fire in Romance languages, such as fuego in Spanish and feu in French [source], and a Greek word for brazier, φουφού [fuˈfu], via Turkish and Italian [source].
A friend asked me about the difference between cupboards, cabinets and closets, so I thought I’d look into it and write a post about it.
A cupboard is
A storage closet either separate from, or built into, a wall.
Things displayed on a sideboard; dishware, particularly valuable plate(16th-19th century).
A board or table used to openly hold and display silver plate and other dishware; a sideboard; a buffet (14th-18th century).
Note that kitchen cupboards are also known as kitchen cabinets. What do you call them?
It comes from Middle English cuppeborde (sideboard), from cuppe (cup) and bord (board, slab, table) [source].
If something is small, fusty or poorly lit, you could call it “cupboardy” [source].
A cabinet is
A storage closet either separate from, or built into, a wall.
A cupboard.
A group of advisors to a government or business entity.
A group of government ministers responsible for creating government policy and for overseeing government departments.
A small chamber or private room (archaic) [source].
Originally it meant a secret storehouse, treasure chamber or case for valuables. It comes from Middle French cabinet (small room), a diminutive of the Old French cabane (cabin) [source], from Old Provençal cabana, from Late Latin capanna/cabanna (hut), which is of uncertain origin [source].
A closet is
A small room within a house used to store clothing, food, or other household supplies.
A secret or hiding place.
A small room or side-room (mainly in Scotland and Ireland)
A small room or side-room intended for storing clothes or bedclothes. (in the USA and Philippines)
Obsolete and archaic meanings of closet include:
Any private space, (particularly) bowers in the open air.
Any private or inner room, (particularly):
– A private room used by women to groom and dress themselves.
– A private room used for prayer or other devotions
– A place of (usually, fanciful) contemplation and theorizing.
– The private residence or private council chamber of a monarch.
A pew or side-chapel reserved for a monarch or other feudal lord.
An American-style closet (as in the photo above) might be called a built-in wardrobe in the UK. What would you call it?
It comes from Old French closet (a small enclosed area, such as a field or paddock), from clos (enclosed outdoor area, such as a field or a paddock), from Latin clausum (enclosed space, enclosure) clausus (shut, closed), from claudō (I shut, close, lock), from Proto-Italic *klaudō (I close), from Proto-Indo-European *kleh₂u- (key, hook, nail) [source].
English words from the same roots include cloister, clove, claustrophobia [source].
In Scotland and Ireland, a word used for cupboards and cabinets is press.
This weekend I’m off to Edinburgh for some polyglottery at The Language Event. There will be talks and discussions about language-related topics, and chances to talk about and in a variety of languages. It’s being held at the French Institute of Scotland on Saturday and Sunday. If you’re going, I’ll see you there.
I went to a simliar event four years ago in early 2020, just before lock-downs started. I haven’t been to any of the larger polyglot happenings since, such as the Polyglot Conference or the Polyglot Gathering, and have realised that I prefer smaller events.
Last week I was on holiday. I spent most of the time learning Scottish Gaelic songs at a college on the Isle of Skye, and stopped at my mum’s in Lancashire for a few days on the way back. I had a wonderful time, met some interesting people, and learnt some beautiful songs.
It was my 9th visit to the college since 2008 and certainly won’t be my last. When I first went there I used as much Scottish Gaelic as I knew, and filled in any gaps with Irish, which I speak more or less fluently. As the two languages are closely related, this sort of works, though differences in the pronunciation and meaning of words can lead to some misunderstandings.
Recently I’ve been learning a lot more Gaelic with Duolingo, and can now speak it fairly well. This makes understanding the songs easier, although they often use poetic and old-fashioned words that don’t usually appear in my lessons. As well as speaking Gaelic, I also spoke some Dutch, Japanese, Welsh and a bit of English.
Normally I try to add a certain number of pages to Omniglot each week, and to write blog posts, and make podcasts and videos. Last week I didn’t do any of that, apart from one Celtiadur post, and had a break from it all, which was great.
This got me thinking – do I really need to do so much every week? Did you miss the Adventure in Etymology last week, or the Celtic Pathways or Omniglot News podcast, or the new language and other pages that weren’t added to Omniglot? Were you aware of all of these?
Maybe I’ll start doing the Adventures in Etymology every other week, and alternating with the Celtic Pathways podcast.
Incidentally, here’s a little piece I wrote on the train from Glasgow to Mallaig. I was trying to write a train-related song, and came up with this. I haven’t thought of a tune for it yet.
The snake of steel
rattles and shakes
through steep glens
where eagles soar
past foaming fishpaths
where waterdogs play
through empty lands
where none do bide
to the ocean’s edge
where seals hide
and the water meets the sky
The threads of distraction
are loosened
and there’s time to see
beyond the wind’s eye
time to think and dream
to talk and rest
As the iron horse
clitters and clatters
Along the metal road
I’m also working on a song in Scottish Gaelic inspired by my lessons in Duolingo. It’s called Thoir an Aire (Watch out).
Thoir An Aire (Watch Out) Seist (Chorus)
Thoir an aire, thoir an aire (Watch out, watch out)
Thoir an aire, tha Iain a’ tighinn (Watch out, Iain is coming)
Thoir an aire, thoir an aire (Watch out, watch out)
Tha Iain rùisgte is tha e a’ tighinn (Iain is naked and he’s coming)
Ghoid Màiri a drathais (Mairi stole his underpants)
Ghoid Màiri a briogais (Mairi stole his trousers)
Ghoid Màiri a geansaidh gorm is geal (Mairi stole his blue and white jersey)
Ghoid Màiri a lèine (Mairi stole his shirt)
Ghoid Màiri a brògan (Mairi stole his shoes)
Ghoid Màiri aodach Iain gu lèir (Mairi stole all his clothes)
Ruith air falbh, ruith air falbh (Run away, run away)
Ruith air falbh tha Iain a’ tighinn (Run away, Iain is coming)
Ruith air falbh, ruith air falbh (Run away, run away)
Tha guga aige is tha e a’ tighinn (He has salted gannet and he’s coming)
Càit bheil Calum? (Where is Calum?)
Càit a bheil Coinneach? (Where is Kenneth?)
Càit a bheil Ceiteag? (Where is Katie?)
Am faca tu iad? (Have you seen them?)
Càit a bheil Mairead? (Where is Margaret?)
Càit a bheil Mòrag? (Where is Morag?)
Ruith iad air falbh (They ran away)
oir tha Iain a’ tighinn (because Iain is coming)
All photos were taken by me. The videos are from the end-of-course cèilidh at SMO. I’m not sure who took them.
On Saturday (1st April), I’m going to Scotland for a week. I’m staying in Glasgow that night, then on Sunday I’ll travel by train to Mallaig along the West Highland Line – one of the most spectacular train journeys I know of. From Mallaig I’ll take a ferry over to Armadale on the Isle of Skye, then a bus to Sabhal Mòr Ostaig (SMO), the Gaelic college where I’ll be doing a course in Scottish Gaelic songs.
Glenfinnan / Gleann Fhionnain – one of the places you pass by on the West Highland Line
I’ve been to SMO many times before to do simliar courses, and am looking forward to it very much. Although the course is taught in English, there will be plenty of opportunities to speak Scottish Gaelic, and probably other languages. So, for the past few months, I’ve been brushing up my Gaelic on Duolingo.
Sabhal Mòr Ostaig
I’ll be travelling from Glasgow with a Dutch friend I met back in 2019 when we both did a Gaelic song course at SMO. We’ve kept in touch ever since, and she, her husband and daughter came to visit me in 2022. When we met, I had only a basic knowledge of Dutch – now I can understand and read it quite well, and speak and write it to some extent. My Dutch friend has learnt Welsh and Scottish Gaelic, with a little help from me, and Duolingo.
On the way home I’ll stay with my mum for a few days, and we’ll be celebrating my birthday on 9th April.
While I’m away, I probably won’t have much time to update Omniglot, or to write blog posts or make podcasts.
