What Are Words For?
Using Foreign Words to Generate New Writing
Hello, dear readers and writers.
Today’s post is all about words. I mean, I know writing is all about words. Words are, of course, the tools of the trade. But this time we’re working with words in other languages.
Although I sometimes offer images or objects as prompts, I most often use words in some form: poems read out loud, list exercises, and all kinds of word play combos. I even hand out song lyrics to read if I play a song as a prompt. But sometimes, the best word prompts are the ones that introduce us to words we don’t recognize. That’s what this week’s prompt is about. It’s inspired by a list of words in various languages other than English. Words that describe complex feelings. Words that tell entire stories. Words we can snuggle up to.
Before we go further, here’s our quote for the day, by Rita Mae Brown:
Language exerts hidden power, like the moon on the tides. . . It is the road map of a culture. It tells you where its people come from and where they are going.
The source for today’s prompt is The Intrepid Guide: Language Learning for Travelers & Heritage Learners. Take some time with these words and their definitions. Let them roll around in your head for a minute, and then write whatever comes to mind.
As always, what I wrote is after the prompt, and the poem, “Memory,” by Diana Donovan, ends the post today.
Enjoy.
And keep writing: you inspire me.
The Prompt:
Hiraeth: (hear-rye-th) Welsh, longing for home
Saudade: (sau-dayz) Portuguese, deeply nostalgic for something or someone
Aspaldiko: (as-pall-dee-koh) Basque, the euphoria and happiness felt when catching up with someone you haven’t seen in a long time.
Hygge: (heu-guh) Danish, a feeling of emotional warmth and well-being in the company of loved ones
Dépaysement: (day-pays-mo) French, a feeling of restlessness that comes with being away from your country of origin and feeling like a foreigner
Weltschmerz: (velt-sh-mare-ts) German, literally “world-pain,” a deep sadness about the imperfection and pain of the world.
Koi no yokan: (koi-no-yo-kahn) Japanese, the excitement you feel when you first meet someone, know that you will eventually fall in love with them, and are hopeful about being more than just friends.
Viraha: (veera-há) Hindi, realizing you love someone only after you’re separated.
Yuanfen: (缘分) (ye-an-fehn) Chinese, the belief that you were fated, karmically, to meet someone, that your spiritual paths are destined to cross.
What I wrote:
I want a word for the exhaustion one feels after a long day of showing up for others and not taking care of yourself. Shoveling food into your mouth standing up, or drinking a shake for lunch while commuting. And how about a word for that moment in the mirror when you realize that you are aging, maybe not so gracefully, and are becoming someone or something you never thought you’d live long enough to see.
Is there a word for the way I feel when I see a self-driving car in the rear view mirror behind me, with only one human head in the backseat, or a pop-up on my thin laptop screen that hopes I’ll learn more about the state most conservatives are moving to? Or that moment in Target when I notice the self-checkout lines now outnumber the ones with cashiers? What’s another word for dreading the future, or the fear of not keeping up?
Today, on the freeway, I was in a nice pack of conscientious drivers, moving along smoothly, until (you know what I’m about to say), some reckless hotshot started zig-zagging through the maze of cars, like he was in a high-speed video game, and I had to remind myself that I still knew how to drive, that my four wheels and the pavement beneath me were still solid.
Sometimes, I tell myself that this is normal, this sense that the world is moving too fast. Didn’t my father feel it when he was a child in the 1920’s, watching cars speed recklessly past the horse and buggy? Or was he whipped up into the excitement of it, as I was in my youth, when I thought ATMs and CDs were miraculous? Now I’m nostalgic for the pneumatic tube, and the canister that magically disappeared from my mother’s hands, then reappeared in the teller’s hands two lanes over.
I miss paper essays with staples in the corners, and half gallons of ice cream in rectangular waxed paper boxes, sprinklers attached to hoses, and the way a car key slipped into the driver’s side door. I’m tired of plastic bags and mylar balloons, I wish microchips would go the way of the Ford Pinto, and I liked it when dog breeds weren’t hyphenated. I like coffee in a mug and sandwiches wrapped in butcher paper. I don’t need to choose salted butter from five different countries, nor do I need forty types of toothpaste. Don’t get me started on passwords.
Can you keep up? That catchy pop music phrase spins around in my brain almost daily. Can you keep up? It’s been a long time since that song came out, so you probably won’t catch the reference; maybe you weren’t even alive then. Anyway, it’s an important question. Sometimes I wonder if it’s an invitation or a threat. Sometimes I wonder.
Memory
by Diana Donovan
The Finnish have a word for drinking at home
alone in one’s underwear: Kalsarikänni
so why can’t we come up with a word
for the first time we felt loved
or for the way skin smells
after swimming in a lake?
How about a word for the sensation
you feel when an airplane takes flight
or the moment you’re about to do
something you know you’ll regret?
There should be a word for the dread
of visiting your mother in the nursing home
because she might not know you anymore
and where would you even begin—where?
Beautiful. Thank you Chris!