Something Rhymes with Purple - Cachinnator

Episode Date: October 15, 2019

The words introduced to our language by poets. Featuring nerds, meeting T.S. Eliot, measuring your life in coffee spoons, runcible spoons, the bobowler, Chaucer on Twitter, pandemonium, tripping the light fantastic, limericks, fools rushing in, feeling like a gooseberry and some poetry from our listeners. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Something else. Download Bumble and try it for yourself. Hello and thank you for joining us. I say us, this is me, Susie Dent and Giles Brandreth, my co-presenter. We're sitting in my sitting room because everyone has very kindly come to me, eating biscuits, drinking tea, and we're going to talk about one of Giles' absolute favourite subjects, because Giles, you're on a mission, aren't you? My mission is to kind of spread the love of etymology and word origins and hopefully not bore people's socks off, but you have chosen a subject that's particularly dear to your heart. And it's related in a way to yours. I love poetry.

I've always loved poetry. And I believe that learning poetry by heart is good for you. And I got into it when I was a little boy. The first poem I learned probably was The Owl and the Pussycat by Edwin Lear. I love that one. It's a lovely one, isn't it? It's lovely. It just, it rings.

It's a lovely one, isn't it? It's lovely. It just, it rings. It's just fantastic. And in fact, I've called my book Dancing by the Light of the Moon because it's a phrase from that. Beautiful. But I first remember consciously learning a poem when I was about eight and I went to church a lot on Sunday. I was in two choirs and I was also a server at a church in Gloucester Road in London. The little boy who, in a cassock, walked next door to the priest who was the thurifer.

You know what a thurifer is? I don't. You don't know what a thurifer is? No. The thurifer is the person who, in a church, spreads the incense about. I love incense. And the incense is kept in a vessel called a thurible. Ah, it goes back to the Greek for burning incense.

Well, there you are. Yeah. So inside the thurible is incense. and the boat boy holds up the incense. The thurifer takes it, puts it into the thurible and then waves the incense all over the congregation, all over the Bible. It's like a giant pomander, isn't it? A pomander, is that another word for it? Well, pomander is a thing with holes in it that smells beautiful. So aged eight, I used to do this. And one Christmas, because I was the little boy at the church who did this, they invited me to read a lesson in the Christmas carol concert. And afterwards, an old gentleman came to congratulate me. And he seemed

very old to me. He was very tall, thin, wore little round spectacles. And one of the priests said to me, do you know who this is? I said, no. They said, well, this is the famous poet T.S. Eliot. Oh, wow. And T.S. Eliot used to go to this church on a regular basis. He was one of the sidesmen, one of the church wardens. And he was congratulating me on my reading of the lesson. And because I was well brought up, I said to him, oh, what sort of poems do you write, sir?

And he told me about his famous book, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats. And he suggested I might like to learn one. And the one he suggested I learn was Macavity. Macavity is a mystery cat. He's called the hidden paw, for he's the master criminal who can defy the law. Anyway, I learned this for T.S. Eliot, went back and performed it to him. And so I...

T.S. Eliot line, I have to just push in his, which was well known, is I measure out my life with coffee spoons. Oh, it's a great line. It's beautiful, isn't it? He's got so many good lines. So, T.S. Eliot got me into this. So I was banging on about how poetry is good for you. And a friend of mine said,

we know it's good for you, Giles, because you go on about it. We know you think it's good, it's marvellous. But to say it's good for one, is it? Prove it. So I set out on a mission to prove that poetry is good for you. And to cut to the chase, when I was visiting the memory laboratory at Cambridge University, I met a remarkable woman called Professor Usha Goswami. And she taught me two things.

One was that if you speak poetry to small babies before they're born, the last three months before they're born and after they are born, you speak poetry to small babies before they're born, the last three months before they're born, and after they are born, you speak rhythmical poetry. It's the rhythm that really makes the difference. Those children, those babies, when they develop the speech, they will speak sooner and better than those who haven't had poetry spoken to them. And there's lots of evidence of this. At the other end of the spectrum, what's interesting is that learning poetry can actually help keep dementia at bay, can keep your mind more sprightly longer. Because listening to a podcast, watching TV, they're interesting, but they're passive. I would just say for the poetry for kids, I brought mine up with Julia Donaldson's beautiful books.

And that's the kind of modern children's poetry, that the snail and the whale, I have to say, makes me cry every time I read it. It's just beautiful. She's so clever with her rhymes. So it doesn't have to be what most people would think of as a traditional poem that you'll find in an anthology. Have you got any, what are the poems you've got in your head? You mentioned Lear. I think The Owl and the Pussycat was one that I learnt really, really early on. And Ransomful Spoon, it's the only mention in the OED as far as I know. I mean, everyone references Lear because it was his own invention.

He invented the Runcible Spoon. And no one knows what it is. He had other Runcible things as well. Oh, did he? There are three Runcible phenomena. But there's no definition for Runcible because no one knows what it means. It's whatever you want it to mean. It's what Edward Lear made it mean.

I did something for National Poetry Day a couple of years ago, and the Oxford English Dictionary is on a mission to find dialect, because dialect is such an oral tradition. It's not really captured in print as much as mainstream language, if you like, or even slang sometimes. So they're on the search for dialect, and they invited poets from up and down the country to write poetry that included their favourite homegrown words. So I think I've mentioned in a previous podcast Toby Campion's brilliant definition of Mardy. But there was another lovely poem by Liz Berry who describes this kind of spectral vision of the Bob Owler, which is a Norfolk term for a huge moth. She calls it a darkling wench to spake her name aloud, conjure the voice of one you loved

and let slip through the winged gauze of Jeth. Jeth being Norfolk for death. Really sinister, but beautiful at the same time. Poets have introduced words to our language. I know that Dr. Seuss, great American children's poet, introduced the word nerd in a book of his in 1950 something. He did. Tell me all about nerd. So nerd, yeah, that was a creature in Dr. Seuss's book, If I Ran the Zoo. So that was from 1950, we can still buy it today. Kids love Dr. Seuss. And the narrator claims that he would collect a nurkle, a nerd and a seersucker too for his imaginary zoo. Quite why that became applied

to somebody who, you know, was very bookish and socially inept, we're not completely sure. But it was obviously meant as a term of disdain, much as geek was. But they've kind of been reclaimed, haven't they? So, yeah, so we've got Ned. We've got some other words as well from poetry.

Chaucer actually coined the word Twitter, we think. Chaucer? Geoffrey Chaucer, 1300 and something. 1380, he describes a bird waking in the morning who twitters desiring the wood with her sweet voice. Is that beautiful? Milton, Milton gave us a lot of words in English, pandemonium, meaning all the devils. So it was the home of all the devils. What's interesting, I think, about these poetic terms of phrase and why I think poetry is valuable is that it's curiously these phrases that poets come up with are companions throughout our life. My father in the 1920s, when he was at Oxford University, took part in a production of Samson Agonistes by John Milton. And for the rest of his life, there was a phrase from that play,

which is in verse, no time for lamentation now, nor yet much cause. And when anything went wrong in the family, he would say, no time for lamentation now, nor yet much cause. And these phrases can echo around our heads,

which I love. So Milton Hooray. Who. So Milton Hooray. Who else? Milton Hooray. And Milton actually also gave us Tripping the Light Fantastic with dancing. Yeah, it's gorgeous. He says, come and trip it as you go on the light fantastic toe. So we changed it somehow.

But trip means to dance nimbly in his poem. But you, at 7.27 this morning, were on the train to come and see me from Manchester, and you just quoted the most brilliant Yeats poem. Come fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame. Absolutely beautiful. It is. Yeats is fantastic. Good old William Butler Yeats. Really, really gorgeous. someone wrote um another one which i absolutely love this is another from yates this is from patricia byron who tweeted

being irish he had an abiding sense of tragedy which sustained him through temporary periods of joy yeah it's like gorgeous not not poetry as such but now but yes i love it he also actually i think sums up the present political situation with one of his great lines uh the best lack all conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity we talked about limericks um earlier didn't we and that particularly associated with lear the owl and the prissacatical so not a limerick but he he was called the poet laureate of the limerick but the oed's entry for limerick about the name, because I'm often asked about this, they say it comes from a custom at convivial parties, according to which each member sang an extemporised nonsense verse, which was followed by a chorus containing the words,

will you come up to limerick? So that's where that comes from. The limerick is furtive and mean. You must keep her in close quarantine. Or she sinks to the slums and quickly becomes vulgar, rude and obscene. Thank you. That's nice. And apparently, Liz, best known limerick from 1822. There was a sick man of Tobago who lived long on rice rule and Sago, but at last to his bliss, the physician said this to a roast leg of mutton, you may go. Oh, that's clever. I love that. I love limericks. Any other phrases? Fools rush in. That's from Pope Alexander Pope. The fools

are his literary critics. Nay, fly to altars, there they'll talk you dead. For fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Well, we don't fear to tread. We're going to be back after our little break. Wherever you're going, you better believe American Express will be right there with you. Heading for adventure? We'll help you breeze through security. Meeting friends a world away?

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Benefits vary by card. Terms apply. What was the last thing that filled you with wonder that took you away from your desk or your car in traffic? Well, for us, and I'm going to guess for some of you, that thing is... Anime! Hi, I'm Nick Friedman. I'm Lee Alec Murray. And I'm Leah President.

And welcome to Crunchyroll Presents The Anime Effect. It's a weekly news show. With the best celebrity guests. And hot takes galore. So join us every Friday wherever you get your podcasts and watch full video episodes on Crunchyroll or on the Crunchyroll YouTube channel. We're back and we are talking poetry

and sometimes our listeners send us a bit of poetry, don't they? Oh, Susie, what have you been sent? Well, maybe it was meant for you personally. Maybe is it a bit intimate? No, this is from Louise Burnham. We had to write an ode to you because we are at odds. We thought you'd know the answer as you are such clever sods.

It happens each and every time we go to clean our teeth. Dear Giles and Susie, help me now to save me further grief. My lovely man insists that he is giving them a wash. However, in my humble eyes, this is a load of tosh. We always had to brush our teeth, not wash or soak or scrub. To me, the word evokes the act of sitting in a wash. However, in my humble eyes, this is a load of tosh. We always had to brush our teeth, not wash or soak or scrub. To me, the word evokes the act of sitting in a tub. To help my cause, I hope that you can answer my request. When cleaning teeth, which is the term you each think is the best? Fab, that's so good.

Isn't that good? So good, Louise. Thank you for that. Well, definitely brushing. Brushing? Or cleaning, I have to say. I will say, have you cleaned your teeth yet? Have you washed your teeth? Definitely not washed. No, he's wrong, Louise, you're right. It's clean or brush.

Not kind of generic phrase. But people of my grandparents' generation, they didn't need to. They took them out. People used to have their teeth removed. Well, maybe that's the idea of sitting in a tub. People gave people for their 21st birthday present false teeth. Have all your teeth out, spare yourself the pain, and have a set of false teeth, false gnashers.

Wow. Yes. And, you know, on the bedside, under the bed, a chamber pot on either side of the matrimonial bed and on the side tables, a couple of glasses and rattling around them, your gnashers. And they would gurnet each other all night. What a lovely thought.

Shall we do some more questions? I think Louise kicked us off. Yes. With a lovely thought should we do some more um more questions since louise kicked us off yes with a lovely contribution okay i've got one here from um helen style who says me again thanks keep them coming helen she keeps meaning to ask where happy as larry comes from um there's a theory that it comes from a boxer called larry foley who won lots of fights. He was a prizefighter and retired early and quite rich. That's one story. But actually, if you look at the linguistic evidence, it's more likely it comes from larrikin,

which was an old dialect term for a mischievous child who presumably is having all sorts of frolics and fun. And so happy as a larrikin has been recorded. That's nicer. That's probably where it comes from. So thanks for that, Helen. And Alicia Barnes, who asks where the phrase felt like a gooseberry originates. She said, the question came into my pondermint.

That's a great phrase. When ordering an ice cream at the weekend and gooseberry was an available flavour. Wow, gooseberry ice cream. Gooseberry crumble for me all the time. Anyway, feeling like a gooseberry, we think, goes back to the idea of playing gooseberry crumble for me all the time anyway feeling like a gooseberry we think goes back to the idea of playing gooseberry which was an old term for a woman chaperoning a younger woman who would go out with her suitor and it's thought that the older woman would pretend to be picking gooseberries um instead of concentrating on whatever seduction was going on how interesting

i thought it was because the gooseberry was an uncomfortable fruit with covenantal sort of prickles prickles well it makes sense isn't it you were uncomfortable but in fact oh how interesting i think it comes from yeah they're just sort of idle picking of gooseberries and that's a nice one and i'll finish with another one on my list which is from gina i'm not sure if she's in coventry or she's called gina coventry whichever gina thanks for writing in handsome i heard someone described recently as handsome you don't really hear handsome these Coventry or she's called Gina Coventry, whichever Gina, thanks for writing in. Handsome. I heard someone described recently as handsome. We don't really hear handsome these days, do we? Fit. Anyway, where does this word come from and does it have anything to do with hands? And yes, it does because something or somebody who was handsome was, how can I put it,

was quite good in your hands. be handsome meant meant easily handleable should we leave it there I've got loads more here thank you so much for all the questions and I put out a request on twitter the other day and we will come to all of those too because I got over 100 questions somebody sent in a very long poem we haven't got time for this the elephant is on my back the monkeys in the room the cats herded the yaks, the rats run up the boom. I opened up a can of cats. The worms all went without. The box is mad with swarming bats. The frogs have weaseled out. The pigeons played among the mice. They had a wailing time. They blindly danced, not looking twice. The ducks waited in line. The cash cow and the church mouse knocked down the wolf's front

door. No piggy bank could purchase repairs for it once more. That's the first quarter of the poem. Wow. As the years go by, I may find time, but well done, whoever sent it to us. Marcus Wilson, inspired by our podcast, has turned to verse. Fantastic. It definitely entertains us. And if you manage to write any more, oh, he says he'll be sure to send them through.

Marcus, don't listen to him. I loved it. I loved it too. It's just, you know, we haven't got time for everything, have we? I've got one from Suzanne Bays, who asks about the origin of rucksack. She says, is it a sack in which to keep rocks? Which is quite interesting. And the answer is no. It comes from the German ruck or ruttensack, which means backpack, literally. What is a ruck that they might be? I thought a ruck was something to do with rugby. Yes, I'm not quite sure what she means there.

But she also asks about duffel coats. And she was wondering about those. That goes back to the Dutch duffel, which is a province of Antwerp in Belgium where cloth, thick woolen cloth was made. Well, it has been made since the 15th century. Remember the game that we played? Yes. Where you have a profession and then you lose your job and the phrase is related to the job. That's right.

That's right. And I needed one for a lexicographer you did yeah and happily all our listeners have responded uh andrea thornton the lexicographer becomes unlettered uh-huh nice uh darren lethley offers the lexicon becoming disemboweled very good neat Quite nice from Nancy Witewek. Denounced. Oh, that's good. That's very good. Well, Ralph Schiller suggests that whoever loses their job as a lexicographer,

would they be at a loss for words? And what about Helen Stiles' idea? You've been expelled. Very nice. Good ones. I like those. And what about this? Emma McIntosh says, firing a lexicographer should never be attempted. It would be demeaning.

Oh, that's my favourite. That's my favourite. Well done, then. I like that. Is it time for your trio of words? My trio of words. Yes. None of them particularly to do with poetry, although the first one is quite poetic.

It's quite lyrical, I think. Suasivius. Suas I think. Swasivius. Swasivius. Swasivius. Nothing to do with Lascivius, but Swasivius is to be persuasive in an agreeable way. So you might find yourself happily persuaded to do something by a Swasivius person. And how do you spell that? S-W-A-S-I-V-I-O-U-S.

Swasivius. Yeah. My second word I've included because, you know, I sometimes appear on 80 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown. We love it. It's the only reason for watching it. And occasionally I'm asked to do, well, actually, I'm always asked to do things that are slightly out of my comfort zone,

but I do love that too. But this time they've gone too far. They want me to get up, stand in that lovely circle in front of 500 people and heaven knows how many million viewers and dance. And not only that, dance to a silent disco. So I have to put on headphones and dance to my own music. And this is for me, this next one. Balter, B-A-L-T-E-R is to dance clumsily because I'm definitely a balterer. And the third one, one who laughs too loudly is a cackinator. Oh, yes. As in cackinations. Yes, C-O-C-H-I-N-N-A-T-O-R.

A cackinator. Cackinator. Cackles. It's not actually related to cackles, but it's a good word. Very good. Well, I'm now going off to an interesting event for Poetry Together. This is the project where young people, school kids and older people, people in care homes and the like, are getting together to perform poetry that they've learned by heart. How lovely. And the children, and anything from five to 18,

and the old people, anything from sort of 80 to 100, the children learn a poem and then invite residents from their local care home to come to the school, tea, cake, and they do the poem together. And this is the tea party is being attended by the Duchess of Cornwall. Lovely. Who has learnt Hilaire Belloc's poem Matilda. She's going to do it with some primary school children. Fantastic.

And I went to a sort of one of the early rounds of this. This is sort of final, lots of people. And I saw some Chelsea pensioners in their 80s and 90s. And they came marching into the room with their scarlet tunics with some children aged seven or eight. And they put the Chelsea pensioners, those uniforms, onto the children. And they all came in marching, going, they're changing guard at Buckingham Palace.

Christopher Robin went down with Alice. How amazing. It was very touching. That sounds great. I think my old employer, Oxford University Press, has got something to do with Poetry by Heart, actually. I think they've got a collaboration going, which is great. I'm all for it.

So, that's the challenge, everyone. Between now and next Tuesday, when our next podcast comes out, if you learn two lines a day, within a week, you could have learnt a sonnet. Gorgeous. Wouldn't it? Gorgeous. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. If you enjoyed the podcast today, why not review or rate us to help spread the word? review or rate us to help spread the word. If you have a question you'd like us to answer or you'd just like to get in touch, you can also email us at purple at something else dot com. Something Rhymes with Purple is a Something Else production produced by Paul Smith with additional production from Lawrence Bassett, Steve Ackerman and Gully.

What can you do? Gully? Gully? I'm giving you a list with Barrett Browning and Gully is in the room. Oh, please.