For a word nerd, there is very little that's more fun than discovering new words ... unless it's rediscovering old words.
A Shakespeare play or Tolkien tome is pure heaven to those of us who revel in what others may consider as simply a quaint reminder of olden times. And yes, I did spend part of the holiday weekend watching The Hobbit trilogy. A girl's gotta keep up her nerd cred.
I was reminded of the joy of archaic words by the mention, during a very entertaining monologue on homophones, of "cock-a-hoop" on the comment boards of this newspaper last week. According to Merriam-Webster, the word means "very excited or happy about something done" ... and get your minds out of the gutter, please. The word dates at least to the mid-17th Century (some sources say 16th Century); the online Oxford Dictionary notes its lineage as "from the phrase 'set cock a hoop,' of unknown origin, apparently denoting the action of turning on the tap and allowing liquor to flow (prior to a drinking session)."
Liquor will do that ... not that I'd really know, though, since I don't drink; I can only draw from the witnessed lowered inhibitions of others.
World Wide Words, in further exploring cock-a-hoop's origin, finds a variant spelling that muddles the works, including a reference to Frodo in The Return of the King, the third part of The Lord of the Rings trilogy: "Swagger it, swagger it, my little cock-a-whoop." The first recorded guess about its origin, it notes, was by Thomas Blount in 1670, who surmised that "cock" referred to the spigot (which resembled a rooster's comb) on a hooped cask, and removing the spigot from the cask and laying it on one of its hoops signaled that all were to drink and make merry.
Perhaps that's where hula hoops got their start ... just a theory.
One of the things I so love about archaic words is how evocative so many of them are. When I hear "apothecary" or "anon," I'm taken back to Romeo and Juliet. "Fie" and "forsooth" transport me to Sherwood Forest (the one in Nottingham, not Sherwood).
Darragh McManus, in a 2013 Guardian article, named one of his favorites: "I love old words anyway, and those moments when you stumble upon one that's strange to you. It's especially nice if the word itself is, well, especially nice. For instance, 'slumbrously,' which I came across recently in a review--what a gorgeous assemblage of letters and sounds. 'Slumbrously' ... you can almost physically feel the sensation of drifting into sleep, sinking drowsily onto a soft pillow in a cradle of dreaming."
I feel pretty much the same about "persnickety," which (to me, anyway) brings to mind an overly fastidious and picky person with a perpetually sour expression ... perhaps a maiden aunt in a Mark Twain story. And yes, I do know it's not quite archaic, and if I have anything to do with it, it never will be. Ditto for "tump," "kerfuffle," "discombobulated" ...
Yeah, I could go on all day.
I'm far from the only one who would love for some of these old words lying fallow in our language to find new life. There are even "listicles" (man, I hate that new word) on sites like BuzzFeed; among its votes for words to bring back: "grumpish" (pretty much what it sounds like) and "cockalorum" (a little man with a high opinion of himself).
Sure, there are words that quite rightly belong in the past, some within the past few decades (I'm lookin' at you, "twerk"). Those, though, aren't a joy to voice, like, say, "hugger-mugger" (meaning in a state of confusion or disarray, or to act in a secretive manner), or "beef-witted" (stupid, imbecilic).
There are also words that just make you sound pompous, such as "legerdemain" (deceit or sleight of hand); "atelier" (an artist's studio or workroom); or "scrofulous" (immoral). If you're trying to create the feel of an earlier era, that's one thing. If you're dropping them into random, everyday conversations to prove you know how to open a dictionary, then yep, you're being pompous.
I'm hoping "brabble," which means to argue loudly about something inconsequential, takes off anew. It already has, in a way, with a 2-year-old social media app ... which when you think about it, is exceedingly appropriate. Where else but social media will you find so many people arguing about so very, very little, only mere trifles?
Though if it's the dessert, that's not inconsequential at all. It's rather tasty, actually.
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Assistant Editor Brenda Looper is editor of the Voices page. Read her blog at blooper0223.wordpress.com.
Editorial on 05/27/2015