As we all know, English is a difficult language. Different letters and combinations of letters can represent many sounds. The same letters and combinations can be pronounced in different ways. This is a very inefficient system, taxing our education system, baffling non- native speakers.
It became obvious that readers and speakers need help and through observation, I have concluded that English can be greatly simplified because for most sentences, we need to use only six verbs: to be; to do, to get, to have, to go, to feel. These words contain the power of simplicity because they can be used in so many occasions where a multitude of verbs might be needed.
And no better example of efficient use of English can be found than advertisements I viewed while walking through New York's Port Authority Bus Terminal. I looked in awe at two advertisements on the bus terminal walls. "There may be easier ways to get to the airport." and "The bus terminal just got a bit healthier."
Madison Avenue's great minds had come to the same realization. And many Americans have an innate understanding of this concept. They might say "I have a car. I have a cold. I have a way with words." Or, "I got the mumps. I got two dollars in my pocket. I got four years on probation." That's more economical than "I own a car. I am suffering from a cold. I can speak and write eloquently". Or "I am suffering from the mumps. I found two dollars in my pocket. I was sentenced to four years probation."
Phrases with "to go" are familiar to all. "I go to college." "I go to town every Friday night." "I go with the girl with the great legs." It's almost unnecessary to recount the uses of "to be". They are numerous, as in "I am sick."I am a Republican." "He is the greatest person I've ever known."
There are an equally large number of sentences that show the versatility of the verb "to feel".Thus we have "I feel sick." "I feel that health care should be publicly financed." "I feel the scales on your skin." Perhaps "to do" has fewer uses. Nevertheless, it can be inserted into enough sentences for inclusion. So we have "I do a lot of work." "I do a couple of guys a night."
These words live in the phrases of the great, from Martin Luther King's "I have a dream," to John F. Kennedy's "I am a Berliner", Richard Nixon's "I am not a crook" and Arnold Schwarzenegger's "I will be back."
And I urge readers to emulate their example. Go out and write fewer words, speak fewer words, hear fewer words.
And know their power.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Into the Wild
After each storm, the trees throw down their challenge: branches lying carelessly along the ground or cast down with force and digging into the earth for several inches, defying me to pull them out.
Limbs lying whole or broken warn me: "This is our kingdom. Enter at your peril." I know they watch us from the backyard. In bed at night, I hear their murmuring; their contempt. "We were here before you. We will be here after you. We have seen great things and small things of man. They are all the same; simply things of men."
Sometimes, I hear tapping and awake. I run outside and realize they have drizzled acorns or perhaps a low-lying branch has teased against the roof. I think I hear snickering from the far end of the year. But when I look--all is quiet.
In the day, I venture beyond the patio and they glower. This is their kingdom. They torment me. They litter the smooth grass of summer with walnuts to obstruct the path of the lawnmower. They leave large dead limbs as traps overhead for the unwary, cover my roof hoping to test my fear of heights; fling the smallest twigs to the ground to make the work harder.
It was not always like this, I hear them sigh. Once they ruled, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi and beyond. None dared contest them. They were friend to the squirrel, the martin and the jay. Now, they are few.
And with each intrusion into their realm, I know they are watching. Waiting. Plotting. They will be back. They will be great again.
Limbs lying whole or broken warn me: "This is our kingdom. Enter at your peril." I know they watch us from the backyard. In bed at night, I hear their murmuring; their contempt. "We were here before you. We will be here after you. We have seen great things and small things of man. They are all the same; simply things of men."
Sometimes, I hear tapping and awake. I run outside and realize they have drizzled acorns or perhaps a low-lying branch has teased against the roof. I think I hear snickering from the far end of the year. But when I look--all is quiet.
In the day, I venture beyond the patio and they glower. This is their kingdom. They torment me. They litter the smooth grass of summer with walnuts to obstruct the path of the lawnmower. They leave large dead limbs as traps overhead for the unwary, cover my roof hoping to test my fear of heights; fling the smallest twigs to the ground to make the work harder.
It was not always like this, I hear them sigh. Once they ruled, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi and beyond. None dared contest them. They were friend to the squirrel, the martin and the jay. Now, they are few.
And with each intrusion into their realm, I know they are watching. Waiting. Plotting. They will be back. They will be great again.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Harry Potter and the Theory of Humor
In Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy learn to deal with their fears by facing a boggart, a shape-shifting creature that will take the shape of whatever frightens them the most.
Ron Weasley fears giant spiders, in the language of Potterdom, an acromantula, a large talking spider. Professor Remus Lupin, a werewolf in professor's clothing, tells the students to wave their wands and say the incantation, "Riddikulus", while imagining something silly happening to the sources of their terror. Ron does as told and the giant arachnid suddenly has roller skates on each of his eight feet and can't find firm footing and slides awkwardly while the students roar. And each student in turn reduces his or her fears to objects of derisive laughter, (except for Harry, but that's another story.)
There is a basic insight here about just what humor is, and that's a subject about which a lot has been written and little concluded. Yet isn't this the basis of much of our laughter? We laugh at the things we are fearful of, at the things we are angry at (fear turned outward of course).
Ultimately, what author J.K. Rowling has grasped is reduction of fear by making it absurd and the tribal nature of the process. Humor is how we join hands, call the demons before the campfire, name them and steal their power. We join in community with those who share our transformation of fear to laughter.
And in this, we are strong.
Ron Weasley fears giant spiders, in the language of Potterdom, an acromantula, a large talking spider. Professor Remus Lupin, a werewolf in professor's clothing, tells the students to wave their wands and say the incantation, "Riddikulus", while imagining something silly happening to the sources of their terror. Ron does as told and the giant arachnid suddenly has roller skates on each of his eight feet and can't find firm footing and slides awkwardly while the students roar. And each student in turn reduces his or her fears to objects of derisive laughter, (except for Harry, but that's another story.)
There is a basic insight here about just what humor is, and that's a subject about which a lot has been written and little concluded. Yet isn't this the basis of much of our laughter? We laugh at the things we are fearful of, at the things we are angry at (fear turned outward of course).
Ultimately, what author J.K. Rowling has grasped is reduction of fear by making it absurd and the tribal nature of the process. Humor is how we join hands, call the demons before the campfire, name them and steal their power. We join in community with those who share our transformation of fear to laughter.
And in this, we are strong.
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