Sunday, December 12, 2010

on language

Robert and I have been taking a sign language course recently.  The actual class isn't the usual ASL (American Sign Language) with it's French sentence form [Store go to I] and emphasis on exact structure; instead it is on PSE (Pidgin Signed English).  This is a common form of sign language used prevalently in the deaf community.  It follows standard English sentence structure [Me go to store] but cuts out a lot of needless words.  If a word doesn't directly communicate an idea or concept it can be excised.  The interesting thing, to me, about ASL and PSE is that it is a real language with dialects and constantly evolving words/signs.  In New York for instance a person may sign the word for "parents" by using the letter "P" and touching the forehead then the chin indicating father and mother respectively.  In the Midwest we just use the actual signs for father and mother together (an open hand with the thumb touching the forehead and then the chin).  There are signs that I learned as a child which are now considered "old signs" and are no longer used.  Some signs have gotten simpler, and other signs are brand new.  A friend told me yesterday that the old sign for computer was by taking both index fingers and transcribing circles, like the old tape reels on IBM computers.

This fluidity and evolution of language is caused by younger generations wanting to communicate easier with their peers.  I wonder if there are older signers out there bemoaning the "loss" of their old, outdated signs.

Sometimes a language evolves or is lost because of an invading language.  Many Native American languages have become lost or disused due to the obvious surrounding American-English language.  The same has happened to Aboriginal languages in Australia, and some African dialects.

Just this morning I read that the language called Polari, or Pulare has fallen into disuse and may be lost forever.  This was a language created (supposedly) by carny-folk and public theater workers in Britain as a way to converse without the general population understanding.  In the 40s and 50s it became a popular language for covert gay men.  It started as a mixture of guttural Italian and Romanian (Romany) and then got added to with Backslang (backward words) and Cockney rhyming slang.  Morrissey's song Picadilly Pulare from Bona Drag (Bona Drag means Good Clothes in Polari) has a chorus that says "So bona to vada, your lovely eek and your lovely riah!" which means: So nice to see you, your lovely face and your lovely hair.  Riah means hair because it is simply backwards, while eek means face because face backward is ecaf and said short becomes ec, or eek.  Many Polari words have made it into mainstream modern gay culture such as "Basket" for a man's crotch bulge, "Drag" for clothes, specifically women's clothing, and "Camp" for enthusiastic wittiness and over the top performing.  However, the language itself is no longer used and will eventually disappear altogether.

The controversy around Ebonics was especially contentious a few years ago.  Many claimed that this was just "lazy speak" by select American people of color and not a language that should be allowed, embraced or taught.  However, understanding how language actually evolves it is clear to me that this could end up, or already is, a legitimate dialect, just like a rich Southern Drawl, or Cajun.  My sister's mother-in-law says she is afraid of Klons.  It took me quite a while to understand that Klon is Pittsburghese for Clown.

1 comment:

  1. Language was probably the first tool for rebellion for many of us: consider a two-year-old's use of "no!" for the first time (and second, and third, and hundredth...).

    From rebellion, we probably move to empowerment or differentiation; or, perhaps, many of us muddle the three. I believe this is where new language unfolds.

    Moreover, the world changes from generation to generation, and language must change with it. To a young person, the user of the old sign for computer is as outdated as the IBM tape reel itself.

    All of this explains how utterly moronic I sounded - and felt - the moment the word "awesome!" came out of my 40-year-old mouth, whereupon it was met with blase rolling eyes and weighty, feigned tolerance only a 16-year-old can pull off with such panache.

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