ancestral voices! kubla detangled

English comes from the Germanic family of languages.    Our 200 most-used words, making up most of what you and I say every day, are all from German.    We spend our lives talking about beds and kitchens and kids.    Then we sprinkle in all those other words from other languages:  Greek (school), Italian (spaghetti), Latin (faith), Narragansett (squash), and so on.    If Germanic words are the bread and spread, much of the meat and cheese and tomato comes from those other languages. 

One of the biggies is the stream of words that came across with William the Conqueror.    Before 1066, English was mainly Anglo-Saxon;  after, it had lots of French, and all those words that filtered through French from Latin.    (I've spoken about this before, here, here, and here.)

Over thirty years ago, in a grad linguistics seminar, our superb professor, Dr.    Bridget Drinka, gave us an assignment:  take a passage and make all the key words (the meat and cheese and tomato) all Germanic, and then all Latin-French. 

The result is kind of like those pictures where you double the left side of your face, then double the right side.    Both look just like you, but with one quality emphasized.    Superpassive/superaggressive!    Superpleasant/superangry!    Supersomething/superotherthing!    Then when you go back to the original, you see how our tributary languages all work together so well to express what needs expressing.

My choice?    The final magical lines of Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Kubla Khan."    I wish I could go back and find the original assignment.    It exists somewhere, on floppy disk.    But I re-did it now, maybe with a thirty-year advantage. 

I'll give it to you first in Germanic-derived English.

A maiden with a harp
In a dream once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her harp she played,
Singing of Abora Peak.
Could I bring back within me
Her saga and her song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with string struck loud and long,
I would build that hall aloft,
That sunny hall! those dens of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should shout, Beware! Beware!
His sparking eyes, his rising hair!
Weave a ring about him thrice,
And shut your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Heaven.

Now French-derived, post-1066-only English.

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I spied:
It was an Abyssinian dame
And on her dulcimer she plucked,
Chanting of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and strain,
Such intense elation it would create,
That with music powerfully grand,
I would form that dome in air,
That brilliant dome! those glacial caves!
The audience would espy them there,
And all should cry, On guard! On guard!
His flashing eyes, his floating tresses!
Pace a triple circle round,
And close your eyes with pious terror
For he has dined on ambrosia,
And imbibed the nectar of Paradise.

And now, the original.   Note how he uses each family of words —– maybe intentionally but probably by instinct —– to marry Saxon spookiness with French/Latin mystery.

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.