David Lodge’s 2007 novel Deaf Sentence is about a retired professor of linguistics who has a progressive hearing disorder, as does Lodge himself. His character, Desmond Bates, is unable to hear the high sound frequencies which we use to form consonants, and the book contains lots of puns and other distortions caused by Bates’s mishearing what people say. It’s quite fun to read, there are some musings about language. At one point, Bates says
I looked up deaf a few years ago in the biggest corpus of written and spoken English available, about fifty million words, and the most common collocation, about ten per cent of the total, was fall on deaf ears (counting fall as a lemma, standing for all forms of the verb). Now it’s no surprise that the main contribution of deaf to English discourse is as part of a proverbial phrase signifying stupid incomprehension or stubborn prejudice; what’s puzzling is the verb fall, given that the the human ear is positioned to receive sound waves from the side, not from above. And the enigma is not peculiar to English. A quick dictionary search revealed that German has auf taube Ohren fallen, French has tomber dans l’oreille d’un sourd, and Italian cadere sugli orecchi sordi.
Norwegian has the same phrase, å falle for døve ører. I don’t think fall is the wrong verb — it’s metaphorical: the words are broadcast and fall indiscriminately, like the drops of water issuing from a lawn sprinkler — but I do think it’s odd that it has been passed into so many languages (probably even more than those that are listed here). I wondered if it might have started life in literature and then subsequently became a quotation; does anyone know?
And a happy New Year, by the way. Earlier in the chapter quoted above — Bates is recalling a review he wrote of a book on corpus linguistics — there’s a much longer digression analysing collocations of happy. Oh, all right,
A footnote to the above: it occurred to me that negative particles might have been omitted from the analysis of collocations of happy, so I did a check on a the small corpus I have on CD here at home, and sure enough, entirely happy is frequently preceded by not or some other negative word like never. But perfectly is usually unqualified. In fact the distribution is almost exactly equal: not entirely happy occurs about as often as perfectly happy, and entirely happy is as rare as not perfectly happy. I wonder why? Corpus linguistics is always throwing up interesting little puzzles like that.
A Bad Guide 
It seems to be a general Indo-European idiom, as in Russian it is also падает на глухие уши, in Czech padá na hluché uši or in Persian در گوش ناشنوا سقوط کردن dar gush-e nâshenavâ soghut kardan, all “fall on deaf ears”. In Greek such words also “fall”, but instead of “on deaf ears”, just “into the emptiness”, πέφτει στο κενό.
However, in Hungarian they do not “fall on”, but “encounter” or “find” deaf ears, “süket fülekre talál”: it is the same verb (and metaphor) as when one, wishing to enter somewhere, “encounters” or “finds” closed doors.
And let me also take the opportunity of wishing a Perfectly Happy New Year to every visitor at the Goat House.
Thank you for all those, Studiolum.
An unqualified, Perfectly Happy New Year to you, Tamás and Kata, and to those three enormous black panting dogs.
Consider the English “to fall deaf”. Possibly at the origin of this is the idea of being struck down, and so falling. A deaf person has been struck down, so words fall on him.
A review of the novel by Lodge in the Süddeutsche uses a slightly elevated, but still perfectly acceptable expression in the sentence David Lodge ist selber mit Taubheit geschlagen (… is/has been struck by deafness). There is a connotation of “blow (of destiny)”. Duden explains this meaning of schlagen:
There is a condition of sudden hearing loss called Hörsturz (aural plunge/plummet). It can be caused by something temporary, such as an inner ear infection, or by something more serious. I was once in the emergency room of the University Neurology Clinic with a day-long numbness in my arm. My problem turned out to be due to a nerve being pinched in the spine. But most of the other people had a Hörsturz (symptomatically speaking, i.e. a sudden loss of hearing), and they were pretty upset.
I had never heard of such a thing in the States. Does anyone know what it’s called ? Judging from his description, I think Des van bladet had it recently.
That schlagen would be “smitten”, wouldn’t it?
I think Des may have had a surfeit of wax, but he never told us. The Des in Lodge’s novel also has that problem at one point, after taking a sauna (melting the wax) and then plunging into cold water (the wax sealing the opening closed). His (& presumably David Lodge’s) progressive hearing loss is caused by small hairs on his inner ear dying prematurely.
Right-o, smitten with an affliction.
Consider that the organ of balance is in the ear. A blow on the head, or a severe ear infection, might have damaged that organ and led to vertigo and falling down.
In the days before modern medicine, that is, and when people went around smiting each other. In our times, people tend to simper and snarl at each other.
That wax problem is not what Hörsturz people have.
It’s called sudden deafness.
What I called the “organ of balance” is the vestibular system.
The best of New Years to all the Badly Guided!
Apropos nothing in particular, just minor joy:
… and likewise to those with linguistical head covering.
Dearie, you should introduce that to the Russians at Language Hat. Show them we can do it too.
I think Studiolum may be able to play the ukulele.
I am back home in Canada to a White New Year! Best wishes to all.
Welcome home and a Happy New Year, m-l.
GS: the vestibular system
I think it’s odd that so many of the names of the parts of the ear (vestibule and all the blacksmith’s terms) are metaphors.
I had an episode of near deafness for a couple of days some months ago. It was very strange: on the bus I could hear a faint murmur of voices but could not understand the people sitting next to me or across the aisle. It was like watching a silent movie, or TV with the sound off. Fortunately I did not have to actually talk to anybody during that time, and it turned out to be a simple case of too much wax.
For a few days ?! My golly, marie-lucie, didn’t you find your condition inquiétante enough, when you first noticed it, to go straight to an otologist ?
I think it’s odd that so many of the names of the parts of the ear (vestibule and all the blacksmith’s terms) are metaphors.
I suspect the names of mostly all parts of the body, particular those which are not visible from the outside, are metaphors. What else could they be but recycled names for something more familiar, with a similar shape, appearance or (putative) function ? It would have been possible to systematically name them “ratcc”, “kopspoe” etc. But that would have been no help in remembering the association between name and thing named.
Also, remember that the names of many objects are metaphors of body parts, like the legs of a table.
However, those things beneath the table are not legs. The most obvious fact about a metaphor is that it states a falsehood. This seems to me to be a necessary condition for metaphors to be useful. No explanation of metaphor is worth the paper it’s printed on, unless it can account for that fundamental state of affairs. No explanation of metaphor that I have ever read has taken that state of affairs into account. All explanations seem to start with extended waffling about “similarities”.
Dearie, you should introduce that to the Russians at Language Hat. Show them we can do it too.
It’s the UK-lele, after all.
Oh, and happy new year!
Grumbly, I did go to my doctor, and by that time my condition had improved.
Dearieme: The ukulele: the snippet on YouTube is fun, but hearing all those ukuleles reminds me of a comment that my father heard from a musician about the mandolin: une symphonie de cure-dents “a symphony of toothpicks”.
When I hear of ukuleles and vestibules together, I can only think of one thing: Cliff Edwards performing “That’s My Weakness Now”.
When my son was younger I used to amuse/torment him with this and related recordings. He referred to Edwards’ high-pitched scat-singing as “baby-hedgehog music”.
by that time my condition had improved
Even in the happy land of medicine for all, they have to wait for treatment. If you want same day treatment here you have to go to a walk-in center with green cash money in your hand.
Stew: It would have been possible to systematically name them “ratcc”, “kopspoe” etc. But that would have been no help in remembering the association between name and thing named.
That’s what the
pharmacuticalfirms do, though… oh, come on, what’s wrong with pharmacutical?Did you mean: pharmaceutical
Yes, probably.
Stü: The most obvious fact about a metaphor is that it states a falsehood. … No explanation of metaphor that I have ever read has taken that state of affairs into account.
Maybe because it’s obvious. And even though it’s intentional, it’s not a falsehood in the sense of lying about something.
Nijma: Even in the happy land of medicine for all, they have to wait for treatment. If you want same day treatment here you have to go to a walk-in center with green cash money in your hand.
Perhaps there are differences between provinces. Here in Nova Scotia whether you go to your own doctor, to a walk-in center or to emergency at a hospital, you don’t have to pay up front unless you don’t have any insurance (a rare case apart from non-residents), or perhaps you are in a different province from where you live and then you will apply for reimbursement in your own province. And our money is not green.
A surfeit of wax, indeed. (Preferable to a surfeit of lampreys, at least.)
Yes. Thanks, Des. Let’s hope you’re better. I said, LET’S HOPE…
Damn. I was gonna upload pictures of my sister’s lap-calf to top your goats, and then you go and beat me to it.
But I’ll be kind and only wish you a Happy Monkey and skip the Goats On Fire response out of deference.
What?
I suspect the names of mostly all parts of the body, particular those which are not visible from the outside, are metaphors.
Not more than the names of any other food, I guess.
Of course! Pigs in blankets, deviled eggs, not to mention baked Alaska …
From Wikipedia:
It implies that on other occasions they eat undressed eggs, how rude.
Lap calf.
Happy Monkey!
Goats on fire!
Fantastic!
How considerate of your sister to cover her furniture & buy a rug to go with the new calf.
M-L: Didn’t you have snow in your part of Normandy before Christmas ? There was quite a bit (by Norman standards) in the Le Treport region, where it was moins dix according to our neighbours, and again on New Year’s Day (see blog).
Canehan, I was in the extreme South of Normandy, right at the edge of Maine. We had a small amount of snow, just enough to make the ground white, and it did not last. Temperatures did not go much below zero C. Later there was also a small amount of snow in Paris, with similar conditions.
Goat news.
http://purplemountainpackgoats.com/about.htm
Interesting. They are very big goats, I wonder if they enjoy being ridden.
The way I see it, they just carry the gear while the people walk.
Yep, bruessel, the goats are caddies.
PMPG: We use a type of male goat called ‘wethers’ which are noted for their gentleness and lack of a musky smell.
Wethers are just castrated male goats, sort of like geldings, so no wonder they don’t smell of musk and aren’t aggressive. I don’t think this guy knows very much. My daughter says she once tried to figure out what would make a good goat for pulling a sleigh, and you want a Namibian (for height) crossed with a boer (for strength).
Perhaps the goat owners know very well what a wether is, but are fearful that squeamish clients, especially those with children, might prefer not to know the truth, or that animal rights activists might object to the male goats having been interfered with.
I thought “wether” referred to the equivalent sheep, but perhaps the word refers to both sheep and goats. Within a herd of sheep, it would seem to make sense for the “bellwether” to be a goat.
I see from Desbladet blog the Gavle goat has burned again, but this time before Christmas. And instead of using someone in a cute costume they used a denial of service attack on the goatcams (“attack mot webbkameror”).
http://merjuligavle.blogspot.com/2009/12/goneborta_23.html
But just as sometimes we need Latin to really explain some principle, even in
Sweden some things can only be explained in English. From the Gavle goat blog:
I’m sure it’s both sheep & goats.
Does anyone know why gnälland in Swedish means “whining”?
gnällande “whining” = gnälla “whine” + -ande “-ing”
According to Bjorvand and Lideman it’s related to No. gnåle “ibid.”, perhaps with -lle from gjalle “resound, echo”, and quite likely with other words like gnage “gnaw” and gni “rub” and also words starting with kn- like knake “creak” and Eng. ‘knock’. These are onomatopoetic formations that keep changing irregularly and interfering with eachother.
Thanks, Trond. If I’d just bothered to look up “whining” in the English – Norwegian dictionary I might have figured it out. Gnällande looks so peculiar to me, for some reason.
I just read this in the NY Times Magazine and thought you’d approve of its message: “They’re very nice little animals… Cows don’t give a damn. Sheep can’t stand ya. Pigs? ‘Just feed me!’ And goats really do want to be around you.”
My favourite goatspot is here.
http://everythingexmoor.org.uk/page.php?id=859
My favourite goatspot
Wow, and to think that that place used to be in North Africa!
Thank you Language, that’s an inspiring article. I liked Palin Comparison a lot for a goat cheese name. Lovely goats and a lovely farm. She must work very hard if she has to milk 40 goats twice a day, though. Bloody hell.
Dearie, that’s a lovely spot, but there’s something funny going on. Apparently the people on local council keep trying to kill the goats.
It would seem that the goats are too intelligent – they’ve mastered the art of twinkletoeing their way over a cattle grid.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/devon/6259437.stm
Mind you, they may not be as bright as those Yorkshire sheep that defeated a cattle grid by lying down and rolling across it.
Gangs of goats, roaming the countryside, looking for trouble. It’s only a cattle grid that keeps our lot out of the neighbours’ flower garden, berry bushes and fruit trees. This is potential dynamite, in the wrong hooves.
Vesla once rolled down somebody’s driveway.
Gangs of goats? Look out for the gangs of grannies, I say.
A bah’d guide to Yorkshire sheep.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/3938591.stm
That schlagen would be “smitten”, wouldn’t it?
or “stricken”
or “afflicted”
Well, yes, but what I liked, what I was very satisfied with, was that to smite is to hit, as is schlagen.
Oh, I understand. I would never pass up a chance to use the word “smite”. In fact, I’m quite smitten by the word.