May 9, 2018

This little blog of mine, Wrixlings / www.pureenglish.com, regularly gets dozens of hits a day and hundreds of hits a month. Given that I do not advertise this site, and I only tend to update it once or twice a month, and bearing in mind that it centres on a highly niche topic — a pure Saxon English –, I find the readership to be quite unbelievable.
So thank you to everyone who reads and (hopefully) enjoys this website every day! I dream of taking this site to the next level in more ways than one, but I just cannot find the time right now. “Anglish” is a lifetime obsession of mine, a meme I just cannot shake. I hope you all keep up this hobby (?mania) and carry on following this site.
My thanks to you all again!
© 2018 Bryan A. J. Parry
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sundry | Tagged: anglish, Anglo-Saxonism, artlang, conlang, linguistic purism, pure English, Saxon, Saxon English, Saxonism, sundry, wrixlings |
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Posted by bryanajparry
April 30, 2018

Shipwright, cartwright, wheelwright, playwright (not “playwrite”!).
The word “wright” is related to wrought and work. A wright is, in short, a worker. But as you can tell from the above words, “wright” really implies a kind of craftsman or skilled worker, not just a regular slogger. This is clearly a useful word, but only pops up in these historic and set formations, and as a last name (Ian Wright! Wright! Wright!).
This nameword (noun) comes from the deedword/workword (verb) to work. But given the difference between a mere “worker” and the noble “wright”, we might wish to backform a new verb to wright, meaning to work in the specific sense of crafting or as a craftsman.
Let’s take this potentially useful nameword wright, and our new idea of the deedword to wright, and see how we can use them.
A carpenter (from the Latin root carpentum) is someone who works wood, but with the craft-like connotations. Woodworker is a nice formation; indeed, I try to smuggle this word into everyday talk. Woodcrafter or woodcraftsman work, too, altho I feel not as well. Workwood, like turnkey or sawbones, are also fairly neat Saxon alternatives to “carpenter”. But I think woodwright really gets to the craftsmanlike aspect in an unambiguous way. Old English had the form treowwyrhta, which is literally “tree-wright”.
What about the stone mason? “Mason” itself is Old French masson of unclear parentage; it may ultimately be from a German tongue or Latin matio. Surely, we could say stonewright instead. Indeed, the Old English word was stanwyrhta “stone-wright”. Personally, I really like the sound of this even more so than the above alternatives to “carpenter”.
Maybe “wright” could be regularly treated as the English equivalent to Greek tekton as found in architect. Therefore, perhaps architect could be buildingwright? The following words also work, but are more unwieldy: buildingcrafter and buildingcraftsman. Old English had the nice form heahcræftiga “high-crafter”, but maybe that wouldn’t be as self-clear as “buildingwright”.
© 2018 Bryan A. J. Parry
featured image from http://thecarpenterandthecook.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Carpenter.jpg
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vocab, words | Tagged: anglish, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Saxonism, artlang, carpenter, conlang, glossopoeia, inkhorn, inkpot, linguistic creativity, linguistic purism, mason, new words, pure English, pureenglish, Saxon, Saxon English, Saxonism, stonewright, vocab, vocabulary, woodworker, woodwright, wordhoard, words, wordset, wordstock, work, workwood, wright |
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Posted by bryanajparry
May 5, 2017

Poetry, poem, and poet feel like such basic words, and Old English had such a great poetic tradition. Therefore, it’s a little sad to realise that we borrowed these words.
The word poetry ultimately comes from the Greek root ποιεω poieō meaning ‘I make’. In Old English, we had the words metergeweorc “meter-work” meaning ‘verse’ and metercræft “meter-craft” meaning ‘art of versification’.
Some senses of the word meter are ultimately from Greek, but some senses are from Old English. The homeborn, Germanic word is mete + er, mete meaning to measure (as in “mete out justice”). Thus meter is also Saxon word.
Poetry isn’t really about riming, but about the metre, that is, the rhythm and stresses. Therefore, meterwork and metercraft work really well for the word poem and poetry respectively.
A poet is clearly a meterworker or meterwright and/or a metercrafter/metercraftsman.
We also have the word skald which refers to a Scandinavian poet or singer of the Middle Ages — but we can easily take this word and update it for modern use (after all, “electric” comes from the Ancient Greek word meaning “amber”!) We might wish to spell this “scald” to show we have made the word English (and yes, the English word “scald” is indeed the same word as the Norse word skald! The link? Think how poets (and rappers) scald their opponents in verse).
Unlike in many languages, there is no deedword (verb) in English such as “poetrise”; that is, to do poetry. But with our Saxon forms about, we have no issue: both work and craft can be deedwords as well as namewords (nouns). So “I write poetry/I poetrise” could be “I meterwork/metercraft”.
© 2017 Bryan A. J. Parry
featured image from http://images5.fanpop.com/image/photos/31100000/poetry-poetry-31167131-998-783.jpg
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vocab, words | Tagged: anglish, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Saxonism, bard, conlang, inkpot, linguistic purism, metercraft, metercrafter, metercraftsman, meterwork, meterworker, meterwright, Old English, plain English, poem, poet, poetry, pure English, Saxon, Saxon English, Saxonism, skald |
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Posted by bryanajparry
March 5, 2017

Here’s a delightful poem I’ve come across that tries to use as much Latin as poem. The very opposite of my project. Enjoy!
Æstivation
By Oliver Wendell Holmes
1858
Æstivation
An Unpublished Poem, by my late Latin Tutor.
In candent ire the solar splendor flames;
The foles, languescent, pend from arid rames;
His humid front the cive, anheling, wipes,
And dreams of erring on ventiferous ripes.
How dulce to vive occult to mortal eyes,
Dorm on the herb with none to supervise,
Carp the suave berries from the crescent vine,
And bibe the flow from longicaudate kine!
To me, alas! no verdurous visions come,
Save yon exiguous pool’s conferva-scum,–
No concave vast repeats the tender hue
That laves my milk-jug with celestial blue!
Me wretched! Let me curr to quercine shades!
Effund your albid hausts, lactiferous maids!
Oh, might I vole to some umbrageous clump,–
Depart,–be off,-excede,–evade,–erump!
text of poem from http://www.ibiblio.org/eldritch/owh/aest.html
featured image from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oliver_Wendell_Holmes_Sr.#/media/File:Oliver_Wendell_Holmes_Sr_c1879.jpg
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Anglish, inkpot | Tagged: 1066, 1066 and all that, Ander-Saxon, anglish, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Saxonism, Æstivation, English Linguistics, how we'd talk if William had lost at Hastings, Latinglish, linguistic creativity, linguistic purism, Oliver Wendell Holmes, poem, poet, poetry, Saxon, Saxon English, Saxonism, William the Bastard, William the Conqueror, wrixlings |
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Posted by bryanajparry
February 15, 2017

We talk of someone having or needing to get a backbone. This of course means to get a spine. But we don’t just use “backbone” metaphorically; the word “backbone” has meant a literal spine ever since the early 1300s.
“Spine” is from the Latin spina. So a plain Saxon English / Anglish alternative for spine is backbone.
It then struck me that the backbone itself is actually made of lots of little bones: vertebrae. Each of these is surely a backbone, too. So we have backbones made of backbones? Or perhaps, made of backbonelings… I wasn’t happy with this wordmess. And then I remembered that knuckle doesn’t just mean the finger joint, it also refers to any (particularly knobbly) joint of the body. Thus, your backbone is made up of knuckles; or to be overly clear, back-knuckles. No need to use Latin spine or vertebra or that dodgy outlandish plural –ae.
© 2017 Bryan A. J. Parry
featured image from http://www.healthline.com/hlcmsresource/images/topic_centers/osteoarthritis/642×361-Treating_Spinal_Stenosis-Exercise_Surgery_and_More.jpg
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Anglish, conlang, Uncategorized, vocab, words | Tagged: #PlainEnglish, 1066, 1066 and all that, anglicisation, anglish, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Saxonism, conlang, English Linguistics, how we'd talk if William had lost at Hastings, linguistic creativity, linguistic purism, plain English, Saxon, Saxon English, Saxonism, What is Anglish? |
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Posted by bryanajparry
February 1, 2017

I love house-buying shows. Mostly they look at homes in Spain or Portugual. But today they were looking in France. Just when you thought estate-agent-speak couldn’t get worse than bijou, cosy (=cramped), and the like, I learnt a new word: gîte. After about three minutes, and hearing it several times, the word had already begun to irk me. After an hour, I was ready to start stabbing.
So far as I can tell, the word means a small cottage or annex, self-catering. The Oxford English wordbook defines it as:
A stopping-place, lodging … a furnished or self-catering holiday home, usu. in a rural district.
Call me a “luddite” if you will, but what is wrong with (French-style) self-board holiday home/cot(e)? Or if that’s too overly specific, what about hire holiday home?
I think gîte, even without its little letter-hat (gite), is needless, pretentious, dreck.
© 2017 Bryan A. J. Parry
featured image from http://www.hotel-r.net/im/hotel/fr/gîte-61.jpg
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Anglish, conlang, Uncategorized, vocab, words | Tagged: #PlainEnglish, anglish, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Saxonism, auxlang, century, conlang, decade, English, inkhorn, inkpot, linguistic purism, millennium, Old English, plain English, purism, Saxon English, Saxonism |
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Posted by bryanajparry
January 17, 2017

The twenty-first century, a test century in cricket, a Roman century led by a centurion. Century means, as we all know, one hundred — of anything. The words come from the Latin centuria. But why bother with “century” at all? We have the word hundred! And the madness doesn’t stop there.
We have homegrown words for ten, hundred, and thousand. Yet we borrow the words for the same periods of years: decade, century, millennium? German gets by quite well with homegrown Jahrzehnt, Jahrhundert, and Jahrtausand; literally, ‘year-ten’, ‘year-hundred’, and ‘year-thousand’. So why can’t English?
Of course, in English we can just say things like “ten years” or “tens of years”. But a lot of the time this doesn’t quite work. These are descriptive phrases, when what we sometimes really want is one noun that pithily expresses the same concept. So in step decade, century, and millenium as our lexical saviours.
Yet it wasn’t always so.
Century only came into English in the 1530s with the sense of “hundred”. It only took on the meaning “period of a hundred years” in around the 1650s as a short form of the phrase “a century of years”. Likewise, decade only came into English in the mid-fifteenth century meaning “ten parts”, it acquiring the sense of “period of ten years” in the 1590s. And millennium, in the sense of any thousand year period, is only recorded from 1711.
So what did we say before then?
Confusingly, the Old English word for decade was hund. Century was ældu, as in eld, elder, old. Compare Modern Idelandic öld ‘century’.
These wouldn’t work for nowadays English. So what should we do?
- When you can swap decade, century, or millenium out for the following phrases with no awkwardness or unnaturalness, then do so: ten years, tens of years, a hundred years, hundreds of years, a thousand years, thousands of years.
- When you mean a group or amount of, then say tenfold, a group of ten, hundredfold, a group of hundred, thousandfold, a group of a thousand.
- When you want to say “the twentieth century” (and so on), say “the 1900s” instead — like in Swedish.
- You can also say ton for hundred, especially in money or speed or sport.
And when these don’t work, I say that Germanising “year-ten” is too un-English. I put forward the following.
1. Ten-year, hundred-year, thousand-year
“I met your Mum three ten-years ago”: cannot be mistaken for “ten years ago”.
“The Battle of Hastings was almost a thousand-year ago”: cannot be mistaken for “a thousand years ago”
“The twentieth hundred-year was a time of great change”: cannot be mistaken for anything.
2. I also put forward, on the analogy of “century of years” being simplified to “century”, these: ten, hundred, thousand.
“It’s been hundreds since England had a separate parliament”
“Tens ago, mobile phones was science fiction”
“Stonehenge was built thousands ago”
3. Swedish also provides a good model with hundratal: hundred-deal. Deal of course can mean amount or quantity, as in “a good deal of rain”.
ten-deal, hundred-deal, thousand-deal.
© 2016-2017 Bryan A. J. Parry
featured image from http://i.ytimg.com/vi/MK7sju6Ka8E/maxresdefault.jpg
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Anglish, conlang, vocab, words | Tagged: #PlainEnglish, anglish, Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-Saxonism, auxlang, öld, century, conlang, decade, English, Icelandic, inkhorn, inkpot, linguistic purism, millennium, Old English, plain English, purism, Saxon English, Saxonism |
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Posted by bryanajparry
November 14, 2016

The verb “to collaborate” can easily be put into plain English by saying “to work with”. Indeed, this is exactly what “collaborate” means in Latin: com– ‘with’ + labore ‘to work’. But what about “collaborator” and “collaboration”? The fairly useless word “collaborate” looks like it’s being buttressed by these two words, as well as by the negative, traitorous sense. Indeed, perhaps “collaborator” is slowly coming to mean something like “traitor”, and thus the time might be right for “collaborator” to be shuffled off.
We could turn the verb phrase “work with” into the phrasewords “withworker” and “withworking”. However, “with” when used as a kind of prefix actually means “against”; look at “withstand” (stand against, resist), “withhold” (hold back), and “withdraw” (draw back). The reason for this weirdly counter-intuitive situation is that in Old English, “with” (wiþ) meant ‘against’. The meaning of wiþ changed under the influence of phrases like “fight with”. The eremost (original) English word for the concept of “with” was “mid” — this still lives on in words like “midwife” (literally, ‘with wife/woman’).
So we have two choices here.
- Extend the nearly-dead usage of mid- to mean “with” and with- to mean “against”, even though it runs counter to how these words work when not compounded/prefixed.
- Write off current with- and mid- as relics, patterns too irretrievably lost to bring back, and make a new prefix with-.
Option one gives us midworker and midworking. Option two gives us withworker and withworking.
© 2016 Bryan A. J. Parry
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Posted by bryanajparry
November 1, 2016

Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish!
Henry IV Part I – Act II, Scene iv [1]
Now that I’ve got a dog, it’s come to my attention that the word pizzle, featured memorably in the above Shakespearean quote, is still used. “Bull’s pizzle” is sold as a treat for dogs. A pizzle is properly the penis of an animal, often a bull but not needfully so. The word is Germanic and seems to be borrowed from Low German or Dutch. Why not let’s start using it again? Maybe for human knobs as well — which I have already begun doing.
The Old English word was pintel, which nowadays is/would be spelt “pintle”. I’ve tried slipping that in to conversations, too. Whilst “pintle” and “pizzle” cannot be classed as smuggle-words, they never-the-less do seem to be understood within context without folk piping up. Probably because they are, phonologically-speaking, not a million miles away from “penis”.
But why bother? Straight-forwardly put: “penis” is a Latin word. Originally a euphemism, but one that, to my ears, doesn’t sound sweet.
I cannot stand the word “penis”, which for me not only isn’t Saxon English, it isn’t even English at all. What kind of word is “penis”? Some kind of gibberish, like “vagina” (which I can barely bring myself to say) or “defecate”. I use a variety of the following depending on context, register, and politeness: willy, knob, prick, dick, cock, man part. Other words are used for humorous effect only, such as “John Thomas” or “love-weapon”. I don’t see why pizzle and/or pintle cannot be used as a “polite” swap for the word penis.
[1] http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/04/23/15-great-william-shakespeare-insults-which-are-better-than-swear/?ref=yfp
© 2016 Bryan A. J. Parry
featured image from http://www.hornbonefashion.com/dried-bull-pizzle-sticks.htm
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Posted by bryanajparry
September 5, 2016

Me and a mate were chatting with an Albanian guy we met. He mistook my Anglo-Mexican mate for Algerian. That happens to him a lot. I myself was mistaken for part-Italian. That doesn’t happen a lot. In any case, I’m 100% pure English (read: white with a touch of lobsteritis).*
But despite being a homeland-loving Englishman, I was happy with being mistaken for half-Italian. I didn’t mind being taken for a southern European. Nor would my mate. We wondered aloud on this for a moment. I came to the conclusion that southern Europeans have a kind of… and the word “lifefulness” popped out of my mouth. That is, they’re full of life. Of course, the standard English would be vitality.
Vitality noun Lifefulness
Vital adjective (not in the sense of important) Lifeful
Lifefulness: another nonce word, like shadow-outline, that I think I’m going to use a lot more from now on in.
*My Welsh last name is not from a blood relative… except during Euro 2016, when I told people I was genetically Welsh.
© 2016 Bryan A. J. Parry
featured image from http://cdn.tinybuddha.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Vitality.jpg
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Anglish, Uncategorized, vocab, words | Tagged: anglish, conlang, English Linguistics, linguistic creativity, linguistic purism, Norman Conquest, reddit, what if the Normans had lost |
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