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Dears,
I'm not surprised that a discussion of the F-word is a favorite topic
of you all, when you're in the right frame of mind.
In response to Monday's column - Not to mention Hollywood movies - a
good look at bad language, Peter Wang, a Chinese lawyer, writes:
"Enjoyed it. I wouldn't be surprised if the F-word were popular between
Bush and his White House buddies, because that is what their politics is."
Thank you, Peter.
Lew Baxter, a senior journalist from Scotland, is a mentor to your
columnist. He worked for Xinhua in the 1990s. He writes in from the UK:
"I agree that those who tend to articulate the best - usually - in a
foreign language are those who have infiltrated and exploited the cultural
depths of cussing."
You might like to know - although you might already know - that in
Ireland the word 'feck' is bandied around endlessly as an expletive but it
is also used extensively as a colorful emphasis for expressions,
statements and comments.
"It is used freely by both genders and all ages and rarely incurs any
social criticism. The Irish, you see, have cleverly adapted the word to
suit and enhance their own linguistic agility."
For those of us with a more sensitive nature it can, though, be a tad
disconcerting to hear young men and women peppering their conversations
with 'feck this and feck that' but at the same time that simple switch of
a vowel reduces the harshness and vulgarity of the original and endows it
with a resonance that can be both amusing, in a slightly shocking way, and
expressive.
"It is now an accepted speech pattern, although in other English
speaking cultures can still cause a few shudders in the ranks of those
whose ears are not attuned to this liberal use of the word."
Thank you, sir.
To illustrate Baxter's point, I've picked a few
precious "fecking" jewels from Frank McCourt's crown copy of Angela's
Ashes, A Memoir McCourt is Irish.
Angela's Ashes, I may add, is a favorite of the author of this
column, and all for the right reasons. Here are a few selected passages
from the book which won the 1996 Pulitzer Prize (All occurrences of the
word in discussion are in bold type, context retained to assist
comprehension):
------
You're lucky, missus, that you saw a bit of the world. Oh, God, I'd
give anything to see New York, people dancing up and down Broadway without
a care. No, I had to go and fall for a boozer with the charm, Peter
Molloy, a champion pint drinker that had me up the pole and up the aisle
when I was barely seventeen. I was ignorant, missus. We grew up ignorant
in Limerick, so we did, knowing feck all about anything
and signs on, we're mothers before we're women. And there's nothing here
but rain and oul' biddies saying the rosary. I'd give me teeth to get out,
go to America or even England itself. The champion pint drinker is always
on the dole and sometimes he even drinks that and drives me so demented I
wind up in the lunatic asylum.
------
I know it's my father because he's the only one in Limerick who sings
that song from the North, Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of
Toome today. He comes round the corner at the top of the lane and starts
Kevin Barry. He sings a verse, stops, holds on to a wall, cries over Kevin
Barry. People stick their heads out windows and doors and tell him, For
Jasus' sake, put a sock in it. Some of us have to get up in the morning
for work. Go home and sing your feckin' patriotic
songs.
------
He hobbles along the streets calling, Anna Lie Sweets Lie, which
doesn't sound a bit like Limerick Leader and it doesn't matter because
everyone knows this is Ab Sheehan that was dropped on his head. Here, Ab,
give us a Leader, how's your poor leg, keep the change an' get yourself a
fag for 'tis an awful feckin' night to be out sellin' the
feckin' papers.
------
Frankie, Frankie, you're bringin' the cough on me. Will you dance for
the love o' Jesus so I can remember me youth with your mother in the
Wembley Hall. Take off the feckin' shoe, Frankie, an'
dance.
------
Uncle Pa says on second thought the black dress could be the cassock of
a Dominican priest and he goes down on his knees and says, Bless me,
Father, for I have sinned. Aunt Aggie says, Get up, you oul' eejit, and
stop makin' a feck of religion.
------
Paddy explodes. You're a feckin' chancer, Fintan.
That's what you are, an' a feckin' begrudger too with
your feckin' sangwidge an' your feckin'
Sacred Heart of Jesus on the wall an' your feckin' holy
water.
...
What has this column come to?
Dears, oh, dears.
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