It's only words

Gordon Robinson, Contributor

The English language is the world's most endangered species. For example, in America, it hasn't been used for centuries. Due to some of its eccentricities (e.g. the bough of a tree is pronounced 'bow' but the trough from which most animals feed is 'troff' not 'trow'), Americans can't be bothered. They have their own code wherein 'nite' follows day and 'u's' are redundant. Some of the more creative quirks of English language subcultures such as the rhythmic cadence of the cockney rhyme (which, for example, would have me writing a column for this venerable 'linen and draper'), are now practically obsolete. Soon, experts in hieroglyphics will be used to translate our handwritten letters retrieved from archaeological digs.

But the most savage attacks on the beauty and logic of English is perpetrated right here in Jamaica where there are loud and persistent lobbies to have patois (oops, sorry, 'creole') 'taught' in our schools. By whom? Which professor, from which University, can teach us our own slang better than time spent on the streets of Jamaica ever did for any of us? And why would we want to formalise a language so brilliantly appropriate in its natural setting and which, in today's global village, would make us limited and parochial in our scope?

What are you saying?

I'll never forget watching an episode of the now defunct Arsenio Hall Show with special guests Johnny Gill (formerly of New Edition) and Shabba Ranks. Shabba had just burst on the international scene and was being hailed as the king of dancehall reggae. After rocking the audience with their hit song Slow and Sexy, both were called to do a couch interview. As a lark, Arsenio switched seats with Gill who took over the interview. Gill, clearly summoning up every ounce of available courage, said to Shabba, "I'm going to ask you the question that every American is asking me" then continued, as Shabba turned quizzically to him, "What the hell are you saying? I can't understand a word." Shabba responded: "My people doesn't have to understand. I'm in the pipeline of progress. You doesn't have to understand what I'm saying, just join the pipeline ... ."

It wasn't long before lack of formal education got the better of Shabba and he was induced, by another American TV host, to voice his support of Buju's Boom Bye Bye. Thus ended Shabba's international career.

So, let's see if English works any better. And, please, let's occasionally use it correctly. One thing about us, we love to talk. Repeating ourselves has become such a practised pastime that we now do it by rote. We enjoy being tautologically redundant. As Joe Jones wrote (and recorded) in 1960:

You talk too much you worry me to death,

You talk too much, you even worry my pet

You just talk, talk, talk; you talk too much.

How many times have you referred to 'that bald-headed man (or lady)'? Where else would he/she be bald? 'That bald man' will do very nicely, thank you very much. By the way, it's essential that you don't say 'absolutely essential'. And please return one of our favourites 'return back' from whence it came. You can give a sneak preview, but nobody needs an 'advance preview' or 'advance warning'.

All-time favourites

There's no warning by hindsight. We love to 'cancel out' or 'circle around' and, of course, girls dream of being in 'close proximity' to their guys. Computer geeks love 'drop down' menus (can it drop up?). And my personal favourite, lawyers - perennial imitators of a cantankerous junk dealer's son, Lamont - forever write letters with this or that 'enclosed herein'. Where else, you big dummy, hereout?

I'll simply adopt the 1968 lyrics of Maurice Ernest Gibb, Robin Hugh Gibb and Barry Gibb:

Talk in everlasting words,

and dedicate them all to me.

And I will give you all my life,

I'm here if you should call to me.

You think that I don't even mean

a single word I say.

It's only words and words are all I have

to take your heart away.

Finally, the thing that burns my rear-end most (other than a flame about three feet high) is that our love affair with all things American; our slavish acceptance of mental colonisation by satellite dish (even by advocates for the formalisation of 'creole'); has turned our children ('pickney' to those who learnt patois on the streets) into young goats. Please, I beg of you, stop calling our children 'kids'. It's demeaning, disgusting and demoralising. And it's false.

Peace and love.