Petits Mots, Petites Idées…

Re-posted!  Yes, it’s true:  I’ve been BUSTED!  I had no idea the WP Grammar Police was out cruising last night .  I was caught in flagrante delicto abusing grammar in two languages, not just one.

Bloggers Phil Huston and Régis Auffray (both writers and authors, Régis being a fully bilingual retired teacher and published author and both on duty on Word Press) were on duty and caught me red handed.

Sgt. Huston was practically livid about my use of “coordinating conjunctions” which in my grammatically challenged naïvete I didn’t even know existed.  “Hands on dash where I can see them!  Drop your CC’s, now!”  He barked, pointing his keyboard for emphasis.  I had to ask for an explanation and got one, then after promising to change the title, was let go with a written warning not to be seen cavorting with coordinating conjunctions again, plus using titles to lie about intent.  Close call.

No sooner did I start my keyboard and pulled into the new post lane that corporal Auffray pulled me over to demand an explanation for a couple of violations of the sacro-sanctity of French grammar.  Pleading ignorance, I flashed him one of my irresistible smiles, promised to be good, attend a defensive French grammar writing course and was let go with a severe warning in blue ink – and I can only be thankful to God he used BLUE ink, not RED ink.  “Your lucky night, babe,” he said, “My red ink is out.  Now stay away from that French keyboard until you learn to use it properly, you get me, sweetheart?” I, meekly, “Yes, officer sir, I promise!”

Oh the things we do for BLOG!  If only we realized the terrible risks we take with every word we send out on the ether!  Let these events be a warning to the rest of you: it could happen to anyone, believe me, I’m anyone!

Speaking of risks, at the risk of boring those of you who have generously “liked” and kindly commented, I’m re-posting and hoping (that – oh boy, is that a CC?  Aaargh!) this time it passes muster.  I made corrections on both, the French version and the English translation.  Thankfully it’s a short read, right?

Can I please ask for bail if the Grammar Police arrest me and throw me in grammar jail?  I don’t know how long I could survive without my keyboard.

Petits Mots, Petites Idées…
[petit poème de  ~la femme qui brûle~  par Sha’Tara]

L’étoile du matin
S’éteint
Je regarde mes biens:
De ce qui tient
Je n’ai besoin de rien.
Tout va bien.

————————————

Small words, Small Thoughts
[from   ~burning woman~  by Sha’Tara]

The morning star
Is extinguished
I scan my possessions:
Of what clings,
I need none.
All is well.

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10 thoughts on “Petits Mots, Petites Idées…

  1. Mr. Militant Negro

    Fuck both Phil Huston and Régis Auffray, whom clearly have no fuckin lives, must both be woman/man-less and are dicks. Literally. Keep on doing you My Lady. We who count, like your style.

    Reply
    1. Sha'Tara Post author

      Hey, chill bro 🙂 It was a fun exchange. I learned something good and hopefully they got a laugh out of my “story.” Phil is a friend I’d like to meet someday, and Regis lives here. But then you’re probably adding your own brand of fun to the brew? I hope so, anyway. BTW, you have a very interesting blog, ecclectic. By following you I can save myself much time I no longer need to spend on a host of other blogs you regularly re-blog. Thanks…!!!

      Reply
  2. Lisa R. Palmer

    Lol! Well done, Sha’Tara! Beautiful little poem; hysterical little story. Made me laugh in the morning, which is an excellent mood setter before work…

    And, as a writer who takes great license with English, making up words to suit my mood, and denying the very fabric of grammer that holds it all together, you can count me in for bail money should the need arise. I got your back, sister!

    By the way, what exactly is a “coordinating conjunction”? I might want to mind my manners as well. Probably not, but maybe. If I even knew what it was… 😉

    Reply
  3. Phil Huston

    When you desire to string words together without formal structure, say a poem that reads like a crystalized lullaby such as this jewel, let them speak, Kick the words that paint no picture on the curb. In a world gone mad we should all be willing to share our bad habits and laugh. And Sing. And Cry. And, and…and use “and” to tie beautiful, free standing words together. All I asked Sha’Tara to do was set her words free. AND here they are…

    “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighy, we are free at last.” – Martin Luther King, Jr.
    If Dr. King had hung AND in there three times, there goes the BAM. All I was saying.

    Find your ANDs. I have to. See if they make a difference. If they don’t? Show them the door. Be polite. But show them.
    Thank you for this one, Sha’Tara. Simple is never as easy as it looks.

    Reply
  4. Pingback: Small Words, Small Thoughts – Not Very Deep Thoughts

  5. Woebegone but Hopeful

    When approached by anyone on the question of grammar the suggested defence is ‘Oh really? But I was writing with reference to the usage common in the ……….. (enter the century, era of your choice), which I understand was popular in ………. (enter the region/ fashion of your choice). This adds a certain depth to my theme’.
    When offering this explanation your tongue should be firmly settled in the cheek of your choice.
    Just a thought.

    Reply
  6. We come from dreams ~

    We waited on commenting on the original for a number of reasons. I don’t remember any of them at the moment, but – that’s okay!

    At about the time you were writing the original, I thought back to my days in middle school. I was told that I had to take a foreign language, requisite from grade 7 through 12 (in the USA). Ah, cool! I had started reading Nietzsche in the summer before 7th and was delighted with the idea of someday reading Fritz in his original Deutsch. (Uh, Sha’Tara, bear with me here, okay?) My mother had different ideas. “You will learn French!” Huh? “I don’t want you speaking the language of Adolph Hitler in this house!” Which was odd; my father was a first-gen American of German persuasion, and it was my expressed desire to learn the language of Goethe, von Humboldt, Freud, Jung, Reich, Schopenhauer and others that somehow got my mother’s jimmies really rattled. Logical explanation did no good. Telling the old girl that she was acting very much like Hitler got me a beating, one in which I refused to cry out – for the first time. I merely stared as she swung her paddle, ducking occasionally. She called the school and instructed my guidance counselor that I was to be taught French.

    Alas! I didn’t know of the treasures of French literature at the time. Montaigne, Voltaire, Condorcet, Flaubert, Sartre, Bachelard – BAL-zac! What I did know was that my instructor was a small, smelly woman from Armenia who disliked male creatures. My course was set. For six years I ignored her and did none of my assigned work. Periodically this resulted in visits with my guidance counselor, a beknighted man in his mid-forties who pushed the glories of American schooling as panacea for the world’s ills. “Why are you doing so badly in French?” I want to take German and my family won’t let me. “Don’t you see that you’re jeopardizing your future? You won’t be able to get into college!” So what? “Don’t you want to be somebody?” I am somebody. “Don’t you want to get anywhere?” There’s nowhere to go. (LSD had shown me that much when I was 14)

    The end result of this was that I didn’t learn French, or German. Working in a factory, I learned Spanish very quickly. Then Yiddish. As I began to seriously study ancient religious texts, I picked up enough Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Sanskrit and a dozen other extinct languages – enough to be dangerous, mostly to myself. Being the gregarious sort, I’ve also picked up enough Russian, Hindi, Japanese and Arabic to get by in simple conversations. Linguistically I am certainly that jack of all trades and master of none.

    Is there a moral to this tale? Yes! I have done much better in linguistics than I have in any language (including English); and I have learned that any tongue is fluid and ever-evolving. And however your Petit Mots are written, I love them!

    Roy

    Reply

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