The kaleidoscope I received as a child ranks high in the list of my childhood toys because it was magical. Watching the many colors sliding into one design after another, as though there would be no end, reminded me of stained-glass windows and an image I created for myself. This mental image formed in early childhood days when language was not easy or understood.
My internal kaleidoscope resembled a grotto pool, dark, but reflecting light. This mental picture, which I later called “my core” was marbled with swirls of color like rainbows in pools of water suspended above the spots of oil in our driveway after rain. The colors at my core formed shapes which were the visible manifestations of ideas for which I had no words. My understanding developed through these patterns which somehow explained to me the outer world. It was a language of color.
Green was the color of my imagination, a green world to explore like fields of grass or the crowns of trees, a sheltered realm where thoughts could blossom wildly in a carnival of exotic forms as I tried to find the shapes which would settle out like shore sand from receding tide water, leaving solid understanding.
Blue slithered its coolness across nerve endings scraped raw by my struggles to cope when anger erupted around me, or when violet seeped into my being like sludge.
Violet was the icy cold of frozen anger—mine.
In contrast, orange was fiery anger, the kind that bursts quickly into flame and then just as quickly burns out. Orange flamed into my head when I was treated unfairly, for example when a playmate would not share my own toys with me. When my orange anger was stifled, it descended into the depths moldering into violet.
Red was the color of strength, of home, of growth. It could be violent. Earthquakes were red.
But favorite of all was yellow, the color of joy.
The Kaleidoscope feature, like the multi-colored images seen within the optical instrument of the same name, will present shifting topics from week to week. Here I will explore of the oddities of the English language, such as words which seem to contradict themselves. Blog subjects may also be related to material in the website features Glass Rain and Refractions and Through the Looking Glass. This week’s blog is related to the poem in the last listed feature and to the topic of synesthesia (see Splintered Glass section).
#ColorandEmotion
The Problem With Pumpkin
As a child the word pumpkin seemed weird to me, especially after I learned to read. Pumpkin looked like a mashup of two words, like basketball or sunflower. But that was exactly the problem. The two words pump and kin, though perfectly ordinary words, together they made no sense.
I knew a pump was something I used to put air in the tires of my bicycle and that the action of forcing the air in was called pumping. But I could not see how this information matched up with the gourd fruit. I reasoned that maybe if you pumped it somehow and did it too hard, maybe you could squash it. It was, after all, also called a squash which was another goofy word.
I looked at all the forms of squash in the grocery store. They all looked pretty sturdy to me and I could only imagine smashing a pumpkin with a hammer. But maybe it was a squash because of the goop inside, that stuff you had to scrape out to make a Jack 0’lantern? You could call that mess squishy, I reasoned. And if something is smashed or squash-ed it could become squishy. But this was absolutely not a satisfying answer at all.
And the other word was no better. Kin meant being related in a family, like your uncle. Of course, there was another expression “akin to” which just meant like or similar to something else. What did this tell me? Did it mean the pumpkin was somehow related to pumps? And what kind of pumps? The gadget that pushed air into tires, or a type of shoe? No, no, there wasn’t any solution. Pumpkin was just a weird word.
When I decided to write about this word, I looked into its etymology. It seems the word wandered from Greek to French to land in England. The English over time changed the sound and spelling of the word to suit themselves. This is typical of English speakers. Historically, they adopt a word from another language or culture and then shape it to appeal to their sense of hearing and ease of speech.
This habit of borrowing words makes English a wonderfully flexible language, but also can lead to confusion like my childhood struggle with pumpkin. However, in this case English speakers in early North America actually adopted the American Indian word for the squash which was and is, lo and behold, pumpkin. This version won out over the inherited strangled version of the French for the same fruit. Yet on first glance, it still looks like you are talking about a fruit which is somehow related to a pump!
#EnglishLanguage #Pumpkin
Author’s Notes
GLASS RAIN—the poetry by Margaret Roxby
“A MEMORY OF ARIZONA” was a late poem by the author describing the last trip to Arizona she took with her husband and her mother. The strong use of color references makes this poem suit this month’s emphasis
KALEIDOSCOPE—a series by Kathleen Roxby
“THE PROBLEM WITH PUMPKIN” is a new work inspired by the month of October and its pumpkin decorations. Sources consulted: www.merriam-webster.com and www.etymonline.com.
THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS—the poetry of Kathleen Roxby
“ON MOONLESS NIGHTS” Since this month’s media entertainment often presents subjects that elicit fear, this poem was selected for its dark theme. The author refers to this piece as a depression poem, written during a time when she struggled with this condition.
SUBMISSION GUIDELINES
Readers who write in response to one of the prompts listed each month in Splintered Glass, may see their work presented here on the last week of that month. Though poems are preferred, short prose work will also be considered for publication.
Guidelines for submission:
Splinters for October 2020
Explore the subject of synesthesia which is a neurological condition in which information meant to stimulate a single sense, instead stimulates several. For examples, see this month’s poem “A Singular Prism” in this month’s Through the Looking Glass Here are a couple of examples.
You could write a scene where the main character experiences sensations while in conversation. For example, when the character sees the color red, that character might hear a sound of a door closing or a car motor. This would recur every time the color red appears or is mentioned.
Write about your own reactions to color. What is your least favorite or your favorite and why? What does a certain color always remind you of?
Write on Halloween theme
On Moonless Nights
there is an ugly thing
that lives in dark shadowed spaces
and sometimes
with the dark of the moon
it leaves its hiding place
to catch you unaware
and drag you to its dreadful lair
where it feeds upon your flesh
in the unknown reaches
of your mind
#FearandMoonlessNights #FearandPoetry
Why Kaleidoscope?
The kaleidoscope I received as a child ranks high in the list of my childhood toys because it was magical. Watching the many colors sliding into one design after another, as though there would be no end, reminded me of stained-glass windows and an image I created for myself. This mental image formed in early childhood days when language was not easy or understood.
My internal kaleidoscope resembled a grotto pool, dark, but reflecting light. This mental picture, which I later called “my core” was marbled with swirls of color like rainbows in pools of water suspended above the spots of oil in our driveway after rain. The colors at my core formed shapes which were the visible manifestations of ideas for which I had no words. My understanding developed through these patterns which somehow explained to me the outer world. It was a language of color.
Green was the color of my imagination, a green world to explore like fields of grass or the crowns of trees, a sheltered realm where thoughts could blossom wildly in a carnival of exotic forms as I tried to find the shapes which would settle out like shore sand from receding tide water, leaving solid understanding.
Blue slithered its coolness across nerve endings scraped raw by my struggles to cope when anger erupted around me, or when violet seeped into my being like sludge.
Violet was the icy cold of frozen anger—mine.
In contrast, orange was fiery anger, the kind that bursts quickly into flame and then just as quickly burns out. Orange flamed into my head when I was treated unfairly, for example when a playmate would not share my own toys with me. When my orange anger was stifled, it descended into the depths moldering into violet.
Red was the color of strength, of home, of growth. It could be violent. Earthquakes were red.
But favorite of all was yellow, the color of joy.
The Kaleidoscope feature, like the multi-colored images seen within the optical instrument of the same name, will present shifting topics from week to week. Here I will explore of the oddities of the English language, such as words which seem to contradict themselves. Blog subjects may also be related to material in the website features Glass Rain and Refractions and Through the Looking Glass. This week’s blog is related to the poem in the last listed feature and to the topic of synesthesia (see Splintered Glass section).
#ColorandEmotion