LAS LENGUAS INGLESA Y ESPAÑOLA de Delfín Carbonell

Writing is, in some respects, more difficult than speaking. There is greater scope for misunderstanding when the writer is not there to explain, qualify, or correct what he has written. Faulty punctuation, grammar, or syntax can distort or even deform one's meaning in ways that speech, with its intonation and immediate context, often prevents. But why should we attempt to write in English if we have another language at our disposal? Nathan Heller gives us an intriguing answer in The New Yorker . Writers able to choose their working languages—Joseph Conrad, Jorie Graham, Vladimir Nabokov—often end up writing in English because, as Conrad reportedly put it, “English is so plastic.”

1.      Active and selective reading. 2.      Acquisition of words. 3.      Study of basic grammar.  4.      Proper p unctuation. 5.      The ability to use reference books, on paper or online. 6.      The mindful care for one’s readers.

Plenty of jokes go around about women with a full wardrobe who claim they don't have a stitch to wear .  We hear that not only in English, but also in many other languages, I bet. No tengo nada que ponerme  I have heard many times in my married life. Carmen Martín Gaite, who was an expert on women, writes in her Usos amorosos en la posguerra española , 1987, "Yo no puedo ir. No tengo nada que ponerme." Not being a psychologist or sociologist, I ignore why females in general say this, contrary to fact and reality. It is a fact, however, that the ready-made phrase exists and can be attested in the American Scholar, for example, Autumn 2015, where we can read: "She seemed excited about the wedding, drawling that she hadn't a stitch to wear." I belong to a generation when men and women had few garments and wore the same day after day. So, I suspect that the expression is of recent coinage.  

I lost the hearing in my left ear when I was about six years old, owing to otitis media. This has certain advantages: at night I rest my right ear on the pillow and shut out the world. Everything becomes quiet and still, and I cannot oír el vuelo de una mosca —literally, “hear the flight of a fly.” As usual, English has a counterpart: one can hear a pin drop . Both expressions describe an extraordinary degree of silence. Try it sometime: go into a soundproof room, drop a pin, and listen. Or, better still, let a fly loose in the same room and see whether you can hear the flapping of its wings. How fascinating sound is—and how differently languages find ways of expressing its absence.

I have noticed of late that I suffer from short-timer’s syndrome (attitude) . At my age, I believe I have every right to suffer (enjoy?) this malady. At 88, I can afford to lose focus, motivation, and emotional attachments. I am now a short-timer , someone who is on borrowed time and doesn’t give a fig about anything. As someone said on NPR Morning (10/02/1998), “I’m a short-timer. What do I care?” And I often muse in Spanish: Para lo que me queda de estar en el convento… Fulgencio Argüelles put it more fully in Letanías de lluvia (1993): “Para el tiempo que me queda de estar en este convento, me cago dentro.” So there you have it:  Short-timer’s syndrome (attitude) — Para lo que me queda de estar en el convento, me cago dentro. “I’m a short-timer. What do I care?” NPR Morning , 10/02/1998. US. “… is himself a short-timer. He is about to turn 68 and is subject to mandatory retirement at age 70.” San Francisco Chronicle , 10/17/2004. US. “Short timer syndrome is the common term u...

 Sí, confieso: tengo el síndrome de «para lo que me queda de estar en el convento...». A mi edad ya no tengo por qué aguantar las necedades de políticos de poca monta; las bobadas de jovencitos que apenas han salido del cascarón; las letanías de hombres-niños que pontifican sobre sus derechos y olvidan sus obligaciones; las malversaciones de un gobierno corrupto que incluso se vanagloria de serlo; las milongas de socialistas y comunistas, que ya resultan vomitivas; los paternalismos hacia los mayores, a quienes los jovenzuelos consideran trastos viejos... En fin, tengo the short-timer syndrome . A fuerza de acumular años, las veo venir de lejos. Es un aburrimiento. Es como ver la misma película dos o tres veces, conociendo ya el desenlace. No pienso permitir que un chiquilicuatre mocoso me mire por encima del hombro, en televisión, y me diga que su gestión —nefasta por demás— es buena. Hasta aquí hemos llegado los que tenemos el síndrome de «para lo que me queda de estar en el conv...