LAS LENGUAS INGLESA Y ESPAÑOLA de Delfín Carbonell

 Many writers glorify the art of writing and encourage others to put their thoughts on paper, to develop their ideas, plots, realities, traumas, fears, and fantasies, convinced that writing liberates the mind and brings a deep sense of satisfaction. For them, the act of writing can be a source of almost limitless pleasure and delight. My own experience has been rather different. My writing is nothing to write home about (pun intended), and I have so few readers that not even my relatives take a peek at my "literary" output. They invariably assure me of their keen interest, only to add that they simply have no time. Steven Pressfield's delightful little book Nobody Wants to Read Your Sh*t  fits me to a T. All this came to mind because I recently came across a remark by Tom Wolfe in Hooking Up , in the chapter "My Three Stooges." He writes: "I can tell you... to write one book is a killer financially, a blow to the base of the skull mentally and physically, h...

Por nada del mundo, decimos for all the tea in China. The Oxford English Dictionary tiene una citación que dice: “I’m not going to stand in my girl’s light for all the tea in China.” También decimos not for love or money. I wouldn’t kiss that man for love or money. Y hablando de té, cuando algo no nos gusta, empleamos la expresión: it/he/she is not my cup of tea. Por cierto que, como todo, cambia: el five-o’clock tea pasó a mejor vida en el Reino Unido, pero donde tea significa también cualquier comida, especialmente al final del día. At what time are we having tea? Significa a qué hora vamos a cenar.

  President Richard Nixon said, "I am not a crook," and popularized the expression. The Spanish government is bringing back words and expressions that were dormant, like "tirar de la manta."  So many of the government´s members are either in jail, indicted, or investigated that the President fears one of them will finally blow the whistle on him, "tire de la manta" and expose all the dirt that might get him in the clink, behind bars. English has more idiomatic phrases to express this idea of telling on someone:  Take the lid off, pull the plug, blow the whistle, give the game away, let the cat out of the bag, and spill the beans. Mr. Pedro Sánchez, the present PM, might find it worthwhile to learn these English equivalents. If one of his colleagues ever decides to blow the whistle , spill the beans , or let the cat out of the bag , at least he will be familiar with the vocabulary of political scandals when he travels abroad.

 By now, all and sundry must know that I read with a pencil in hand to highlight passages, phrases, and words, both known and unknown.  or me, reading is an act of learning. I am well past halfway through Barbara Kingsolver's Demon Copperhead, and today I underlined the word midrift as odd-sounding. I underlined it and looked it up. Sure enough, the word should be spelt midriff , "the middle part of the body, between the chest and the waist." Ms. Kingsolver says at the end of her novel: "Every draft of this book was improved by advice from insightful readers..." and names a few of them. The author might reply and remind us that the narrator is, on page 302, only 15. The argument will not hold water because Demon uses ten-dollar words throughout,  far more difficult than midriff.  Unless the misspelling was deliberate—and I doubt it—it appears to have slipped past both the author and her readers.  

I often hear "We don't say that in English" and, in Spanish, "Eso no se dice en español" from the lips of native speakers who, as I have often said, are a language's worst enemies. I have also often paraphrased Ortega's idea that the horizon of our language is not the horizon of language itself. There is always more beyond the limits of our own linguistic knowledge. The average native speaker is convinced that if he or she has never heard a word or turn of phrase, it simply does not exist. Take the idiom to the manner born , for example. It may be rendered in Spanish as venir de buena cuna , ser de buena cuna , or ser de alcurnia . Here is a recent example: "Ian Fleming was to the manner born. His grandfather was one of the wealthiest merchant bankers..." ( Los Angeles Times , April 4, 2024). And, just in case a native English speaker still has doubts about its genuineness, here is another citation: "Geoff Cowan was, in many respects, to...

  Señora, como the lady of the house , la señora de la casa. Ladies and gentlemen , señoras y señores. The first Lady , la primera dama. Es el equivalente femenino de gentleman , caballero, señor. Una persona puede ser a woman , pero no a lady, puede ser mujer pero no una señora. Estas son cuestiones sociales más que lingüísticas. Margaret is a real lady , Margaret es una verdadera señora. En Inglaterra es también un título nobiliario, el femenino de Lord : Lady Margaret Thatcher. Lady Di.  Nunca nos dirigiremos a una señora diciéndole lady , sino madam o ma’am. Si es muy joven, Miss o young lady basta y sobra.  

  KITCHEN / CUISINE El sitio donde guisamos es kitchen ;  el tipo de comida que guisamos es cuisine : French cuisine, Italian cuisine. En ambos casos en castellano es cocina. 

 I am a people watcher. When I walk down the street or sit on a park bench, I often gaze at passers-by, especially couples who, to my eye, seem oddly mismatched. Then I reflect on how English and Spanish express the idea behind matchmaking and the mysterious ways in which people find their mates for life. We often wonder how those two coming down the path ever got together, let alone married. Mystery of mysteries. A Spaniard might shrug and say, "Siempre hay un roto para un descosido," perhaps accompanied by a deep sigh. Or, "Dios los cría y ellos se juntan." In English, we may say that "there's a lid for every pot." Less commonly, "there's a shoe for every foot." My favorite, however, is "there's an ass for every saddle." In my A Phraseological Dictionary, English-Spanish , I document these expressions with bona fide citations, lest some smart-aleck imagine that I have invented them.

Ser el úl timo mono. Persona o entidad sin relevancia. — Aparece en el Diccionario de la Academia en 1989: “Ser una persona insignificante, no contar para nada.” María Moliner dice: "no tener una persona ningún poder o influencia, en cierto lugar." Para Manuel Seco es: "La persona más insignificante o de menos categoría en un lugar." Se emplea por lo menos desde 1872. Lo reseña el Diccionario de argot , de Luis Besses de 1905: “El último mono: el último de la clase.” José María Iribarren menciona una extraña variante: “El último mono es el que se ahoga”, y dice: “Alude este dicho a la creencia de que los monos, cuando tienen que atravesar un río, se cuelga uno de ellos de la rama más próxima a la orilla, y los demás forman cadena hasta que el último llega al suelo y consigue poner a toda la fila  en oscilación creciente. Cuando han tomado suficiente impulso, el de arriba se suelta, y suele ser el que no logra alcanzar la orilla y muere ahogado.”  Esto lo tomó, s...

El idioma se adapta a los vaivenes y actitudes de la sociedad, como bien sabemos. Un hijo nacido fuera del matrimonio era antaño objeto de ostracismo y vituperación social. Hoy, que una mujer tenga un hijo sin estar casada ya no la relega al aislamiento social de otros tiempos. La lengua inglesa tiene —o tenía— una expresión chusca para describir esta circunstancia: Born on the wrong side of the blanket Hijo de madre soltera; ilegítimo; de padre desconocido. Mary married this guy, born on the wrong side of the blanket. Mary se casó con ese tipo, hijo de madre soltera. --“I was born on the wrong side of the blanket.” Anya Seton, Winthrop Woman (1958). --“… those royal romances which always seemed to involve births on the wrong side of the blanket.” Time Magazine (21 de febrero de 1969). Según una explicación popular, los hijos concebidos dentro del matrimonio lo eran "debajo de la manta", mientras que los nacidos de relaciones extramatrimoniales se concebían "al otro ...

Dr. Pedro Álvarez de Miranda (Royal Spanish Academy, RAE) has been kind enough to forward a very interesting article of his, "Dos efemérides", published recently in El Cultural (18 June 2026). He discusses the magnificent Diccionario de autoridades (1726–1739), which predates Dr. Samuel Johnson's dictionary by sixteen years. The article is well worth reading, both for its intrinsic interest and for the light it sheds on the importance of the Diccionario de autoridades in the history of European lexicography. In his Chasing the Sun: Dictionary Makers and the Dictionaries They Made (1996), Jonathon Green made little mention of these early Spanish contributions, including the Diccionario de autoridades , which marked a cusp in the history of dictionary making. Dr. Álvarez de Miranda writes with considerable scholarly authority and gravitas, and succeeds in whetting the reader's appetite for language and its history. 

 Of late, Spanish politics has been topsy-turvy, with socialist politicians jailed, indicted, prosecuted, or accused of corruption and graft. The English adjective offshore is on everyone's lips, in the digital press, on radio programs, and in talk shows of all kinds. Commentators and know-alls use it in Spanish as a noun: "El político corrupto tiene un offshore en Singapur." The pronunciation varies from ofsor to obsor . They are referring to companies or individuals with operations, accounts, or assets in tax-haven jurisdictions. The expression has become remarkably popular, and one now hears it in everyday conversation. I would be interested in tracing its trajectory as a linguistic stowaway. Time, and perhaps the law, will determine whether it becomes established currency in Spanish or is eventually consigned to oblivion.

Wit es una palabra inglesa polifacética que igual sirve para un roto que para un descosido y que acumula gran cantidad de fraseología. Si la traducimos por "ingenio" a secas, como hace el Collins, le haremos un flaco favor. Por eso de las prisas y falta de tiempo -aunque tengo 24 horas al día como todo hijo de vecino- quiero referirme al aspecto negativo de la palabra.  Un dullwit es un torpe, retrasado, lento de entendederas, cretino, sonso, bobo, lentorro... No acaba ahí la cosa porque también puede ser un halfwit , persona de pocas luces que también puede definirse como slowwitted o dimwit. Aún podemos añadir, con el mismo significado dumbwit. Nitwit quizá sea la más hiriente, al referirse a la inteligencia de las liendres. Y todo con wit . En fin, que la lengua inglesa sabe sacar provecho de una palabra para ofender al prójimo. Y tiene muchas más, claro, en referencia a la supuesta deficiencia intelectual de los demás.  

 I am trying to put together a chapter on Doris Lessing (1919-2013) for my Literatura en lengua inglesa III (Editatum, 2023, 2025, and 2026). What first surprises me is the linguistic side to her biography. Born in Persia (now Iran), where she lived till age 6, she then moved to Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), where she lived till age 30, when she settled in London in 1949. J. M. Coetzee reviews her autobiography in his book Stranger Shores , but does not dwell on linguistic questions. What I find surprising is that she spoke only English. There is little evidence that she ever acquired either Farsi or Shona beyond a few words and expressions. True that the British recreated abroad, in the colonies, their home way of life and shunned local languages and ways of life, but the fact that Lessing, as a child and adolescent, did not even try to learn the local languages shocks me. After all, her English was acquired outside the United Kingdom, in exotic countries. What intrigues me is no...

 I am unable to read a book, novel, essay, or biography without a highlighter or pencil at hand. When using my iPad or Kindle, I have it even easier, as these devices come with several useful features, including built-in dictionaries. The point is that I regard reading as a form of learning: words, idioms, turns of phrase, and ideas. When a book is worth rereading, I highlight the important passages and keep them ready to refresh my memory whenever I return to it. I also often transfer notes to my phone or to a notebook. I grant that this may seem a bit cumbersome, but I find it helpful, since learning is my ultimate aim. I admit that I am a bit weird, but I am much too old to change. And as The Anglican Book of Common Prayer tells us: "Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest." 

 La lengua inglesa distingue entre to lend y to borrow , que en castellano expresamos mediante prestar y tomar prestado . Siempre recuerdo la recomendación de Polonio en Hamlet (acto I, escena 3): «Neither a borrower nor a lender be». Supongo que tengo esas palabras grabadas a fuego en el subconsciente, porque siento verdadero horror a deber dinero o a que me lo deban, aunque, puestos a elegir, prefiero lo segundo. En castellano tenemos el refrán: «Quien presta, no cobra; si cobra, no tal, y si tal, enemigo mortal», que quizá guarde parentesco con el latín: Si praestabis, non habebis; si habebis, non tam cito; si tam cito, non tam bene; si tam bene, perdes amicum . Gonzalo Correas lo recoge en 1627 en su Vocabulario de refranes , lo que parece indicar que esto de prestar dinero ha tenido detractores desde tiempo inmemorial. Shakespeare pone en boca de Polonio una razón de peso: los préstamos suelen hacer perder tanto el dinero como los amigos. No parece una idea muy alejada de l...

 Cuando le pedí al entonces Editor-in-Chief del Oxford English Dictionary, John Simpson, que escribiera el prólogo para mi diccionario de refranes, me respondió afirmativamente y añadió: "in for a penny, in for a pound". Venía a decir que, una vez metido en harina, lo mismo daba asumir un compromiso más. En castellano habría podido decir: «preso por mil, preso por mil quinientos». También: «puestos a ello, hagámoslo». El refrán inglés tiene un sentido muy próximo: una vez iniciada una empresa, o aceptado un riesgo, lo razonable es seguir adelante hasta el final. Entre nosotros, la idea aparece asimismo en el viejo dicho «es igual ocho que ochenta», empleado, entre otros, por Quevedo, Gracián y Gabriel y Galán.

  ¿Qué leemos cuando leemos una traducción? (Article by Delfín Carbonell) This article examines a brief passage from Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice through four different translations -three in Spanish and one in English- and compares them with a contemporary translation produced by artificial intelligence. By analyzing the translators’ divergent lexical, stylistic, and interpretive choices, a fundamental question is explored: what do we actually read when we read a translation? The comparison illustrates how each version preserves certain elements of the original while reshaping it in accordance with the translator’s linguistic preferences and cultural assumptions. The discussion also touches on the growing role of artificial intelligence in literary translation and argues that, regardless of whether a human or a machine produces a translation, it remains an interpretation rather than a direct reproduction of the source text. Readers of translated literature, therefore, encounter ...

This year, the Madrid Book Fair coincided with Pope Leo XIV's visit, which turned the city upside down. I was fortunate enough to reach Retiro Park in less than half an hour, but getting home proved an ordeal and took well over ninety minutes, with traffic at a near standstill. This was not my first time signing books at the Fair, and I approached the occasion with some misgivings. As it turned out, all went well. I signed a few copies (Editatum stand, 154), met long-lost friends, shared a laugh or two, and mingled with crowds of book lovers. Madrid is still a manageable city, far removed from the vastness of Mexico City, Tokyo, or even Paris, yet the Fair was crowded, cheerful, and civil. All in all, it was a most pleasant outing, one that dispelled my initial reluctance about attending. Another year, another Book Fair. See you in 2027!

Body language often communicates what words leave unsaid. A glance, a shrug, or a gesture can reveal our feelings more quickly and effectively than a carefully chosen sentence. One such gesture is to curl one's lip , that slight raising of the upper lip that conveys disgust, contempt, or disdain. Thus we read: "Sophie curled her lip in disgust" (Fern Michaels, Breaking News , 2012). Spanish has its own equivalent expressions. We may torcer el morro , arrugar el morro , or retorcer el morro .  Manuel Seco's Diccionario fraseológico documentado del español actual defines torcer el morro rather economically as "poner mala cara." A vivid illustration appears in Gonzalo Torrente Ballester's Filomeno, a mi pesar : "Primero torció el morro, después se echó a reír." The gesture itself is instantly recognizable. Whether we curl our lip in English or torcemos el morro in Spanish, we communicate disapproval before uttering a single word. Body language ...

  La Feria del Libro ya está en marcha en Madrid. El sábado, 6 de junio, de 12:30 a 13:30 estaré en la Caseta 154. Quizá sea mi última firma, si los astros no lo remedian. Creo que se ofrecen unos once títulos míos, todos sobre cuestiones lingüísticas y de bilingüismo en español-inglés. 

María Moliner tells us in her dictionary that pintiparar means “equiparar, comparar una cosa con otra.” Try using the verb before a Spanish speaker and observe the reaction. One suspects that many would be puzzled, for pintiparar has virtually disappeared from modern usage. The curious thing is that the verb has all but vanished, while its participle continues to enjoy a modest but stubborn existence. Thus we still encounter pintiparado in expressions such as venir pintiparado , ser pintiparado or venir que ni pintiparado . Manuel Leguineche, in his novel La tierra de Oz (2000), writes: “Si no está roto, no lo arregles, era el refrán pintiparado para la ocasión.” Likewise, the Mexican writer Rosario Castellanos uses the expression in El eterno femenino (1975): “Y este papel de dios me viene pintiparado.” Many words that are now unused or nearly forgotten survive in expressions, phrases, or idioms. English provides numerous examples of the same phenomenon. As for the meaning of pi...

In the Preface to my A Dictionary of Proverbs, English and Spanish (Serbal, 1996, Barron's Educational, 1998), I wrote that "They (proverbs) form an important part of the oral background of the English and Spanish peoples. Without a knowledge of proverbs and sayings, a deep understanding of their language and culture will always be incomplete." One reviewer stated that I was wrong and that proverbs are not necessarily important in language. 30 years later, I can repeat what I wrote then and further state that they are an essential part of language phraseology and lore. I am speaking of attaining a proficient command of language. Let me urge you to acquire as many as you possibly can in both languages. For example: al buen callar llaman Sancho (santo) Silence is golden; speech is silver, silence is gold(en) — “… byen se le devyera menbrar que a buen callar llaman Sancho.” Alfonso Martínez de Toledo, Arcipreste de Talavera (Corbacho) , 1438 . España. || “… mi secreto p...