Hot weather is the mother of procrastination —
my energy is at ebb tide —
I’m getting caloricly stupid —
Tried to read . . . mind stumbled
on a ponderous perioration (sic) (I think)
and fell in between two paragraphs
and lay unconscious for ten minutes . . .
– Diary of Thomas Edison, July 20, 1885
Thomas Edison kept a diary for all of 10 days in his 84 years, but clearly someone else kept it on his behalf and on ours. I thought it was cute, so I posted it.
I had to look up perioration.
– A correspondent of mine, July 03, 2026
I might have looked it up too, but I had decided to ignore my faint misgivings about the spelling and go with my vague sense of its meaning from context — A long-winded thought or argument, yeah? — because there was a delightful image beckoning to me from the far side of this peculiar word.
(My) mind . . .
Fell in between two paragraphs
and lay unconscious for ten minutes.
I’ve had reading experiences just like that.
When I tracked down the whole entry and saw the words that had been deleted, my sense that I knew (at least) one meaning of perioration/peroration made sense.
Hot weather is the mother of procrastination —
my energy is at ebb tide —
I’m getting caloricly stupid —
Tried to read some of the involved sentences
in Miss Cleveland’s book —
mind stumbled on a ponderous perioration (sic)
and fell in between two paragraphs
and lay unconscious for ten minutes . . .
(emphasis added)
All right then. I don’t know how peroration was used in Edison’s day — today it refers to speech(es) rather than to writing and more to an argument’s conclusion than to its style — but even if his spelling and usage are a bit off, his pejorative intention is clear. Involved. Ponderous. Are those words ever complimentary when used about groups of words? Not in this house.
It got me thinking about what it means to know a word. Perioration/peroration wasn’t entirely new to me and I guessed at its meaning with some success in a close-enough-we’re-not-making-a-watch manner, but I’ve never used it in writing or in speech. Indeed, if someone had given me the definition, I couldn’t have supplied the word.
Peroration, we hardly knew ye.
– inspired by a Biography of JFK
whose title was inspired by an Old Irish Lament
So, what *does* it mean to know a word?
Students of linguistics and teachers of additional languages tackle this by identifying different dimensions of word knowledge. As Robb McCollum explains in this video, there are seven things to know about a word:
- morphology – the parts of the word (if applicable) and what they mean
- pronunciation
- spelling
- meaning – including multiple definitions and nuances
- grammar and usage
- collocations – what words it’s used with (e.g. which preposition a verb takes)
- frequency of its use
But it isn’t all or nothing. I might recognize a word but not be able to recall it. I might be able to say it correctly but not spell it reliably, or vice versa. I might only half-understand it, or I might be confident of one meaning but unaware of three others. It’s a bit like my neighbourhood — innit? — where I recognize some folks but can’t call their names. Where I know more names than house numbers. Where I know the former occupations and current dogs’ names and future travel plans of a select few. Do I know my neighbourhood? I think it depends what you mean.
Oh, look: I believe that wraps up my peroration on peroration. I hope you’re not unconscious.
Yikes. You are right. Peroration is a word I recognize, sort of know the meaning, would never use it, and am doubtful on exact pronunciation and spelling. Edison’s diary entry makes more sense without the excision. I never thought I would use that word, either.
Judith – I find that a lot of what I ‘know’ falls into this ‘kinda’ category.
.. huh? did you say something? (tee-hee)
Will have another look later.
Barbara – 🙂 I wouldn’t want to wake you up.
ouch
Isabel
At least peroration could be wrapped up. Look up Lucky’s speech in “Waiting for Godot.”
Tom
Tom – A fair point. (For anyone who wants to explore Lucky’s speech, here’s the text, and here’s a stage version with two renowned British actors.) You’re right, Tom, I’m thinking it wouldn’t perorate very well . . .
… and don’t get me started on prorogation.
Barbara – I know, right? So many oddball words, so little time.
Thank you for the text of Lucky’s speech. I took part in some “Theatre of the Absurd” plays in the 1980s. We all had difficulty memorizing lines that made little sense. I’m astonished that anyone could memorize Lucky’s speech.
Jim T
Jim T – Thanks go to Tom, but he couldn’t add the link. I can believe people would find it a hard speech to learn. A friend who’s in a choir says she finds it hard to learn lyrics that are ungrammatical and/or in sentence fragments. Same problem.
Seeing the word “oration” after “per” helps to trigger a memory from the days when I read 400-year-old books. Or, perhaps, books of about half that age when reading was more prevalent and some people wanted to define their class in the more democratic readership. A few of my older professors may have conversed with such words on the tips of their tongues. I suspect that even in academe such performances are few and far between today.
Laurna – I think you’re right: such words would not be used commonly now in any environment I’m familiar with. We value plain speech, maybe to a fault.