Talky Tuesday: Gone and went

Every language has its very irregular verbs, and three of the ones that seem to be irregular in a ton of languages are also three that are very, very common: to be, to make/do, and to go.

Aside from the bit after the colon in the above paragraph, for example, I used three forms of one of them in only 30 words: “to be” once, and “are” twice.

And when irregular verbs go irregular, they go all out. The Spanish verbs for the same thing: ser and estar (that’s two to bes), hacer, and ir are also very irregular.

For example, we’ll look at the Spanish verb “ser” and the English verb to be, and the first person conjugations are these:

Yo soy (I am), tú eres (you are), él/ella/lo es (he/she/it is), nosotros somos (we are), Ustedes son (all y’all are) and ellos/ellas son (they are). All right, if you insist, vosotros soís, but only in Spain, which uses Ustedes as the formal form.

In the Spanish version, parts of the conjugations sort of follow the overall pattern, which is basically that verbs in the present, in the same order as above, will end in –o, -s, no ending except the vowel before the r in the infinitive, -mos, -n, and –n.

What makes a verb irregular are the parts that come before. If “ser” were conjugated like a regular very, then it would be the very weird-sounding (to a speaker) seo, ses, se, semos, sen, sen.

Notice that beyond the first-person conjugations in English, though, the irregularity vanishes — sort of. Am, are, and is are all very different than the infinitive, but when you get to second person, every one of them uses the second person singular form: are.

If you were to conjugate “to be” regularly, then you’d get I be, you be, he/she/it bes, we be, all y’all be, they be. And there are valid versions of English that use exactly this construction, with the exception of third person singular also being be instead of bes.

You’ve probably heard someone say something like, “Dude, you be trippin’,” and while it isn’t standard, it isn’t wrong in the context of the vernacular it comes from.

Go beyond present tense, and irregular verbs get even weirder. Here are ser and to be in the preterite:

Yo fuí, tú fuiste, él/ella/lo fue, nosotros fuimos, Ustedes fueron, ellos/ellas fueron. And all right, dammit, vosotros fuisteis. English: I was, you were, he/she/it was, we were, they were.

In both cases, this form of the verb bears no resemblance to the infinitive. At least English only makes people learn two words instead of five. And Spanish further complicates it in that the preterite conjugation of ser is identical to the same conjugation of the verb to go, ir.

No, that never made any sense to me, either.

An example of a regular verb in English is “to want.” In the present, every person uses want except for third person singular (he/she/it), which gets wants. In the preterite, it’s wanted all around.

Complex tenses use either want or wanted with auxiliary verbs, and the gerund form can either be used as a noun/adjective (the wanting is the hardest part; that wanting feeling), or as a verb, again with helpers, “he’s wanting to go,” “I’ve been wanting to move,” etc.

Nice, simple and easy. But irregular verbs don’t play that, and one in English that I hear tripping up a lot of people is “to go.” In the present, it pretends to be a regular verb: I/you/we/they/y’all go; he/she/it goes. The only irregularity there is adding the e before adding the s, but that’s a pretty standard feature of English, too.

Any other tense, though, and “to go” decides to go batshit crazy.

For one thing, the preterite conjugation of the word bears absolutely no apparent relationship to the infinitive or present. It becomes “went.” Sure, it’s went for every person, but it’s still completely different than its root.

Now, this is where it trips people up. With a regular verb in English, you just use the preterite with the helping verb “to have” to complete the past perfect — an action that you had been wanting to do in the past, but stopped wanting to in the past.

Here’s a regular example: “I had wanted to talk to Bill about it.” Present perfect is the same: “I have wanted to talk to Bill about it,” the difference being that it’s an action you started in the past but are still doing now. And yes, wanting is an action.

And to make it even simpler, the form of “to have” has only one change. Regardless of number or person, it’s have or had all the way down, except for the present perfect third person singular, which would be he/she/it has wanted…

But throw in an irregular verb like “to go,” and that messes with the whole thing, and yet I hear the wrong version all the time.

If we followed the rules above, then past perfect would be something like “I had went with Bill,” and present perfect would be “I have went with Bill.” And, in fact, I know otherwise well-educated adults who do this all the time — and it makes me cringe every damn time I hear it.

See, irregulars like this have an extra layer of dark magic in them: Two past participles. One can be used with auxiliary verbs, and one cannot.

In this case, “went” can only stand alone. If any other verb comes before it, then the word is “gone.” “I had gone with Bill.” “I have gone with Bill.” Contrast “he went away” and “he is gone.” Same idea, but that extra verb makes all the difference. Although I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say something as heinous as “he is went.”

Some other sneaky verbs that do this: “to run,” which gives you either “he ran in the marathon” or “he has run in marathons”; “she gave it her all” or “she had given it her all”; “we already ate,” or “we have eaten already”  — and note the change in position of the adverb there. Since it modifies the verb, it comes before a simple one and after a complex one.

Okay, technically, you could say “we ate already” and it would be fine, but “we already have eaten” would sound a little weird.

Then there’s a classic that I hear Brits use all the time — and we’re talking professional presenters on the BBC even, and that is “to sit.” The preterite tense of that is sat — I sat, you sat, etc. In complex tenses, well, it gets complex because it depends on the verb.

Properly, you would say I was seated, you have been seated, etc., but I had sat, you have sat, etc. What I hear, particularly in British English, is the abominable “he was sat,” and similar violence done to the language.

Never, never, never, never, never, to quote Shakespeare.

The trigger on this one is “to be.” Stick it in front of “to sit,” and the verb must be seated. It has only sat when being seated cannot be.

One other really weird irregular one in English happened because… who knows? But the verb “to hang” has a different preterite depending on the circumstances.

In every normal usage, the past tense of “to hang” is hung — “I hung out at the mall last week,” although “I used to hang out at the mall” would also be correct.

The exception is if someone was executed by hanging, in which case the preterite is hanged. And in that weird confluence of slang and proper English, if you’re referring to an executed criminal and you say, “He was hanged this morning,” you’re reporting on the execution.

But if you say, “He was hung,” then you’re just bragging about the size of his genitalia. And that’s why proper word usage is so important.

Talky Tuesday: Trying trilingualism

As I’ve mentioned here before, I took four levels of Spanish over five years in school middle and high school, so I ran out of classes at the end of my junior year. Being a total language nerd, I then took one year of high school German, followed by a semester of University German.

I swear that in the first week in Uni we learned more than I had in the first semester in high school.

I didn’t pursue either language in college because I focused on other areas, with a Major and double minors. Consequently, I forgot a lot of both.

Of course, it didn’t help that our Spanish 4 teacher pulled a fast one on us. She asked the class to vote on whether we wanted to study language (i.e., grammar, spelling, etc.) or literature. The vote was unanimous for language, but she taught literature anyway, figuring we’d learn the language that way.

Narrator’s voice: “We didn’t.”

We didn’t exactly start with the Spanish-language equivalent of Dr. Seuss, which didn’t help. Imagine taking a recent immigrant who’s only studied English for a couple of years and then tossing them Shakespeare, Tennessee Williams, George Orwell, Kurt Vonnegut, etc.

They’d do what we did, which was go to the local library at Cal State University Northridge (CSUN), which we had access to use because we were public school students in California, although we couldn’t check out any books.

What we could do, though, was make copies of them, so we would go down there, find the English translation of the latest work, and either read it there or copy it so we could sound like we knew what we were talking about.

It was really a total waste of a year.

But then I started learning Spanish again as an adult about seven or eight years ago, starting with Duolingo as a refresher, and then using immersion via radio, magazines, TV, and so on. Listening to Spanish language stations in the car on my commute actually turned out to be the breakthrough for me.

And so, on my own, in about the same time I’d studied in high school, I achieved the level of fluency that I never did back then. I also got hooked on the unbroken streak on Duolingo — mine is currently six years, seven months, and about three weeks, although I was on Duo for a while before I started the streak.

But the thing is, Duolingo is pretty basic, and I’ve pretty much shot past anything they can teach me now, including all of the stories. So, recently, I decided to try something different.

I’d use Duolingo to learn German, but I would do it from Spanish. In technical terms, this would be learning my L3 in my L2. It’s actually working, because it forces me to not think in English at all, but there are some interesting collisions that happen between all three languages, because they have some words that are close and some that aren’t, and some that mean completely different things on two or all three of the languages.

A big one that constantly screws me up is “es.” In Spanish, “es” is the third person singular form of one of the two verbs for “to be.” In German, it is the third person neutral pronoun “it,” while the third person singular of the verb “to be” is “ist.”

In Spanish, you don’t have to use the pronouns because the verb endings imply them. In German, you always have to use the pronouns, the same as in English. (Well, proper English. We can omit them slangily.)

So the sentence “It is good” in Spanish could just be “Es bueno.” In German, it would be “Es ist gut.”

I can’t tell you how many times in a lesson I’ve started with that es and my brain shifts to Spanish right there, so I’ll enter “es gut” and get it wrong.

The other big difference is that German has three genders, while Spanish only has two — well, technically, but I won’t get into that here. The thing is, just as with Spanish, German grammatical genders bear no relationship to human gender.

That’s why a young boy is masculine while a young girl is neuter, and animal genders seem to have been assigned more on psychology than anything else. Bears and dogs are masculine, while cats and ducks are feminine, and horses are neuter.

I know a lot of English speakers who struggle with learning Spanish articles, but they’re really a lot simpler than German. For definite articles (aka “the”), Spanish has masculine and feminine singular (el, la) and their plural counterparts (los, las).

The only sneaky one is the combination that adds “to” before the masculine pronoun. To avoid having an “a” sound before an “e,” a + el becomes al.

Fun fact: this is the Arabic word for “the,” and wound up in a lot of words borrowed into Spanish and also English. Whenever you see one, realize that the original word was “the (something),” q.v. algebra, Alhambra, alcohol, etc.

Anyway, that gives us just five options in Spanish: el, al, la, los, las.

German starts out with three definite articles, masculine, feminine, and neuter: der, die, das. But the plural versions are not as straight-forward. In order, they are die, die, die. (By the way, that’s pronounced “dee,” and not the way it looks like it would be in English.)

So that one is simple, but there’s a catch. Unlike Spanish, German articles change as grammatical case does. That is, it depends on whether a noun is the subject of a sentence, or whether it’s the direct or indirect object, or has a relationship to another noun in the sentence — usually possession, but it can be descriptive as well.

That gives sixteen possible definite articles and, while some of the words repeat — like “die” taking up to spots above — you have to remember which ones go where.

Of course, language isn’t all difficulty, and some of the fun comes in when a sentence in one language  sounds like something filthy in another when it’s not.

For example, “Die Mädchen haben Hüte.“  Knowing that Mädchen means girl or girls (das or die is the only clue), this could easily sound like a reference to the restaurant Hooters, but it’s not.

It simply means “The girls have hats.”

Another, which sounds even filthier, is “Der Junge isst Nudeln.” If you’re an English speaker, you can be forgiven for thinking this means “The young man is nude.” Nope. It’s just a boy eating pasta.

In German, “bald” is not hairless (“calvo” in Spanish) but “soon.” And at the party last night, you might have seen Brunhilde rockin’ her Rock, which is a reference neither to stones nor to music, but the German word for skirt. (Also, pronounced with a long O, so “roke,” not “raak.”)

No, I have no idea why a German skirt is a Rock. The Spanish word makes so much more sense, really: “falda.” It just sounds more comfortable.

How the structure of questions differs between the three languages is interesting, too. In English and German, generally speaking, questions are in “VSO” order, meaning verb, subject, object: “Is Walter from Indiana?” or “Ist Walter aus Indiana.”

In Spanish, you have the option to do either, but it’s far more common to leave it as SVO and let inflection do the rest: “¿Walter es de Indiana?”, although “¿Es Walter de Indiana?” would be just as valid.

The key, again, is the inflection, with the rising tone giving away that it’s a question and not a statement, and this is why Spanish alone among the three has the upside-down punctuation at the beginning of the phrase. That’s so a reader will know when they see subject-verb that they are not reading a statement.

Finally, being the mongrel that it is, English goes both ways. The most normal way is VSO, but we can also use SVO to express surprise and, again, it’s all a matter of inflection. “Walter is from Indiana?” (Roll eyes, clutch pearls.)

In German, that construction would only ever be a statement of fact.

One other interesting thing about German, although I’ve seen it kind of fade away. They capitalize their nouns. Er, sorry… The German People capitalize all the Nouns!

We used to do this in English, and you can see it if you go back and read documents written by the Founders around the time the U.S. was born, the phrase “We, the People” being one of the more famous examples.

But even then, it was fading out as a standard and the capitalization was mostly used to highlight Principles that were Important and Abstract… Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness and the like. And note that in that sentence, pursuit, although it is a noun, is not capitalized.

The funny thing is that this seemed to have developed in German in the opposite way from how it vanished from English. They started out by only capitalizing the nouns referring to important concepts or people (like König, or King), but then started doing it all of them. It started in the 16th century and became official in the 17th, about a hundred years before English moved in the opposite direction.

And Spanish took an even more opposite extreme: A lot of what are capitalized as proper nouns in English are not in Spanish, like days of the week or names of months. It’s the same with titles of movies, plays, and books. Only the first word and any proper nouns are capitalized. Otherwise, nope.

For example, La guerra de las galaxias aka Star Wars: A New Hope.

I suppose it’s time to leave you with a joke that my University German professor, the late, great Frau Schulz-Bischof, told us.

A Spaniard, an American, and a German are talking about language.

The American says, “English is the most beautiful language in the world. Just look. We have the word ‘butterfly.’”

“It’s nothing,” the Spaniard replies. “Spanish is the most beautiful. In my language, your butterfly is ‘una mariposa.’”

There’s a long pause, and then the two turn to look at the German, who finally just blurts out, “And what is wrong with ‘Schmetterling?’”

She was from Hamburg, by the way, so she gets to tell that joke. Or got to.

Image source: Dhammika Heenpella / Images of Sri Lanka, (CC) BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons