http://besslerwheel.com/forum/viewtopic.php?p=123324&highlight=#123324
A non english speaking person had posted a blog entry and used the phrase "I'm waiting sited". Several english speaking members of the forum had not understood this phrase. I guess they thought he he meant the word sited (the position or location of a town, building, etc.) but what he in fact meant was "I'm sat waiting".
When he finally clarified the the reason for his mistake it boiled down to the assumption that the verb 'to sit' (sitting) was a regular verb (e.g. play/played happen/happened) and not an irregular verb (e.g. sit/sat run/ran).
The thing is, I was confused by the explanation too since I did not know immediately what he meant by regular and irregular verbs (i.e. I had to look it up). I always associate the use of terms like regular, irregular, past tense, present tense with the study of french when I was a school. Obviously however they are just as applicable to one native language (English) as other languages.
I think the reason for this may be because one learns ones native language by osmosis and trial and error. I did not learn english by applying grammatical rules to prose (as a machine would) but by trial and error. If a 5 year old child said 'sited' instead of 'sat' they would likely receive a gentle rebuke from a peer like "not sited, sat silly !".
Is this scientific approach towards language the best approach ? In my experience it is not. Here's are some observations to support my theory.
I used to play snooker and table tennis sufficiently often to get a fairly good standard. I found that to get to the stage where you were any good you effectively had to just train yourself how to hit certain shots.
I joined a table-tennis club and the teacher showed me how to return smashes. Essentially, it boils down to simply putting one's racket directly in the line of attack of the ball and then angling one's bat so that the return path of the ball hits the oppenents end of the table. It is a little like reflecting the light from the sun into a certain spot using a mirror or concentrating the sun's energy onto a certain point using a magnifying glass to generate heat. The main point is that you just learn how to do it by NOT returning a sufficient number of smashes. One learns by ones mistakes. Once one is proficient at returning smashes it almost feels as if the mathematical/scientific rules aspect are burned into ones brain a little like installing a program into a computer.
I noticed a similar feeling when playing snooker shots. When one is trying to calculate the glancing angle between the cue ball and the object ball in order to correctly hit the pocket it just becomes instinctive after a while. Once one has learned how to play if one trys to calculated the angle manually you will more often than not MISS.
I also taught myself to touch type but I cannot quickly tell you the position of the keys although I must know where they are since I am able to type quickly without looking at the keys.
I think the same applies to the written word. I think authors/poets use language in a similar way to how one drives a car, touch types, returns a smash. It's a kind of self taught instinct.
A now a few words from a master...
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
William Wordsworth
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