Struggling for words forgotten or out of reach—poem

Living with a foreign language is a bit like struggling for forgotten words in old age. Perfect fluency is not possible—but creativity helps.

Struggling for words

Back in the day
when I used French
at work and play
it made me feel all sparklyish inside

the twinkle and fright
of another tongue
I carried it off
with insecurity and delight

getting stuck at times
in a gross faux pas
committed by 
my puzzling tone of voice

syntax was the crash and curb
of another say, another way 
cartography 
embedded in the verbs

my voice was in a foreign choir
floating just a little higher
missing the hooks that even dogs
and toddlers could acquire

Swiss French was a simple song
we sang in teams
but even dreaming
I was the one out of tune

In French I couldn’t 
get the joke
or make you laugh
or talk of deeper stuff
*
Now 80 years after I started to speak
even my dear familiar words 
play clumsy tricks 
they hide and seek

but I don’t care—they’re family 
and now I edge towards
an existential foreign place
for me and my personal words

~Rachel McAlpine 2022

About struggling for words forgotten or out of reach

I wrote this instant poem after recently hearing several people of 92, 93, 94 and 98 struggle with forgotten words. One said she knew the word but her lips would not say it. The others could not remember the word they wanted—it skittered away out of reach. Forgetting a word happens at any age, but it tends to increase in time. Some of my 90+ interviewees are distressed by this, some are relaxed, some find an approximation or synonym. On the other hand, two of these nonagenarians hesitated over a word or a fact only once in 60 minutes.

I’m reminded of my feelings when I lived in Geneva 60 years ago, using French at work and often when socialising. It was fun and satisfying—up to a limit. I hit that limit after a long weekend of using French for 24 hours a day including in my thoughts and dreams. My (Swiss) French was superficially fluent—but not deep.

Deep in my psyche I think in the Kiwi variety of English language. (This includes a good swathe of Maori.) Living in Switzerland and later in Japan, my own language and thus my very self sometimes felt lonely and almost out of reach.

Of course (as a poet) I see parallels between living in a foreign language and struggling for forgotten words in old age.

A poet’s solution to forgotten words

At almost 82, I see a loss of language looming. I want to flourish regardless. I also see a tempting solution.

I often notice myself deliberately and boldly inventing words like sparklyish. When I wrote sparklyish in the poem above, I knew the correct word. I considered it. But no, I prefer my own word so there it stays. And that’s great: this looks like a useful strategy for when I forget words in future. It also looks a bit like the way my Japanese creative writing students would use an English word that was unusual—and worked delightfully in their poems.

PS This is another instant poem, a quick first draft that at least catches a thought and will be improved or deleted when I’m in the mood.

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