verb (used without object)
to meditate or muse; ponder.
Ruminate, “to meditate, muse, or ponder,” comes from Latin rūminātus, the past participle of rūmināre, rūminārī “(of cattle) to chew the cud; (of humans) to turn over in the mind, ponder” (Roman cattle were famous throughout the ancient Mediterranean for their contemplativeness). Rūmināre is a derivative of the noun rūmen (inflectional stem rūmin) “throat, gullet.” Rūmen is possibly related to Sanskrit romantha– “cud-chewing” and Welsh rhumen “belly, paunch, udder.” Ruminate entered English in the first half of the 16th century.
“Good night, little ones!” said the Professor. “You may leave me now—to ruminate. I’m as jolly as the day is long, except when it’s necessary to ruminate on some very difficult subject. All of me,” he murmured sleepily as we left the room, “all of me, that isn’t Bonhommie, is Rumination!”
One of the hardest parts of napping on a schedule is quieting a too-loud brain. It’s easy to ruminate and stress, and to spend half an hour digging through your mind’s detritus rather than unplugging.
pertaining to leave-taking or departing; valedictory.
The English apopemptic is a straightforward borrowing of the Greek adjective apopemptikós, “pertaining to dismissal, valedictory,” a derivative of the adverb and preposition apό- “off, away” and the verb pémpein “to send,” a verb with no clear etymology. The Greek noun pompḗ, a derivative of pémpein, means “escort, procession, parade, magnificence,” adopted into Latin as pompa (with the same meanings), used in Christian Latin to refer to the ostentations of the devil, especially in baptismal formulas, e.g., “Do you reject the devil and all his pomps?” Apopemptic entered English in the mid-18th century.
As Opal Codd said sweetly my last day, her apopemptic word for me was “agathism.” Once again, I could do no more but ask her to translate. “My dear,” she said, “apopemptic! Pertaining to farewell, of course.” “Of course. But ‘agathism’? A belief in Agatha Christie?”
For you the gods of song forgo their quarrel; / Panther and Wolf forget their former anger; / For you this ancient ceremony of greeting / Becomes a solemn apopemptic hymn.
chaos; disorder; confusion.
Tohubohu, “chaos; disorder; confusion,” comes from Hebrew tōhū wā-bhōhū, a phrase occurring in Genesis 1:2, and translated in the King James version as “(And the earth was) without form, and void.” Tōhū wā-bhōhū is an example of hendiadys, a rhetorical device in which two similar words are connected by and to express a single idea, here emptiness, void. Tōhū means “emptiness, waste, desert, vanity, nothing.” Bōhū is traditionally translated as “void, emptiness”; it is used in Genesis for its paronomastic or rhyming effect. Another example of hendiadys comes from the Gospel of Matthew (7:14): “Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way,” which was later misinterpreted to be “straight and narrow (path).” Tohubohu entered English in the first half of the 17th century.
What we have in poetry, it appears, is poetry in a vacuum, which is even worse than poetry in a Salad Shooter or a hot-air corn popper. There is no consensus about the culture, and therefore no common ground on which poets, critics, scholars, students or even readers (are there any left?) can share assumptions and discuss with some coherence the great questions of life and art.
To suggest this tohubohu in a manner that may be unfair but is quick, efficient and vivid, let me cite a few blurbs from the pile of poetry collections on my table …
The Atlantic declared 2015 “the best year in history for the average human being,” a laughable departure from our recent state of political and pandemic-born tohubohu.