French Word-A-Day

poursuivre

The iron campanile in Camaret.

poursuivre (poor-sweevre) verb

   1. to pursue; to chase; to hunt down 2. to hound 3. to seek 4. to prosecute

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Il faut des rêves suffisamment grands pour ne pas les perdre de vue en les poursuivant. One must have big enough dreams so as not to lose sight of them while pursuing them. --Yves Michallet
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A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse


Note: This story was written in October 2006

In Camaret sur Aygues, a light breeze leads us right to the gate of the town, above which an iron belfry overlooks the Vauclusian countryside. Jean-Marc's aunt, Marie-Françoise, tells me that such open bell towers, or campaniles, are constructed in windy regions where it is better to go with the flow than to be beaten down by the Mistral.*

Seated at an outdoor café, shaded by an immense plane tree, we were celebrating good news* when our luck took a swift turn. Our five-month-old puppy, Braise, was sleeping beneath the table, her leash attached to the leg of a feather-light bistro chair when the drama began. It happened when my son rose from the chair-in-question, announcing he and his sister were off to play in the ancient ramparts behind the café. That is when Braise stirred....

Moments later, our golden retriever's ear trembled as she listened to the kids' voices trail off. Concerned, she stood and set out to follow the children's laughter. But as she advanced, so did the chair to which she was attached. The grating sound of the chair dragging against the stone path startled our pup and, turning to discover its noisy source, she trembled to find herself pursued by a screeching four-legged alien.

Braise's eyes shot out of her head before she peeled out of that terrace café, the bistro chair flying off with her. The scene could have been comical if it weren't cloaked in what looked to be impending doom.

Braise made a left along the Grand Rue, entering the town's ramparts, and continued, full throttle, down the pedestrian walkway. As she fled the bouncing bistro chair, she screamed bloody murder as only a dog can: in a gargle of excited barks. The commotion resonated through the enclosed town, with Braise and the chair rocketing down the narrow street, windows flying open in their wake, along with a French audience bent at the hip.

Terrorized by her springing and screaming pursuer, Braise tried in vain to outrun the chair monster, but the faster she ran from it, the faster it followed, menacing and angry in her tracks.

When she was halfway down the street, the leash came untied and the chair fell loose, spinning on its side to a full stop. Braise didn't look back but turned on her paws and headed, full steam, back to the busy street beside which we had sat celebrating at the terrace café.

In a panic, I ran after our puppy, screaming her name. It was when she rounded the corner, at record speed, that I heard the screech of tires....

With my heart in my throat I sped around the corner to learn, via the wag of a tail and the sparkle of my husband's eyes, that we now had an additional cause for celebration: one lucky dog had just missed a car. Braise l'a échappé belle.*


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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
le Mistral (m) = a strong, cold north wind; good news = (update: the "good news" was that the SAFER** cleared us to purchase the vineyard); l'échapper belle = to have a narrow escape (and avoid an accident)

**SAFER (Sociétés d’Aménagement Foncier et d’Etablissement Rural): A SAFER's primary objective is to prevent speculation over rural lands and more generally protect the agricultural exploitation of these lands. --definition by Craig at This French Life (thanks, Craig!)

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Audio File
Listen to Jean-Marc pronounce today's quote: Download poursuivre2.wav
Il faut des rêves suffisamment grands pour ne pas les perdre de vue en les poursuivant.


                 

In books:
Citizens: A Chronicle of the French Revolution
"One of The Best Books Of The Decade." -- Time


Words in a French Life: Lessons in Love and Language from the South of France

In Gifts:
Mille Bornes. First published in 1962, Mille Bornes (pronounced "meel born," French for "milestones") is an auto racing card game whose object, for each team of two players, is to be the first to complete a series of 1,000-mile trips.

degouliner

If you are lucky enough to have wings, then fly. If you're lucky enough to have feet, then dance! (Thank you, Francie, for the dance link. More dancing in today's story....) Photo of une libellule, clinging to a pot of geraniums, taken last week.

Domaine Rouge-Bleu in the news... see "Winery to Watch" (article) and an interview. And if you would like to buy our wines, in the States, here's one place where you can.

dégouliner (day goo lee nay) verb

    : to trickle, to drip (with sweat)

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Audio File:
(note: my 14-year-old son was half asleep when we recorded the following words.... don't miss it, Download this file)

je dégouline, tu dégoulines, il dégouline, nous dégoulinons, vous dégoulinez, ils dégoulinent => past participle = dégouliné

Le chercheur Michael Sawka peut prédire si, après un exercice physique, vous allez dégouliner de sueur ou rester frais (ou fraîche) comme une fleur. --from Courrier International

Thank you for helping to translate the example sentence in the comments box.

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A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse

Another cultural difference qui m'a frappée* when I first made it to France, was dance.

That is, I had never seen women dance with women before. Growing up, I was used to dancing with boys, boys with restless hand syndrome. French men have "travelling hands" too and, to get around those, French women simply dance around the men. Perhaps this gives them the appearance of dancing with each other, that is, with other women.

I'm not sure what the answer is... only that those French women are sharp, or sharp-footed. And so I watch, and do as they do.

That is how I found myself out there on the dance floor last Saturday night. Friends Sophie and Nicolas had their annual summer bash, a day-long feast that finishes sur la piste.* (Which, come to think of it, leads me to another hypothesis: maybe those French women aren't avoiding "travelling hands" after all... but are simply working off all the calories from the "bloating" buffet? Kind of like aerobic dance, back home--where women do indeed dance together, or side-by-side.)

Either hypothesis works well for me (especially after some of the men have drunk one too many or un de trop and are forgetting to dance with their own former brides; best to dance around those guys). And so it is that I find myself dancing with the wives.

Everything is going well, and I am amazed at how unawkward I feel; that is... until the hostess brings out another tray of food. And if there is one thing the French love more than the physical, it is the food cycle.

Just like that, the dance floor empties in a flash. By the time I realize what has happened, it's too late. Re the current predicament: I don't know what is awkward: the situation or the song.

The situation is that we are solo on the dance floor, just she and me.
And the song, of all songs is... well, you'll have to see this one for yourself ....

(note: if you are reading this via email, you will need to click over to the blog to watch the video "Voulez-Vous Coucher Avec Moi?" by Patti Labelle... with Raphael. Do not miss it!

**

Post note: I have, once again, forgotten to plug the word of the day into the story (the word being "dégouliner" or "to trickle". But trust me, I did sweat this one out, dancing until the very getcha getcha ya ya da da END of the song. Like any dancer worth her salt (dégoulinant* à gogo...) I practiced the ol' show biz mantra: le spectacle doit continuer!* And what a spectacle.
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Comments, corrections--and stories of your own--are welcome and appreciated in the comments box.

~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~
qui m'a frappée = that struck me; sur la piste (de dance) = on the dance floor; dégoulinant à gogo = trickling à gogo; le spectacle doit continuer! = the show must go on

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More of that libellule: click to enlarge this photo

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Words in a French Life: Lessons in Love and Language from the South of France ... speaking of lessons, I will be joining three more authors at the American Library in Paris, to talk about "fish out of water experiences" living in la belle France.

gradins

I don't have a photo for you of les gradins, or bleachers, in Nimes. I hope this "seat" will be a good stand-in. More about Gallic gradins in the story column, below. (Update: we now have photos of the gradins (see story column and mille mercis to Michaelpatrick Callahan for his photos of the Nimes arena).

les gradins (lah grah-dahn) noun, masculine, plural

    : bleachers.

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Les gradins à Nimes ont tremblé pendant le concert.
The bleachers in Nimes trembled during the concert.

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A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse

Les gradins... we call them bleachers, back where I come from. And back where I come from the "gradins" are placed in a field -- and not within a two thousand year old stone arène.*


photo (c) Michaelpatrick Callahan

Just when I think I am the only one impressed by this fact, the man seating next to me (my husband) exclaims: c'est impressionnant: deux mille ans!*

Another impressive thing, according to our friend, Bernard, is that for 5000 seats... concert organizers have calculated only 10 port-a-potties!

Waiting patiently in line with the men, I notice the remarkable contrast: the modern port-a-potties are lined up within an ancient stone alcove. They look as out of place as horse-drawn carriages on an autobahn.

"That's just on this side of the arena," I argue, figuring there must be more toilets on the other side.
"Then make that 20 for 5000," Bernard replies, adjusting his calculations, and I think about how it's both fun and funny to listen to a Frenchman point out the peculiarities of his own country.

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Will it be "The Virgins" or "The Ting Tings," I wonder, when the second band walks onto the stage. I have never heard of either one. For that matter, I haven't heard of Franz Ferdinand, for whom we travelled to Nimes to see.  I guess that makes me officially middle-aged if I can't keep up with the music scene. On second thought, that's an unfair statement: just because I can't keep up with the music, doesn't mean my contemporaries aren't on top of things. Looking around, there are a fair number of people my age, and beyond.

Speaking of age... my eyes focus on the child seated in front of me. He couldn't be more than 8 years old. What's he doing at a rock concert, I wonder? He is seated beside his middle-aged mother. The tendresse and fragility of the two is so palpable it hurts. What is she doing at a rock concert? Once again I am judging things... when the reality is: nothing is as it seems.

A young woman lights a cigarette and the boy, seated beside her, seems bothered. He discretely lifts the hood on his gilet* and covers his face. Finally, his mother switches seats, so that she might breath in the smoke, in place of her son.

Another young couple is seated side by side, but existing in two different worlds (neither here, nor there):  They are texting friends on Facebook. I begin to feel smug about just how present I, myself, am, in time to enjoy the here and now in this amazing Roman arena on a mild, midsummer night. Only, my sage self-image is shot when Jean-Marc points to his iPhone screen, which is showing the Google search results. "It's The Ting Tings" he replies, after I have asked him to identify the band that we are currently watching. I guess I am just as plugged-in to technology as the others. I am dependent on Google search.

Next, the speakers blast. The sound is so startling, so mind-numbing, that I begin to think about mes oreilles.* If my eardrums are vibrating... just think about that little boy's eardrums. At least he has his hood on. I notice that some people have thought to plug their ears with les boules Quies.* Smart.

photo (c) Michaelpatrick Callahan

When the band finishes, the audience begins to stomp its feet making the bleachers tremble... and creak. It occures to me that things can and do collapse and that we are more fragile than we like to think. As I once told a friend, as he raced to reach the French Alps in time (in time for what? In time to arrive faster?): On n'est pas immortel!* (I was pregnant at the time, the time which corresponds to just when my incessant worrying began.)

I realize that I am worrying needlessly. Worrying is a sign of age. I'm afraid I'm getting old. No, I am not old. I still have friends twice my age. Now that's saying something, not that I can hear what the something that's being said is... what with all the noise!

I look at the fragile little boy in front of me and wonder, once again, what is he doing here? He looks so out of place. I turn around and notice the row of young women seated behind me. I imagine they are thinking the same of me: she looks so out of place!

If I had the guts to talk to the girls, I might assure them that more than out of place, I feel out of time. Those millenium-old stone walls, they're whispering my name... while 21 century speakers scream "baby."

***

Post note: more and more, my motto is: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. And so I spent the rest of the concert "banging" my head against the invisible wall before me, in beat, in rhythm, and rockin' with the best of them. The concert was amazing! Many thanks to friends Cari & Pierre Casanova for getting us tickets!

Comments, corrections--and stories of your own--are welcome and appreciated in the comments box.

See a 5 minute video from the concert. (If you are viewing this edition via email, you will need to click over to the blog to view the clip.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~
les arènes (de Nîmes) = the amphitheater, coliseum; deux mille ans (m) = two thousand years; le gilet (m) = sweatshirt; une oreille (f) = ear; les boules Quies (fpl) = ear plugs; on n'est pas immortels! = we are not immortal!

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At the superette in our village, I saw this charming advertisement for a bed and breakfast. I do not know the owners, but hope to meet them one day!

faux amis

No, the street light and the window are not false friends, but keep each other quiet company on a lazy midsummer day in the South of France. Please don't miss tomorrow's photo bouquet over at Cinéma Vérité. I'll be posting 12 photos (from Villedieu...) for you--including a personal favorite!

les faux amis (lay fowz ah mee)

    : "false friends" or words that look alike... but have different meanings
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Audio File & Example sentence:
Listen to my daughter Jackie, her friend Manu, and me... pronounce these French words: Download MP3 file

Les Faux Amis!
Dans la vie, la plupart de nos amis sont des vrais amis, mais c'est les faux amis qui nous déçoivent. In life, most of our friends are true friends, but it's the false friends who deceive us. --Tim Averill
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*   *   *

On Wednesday I told you about my very *spéciale* family... and a certain faux amis that was rendering them insane ... en tout cas* to the French.

I was inspired to write that story after Tim Averill (who we met in Gary's pétanque post) shared with me a list of faux amis.

Tim is here today ("here" in a very façon de parler*/manner of speaking way... for Tim is currently in Massachusetts--but more about Tim in the bio below)... as I was saying, Tim is here (sort of... à peu près*) to share his list of faux amis with you. Enjoy it, share it, and help grow it by adding to Tim's list of "false friends"!

Tim's List of Faux Amis

Faux amis are cognates that are deceptive because they do not have the same meaning in English and in French, even though they have the same or very similar orthography. Have a look at these:


sensible = sensitive (français*) wise and pragmatic (anglais*)

location = rental (fr) place (ang)

affair(e) = business (fr) sexual infidelity (ang)

vase = mud, silt (fr) container (ang)

versatile = fickle (fr) multi talented (ang)

blesser = injure/wound (fr) bless (ang)

chair = flesh (fr) seat (ang)

college = lycée (fr) university (eng)

 
Tim adds: Dans la vie, la plupart de nos amis sont des vrais amis, mais c'est les faux amis qui nous déçoivent. C'est la même chose entre les langues :-)

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Tim Averill is a teacher at "Ecole Bilingue de Beverly," also known as Waring School. He first spent a year in France in 1967-68 at "L'Universite de Bordeaux," and is an avid francophile. Both personally and professionally, he enjoys travels in France. Waring School has an annual exchange with Lycée David D'Angers and Tim and his artist wife Lauren travel to Provence as frequently as possible. The highlight of Tim's last trip was a visit to Domaine Rouge-Bleu and the chance to tasted the wines of Jean Marc and to meet Kristin.

*   *   *

Please join me in thanking Tim for this faux amis edition by leaving a note in the comments box. You might share a faux amis not listed here, or share a story about a false friend fiasco of your own (for example: how many of us health-conscious Francophiles have made the "préservatif"* language gaffe? ...blabbing on and on to our eyes-wide interlocutors about how we are minding our menus... by eliminating condoms from them? Yikes! I am so glad I got that mistake over with right off le bât.* (For the record, it is "conservateurs" we must watch out for, 'else we watch, in humble-pie I could just die horror, as the French stare back with smirks on their faces.)

Chow,*
Kristin
*looks like Italian has its share of false friends, too (dog/food/goodbye?) ...never mind my spelling.

~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~
en tout cas = in any case; façon de parler = so to speak; à peu près = almost, more or less; le français (m) = French; l'anglais (m) = English; le bât (m) = packsaddle

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Forget faux amis for a moment and enjoy these true friends from Villedieu...

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barjot

Domestic Gist. It has taken me years to understand the art of homemaking. I'm not there yet--loin de là--but, in bites, little by little, I am beginning to "get" the domestic gist of bucolic bliss. In today's picture: another spent sunflower from the garden (I harvested the seeds for sowing next spring); home grown tomatoes too! The blue Portuguese tile fits into a beautiful bread board that friends Annabelle and Bill gave me: useful, practical, beautiful.

barjot (bar-zhoh) adjective

    nuts, crazy

noun: nutcase

une bande de barjots = a bunch of nutcases

Interesting word history: the French word "barjo(t)" comes from the verlan "jobard".
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Audio File and Example Sentence: Download MP3 for "barjot"

Une bande de barjots est partie sauter à l'élastique.
A group of crazies left to go bungee jumping.

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.
A Day in a French Life...
by Kristin Espinasse

Faux Amis... and Loopy Friends & Family

My first year in France I ran around telling everyone that my friends and family back home were nuts! I hadn't meant to call them crazy, didn't intend to imply or insinuate insanity. No, I had no idea that the compliments I was lavishing on my loved ones were translating themselves into mean morcels of mental illness, no thanks to a single, misused mot.*

"Oh, then there's my grandma," I'd gush, in conversation with the French. "Elle est vraiement SPECIALE!" I would insist, only to notice the confused looks on the listeners' faces. Turns out I was telling my audience that grandma had a screw loose.

I continued to put my foot into my newly formed French mouth with doozies such as:

"My best friend? Oh, I met her in 10th grade." With a nostalgic look and a sentimental smile, I would then tack on that confusing-to-the-French English qualifier, "special":
"Yes, she is special," I'd sigh. Only, this is what French ears were hearing me say:
"Yes, she really isn't dealing with a full deck!"

The misunderstandings continued as I bragged on and on about my "batty" family. I loved to talk to the French about my soeur aînée,* who I admire for her beauty, coolness, and intelligence. "She is really A CASE!" I'd boast to the French, proud (it seemed) to share the same peculiar genes.

My poor parents were not spared of the "out there" accolades, either, as I bragged on and on about my "dingue* Dad" and "mad mother". At least that's what they must have sounded like to the French, who were literally taking my word for it!

No confusing conversation would be complete without praise for my French teacher, Madame Wollam, the one whose encouragement would change the course of my life. Mist in my eyes, I'd proceed to eulogize her as "such an odd duck, that one!"

What with peculiar parents, odd aunts, fruity friends, taré* teachers, nutty neighbors, and a goofy grandma... the French surely suspected I was a chip of the ol' block, born out of the batty bunch back home that I proudly claimed as my own.

Whether kooky, batty, bonkers, or nuts...
loco, dotty, cracked, or bats...
fruity, daft, or mad...

I was unwittingly painting quite a portrait of my "precious ones" on the other side of the pond* or, rather "over the cuckoo's nest"?

There is no moral to this story, only a cautionary note: no matter how lovely your friends and family are, no matter how sweet... never say they're "special" lest the French mistake them for straight-jacketed escapees, fresh out of a padded cell.
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***
Comments, corrections--and stories of your own--always welcome and appreciated in the comments box. Be sure to tell us about your own embarrassing language gaffes and misunderstandings.

***
And speaking of family... you might enjoy Anne Morddel's French genealogy blog. Qui sait? Maybe you have some eccentric French family of your own? 

~~~~~~~~~~French Vocabulary~~~~~~~~~~
le mot (m) = word; la soeur (f) aînée = older sister, dingue = crazy; taré = completely crazy; pond = synonym for Atlantic Ocean

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*     *     *
Currently listening to....

Paris to Cuba by Mario Grigorov.

...music that immediately evokes an aural landscape, a narrative of striking up a wandering romance with a stranger, a paseo through Plaza Vieja or a sunset on the Seine. Lilting, sensual brass sections flirt with gentle vocals on "I See" , "Every Little Moment" , and "Snake Eyes" - the three tracks which feature singer, Melissa Newman. Blending hints of Pink Martini, Madelyn Peyroux and Buena Vista Social Club, the percussion section laps as a wave on an empty beach. It is easy for the listener to get lost in the guitar solos, mysterious accordion and nostalgic, sweeping strings. This is not your typical jazz or world record.

Upcoming events: I will be joining a panel of three other authors at the American Library in Paris. Four expats and authors discuss their fish-out-of-water experiences living in la belle France.