It appears that relations between the United States and Iran have begun to thaw; banners in Tehran excoriating the Great Satan might soon be replaced by ones hailing the great rapprochement. So perhaps the time is ripe to take stock of the Western world’s debt to the Persian language. Until a century ago, Persian was the cultural lingua fanca in many parts of Asia. Persian was the first language in Islamic civilization to break through Arabic’s monopoly on writing, and the writing of poetry in Persian – particularly the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam – was established as a tradition in many Eastern royal courts.
Whereas one can argue that before the 20th century the French language was largely responsible for food terms in English, Persian has been equally providential with many words it bequeathed us for clothing and fabric. For example, the word “scarlet” – from the Persian saqalat – arrived in the 13th century, originally referring to any rich cloth, often of a red colour. It would take two centuries before the primary sense of the word became its hue.
“Taffeta” was adopted by English a century later, and at first designated a plain-weave glossy silk of various shades. The word has come more recently to designate a bright, lustrous silk. In the 16th and 17th centuries, many other Persian, clothing-related words were added to English, such as “shawl” from shal; “cummerbund” from kamar-band; “khaki,” which ultimately comes from the Persian word for dust, khak; and “turban,” which derives from dulband. Also coming from the Persian dulband is the flower tulip because of its supposed resemblance to a turban.
As we have already seen, words change meanings and this is the case with “pyjama.” It is first seen in English in the beginning of the 19th century. Originally it referred to loose trousers usually of silk or cotton tied around the waist and worn by both sexes in some Middle East and Asian countries. The word derives from the Persian pay-jama where pay means “foot” and jama means “garment.”
Aside from words changing meaning, we also see a process where the sound of the words alter dramatically. We see such a transformation with the word “seersucker.” “Seer” is a corruption of the Persian sheer (“milk”) and “sucker” is a transformation of sharkar (“sugar”). Hence sheer o shakkar, “milk and sugar,” is essentially a metaphor for two things that, while very different, go well together. (Originally, sugar was quite rough and coarse with a darkish colour and this contrasted with smooth, white milk.) So seersucker is in fact a combination of different colours and different textures found in seersucker, which normally has a light stripe and a dark one.
This is not to say that all Persian imports into English relate to clothing. The legions of Alexander the Great were introduced to a Persian delicacy that was composed of a reed garnished with spices, honey and colouring. This Persian treat, referring specifically to the crystallized juice of the sugar cane, was qand, from which we get the word “candy.”
Another Persian import is “paradise,” which derives from a Persian word pairidaeza (“enclosed place”) a word that blends pairi (“around”) and diz (“form”). In English, the prefix “peri-” means “about” or “around” and the diz part is responsible for the words “dairy,” “dough” and the second syllable of “lady.” Greek absorbed the word as paradeisos, with the sense of an enclosed park, and in the Greek version of the Bible the word was applied to the Garden of Eden with the sense of “abode of the blessed.” Also, before the year 1000, the OED cites several uses of the word paradise to refer to heaven.
Ultimately, the word chess also derives from Persian. The key move in chess, of course, is putting the king in check, and the word chess derives from the plural of the Old French eschec, which was rendered as esches. But Old French eschec originated from the Persian word for king, shah. When an ancient Persian chess player had his opponent’s king trapped, he’d announce shah-mat, “The king is dead.” As one can discern, shah-mat sounds almost identical to “checkmate.” However, the name for the game in Persian is charang, which denotes the four members of an army — namely, horses, elephants, foot-soldiers and chariots. On the other hand, the chess piece “rook” has arrived almost uncorrupted into English from the Persian ruk.
It would be fitting if the final agreement between US and Iranian negotiators had been effected while sitting around a divan. At first, a devan in Persian meant a small book, then an account book and eventually an accountant’s office. Eventually, it came to refer to some of the official chambers and finally to the long seat found in many of these rooms.
Howard Richler’s book Word Play: Arranged & Deranged Wit will be published in spring 2016.
Whereas one can argue that before the 20th century the French language was largely responsible for food terms in English, Persian has been equally providential with many words it bequeathed us for clothing and fabric. For example, the word “scarlet” – from the Persian saqalat – arrived in the 13th century, originally referring to any rich cloth, often of a red colour. It would take two centuries before the primary sense of the word became its hue.
“Taffeta” was adopted by English a century later, and at first designated a plain-weave glossy silk of various shades. The word has come more recently to designate a bright, lustrous silk. In the 16th and 17th centuries, many other Persian, clothing-related words were added to English, such as “shawl” from shal; “cummerbund” from kamar-band; “khaki,” which ultimately comes from the Persian word for dust, khak; and “turban,” which derives from dulband. Also coming from the Persian dulband is the flower tulip because of its supposed resemblance to a turban.
As we have already seen, words change meanings and this is the case with “pyjama.” It is first seen in English in the beginning of the 19th century. Originally it referred to loose trousers usually of silk or cotton tied around the waist and worn by both sexes in some Middle East and Asian countries. The word derives from the Persian pay-jama where pay means “foot” and jama means “garment.”
Aside from words changing meaning, we also see a process where the sound of the words alter dramatically. We see such a transformation with the word “seersucker.” “Seer” is a corruption of the Persian sheer (“milk”) and “sucker” is a transformation of sharkar (“sugar”). Hence sheer o shakkar, “milk and sugar,” is essentially a metaphor for two things that, while very different, go well together. (Originally, sugar was quite rough and coarse with a darkish colour and this contrasted with smooth, white milk.) So seersucker is in fact a combination of different colours and different textures found in seersucker, which normally has a light stripe and a dark one.
This is not to say that all Persian imports into English relate to clothing. The legions of Alexander the Great were introduced to a Persian delicacy that was composed of a reed garnished with spices, honey and colouring. This Persian treat, referring specifically to the crystallized juice of the sugar cane, was qand, from which we get the word “candy.”
Another Persian import is “paradise,” which derives from a Persian word pairidaeza (“enclosed place”) a word that blends pairi (“around”) and diz (“form”). In English, the prefix “peri-” means “about” or “around” and the diz part is responsible for the words “dairy,” “dough” and the second syllable of “lady.” Greek absorbed the word as paradeisos, with the sense of an enclosed park, and in the Greek version of the Bible the word was applied to the Garden of Eden with the sense of “abode of the blessed.” Also, before the year 1000, the OED cites several uses of the word paradise to refer to heaven.
Ultimately, the word chess also derives from Persian. The key move in chess, of course, is putting the king in check, and the word chess derives from the plural of the Old French eschec, which was rendered as esches. But Old French eschec originated from the Persian word for king, shah. When an ancient Persian chess player had his opponent’s king trapped, he’d announce shah-mat, “The king is dead.” As one can discern, shah-mat sounds almost identical to “checkmate.” However, the name for the game in Persian is charang, which denotes the four members of an army — namely, horses, elephants, foot-soldiers and chariots. On the other hand, the chess piece “rook” has arrived almost uncorrupted into English from the Persian ruk.
It would be fitting if the final agreement between US and Iranian negotiators had been effected while sitting around a divan. At first, a devan in Persian meant a small book, then an account book and eventually an accountant’s office. Eventually, it came to refer to some of the official chambers and finally to the long seat found in many of these rooms.
Howard Richler’s book Word Play: Arranged & Deranged Wit will be published in spring 2016.
