17 January 2026

Polish Diaspora in France

My latest compilation from Culture.pl has an article on the Polish diaspora in France. Here are some excerpts:

When we think of the Polish diaspora, France is rarely the first place that comes to mind – often overshadowed by the UK, the US or Germany. Yet the Polish presence in France is older, more complex and more deeply woven into the country’s cultural fabric than most realise.

Through interviews with contemporary Polish migrants and archival research into historical communities, a layered story emerges – one as much about shared histories as it is about work, struggle and identity. Beginning with 19th-century exile, expanding through interwar labour migration, and continuing into today’s cosmopolitan realities, Poles have long helped shape the life of their adopted country. And France, in turn, has shaped them.

The earliest sustained Polish presence in France took shape in the 19th century, following the failed November Uprising of 1830-1831. Thousands of officers, intellectuals and activists fled the Russian-controlled partition and sought refuge in France, launching what became known as the ‘Great Emigration’. This wave of political exiles – over 5,000 by 1833 – formed one of the most enduring diasporic communities of the era. Unlike other groups who returned after political amnesties, most remained as long as Poland's partitioned status endured.

One bold but ultimately unsuccessful plan – to form a Polish legion to fight in Portugal’s Liberal Wars in 1833 – was led by General Józef Bem and reflected the enduring ideal of transnational solidarity. It gave lasting currency to the phrase ‘For our freedom and yours’ (‘Za wolność naszą i waszą’), which became a defining expression of Poland’s internationalist military ethos throughout the 19th century.

Polish émigrés built schools, charitable institutions and political societies. Some were initially settled in places like Belle-Île-en-Mer off the coast of Brittany, while growing numbers made their way to Paris, which would soon become a central hub of Polish cultural and political life in exile.

...

Building on these early foundations, Paris evolved into what some would later call ‘Poland’s second capital’. Throughout the 19th century, the city became a vibrant centre where Polish political elites, artists and intellectuals gathered, united by a commitment to preserving national identity in exile.

Nowhere was this more visible than at the prestigious Collège de France, where Polish national poet Adam Mickiewicz was appointed the first Chair of Slavic Literature in Western Europe in 1840. His lectures, a blend of cultural commentary and political advocacy, attracted wide audiences – including figures like George Sand – and reflected diasporic longing for unity and liberation. Though ultimately dismissed for the political intensity of his teachings, Mickiewicz remained an emblematic figure in Franco-Polish cultural relations.

That same spirit of cultural continuity shaped another enduring institution: the Polish School in Paris, founded in 1842 by General Józef Dwernicki and fellow émigrés. The school aimed to raise children in Polish language and tradition, even as they grew up on foreign soil. With Mickiewicz himself serving as vice-president of its council, the institution embodied how deeply intertwined education, culture and politics were in émigré life – a place where Polish identity could be preserved and transmitted across generations born in exile.

16 January 2026

Palauan Musical Obituary

Last October, Jim Geselbracht posted on his Palauan Music blog an obituary titled "Sorry, I Really Must Go" with his memories and also a long list of musical selections to listen to from the life of a very productive Palauan singer, composer, and educator, who began composing when Japanese enka  and evocative Japanese phrases permeated many Palauan songs.  Some of the recordings are very faint, pieced together from old tapes, but well worth a careful listen.

This week we lost another insightful voice in Palauan music: Mengesebuuch Yoichi K. Rengiil passed away at the age of 84 in Guam. Yoichi, both a singer and composer, was born in 1941 and grew up in Ngeremlengui.  In the early 1950s, he moved to Koror to attend the Palau Intermediate School and then left for Guam in 1956 to attend high school and start college.  He returned to Palau in 1963 and taught social studies at the Palau High School.  In the 1960s, he teamed up with Aichi Ngirchokebai, Hidebo Sugiyama and Julie Tatengelel to perform at Aichi’s theater in Koror and at village bais on Babeldaob.  He left Palau again in 1967 to complete his college education at the University of Guam and then obtained a Masters in Education Administration at UH Manoa in 1973.  Yoichi was an active member of the Modekngei, serving as the Principal at the Belau Modekngei School in the 1970s. His professional resume is deep, and I will leave it to others to remember that part of his life, but in this post I would like to acknowledge his contribution to Palauan music.

Yoichi and I met regularly via Zoom over the past five years to discuss Palauan music, language and stories and he was an important mentor to me in understanding the meaning behind the rich musical legacy of Palauan music. From our discussions, I learned of seven songs that he composed between 1963 and 1987:

  • Did er a Sechou, 1963 or 64
  • Oh! Somebody Me Keleng Saingo, 1968
  • Sayonara, But I Love You, 1968 or 69
  • Chellelengem ma Klungiolem, 1969 or 70
  • Decheruk er a Capitol Hill, late 1960s (co-wrote with John Skebong)
  • Merat el Kerrekar, 1970
  • Ng Di Kmedu e ng mo Ngemeded, 1986 or 87

The first song Yoichi ever composed has become a classic: Did er a Sechou. Named for the bridge in the jetty at Ngeremlengui, the song was not autobiographical, as many people think, but rather Yoichi telling the story of a man from Ngeremlengui who was heartbroken over the end of his relationship with his wife and children. The first recording of this song is from the Ngerel Belau Radio tapes, recorded sometime between 1963 and 1967, with Yoichi singing and backed by the VOP (Voice of Palau) band consisting of Hidebo Sugiyama on mandolin and Aichi Ngirchokebai on guitar.

15 January 2026

Cold, Cold Heart in Palau

I just discovered that I had missed the last two posts to Jim Geselbracht's wonderfully nostalgic (for me) Palauan Music blog. I heard lots of Palauan renditions of Japanese enka and American country and western music during my earliest fieldwork in Micronesia in the 1970s. In his latest post, Jim looks at the antecedents of the Palauan song Aggie Chiang from the 1980s, whose melody goes back at least to 1951 recordings by Hank Williams, Dinah Washington, and Tony Bennett. Hank Williams may have adapted it in turn from You'll Still Be in My Heart (1945) by "T" Texas Tyler and his Oklahoma Melody Boys. Jim posts links to all those renditions.

14 January 2026

Polish Insect Terms: Ants, Ladybugs

A recent compilation from Culture.pl contains a long article on entomological etymology. Here are some excerpts on ants and ladybugs:

Mrówka (ant) is a word from the 15th century, the Polish name for an insect known to entomologists as Formica. It comes from the Proto-Slavic *morvь / *morvьjь, related to names in other Indo-European languages. Both the Polish mrówka, the Greek mýrmēks and the Spanish hormiga derive from the Proto-Indo-European root *morṷo- / *morṷĭ-. Etymologists explain the meaning of the word mrówka as ‘a biting bug’.

In the 16th century, the word mrowie (a large cluster of ants) was derived from mrówka and today means ‘a multitude, a group’ (e.g. of people), as well as ‘shivers, goosebumps’. Ants are associated with the fact that they build large anthills and can carry large objects that are much heavier than they are. These insects, like bees, are a symbol of industriousness – someone can be said to be pracowity jak mrówka (as industrious as an ant). Another important feature is their size. You can say that something is małe jak mrówka (as small as an ant). There is also a saying, włożyć kij w mrowisko (poke a stick into an anthill), that is, ‘to stir up trouble, to irritate’.

One of the most numerous families among bugs are beetles. The bug Coccinella septempunctata has been known as biedronka, the ladybug, since the 19th century. Earlier, in the 17th century, the name was biedrunka and had a number of dialectal variants, e.g. biedruszka / biedrawka / biedrzonka / biedrzynka and others. The ladybug’s characteristic appearance, regular dots on its chitinous cover, which according to a naive view of the world indicate their age, allows us to explain the connection of the Polish name biedronka with the dialectal word biedrona, the term for a spotted cow. Therefore, the derivative biedronka with the suffix -ka would mean ‘small cow’. This etymology is supported by other words, including: bierawa,the name of a cow with spots around its hips, back or belly; biedrawy, the name of an ox with patches around its hips; biedrzysty, meaning spotted. According to Wiesław Boryś, the basis was the adjective *bedrъ ‘having spots on its hips’ or ‘spotted, mottled, piebald’, from the Proto-Slavic *bedro-, Polish biodro, the hip.

The etymology of biedronka as a small cow would also find an explanation in another name for this animal, boża krówka, God’s cow, or formerly, krówka Maryi Panny, Virgin Mary’s cow. The ladybug was considered a gift sent from God and was supposed to bring people happiness, hence the children’s rhyme ‘biedroneczko, leć do nieba, przynieś mi kawałek chleba’ (ladybug, fly to heaven, bring me a piece of bread). The perception of the ladybug as a mediator between the human world and the divine world has also been established in other languages: English (ladybird, Virgin Mary’s bird), American (ladybug, Virgin Mary’s bug), German der Marienkäfer, Virgin Mary’s beetle), French la bete a bon Dieu, God’s little animal, or even in the name used in Argentina, vaquita de San Antonio, St Anthony’s cow) and in another Slavic language, Russian, божья коровка (bozh’ya korovka, God’s cow). These are just a few examples demonstrating that the dialectal names of the ladybug in many languages, which later became common terms, consist of an element related to the divine world, as well as an element naming another animal – analogously to the Polish compound boża krówka.

13 January 2026

Grains of Poland

During the heyday of the Hanseatic League, Poland was the granary of Europe, and its diet remains very rich in grains. Hardly any of its many breads contain just one grain, and one of its many brands of yogurt calls itself 7zbóż '7cereals'. Here are the cereal grains listed in its jogurt z brzoskwinią, gruszką i ziarnami zbóż 'yogurt with peach, pear and cereal grains' variety: jęczmień, pszenica, żyto, owies, gryka, ryz, pszenica arkisz, otręby pszenne 'barley, wheat, rye, oat, buckwheat, rice, spelt wheat, wheat bran'.

Speaking of food labels, here is the breakdown of wartość odżywcza 100 g productu 'nutritional value in 100 g of product':
Wartość energetyczna 'energy value' 96 kcal
Tłuszcz 
'fat' 2,5 g
w tym kwasy nasycone 'incl. saturated fatty acids' 1,8 g
Węglowodany
'carbohydrates' 14,7 g
w tym cukry 'incl. sugar' 13,5 g
Błonnik
'fiber' 0,6 g
Białko
'protein' 2,6 g
Sól
'salt' 0,07 g

Multiply by 3 for the 300 g tub of yogurt!

12 January 2026

Polish Insect Terms: Flies, Mosquitoes

A recent compilation from Culture.pl contains a long article on entomological etymology. Here are some excerpts on flies and mosquitoes.

Remaining in the circle of bugs from the family of flies, let’s discuss one of their most popular representatives, the housefly (Latin name, Musca domestica). The word mucha has been present in Polish since the 15th century and is a general Slavic word. It comes from the Proto-Slavic *mucha, *mous-ā, ‘fly’.

Andrzej Bańkowski describes the meaning of the word mucha as ‘unclear’. For this word, he seeks the etymology in the Sanskrit root of the verb muṣ-, ‘to steal, to rob’. Wiesław Boryś, on the other hand, believes that it is a word with an onomatopoeic root, from the sound made by flying insects, based on *mū- / *mus-. This root was expanded by the suffix -sā, which then became the regular suffix -cha. Similarly, the same transformation occurred in the suffix of the word pchła (flea).

The word mucha is also used to name other bugs, e.g. a szkląca mucha (glazed [lantern] fly) is another expression for a firefly. The diminutive of the word fly (muszka) is very popular and is the source of, among other things, the common name for the diminutive fruit fly: muszka owocówkaMucha also creates many word compounds: for example, muchomór, a toadstool is a fungus that poisons and kills flies, and a muchołówka, flytrap, is a carnivorous plant that eats flies.

For humans, a fly is not a useful animal but rather a nuisance. You can say about someone that they are as pesky as a fly: natrętny jak mucha. Flies are associated with dirt and stench, so when something is described as mucha nie siada, ‘a fly won’t land on it’, it means that it is ‘successful, perfect, impeccable’, so clean that a fly does not want to be there. When someone is lured by something, strives to achieve something, it is said that they fly to something / someone like a fly to glue / to honey: jak mucha na lep / do miodu. On the other hand, ruszać się jak mucha w mazi / smole / miodzie, to move like a fly in goo, tar, honey, means ‘to do something slowly, sluggishly, to be lazy’. Ginąć / padać jak muchy, to die / to fall like flies, means ‘en masse’. One can also have muchy w nosie, flies up your nose, ‘to be in a bad mood’.

Another useless insect that makes people’s lives miserable is komar (the mosquito). The earlier form of the name for this insect is komor; Franciszek Sławski provides the variant forms kumar, kumor. This term functioned in many local and personal names (e.g. the towns of Komorowice, Komorowo, Komorów). It was not until the 19th century that the name with the suffix -ar became popular: the mosquito, popularized by, among others, writers from the Borderlands – Adam Mickiewicz devoted a poem to this bug. In the poem ‘Komar, niewielkie licho’ (The mosquito, little devil), he described a situation that is also probably familiar to everyone today: ...

All the forms mentioned above come from the Proto-Slavic word *komarъ (or *komarь with a soft yer), which in turn comes from the Proto-Indo-European onomatopoeic root *kem- / *kom-, ‘to buzz’. Wiesław Boryś explains the original meaning of komar as ‘(persistently) buzzing bug’.

A mosquito is primarily associated with annoyance, intrusiveness – hence you can przekomarzać się z kimś (trade barbs with someone), which Brückner translates as ‘to irritate someone like a mosquito’. You can also say about someone that they ucięli komara (lit., cut a mosquito), meaning to take a short nap, usually without getting enough sleep.

Polish Insect Terms: Bees, Wasps

A recent compilation from Culture.pl contains a long article on entomological etymology. Here are some excerpts on bees and wasps.

In a survey conducted by linguist Marcin Maciołek for his doctoral thesis Kształtowanie się nazw owadów w języku polskim. Procesy nominacyjne a językowy obraz świata (The Formation of Names of Bugs in Polish: Nominative Processes and the Linguistic Image of the World) in 2012, some respondents indicated the bee as an example of a typical owad (bug). Although the astonishing diversity of this group of animals does not allow for the identification of a single, prototypical member, the bee is certainly one of its more charming representatives. Due to their usefulness, bees evoke a rather positive attitude in humans, evidenced, among other things, by the frequently used diminutive pszczółka (little bee). For centuries, they have been a symbol of industriousness, as evidenced, among other things, by citations from the Bible. The bee was also considered a divine, a sacred animal, which is why in Polish the word used for their dying is umrzeć (used for humans), not zdechnąć (used for animals). The designation of a bee was sometimes associated with a taboo: it could not be spoken of after dusk lest the evil powers of the night harm it, hence the interchangeable terms boży robak (God’s worm) / święty robak (holy worm).

The word pszczoła has Proto-Slavic origins, probably even Proto-Indo-European – if we go back that far in the language, we will discover that the Polish pszczoła and the English bee most probably come from the same Proto-Indo-European form *bhiquelā! In Proto-Slavic, the proto-word was *bьčela or *bъčela (they differ in the quality of the yer – a Proto-Slavic vowel). If we wanted to discover the etymology of Polish pszczoła (bee), we’d discover that it is an onomatopoeic word: probably the Proto-Slavic root was an onomatopoeic *bъk-, *bъč-, related to the Proto-Slavic verb *bučati, brzęczeć – to buzz (about bugs). The suffix *-ela would indicate the meaning of *bъčela as ‘that which buzzes’.

The name of this bug was initially pczoła in Poland, with the consonant š (sz) eventually inserted. Language strives for economy, also in terms of articulation, hence the consonant group pč- (pcz-) was expanded to pšč- due to the desire to avoid excessive articulatory energy input. This also explains why the spelling of the word pszczoła is an orthographic exception, since there was never any ‘r’ in this word that could become a ‘rz’.

Wasps do not enjoy as good a reputation as their ‘cousins’, the bees. They are not useful from the point of view of humans – they are considered negative, dangerous, unpleasant bugs, in contrast to the hard-working, holy bees. An important feature of wasps, one with which they are usually most associated, is their painful sting. You can also say about someone that they are as evil as a wasp or as sharp as a wasp (zły jak osa and cięty jak osa, respectively]. Due to the gender of this noun in Polish, this term is usually used in relation to women. Only a woman can have a wasp waist – this expression is associated with the characteristic narrowing of the body structure of this bug. Unlike other phraseologisms related to wasps, however, it does not have a negative connotation but is rather a compliment.

The etymology of osa is not related to its ‘character traits’, however. It has Proto-Indo-European roots, and the names of this family in other languages ​​indicate a common origin reconstructed by researchers to Proto-Indo-European *ṷobhsā, osa. Baltic, Romance and Germanic languages ​​have preserved the initial v-, so for example, in Lithuanian, osa is vapsvà; in Latin it is vespa; and in English it is ‘wasp’. As Maciołek writes, in accordance with the law of the open syllable in the Proto-Slavic languages [all syllables had to end in a vowel, ed.], the intra-word consonant group *-bs- was simplified into -s-, hence the Proto-Indo-European *ṷobhsā became the Proto-Slavic *(v)osa, and today in Polish it has the form osa.

Andrzej Bańkowski sees the meaning of the name osa in the verb *webh-, ‘to weave’, which is related to the fact that wasps weave their nests from plant fibres. Wasp nests are a very important place for them, and they defend it fiercely. Maciej Rak cites a regional saying: włożyć kij w gniazdo os (‘to put a stick in a wasps’ nest’, meaning ‘to irritate, to provoke a bad situation’; in general language, this saying is related to ants: włożyć kij w mrowisko, ‘to put a stick in an anthill’).

11 January 2026

Dziękuję za cud!

9 stycznia 2026

Jako linguista, najbardziej obawiałem się utraty języka.

Ale,
Dzięki Bogu,
Dzięki szpitalu,
Dzięki służbom ratownictwa medycznego,
Dzięki wam wszystkim z neurologii,

Nawet po udar,
Mogę chodzić
Mogę mówić
Mogę uczyć się więcej języka polskiego!