Words we feel

I am enchanted by words. I am powered by words. And sometimes, I am soothed by words.  You think I mean a string of soothing words, like a Mary Oliver poem or a Kent Haruf sentence. Yes, that. But I also mean individual words, like the word soothe.

There’s magic in the way some words carry the essence of what they describe, their sounds cradling their meaning. Soothe is such a word. It is onomatopoeic, but not in the way we most often think of onomatopoeias (yikes, I had to spell that twice!) Those words—not going to spell it a third time-- often mimic sounds, like buzz, yelp, chirp. Splash, smack, warble, gurgle. This is a fun part of our language. Other languages—Japanese, Arabic, French, Spanish, Korean*, to name a few—also have words that mimic sounds.  

But soothe is different, more subtle, nuanced. It doesn’t sound like a sound. It sounds like what it means. The word itself evokes a sensation. The opening “s” is soft like a whisper. The “oo” double vowel emerges from between soft lips. The ending “th” is delicate, a gentle touch of the tongue against the teeth.

Go ahead! Say it. I’m right, aren’t I? You felt the calm, just in that instant, didn’t you? Boom. (To use one of those sound-mimicking words.)

I feel the need to highlight the soothing power of words, to linger for a moment on the sweetness of linguistic balms. The world of words right now is particularly harsh: sharp, loud, nasty, wounding. We have the accompanying onomatopoeias for this: snarl, snipe, growl, rant, bark. Say them. Feel that? Now, once again, say soothe aloud. To say it is to soothe.

It’s not just a word; it’s an invitation.

*In my hunt for foreign-language sound-mimic words, I found this one in the Korean language:

살랑살랑 (sallang-sallang) for a gentle breeze.