Do you know any poets? Most people don’t, but we all think of them as incredible wordsmiths. They know how to create beauty out of strings of words that leave their readers breathless. It’s a rare gift, and I appreciate all of those who can lead us into not only scenes of beauty, but of terror, fury, and romance. Words. The only tool poets have.
So why am I thinking about this? Well. I came across another listicle, and this one left me wondering if the internet has simply run out of things to put on lists, because this particular listicle provided a run down on the “most beautiful words in the English language.” And I was appalled.
Not one of the words on that list was beautiful, in my opinion. “Murmuring” does nothing for my soul. It has a cadence, granted. But beautiful? Not really.
“Tremulous” made the list. I know. How come? Of course, I bet it appears in a lot of poems, so I could be totally wrong on this one.
I can get on board with”crystalline,” I guess. It’s ok. “Felicity” these days is mostly a name, and frankly, it’s too much for me. Sort of like Tiffany. I brings to mind girls with long, wavy hair and too much mascara.
But according to the internet, the most beautiful word is CELLAR DOOR. I am not joking. You can Google it yourself. “Cellar door.” Really? In what way is that beautiful? For me, when I think of a cellar door, I imagine women chained to heating pipes down there in the cellar. Or concrete steps leading down to dank basements filled with spiders and cobwebs that stick to your face as you walk around in there. Who has happy memories of cellars? Anybody? Maybe serial killers.
When I think of beautiful words, I think of “purring,” “chocolate,” “seashell,” and “dessert.”
But some poets manage. Carl Sandburg managed.
