Summary: In this episode, Max discusses how a change in usage stalked and murdered a perfectly nice poem. Listen to the episode here: OR SUBSCRIBE <a title="Subscribe to Word Shots in iTunes" href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/word-shots-the-podcast/id611651233" target="_blank">in iTunes</a> or your favorite podcatcher. Full Transcript In this episode, I’m going to continue talking about the tricky matter of right versus wrong in the use of language. And I’m going to tell a story about a nasty trick that history played on a poet who probably deserved better. In the last episode, I made the bold statement that if you could only afford to buy one book to help you with your use of words, your first book shouldn’t be a dictionary. Today I’m going to elaborate on that a little. First of all, I want to say that it’s very important to have a reference that allows you to look up the definitions of words. But if you have internet access most of the time, the World Wide Web serves that need pretty well. It’s actually not a hard service to supply. What’s harder is to help you know, when you’re writing, which word you should choose out of several candidates. That’s where neither the web nor a dictionary can necessarily be counted on. Dictionaries are better for reading than for writing Let’s look at this through a different lens. Use of language is either passive or active. You’re using language passively when you’re taking it in. You’re using language actively when you’re moving it outward, in other words, when you’re speaking or writing. With that concept in place, I can say what I’m saying about dictionaries pretty easily: they’re good for passive use of language, less so for active. When you’re reading and you meet a word you don’t know, the dictionary or the web will let you look up that word. On the other hand, when you’re writing, you might look up a word if you think you know its definition but you aren’t sure. And that can be helpful. But it’s not all the help you need. If you’re not sure you know what a word means, then you’re probably not very familiar with that word. That should be a red flag. It means that although you may be choosing a word with the right denotation, which is its dictionary definition, it still <a title="denotation versus connotation" href="http://mariauniversity.wordpress.com/2012/12/21/connotation-and-denotation/" target="_blank">might not carry the right connotation</a>, and dictionaries aren’t a great deal of help with connotations. In fact, it’s hard for <a title="Merriam-Webster online dictionary" href="http://www.merriam-webster.com" target="_blank">dictionaries</a>, even <a title="dictionary.com online dictionary" href="http://dictionary.reference.com/" target="_blank">online ones that are easily updated</a>, to keep up with changes in connotation. In the last episode, I talked about two instances in which non-native English speakers used a word they were able to find in a dictionary, but which I’d never heard a native speaker use. Today’s story is about a word that changed its connotation at almost the very time a writer decided to use it, spoiling his poem for all posterity. Time, you thief… How changing usage ruined a good poem <a title="Short bio of John Greenleaf Whittier" href="http://www.answers.com/topic/john-greenleaf-whittier" target="_blank">John Greenleaf Whittier</a> was a 19th century American poet, best-known as a leading <a title="Whittier as abolitionist poet." href="http://historyengine.richmond.edu/episodes/view/5650" target="_blank">voice of the abolitionist cause</a>. He also wrote on <a title="Whittier as a Christian and Quaker poet." href="http://nsrider.com/journal/2013/02/14/religion-in-everything/" target="_blank">religious and spiritual matters</a>, and he wrote some historical poems. He was once challenged by a woman friend to write a love poem. She said she doubted he was capable of producing one. To a nationally famous poet,
