Plangent

Plangent (pronounced plan-juhnt)

(1) Resounding loudly with an expressively plaintive sound (associated especially with the chiming of bells).

(2) Any loud, reverberating sound (now rare and probably obsolete).

(3) Mournful music (regardless of volume).

(4) By extension, in literature and poetry, text which is plaintive, mournful, a lament etc (now used loosely).

(5) By extension, in casual use, a state of mind somewhat short of melancholy.

(6) Beating, dashing, as in the action of breaking waves (obsolete except (rarely) as a literary or poetic device).

1822: From the Latin verb plangent- (stem of plangēns), the present participle of plangere (to beat (in sorrow more than anger)) and third-person plural future active indicative of plangō (I beat (my breast); I lament), from the primitive Indo-European root plak- (to strike).  The origin of the idea was in the “breast-beating” a demonstrable form of grief noted by anthropologists in cultures far removed from European contact so apparently something which evolved independently and possibly inherited from our more distant ancestor species.  Plangent is an adjective, plangency is a noun and plangently is an adverb; the noun plural is plagencies.

Plangent was adopted in English to mean “a loud sound which echoes and is suggestive of a quality of mournfulness”.  It was originally most associated with the bells sounded during funerals or memorial ceremonies.  By the mid-late nineteenth century additional layers of meaning had been absorbed, notably (1) sorrowful or somber music and, (2) prose or poetic verse evocative of such feelings.  So it was linguistic mission creep rather than a meaning shift that saw “plangent” a word to use of sad songs and maudlin poetry.  In the technical sense, the original meaning still resonates; the “haunting peal of a church bell” can be called plangent and a poem which as text on the page may seem emotionless can be rendered startlingly plangent, if spoken in a certain tone and with a feeling for the pause.  In the jargon of some military bands, “the plangent” remains the instruction for the use of percussion to produce the slow, continuous and atonal beat used for funeral marches or somber commemorative ceremonies and this recalls the original use in English: “beating with a loud sound”, from the Latin plangere, (to strike or beat), the idea in antiquity an allusion to the “beating of the breast” associated with grief.  From this developed the general sense of “lament” which has survived and flourished.  The adjectival sense of anything “loud and resounding” is probably obsolete.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011.

Suffering ranging from mild displeasure to dark despair being clearly an inescapable part of the human condition, the synonyms of plangent are legion, the choice dictated by the precise nuance one wishes to capture, the forms including: aching, agonized, anguished, bemoaning, bewailing, bitter, deploring, doleful, dolorous, funereal, grieving, heartbroken, lamentable, longing, lugubrious, mournful, plaintive, regretful, rueful, sorrowful, sorry, wailing, weeping & woeful.  Take your pick.

Long Distance II by Tony Harrison (b 1937)

 Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.
 
You couldn't just drop in.  You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.
 
He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.
 
I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.

Shortly before he died, the poet Stephen Spender (1909–1995) wrote that Tony Harrison’s series of elegies for his parents “...was the sort of poetry for which I've been waiting my whole life.”