Hypallage (hy-pal’-la-ge): Shifting the application of words. Mixing the order of which words should correspond with which others. Also, sometimes, a synonym for metonymy (see Quintilian).
“Hark the angels herald sing.” I want to say “Hark the angels Harold sing.” I envision a group of angels named Harold who met each other at “Heavenly Friends,” a social connection internet site for spiritual entities. 100 angels named Harold singing “Hark the Harold angels sing” would be an amazing musical performance to witness. I envisioned God in my row at Carnegie Hall tapping his foot and bobbing his head to the music.
Well, this is just a fantasy. A wish. A hope. It stems from my damaged hearing. I am a disabled Vet. My hearing is bad and I refuse to wear my hearing aids. I don’t how they feel riding on my ears for everybody to see. I’m almost 80 and I don’t want to be a cyborg in my twilight years. When I die, I don’t want my ear holes plugged by stupid little plastic ear buds.
My mishearing has led to insights from time to time, along with revelations that take me to a higher place, and misunderstandings that have cost me three marriages. Once, I thought my wife was yelling “turnip” at me. In my usual way I said “What?” three of four times. She became furious and threw the radio at me, fracturing my skull and requiring 80 stitches. She had been saying “Turn it up,” referring to the radio next to me by the couch. I had heard “turnip.” It was a rough experience.
Then there was the time I heard “leek” instead of “meek” when Pastor Palmer was reading the Bible—the passage saying “The meek shall inherit the earth.” When I heard “leek” I was startled. Then I thought, ah ha! It’s “leak” not “leek.” I thought about all the plumbing that could go bad and flood the earth. I vowed to build an ark, like Noah’s and load it with two of everything—tires, shoes, chopsticks, socks, etc.
Suddenly, it seemed like there was an earthquake. It was my wife trying to wake me up. I had fallen asleep for most of Pastor Palmer’s sermon “Sinners in the Hands of a Crooked Blackjack Dealer.” She said “Get the fu*k up and meet me out front with the Turk.” I sad “Huh?” She yelled what sounded to me like Turk, Turk, Turk dumb ass.” I said “I don’t know any Turks.” Give me the keys to the Turk shit for brans and I’ll meet you around front.” Ah ha! I got it when she asked for the keys. I went out front and waited. She came roaring around the corner and hit me straight-on with the truck. She was arrested on the spot and is now serving 10 years for attempted manslaughter.
To some extent her murderous rage was my fault. If I had worn my hearing aids all the time, none of this would have taken place and we’d be living a rage-free life together, retired in our cozy little home on the hill.
But, I had screwed up. That said, I still don’t wear my hearing aids. Every now and then, wife number three berates me pushing me against the wall and pounding on my chest with her fists.
I tried wearing my hearing aids for two days. It was horrible. Not only did I look like a robot, but I heard sounds that disturbed me—the rushing sound of the forced-air heat, the clicking of the door knob, my cat snoring, the toilet refilling after flushing. I ripped out my hearing aids and the dull ambience of the hearing impaired soundscape returned, comforting me. Ironically, I felt whole, but wife number three didn’t. She said “You start me going. I want to kill you!” I said “Huh?” I heard “You tart me going. I want to krill you.” I told her what I had heard, She pulled out a gun and yelled “If you say so, I’m going to KRILL you!”
She pulled the trigger and nothing happened. She ran out the front door and I didn’t chase her.
I had done it again. I decided to give up on having a wife. Things have gone pretty smoothly ever since.
Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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