And Then There Was the Word: A column about our language: Here Lies My First Column for 2010

A vast literature exists on epitaphs, those usually sobering statements one finds on tombstones. I said usually sobering, but not always. Death is one of those sort of taboo subjects that people are rather spooky about. We don't like to talk about it, especially of our own deaths, so we either avoid it or make jokes about it. Scads of jokes exist about people who have died.A man knocks on the Pearly Gates and St. Peter calls out: "Who is it?" The man answers, "It is I." St. Peter yells back, "Go to Hell; we have enough English majors here."

People don't like to face death, so when the topic comes up, in any forum, they may make light of it when they can. This has led to a popular genre, in the real world and in the world of creative fiction: epitaphs.

Now, most epitaphs are real, stating on the stone the name and birth and death dates of the departed. Also, there are many real ones with poems giving the same data and also information about the circumstances of the person's death. In fact, there are whole books of these, and it is difficult to distinguish ones that are real from fake ones.

To give the epitaphs a sense of authority, the compilers of these will give a source: "Found in a cemetery in Yuma, Arizona." Who is going there to verify the authenticity of this attribution? Not I.

I have heard bunches of these, usually in doggerel verse, and I cannot vouch for their authenticity. For instance,

Here lies Ebeneezer Jones

Who all his life

collected bones,

Till Death, that grim

and bony spectre,

That all-consuming

bone collector,

Boned old Jones so

neat and tidy,

That here he lies,

all bona fide.

Someone told me that one decades ago and it has stuck in my head all these years.

The standard verse epitaph is sometimes called a "hic jacet" (pronounced "heek yakit"), from the two Latin words which mean here lies." And most of these hic jacets begin with the words "Here lies."

"Here lies poor old

Jake McGee.

"He did not see the 4:03." (That is, he got run over by a train.)

The tomb of a dentist supposedly had this stone verse: "Gaze upon my tomb with gravity, / For I am filling my last cavity."

The well known British author Ben Jonson is supposed to have written an epitaph for his friend: "On the twenty-second of June / Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune."

By the way, the word "epitaph" comes from two Greek words (epi and taph) meaning over a tomb. The word made its way into Latin to mean "a funeral oration," since it was a bunch of words said over a tomb. But then, coming through French, the word made it to English to mean words over a tomb, or, more specifically, "words on a stone or slab of wood over a tomb."

Supposedly in a Falkirk, England, cemetery one can find this one:

Here under this sod

and under these trees

Is buried the body

of Solomon Pease,

But here in this hole lies

only his pod;

His soul is shelled and

gone to God.

If you believe that that is a real one, then maybe you'll believe that this one is real too, on the tombstone of a pedestrian:

This is the grave

of Mike O'Day

Who died maintaining

his right of way.

His right was clear,

his will was strong,

But he's just as dead

as if he'd been wrong.

This is an especially appropriate warning for anyone living in Boston, where pedestrians seem to have no rights, drivers seem to follow no rules, and for motorists, red lights are just suggestions.

Never averse to seizing on an opportunity, a French woman put the following on her husbandís grave:

"Here lies Pierre Cobachard, grocer. His inconsolable widow dedicates this monument to his memory, and continues the same business at the old stand, 167 Rue Mouffetard."

And lest the French think they have a monopoly on advertising, look at this one purportedly from a cemetery in Lincoln, Maine: "Sacred to the memory of Jared Bates, who died, Aug. the 6th, 1800. His Widow, aged 24, lives at 7 Elm Street, has every qualification for a good wife, and yearns to be comforted."

This reminds me of the boxer who was so bad that he sold advertising space on the bottom of his boxing shoes.

This epitaph is on the grave of a notoriously bad waiter: "By and by / God caught his eye."

Sometimes the versifiers have to take some poetic license to make the epitaph work:

Underneath this

pile of stones

Lies all that's left

of Sally Jones.

Her name was Briggs,

it was not Jones.

But I used "Jones"

to rhyme with "stones."

Boot Hill is a fabled burying ground in Tombstone, Arizona, where some wild and crazy cowboys and miners are buried. Several epitaphs there are funny, though whether they are genuine or not remains to be seen. Here is a famous one, poor language and all:

Here lays Butch.

We planted him raw.

He was quick on the trigger

But slow on the draw.

That says it all.

And let's conclude with the epitaph of an auctioneer: "Jedediah Goodwin. / Auctioneer. / Born 1828. / Going! / Going!! / Gone!!! / 1876."

If you know of any good ones, please send them on to me. (sid@simmons.edu).