10 common mistakes with prepositions made by learners of English

Grammar

A preposition is a very common little word like at, for, in, on, and to, which the dictionary defines as

a word governing, and usually preceding, a noun or pronoun and expressing a relation to another word or element in the clause.

For example:

PREPOSITION:
Thida works at the market.
This coffee’s for Luca!
Alejandro lives in Peru.
Agnieszka’s on the bus.
Mika’s listening to J-pop again.

Native English speakers rarely make mistakes with these very common prepositions. However, non-native speakers frequently get them wrong, often because they translate directly from their own language rather than listening to native English speakers (and yes, you always listen to something or someone).

The best way to improve your command of prepositions is to:

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Microfiction: Valparaíso

Valparaíso

Lilac jacaranda under blue and gold: in this pacific paradise, you’re kicking stones and humming as the city drops away below. A Cuban trumpeter trails flat orange notes. You spin me round by fountains splashing carmine Carmenere. I’m ecstatically serene. It’s raining rainbows.

“Look at them!” you say: two children kissing on a plant pot. “They’re finding their own way in love.”

Like we will, in the southern sun.

“Like I will,” you say, to yourself, “One day.”

I struggle after you in the high heat. Did I hear right?

“But not yet,” you say, to the stones, “Not yet.”

© Joanna Rubery 2017

[For the Oxford Words blog:] Jèrriais, the language of Jersey

Jersey sea

There was one thing I wanted to know as the plane touched down: were we actually abroad? On the one hand, everyone was driving on the left, paying in pounds, and speaking in English (albeit with what sounded like a faintly South African accent). On the other, everything was the wrong colour: yellow telephone boxes, red squirrels, and green pound notes (yes, pound notes – remember them?). As we wound our way through a lush forest of palm trees on the way to the capital, I looked at the bus ticket the driver had given me and saw:

Bouônjour à bord d’la beusse

It looked like French; or rather, it looked how French might look through a tropical haze. In fact, it was my first glimpse of real Jèrriais, the native language of Jersey – rich, colourful, and full of quirky phrases. I’m not sure if I ever worked out whether we were actually à l’êtrangi (abroad) or not; but I did learn this handy Monday-morning response to Comme est qu’ tu’es? (How are you?): J’sis coumme eune pouque mouoillie (I feel like a wet bag).

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10 mistakes made by learners of English

Banana skin

Do learners of English make particular mistakes in grammar, pronunciation, and vocabulary depending on their mother tongue? (While linguists distinguish between an error, made by a student who doesn’t yet know the correct rule, and a mistake, made by a student who knows the rule but momentarily forgets it, I’ll use mistake to cover both cases.)

It makes intuitive sense that some (particularly lower-level) mistakes are more likely to be made by speakers of certain languages. One well-known example is that speakers of Slavic languages, such as Polish, often miss out articles (*she bought new car) while speakers of Romance languages, such as Italian, occasionally drop in too many (I love the my sister!). These kinds of mistakes reflect the nature of the students’ mother tongues, and are arguably fairly minor, but other kinds – such as the greater tendency among speakers of certain Asian languages (like Khmer or Japanese) to mix up he and she – may lead to real communication difficulties.

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Microfiction: Speed Dating

Heart on beach

ooh, cute guy at the bar!- but we’re off

#1 – well. I guess it’s not a deal-breaker …

#2 – mmm, visa hunter

OK #3 is blind drunk

#4 – nice eyes!

#5 – ”…the rope snapped and  -” aargh! the bell

#6 – sits with his back to me

#7 –…isn’t it “aged up to 40”?

#8 – no. just – no

#9 – man from the bar! “At last!”

#10 – …sorry, still thinking about  – we’re done?

definitely #9! #4 and #9…

…oh.

OK.

refresh?

I’ll just hit refresh

© Joanna Rubery 2017

This blog is a he: gender in foreign languages

He and she signs

Cast your mind back to your twelve-year-old self stuck in the classroom on a Friday afternoon in the middle of a French lesson. (Or German, or Spanish, for that matter.) If you grew up as a native monolingual English speaker, what was the thing you struggled with the most when learning a foreign language? Was it the convoluted concoction of verb conjugations? The weird and wonderful sounds you had to produce? Or perhaps the fact that téléphone was masculine and voiture was feminine?

This last point – getting the gender right – is one that perplexes many native English speakers, who scratch their heads at the idea that random inanimate objects could be thought of as masculine or feminine, perhaps because of all the cultural associations we attach to those terms. In fact, classifying nouns by gender is not unusual – around half of the world’s languages spoken today feature some kind of formal gender system. The English language itself used to be no different to modern German in this respect, as Old English grouped nouns into three genders. In Anglo-Saxon times, if you stood on a brycg (bridge – feminine) looking out to sea, you may have glimpsed a wifmann (woman – masculine, oddly enough) on board a scip (ship – rather interestingly, neuter). You would probably then realize you had been drinking too much ealu (ale – also neuter.)

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Relational language: the language of cousins

Trees

It would always throw people when we told them. The four of us – my sister and I, and the two boys – spent all our school holidays together, and we all had dark hair. So when people asked if my “brothers” wanted an ice cream too, I’d have to take a deep breath and explain – in the long-suffering way that only a ten-year-old can – that they weren’t actually my “brothers” but my “second cousins once removed”. Typically, the reaction would be one of deep befuddlement (particularly from other children: “removed from what??”) Meanwhile, anyone vaguely familiar with the workings of kinship would hazard tentatively, “But if they’re once removed…why are they the same age as you?” (If you can guess why we were all more or less the same age, check your answer at Age is just a number.)

So this article is an attempt to help you fathom out your family tree, or at least the lower branches. First, though, let’s look at the pedigree of the word cousin itself.

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Microfiction: Terminal

Door

“They’ve called me back,” she says, letter in hand.

“You’ll be fine, mum,” they all soothe. “Look, it’s snowing!”

White flakes. White coats. White lies.

“I’m very sorry -” but he isn’t, at all -“There’s nothing more we can do.”

No. She’s not ready. She has unfinished business. “Nothing?”

He’s scrawling away.

“Except the usual,” he says, nodding to a door in the corner, an ordinary door, with “Enjoy!”

She opens the door and steps through to sunshine and sea, her bare feet tiny on hot sand.

“And where’ve you been?” asks mum, shaking out a towel.

© Joanna Rubery 2017

Poetry: Aphrodizzyacked

Bougainvillea

Onyx eyes, you hypnotize

My polyandrous heart.

I came in here ambivalent

But found my counterpart.

Though you’re a born philanderer

And I’m more orthodox,

We dialogue, philosophize,

And synch outside the box.

We’re sympathetic telepaths,

And metaphysically

You’re zinging pyrotechnics

Throughout my anatomy

With cryptic, enigmatic,

Hypercharismatic charm.

You render me ecstatic

When you pseudo-brush my arm.

So let’s be democratic

And put it to the vote:

Let’s abandon logic after

Your next anecdote,

And convert to kinetic all

That latent energy.

Kiss and decakiss my

Epidermal geography.

You can be my sine, my cosine,

My hypotenuse,

And I will be adjacent,

Perpendicular, your muse.

Let’s create a synthesis

Of perfect geometry,

Since loving is cathartic, but

love’s just hyperbole.

I don’t care about tomorrow!

Let’s hedonize tonight!

Kaleidoscopophilia,

Ephemeral delight.

Autograph my psyche

In your mythologic guise.

Tonight I’m Aphrodite,

You are Eros, telling lies.

© Joanna Rubery 2017