Three Languages, One Idiocy (Putz)

Lyrics

[Intro]
The classroom is sixty-two degrees.
Four-thirty in the afternoon.
Dust motes swim in the last bar of light.

[Verse 1]
Leo Rosten, 1968.
Page two hundred and ninety-seven.
The spine of the dictionary cracks like a knuckle.
Here is the word.
P. U. T. Z.
A fool, he writes. An oaf. A simpleton.
The man who trips over his own good intentions.
The first definition is always the safest.

[Chorus]
But on the chalkboard, I draw two columns.
One word for the man who doesn't think.
One word for the part of him that can't.
From the head to the groin, a straight chalk line.
The Yiddish language leaves no room for confusion.

[Verse 2]
Now, the etymology.
The brass pointer taps the board.
We go back. Middle High German.
The root is 'putzen.'
To clean. To preen. To adorn.
How does adornment become this?
A peacock's feather, then a dunce's cap.
A polished boot, then a clumsy fool.
The language remembers the fall from grace.

[Chorus]
On the chalkboard, two columns stand.
One word for the man who doesn't see.
One word for the part of him that's blind.
From the head to the groin, the line connects them.
The Yiddish language leaves no room for secrets.

[Bridge]
Rosten calls it earthy.
A term of mock endearment, he says, now lost.
Used between friends in a shtetl somewhere, a joke against the cold.
A word that holds both contempt and a certain kind of love.
A tool for building, a tool for scorn.
The same four letters.

[Outro]
The chalk goes back in the tray.
White dust on my fingers.
The diagram is finished.
The two meanings stare from the board.
The book closes with a soft thud.