En considérant les occurrences orales de différents emplois de la périphrase en aller + infinitif décrits par Bres et Labeau (2012a), cet article illustre la contribution positive des corpus oraux, et particulièrement du nouveau Corpus de français parlé à Bruxelles (CFPB) – au rassemblement d’occurrences authentiques de phénomènes linguistiques peu étudiés, au test de leurs descriptions théoriques, mais aussi à l’enrichissement de celles-ci.

La structure canonique de l’énoncé d’une langue naturelle procède de la diathèse active. Dès lors, toute autre construction syntaxique arborant une structure différente est considérée comme une construction particulière. Envisagé sous cet angle, le causatif fait partie des faits syntaxiques spécifiques. Ainsi, à la lumière du modèle théorique de l’"Échelle de Compacité" « Scale of Compactness » telle qu’élaborée par R.M.W. Dixon, nous nous sommes attelé à montrer les caractéristiques du causatif en koulango, ses aspects morphologique, syntaxique et sémantique. D’abord, (...) la construction de la causation recourt à un verbe lexical, dérivé ou une périphrase en dɛ̀ « faire ». Ensuite, le causatif se distingue syntaxiquement par l’augmentation ou la présence obligatoire d’un argument supplémentaire. Enfin, le domaine sémantique est marqué par l’engagement direct ou indirect du causeur dans la réalisation de l’événement. La construction de l’engagement direct fait appel au procédé lexical tandis que celle de l’indirect prend appui sur le moyen périphrastique en dɛ̀. Le procédé par dérivation peut être rattaché à la causation directe ou indirecte selon le cas. (shrink)

This extraordinary book offers a clear and compelling biography of Jacques Derrida along with one of Derrida's strangest and most unexpected texts. Geoffrey Bennington's account of Derrida leads the reader through the philosopher's familiar yet widely misunderstood work on language and writing to the less familiar themes of signature, sexual difference, law, and affirmation. In an unusual and unprecedented "dialogue," Derrida responds to Bennington's text by interweaving Bennington's text with surprising and disruptive "periphrases." Truly original, this dual and dueling text (...) opens new dimensions in Derrida's thought and work. "Bennington is a shrewd and well-informed commentator whose book should do something to convince the skeptics... that Jacques Derrida's work merits serious attention."—Christopher Norris, _New Statesman & Society_ "Geoffrey Bennington and Jacques Derrida have presented a fascinating example of what might be called post-structuralist autobiography."—Laurie Volpe, _French Review_ "Bennington's account of what Derrida is up to is better in almost all respects—more intelligent, more plausible, more readable, and less pretentious—than any other I have read."—Richard Rorty, _Contemporary Literature_. (shrink)

Lycophron’s riddling poem “Alexandra” is infamous for hardly ever calling anything by its proper name, but rather employing obscure and erudite metaphors, periphrases, and mythological allusions for people and events as well as local cult epithets for divinities. This article attempts to explain the fact that epithets for gods occur only rarely in isolation, but usually in clusters ranging from two to six different appellations. Assuming that this repetition of information is not merely empty redundancy, Hellenistic extravagance, or an ostentatious (...) demonstration of erudition, it is argued that the clustering also serves a communicative function: Since these epithets are often of regional rather than pan-Hellenic origin, the poet could not expect his readers to be familiar with all of them (and probably used a compilation himself), so by providing several riddling circumlocutions he could increase the chance of his audience’ being able to identify one of them and thus ensure understanding and enjoyment of his poem. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Idea of Progress and the Art of Grammar: Charisius Ars Grammatica 1.15Dirk M. SchenkeveldIIn studies on the history of the concept of progress many passages have been cited from Greek and Roman texts on the progress of mankind, culture and/or the arts, but no attention has ever been given to a passage which, thanks to Flavius Sosipater Charisius (ca. 360), 1 we may read in his Ars Grammatica. (...) It not only contains a definite statement on continuing growth and development of the arts but also discusses the effect this may produce when one considers such progress. 2 The latter aspect is found again in very few other texts, but our text is unique for its application of the concept of progress to the ars grammatica. For these reasons the passage in Charisius deserves a discussion of its own. It is not easily read because of its textual condition and its style, and this may well be the main reason why those who have studied it have until now (with one exception) 3 overlooked the underlying idea of progress. 4Charisius’ grammar is a huge collection of earlier material, which he has compiled and ordered after the plan of the Schulgrammatik. Within this framework he has inserted huge blocks of material to accommodate the form. 5 Thus the fifteenth chapter of his first book starts [End Page 443] with a long portion of text, apparently an introduction to some book, but what follows thereafter has no clear connection to it. Accordingly, the first portion is an independent piece of writing and should be discussed as such. The text takes up pages 61.16–63.20 in Barwick’s edition (5 Keil GL I 50.8–I 51.20) and consists of five sections:a. 61.16–62.2, on the progress of arts in generalb. 62.2–14, on Latin language originally being unruly and later being put in order by grammarc. 62.14–63.9, on the four criteria of correct usage of Latin, namely natura, analogia, consuetudo, and auctoritas [End Page 444]d. 63.9–16, more on the relationship between analogy and consuetudoe. 63.16–20, announcement of the subjects to be treated hereafter.As we are concerned here with the aspect of progress, only the first two sections are relevant. 6 I have supplied my own text (above), based on Barwick’s [with his line numbers], 7 and add a short critical apparatus and a translation. [End Page 445]The first sentence (ne ipsa... satiata) shows stylistic traits that we shall meet with throughout the passage: an involuted style with much variatio, 8 daring imagery, and difficult periphrases. Ancient authors liked to turn their prefaces into rhetorical showpieces, and our author has done so to a high degree. Instead of simply saying, “the arts have no limits,” he introduces an a fortiori argument: if nature, though finite, is so wide as not to allot to us her farthest boundary, 9 the more is this true for the arts. No argument is given for the idea that nature is finite. 10 At any rate, our author is more interested in the status of nature’s usual complement, the arts. At first—and this would be in line with his a fortiori argument—he seems to accept as feasible the idea that at some time the arts will be complete and finished, and he explains that this point of perfection has not yet been reached because of human weakness: we humans are too weak to make the arts perfect. This is so either because the work to be done is of extreme difficulty, 11 or because we are already satisfied by having founded an art and are disinclined to continue our job. The reader is left with the choice between these two possibilities as the author proceeds to a more basic explanation. Now he opts for the idea that in principle the arts are incomplete and remain so: every artisan always adds something to his art, adds, as it were, extensions to the building that his art forms; 12 consequently the arts will never be finished. The author next anticipates... (shrink)