The Language That Remembers
- Marc Benaca
- Dec 13
- 4 min read
Written by Kalina Evert
Polish is older than most people realize. It predates both the nation and the boundaries that attempted to contain it. Leszek Bednarczuk and other linguists remind us that this language's origins can be traced back to the vast Proto-Slavic continuum, a network of dialects spoken throughout early Europe's rivers and forests.
When I say matka (mother) or brat (brother), I am repeating syllables that have been whispered for thousands of years — words that have sisters and cousins in Sanskrit, Latin, English. Calvert Watkins, in his work on Indo-European roots, shows how these words share a common ancestor with Sanskrit mātṛ and bhrātṛ.
Every time I speak, as a Polish speaker, I sense it. It's not just my words. They are as much a part of the past as they are of me. And in some way, reciting them preserves that history.
From Proto-Slavic Roots
Poland had a language long before it had a name. The Proto-Slavic world is described by scholars such as Zbigniew Gołąb as a vast continuum, with villages dispersed across rivers and forests and speaking dialects of the same language. Even though there were no borders—just foot-worn pathways—the words already exuded a feeling of inclusion.
The words doma (home) and voda (water), which are still used in Polish today, were used by the earliest Slavs. Like well-preserved heirlooms, these sounds endured for centuries virtually unaltered. "What we now call Polish emerged around the tenth century, but its roots go far deeper, to a time when language was passed on entirely by memory, not by books," writes Bednarczuk.
People sitting by fires, narrating stories in a language whose echoes I still use, is something I like to consider. Even though I can no longer recall their names, I am still speaking in their voices whenever I say woda or dom.
Whispers of Sanskrit
What fascinates linguists (and fascinates me too) is how far back some of our words go. Calvert Watkins, in his work on Indo-European roots, shows that when I say matka or mać (mother), I am using a word that shares ancestry with Sanskrit mātṛ, Latin mater, and English mother. The same with brat (brother) — its cousin is Sanskrit bhrātṛ. Even something as simple as dwa (two) matches dvé in Sanskrit.
These words were never borrowed. They are fossils of sound, carried in human memory for thousands of years. I find this thought moving: that a villager in ancient India and a villager in early Poland could have understood each other if they spoke of their mothers, their brothers, or counted to two.
Every time I speak Polish, I am not just speaking to my neighbor or my family. I am speaking back through history, answering voices that have been calling for millennia.
The Music of Consonants
People often tell me Polish sounds difficult. To them it is too many consonants, too many hissing sounds. But to me, it has its own music. Julian Tuwim, one of our great poets, called Polish a language that “rustles like leaves.” Listen closely and you will hear it: szcz, prz, chr — sounds that crackle and shimmer, like twigs underfoot or rain in the forest.
Yes, it can be a challenge for foreign ears, but that is part of its beauty. Each cluster of consonants is a small choreography for the mouth, a rhythm that feels ancient and earthy. Linguists say these combinations evolved naturally, shaped by centuries of speech, but I like to think they stayed because they pleased the ear of the people who spoke them.
When I hear my own language, I hear meaning and texture intertwined. The words feel carved from wood, not written on paper, rough and resonant, alive.
A Living, Breathing Language
Polish has never been static. Even though I don't always use the same words as my grandmother, we are still able to communicate clearly. As we evolve, the language adapts to fit memes and TikTok comments, creates new slang, borrows from English, and somehow manages to stay distinctly Polish.
This has a subtle magic to it. Just as a teenager today still refers to her mother as "mama," so too would a medieval monk copying prayers in Latin recognize chleb as bread. Like a tree with deep roots and branches that never stop reaching for the sun, some words stretch while others fade.
This, in my opinion, is what makes Polish so lovely: despite the centuries that are contained in its syllables, it is constantly discovering new ways to express joy, rage, and love. Yes, it is ancient, but it is also intriguing and vibrant.
Conclusion – Language as Memory
Speaking Polish means carrying the past with you. Every word connects us to people we will never meet, to extinct villages, to fires that extinguished centuries ago. Nevertheless, the language continues to evolve, creating space for fresh voices, jokes, and melodies.
People sometimes tell me it sounds mysterious, even impossible, when I speak it overseas. I smile because I know they are listening to a history, a river that has been flowing for a thousand years and has much more to come.
Written by Kalina Evert
Comments