'Little Cabbage With Cream' or 'Tiniest Beak': The Language of Love
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‘Zakochani’ by Edward Hartwig, 1982, photo: Edward Hartwig / Polona National Library
'Little Cabbage With Cream' or 'Tiniest Beak': The Language of Love
language & literature
Agnieszka Warnke
Reading time: 14 min
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Women are ‘kitties’ while men are ‘teddy bears’, declare Poles when asked how they refer to their partners. Beyond that, they use diminutives, possessives, and a whole array of terms of endearment. What do writers have to say about this? And what do linguists say?
The five languages of love were introduced by the American psychotherapist Gary Chapman. On top of the time spent with one’s beloved, gift-giving, readiness to provide help, and physical touch (e.g. cuddling), he begins with the mention of affectionate words. Can sweet language, perhaps, serve as an aphrodisiac?
To love, to like, to cherish
For a long time now, linguists have been attempting to find out what love actually is, and their discoveries offer a lot of surprises. Let’s look into a dictionary. The noun ‘love’, meaning ‘deep affection’ just as it does today, already appeared in 15th-century scripts. Slightly earlier, it turned up in religious writings, indicating ‘charity’, ‘grace’ and ‘mercy’. The latter etymology is the one that Franciszek Sławski leans towards. Further, he argues that the proto-Slavic form \milostь derives from the participle miły [‘nice’, ‘kind’, ‘dear’], which in turns originates from mijać [‘to pass’, ‘to go past’]. This would mean that a miła [‘nice’] person is one you could minąć, i.e. ‘walk past them (peacefully) without drawing a weapon’. Another prominent language scholar, Aleksander Brückner, points to the link between the words miły and mir, that is, ‘peace’. No wonder, then, that psychologists tend to relate love to a sense of security.
The one who miłuje is one who ‘feels warm affection’, who kocha [‘loves’]. In turn, kochanie [‘loving’] has a lot in common, also etymologically, with touch. The word kochanie [‘loving’] likely derives from the proto-Slavic \kosati, translated as ‘delicate touch, caressing’. Thus the word kochać [‘to love’] can be associated with either giving pleasure, with caressing or with nurturing. In the 16th century, Crescentius wrote that ‘Przy rzekach bystrych bardzo rzadko kocha się drzewo płodne’ [Rarely does a fertile tree flourish ( kocha się) by a fast-flowing river]. Here, what is meant by kocha się is the ‘growing, flourishing’ of plants.
In its modern meaning, the word kochać [‘to love’] appeared in the Polish language in the 17th century, when love and eroticism blossomed as the subject matter of literature. The late Baroque poetess Antonina Niemiryczowa wrote lyric poems that mimicked courtly conversations:
Lady: I look at you; enough of my courtesy,
While you read a letter from some ladyship.
Gentleman: To you, my lady, my letter I address,
For it is you I esteem and no one else.
[‘Pod damą patrzającą na kawalera list do niej ordynującego' (Lady Looking at the Gentleman Addressing a Letter to Her)]
How To Sound Like a Pole – Video Explainer
How To Sound Like a Pole – Video Explainer
Woman with pearls, holding flower & man kissing her shoulder, 1920–1930, photo: Polona National Library
In the 19th century, the gentleman in question could be referred to as a kochanek [‘lover’], meaning ‘a loving or beloved person’. Meanwhile, if we look into Józef Korzeniowski’s novel Tadeusz Bezimienny (Tadeusz the Nameless), whose protagonist’s determination and courage made him ‘the whole regimen’s kochanek’, what we encounter is simply a word for ‘a favourite’. In his book Pokochawszy (Having Fallen In Loved), Professor Jerzy Bralczyk explains:
While kochanek and kochanka [‘lover’] used to be beautiful and lofty words – ‘[f]or those like us who love so well, / Sufficient is a hermit’s cell’– with time, kochanek started to emphasise a certain illegal quality of the relationship.
[‘Forefathers’ Eve’ quotation, trans. Charles S. Kraszewski]
In Maria Dąbrowska’s Nights and Days [Noce i dnie], Bogumił addresses Barbara as moja kochana [‘my love’]. Meanwhile, Professor Jan Miodek points out that the word kobieta [‘woman’] likely derives from the Tuscan dialect and refers to a being who enjoys touching and cuddling. ‘Hence, the aspect of loving and touching is inscribed into the woman on the etymological level’, he highlights in an interview for Gazeta Wyborcza (The Electoral Gazette).
In the Polish language, kochanie [‘loving’] is underlined with passion, unlike lubienie, which only denotes liking, even though it’s the latter word that’s historically closest to miłość [‘love’] (as visible in the Russian любовь or the German Liebe, both of which mean miłość, ‘love’). Adam Mickiewicz distinguished between the two as he wrote about Maryla: ‘Though one would tell her a hundred times I love, / She did not even say I like’. In Konrad Wallenrod, the adjective luby [‘beloved’] was a synonym to miły [‘nice’, ‘kind’, ‘dear’], but as a noun it means the same as ukochany [‘lover’, ‘darling’], as in Aleksander Fredro:
Once upon a time a young girl said pleasantly to her lover: ‘Get me, dear [ luby], a small canary.’ But instead each one today says: ‘If you don’t wish my destruction, then fetch me a crocodile, dear [ luby]!’
[trans. Harold B. Segel]
Etymologically, luby [‘dear’, ‘beloved’] doesn’t fall far from lubieżny [‘lewd’], a word that in the 16th century indicated someone nice and beautiful but has by now ceased to have pleasant connotations. Similarly, one can convey the fact of falling in love by saying one has zadurzył się[‘become infatuated’] with someone, which might evoke the correct – at least in terms of language – association with being durny [‘foolish’] (the proto-Slavic \duriti meant ‘to induce a state of strong agitation, intoxication, dazing’, while in the 16th century durować meant ‘to go crazy, not to be in one’s right mind’).
Terms of endearment
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Love has developed its own language, and intimate pet names people give to their loved ones – usually romantic partners but also family members or friends – are called affectonyms. Interestingly, they aren’t encountered everywhere; for instance, they are absent from the languages of south-east Asia. The word ‘affectonym’ might not sound too friendly (one may associate it, for instance, with a crime of passion, zbrodnia w afekcie). However, it actually originates from the Latin affectus, meaning ‘feeling’. The Polish language even has its own lexicon of affectonyms, Czułe słówka (Terms of Endearment) by Mirosław Bańko and Agnieszka Zygmunt. These words are usually used in the vocative case, together with pronouns; they are also diminutives and hypocoristics. Due to the soft palatal consonants ‘ć’, ‘dź’, ‘ń’, ‘ś’, and ‘ź’ [or ‘ci’, ‘dzi’, ‘ci’, ‘si’, and ‘zi’], they sound gentle and soothing. Take, for instance, the following fragment of Sławomir Mrożek’s Portret (The Portrait):
Anabella: (offstage) Anatol!
Anatol: Yes, kitty ( kiciu)! I’m coming!
The authors of Czułe słówka explain:
They are pronounced with the tongue towards the front of the oral cavity, and such an articulation is typical in numerous languages worldwide for words denoting small objects, young or small animals, and non-adult humans. […] Young children evoke affection and protectiveness, a trait that is inborn in mammals, since it’s necessary for both people and animals to survive.
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Couple against landscape, 1900–1920, photo: Polona National Library
Lovers usually use ‘animal’ nicknames. Polish Scientific Publishers PWN has conducted an internet survey regarding affectonyms, which has shown that Poles mostly refer to their partners with the fairly conservative kochanie [‘darling’]. The analysis of the findings gets more interesting when we take into account the category of gender. Women see men as cuddly misie [‘teddy bears’] (and also diminutive forms thereof: misiaczki, miśki, misiuniusie, and misie-patysie, as well as niedźwiadki, [‘small bears’]). Meanwhile, gentlemen see ladies as the nuzzling yet predatory kotki [‘kitties’] (and other diminutive forms: kotunie, kociaczki, kotusie, less frequently myszki [‘little mice’]). Literature seems to confirm this trend. In his essay ‘Hrabini Przefajnowała’ (The Countess Overdid It) from the book Stendhal i Balzak (Stendhal and Balzac), Tadeusz Boy-Żeleński observes that:
[…] almost all Balzac’s sentences are oversaturated with amorous invocations; still, the publisher of his letters persistently performs her work of purging. Where he writes something along the lines of: Kociaku mój, jak ja cię kocham [‘My dear kitty, how I love you’], instead we read: ‘Dear countess, how I admire you’…
Among the top 10 most common terms of endearment for both genders, there’s also the vocative dziubku [‘little beak’] (or, again, diminutives thereof: dziubeńku, dziubasku, dziubulasku), and in three different orthographic variants, too: with both ‘u’ and ‘ó’ as well as ‘o’. Historically, the word dziubek [‘little beak’] is related neither to dziób [‘beak’] nor to dzióbek [‘little beak’ but spelled correctly with ‘ó’]. Rather, it originates from the verb dziubać, meaning ‘to peck, to hit with something sharp, to prick or prod’. The authors of the dictionary of affectonyms argue that the Polish language allows for both versions, although when spelled with ‘ó’, it calls to mind the saying about drinking from each other’s little beaks, one that refers to marital bliss. It’s this variant that Stefan Żeromski leans towards, with the question in Przedwiośnie (The Coming Spring): ‘[…] this stray visitor, this Baryka, whoever he was. Where had they dug him up, this young pup? And what a name! Don’t you agree, my sugarplum [ dzióbku]?’ [trans. Bill Johnston].
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While we’re on the subject of bird-related terms, one of the protagonists of Maria Kuncewiczowa’s Cudzoziemka (The Stranger) refers to his beloved as ptaszyna [‘little birdie’]: ‘My little Rose, the treasure of my soul, my gorgeous angel, my good child… Look how beautiful the night is! Little birdie [ ptaszyno], I hired a carriage’. Meanwhile, the words ‘Come to me, you’ll feel good with me, come, my most pure little dove [ gołąbko]’ come from Konstanty Ildefons Gałczyński’s Porfirion Osiołek, czyli Klub Świętokradców (Porfiry the Donkey, or the Sacrilegists’ Club). Although it’s definitely the poets who most often reach for such amorous similes and metaphors, these do occur in other literary genres as well. Sometimes they result in a comic effect, other times they’re fairly risky, as in Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz’s Powrót posła (The Return of the Deputy), where Starosta refers to his wife per robaczku [‘little bug’].
Vegetal connotations are usually used towards women. In Henryk Sienkiewicz’s Krzyżacy ( The Teutonic Knights), Zbyszko would confess his feeling for Danusia with the words kwiatuszku najmilszy [‘dearest flower’] (as well as rybeńko moja złota [‘my golden little fish’]). An even more tender term appears in Rafał Wojaczek’s Sanatorium, when the protagonist, with a glass of liquor in hand, calls his wife a stokrotka [‘daisy’].
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Couple on bench & woman embroidering on nearby chair, 1900–1920, photo: Polona National Library
Although it’s commonly said of love that it is or ought to be selfless, the grammar of tender words contradicts this. The frequent use of the pronoun mój, moja [‘my’ or ‘mine’] while referring to a beloved indicates the intention to possess the object of love. ‘Forgive me, my sweet’, begs one of the protagonists of Andrzej Sapkowski’s Miecz przeznaczenia(Sword of Destiny), displaying remorse and masterfulness at the same time. ‘He is mine! He is mine!’ professes Danusia in The Teutonic Knights, laying a claim to Zbyszko. Further, the authors of the dictionary of affectonyms argue that when lovers wish to shout their love from the rooftops, they additionally use adjectives (frequently in the superlative) meant to emphasise the force of their feelings. Hence all the jedyni [‘only ones’], najmilsi [‘most loved ones’], najpiękniejsze [‘most beautiful ones’] and najdroższe [‘dearest ones’] in the Polish language. Meanwhile, hearing terms such as skarbie [‘my treasure’], złociutka [‘my golden one’] and perełko [‘little pearl’] helps us realise how precious the other person is to someone.
Natural-born romantics reach for fables and supernatural creatures. Thus we have księżniczki [‘princesses’], królewicze [‘princes’] (imperatively on a white horse), boginie [‘goddesses’], anioły [‘angels’] but also diabełki [‘little devils’] and bestie [‘beasts’]. At times, men call their female partners laleczka [‘baby doll’], which, although perhaps puerile, still sounds better than laseczka [‘babe’]. At least that’s the case in the Polish language, whereas, for our southern neighbours, the word láska means ‘love’, as in Mariusz Szczygieł’s collection of essays on Czechia, Láska Nebeská (Heavenly Love). In the already mentioned interview, Professor Jan Miodek informs us:
There seems to be a belief that the Polish language of love is vulgar. But we might say that there certainly is more good than evil in the world; it’s just that evil is flashier and more visible. I dare say there is more linguistic-stylistic beauty than vulgarity in lovers’ language of love.
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What does love taste like? Besides the commonly used ciacho [‘cake’] and ciasteczko [‘little biscuit’] as well as cukiereczek [‘sweetie’], the Polish language offers terms that are somewhat controversial. Pączusie [‘little doughnuts’], while appetizing, are also plump, similarly to kluseczki [‘little noodles’] and pulpeciki [‘little meatballs’]. Paszteciki [‘pasties, patties, little pies’] sound somewhat raw, whereas pierożki [‘little dumplings’] can have all kinds of fillings, not all of which are sweet. Ptysie [‘cream puffs’], too, are sticky. This regional name for the French pastry petit chou à la crème translates into Polish literally as ‘little cabbage with cream’ and therefore doesn’t necessarily constitute the most graceful confession of love. Perhaps, then, it would be better not to investigate the origin of certain words, or to go on a language diet and limit ourselves to terms such as najsłodszy [‘sweetest’], as Żeromski did in his novella W sidłach niedoli (In the Snare of Misery)?
Sources
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Published: Feb 7 2024
Last updated: Jul 14 2026
Author: Agnieszka Warnke
Agnieszka is a graduate of Polish philology & journalism, and a cultural management post-graduate. She adores reportage, and is a non-practising photography fan.
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