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be + -ing / have been + -ing / had been + -ing
référence à une situation > monstration, dramatisation
reprise d'un élément de discours > déjà dit / connu
déduction à partir d'un déjà perçu / énoncé
séquence automate
Jeff Koterba Omaha World Herald, NE Cagle 11 January 2011
Related > Tucson shooting
L'une des fonctions de have been + -ing / had been + -ing / be + -ing est de renvoyer à un élément d'une situation passée ou présente, connue / présupposée connue.
Présent : l'énonciateur se réfère à un élément / à un fait que lui-même, et son co-énonciateur, connaissent déjà, ou qu'ils peuvent percevoir au moment où ils se parlent.
Le segment en -ing - qui n'est pas un segment verbal - est présenté comme un élément de discours connu, évident, routinier, récurrent.
A noter que celui qui parle peut manipuler son interlocuteur, en lui présentant, en mode -ing, une information inédite comme connue. On pourrait presque dire que -ing, étant un mode de discours, a une valeur quasi-modale (sur-validation, persuasion, manipulation).
Effet recherché de have been + -ing / be + -ing : l'insistance (valeur emphatique), la (dé)monstration, la dramatisation, le gros plan énonciatif (illustrations ci-dessus).
L'énoncé "encadré" en be + ing peut renvoyer à un fait présent ou passé (récent ou éloigné, unique ou récurrent).
Renvoi au passé :
dans le film Thirteen (Catherine Hardwicke, 1999), une mère annonce à une adolescente à problème, qui vient d'arriver chez elle après une escapade : Your mother has been calling.
Situation : le téléphone est raccroché. Le spectateur n'a ni vu, ni entendu la conversation.
Sous-entendu : je ne t'apprends rien en te disant que ta mère a essayé de t'appeler, tu pouvais t'en douter vu ton comportement.
Autre exemple :
October 2, 2005
HARRISBURG, Pa. - In the winter woods near Gaines, Pa., on the day before New Year's Eve in 1969, four 15-year-olds were hunting rabbits when Charlotte Goodwin told Jackie Lee Thompson a lie. They had been having sex for about a month, [ past perfect en -ing > valeurs > bilan ]
and she said she was pregnant.
To More Inmates, Life Term Means Dying Behind Bars, NYT,
2.10.2005,
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/02/national/02life.web.html?hp&ex=1128312000&en=17172d95c2609b85&ei=5094&partner=homepage
Avec be + -ing / have been + -ing, l'information est souvent supposée connue du co-énonciateur, à qui l'énonciateur n'apprend donc rien (voir différence avec le present perfect simple et le présent simple).
Illustrations ci-dessous > effets de sens : "Mais tu vois bien / tu vois pas que je caramélise..."
"Oh-là-ben-dis-donc là on voit vraiment que tu lui as trop donné à manger à ton poisson là..."
Be + -ing fonctionne comme un jalon énonciatif, marque une énonciation commune, ou imposée comme telle, ce que montrent bien les dessins ci-dessus, ainsi que le conte Goldilocks and the Three Bears.
Dans cette histoire, have been + -ing revient à plusieurs reprises - dans des exclamations - lorsque les ours découvrent, à partir d'indices visuels, que :
1 - On a mangé leur porridge. Indice : il n'en reste plus, ou presque plus, dans les bols. 2 - On s'est assis sur leurs chaises. Indice : elles sont déplacées, l'une d'elles est cassée. 3 - On a dormi dans leurs lits. Indice : les draps sont défaits, et dans le petit lit dort Boucle d'or.
Chaque ours n'apprend rien aux autres : tous peuvent voir les traces de la présence de Boucle d'or.
Par contre, lorsque l'ourson découvre, après avoir répété mécaniquement ce que disent ses parents, qu'il n'y a plus RIEN dans son bol, c'est le present perfect simple qui est utilisé :
"Someone has been eating my porridge. And they've eaten it ALL UP!" Glose : Non mais vous avez vu ça ?! Mais vous n'avez pas vu ?! On a TOUT mangé ! C'est ça, qui est important ! Il vous en reste encore, mais moi je n'ai plus rien ! Cette information inédite est mise en scène par le present perfect simple (have + participe passé) et les majuscules.
Voici la fin du conte :
A little while later the Three Bears returned from their walk. They were feeling very hungry and were looking forward to eating the nice bowls of tasty porridge. Suddenly Papa cried out in his Great Big voice, "Someone has been eating my porridge!" Then Mamma cried out in her medium size voice, "Someone has been eating MY porridge!" And Baby Bear cried out in his Tiny Little
Voice, "Someone has been
eating my
porridge. Then the Three Bears saw their chairs near the fireplace. "Someone has been sitting in my chair!" Papa Bear said in his Great Big Voice. "Someone has been sitting in MY chair!" Mamma Bear said in her medium size voice. "Someone has been sitting in MY chair," Baby Bear cried in his tiny little voice. "And now it's BROKEN!" Then the Three Bears went upstairs to the bedroom. "Someone has been sleeping in my bed!" Papa Bear shouted in his Great Big Voice. "And someone has been sleeping in MY bed!" Mamma Bear exclaimed in her Medium Size Voice. "Someone has been sleeping in MY bed," Baby Bear squeaked in his Tiny Little Voice. "AND HERE SHE IS!" Just then Goldilocks woke up! When she saw the three bears standing around her, she leaped off the bed and ran down the stairs and out the door. She didn't stop until she was all the way back home. And the Three Bears never saw Goldilocks again!
Source : http://members.tripod.com/ah_coo/goldilocks.htm , version illustrée.
have been + -ing / be + -ing > référence à un élément de la situation d'énonciation > dramatisation, déduction > autres énoncés
JENNIFER: You say that again. Say it again. JACK: What, that we're rich? That we're.... JENNIFER: You stink! You've been drinking. That's what you've been doing. You said you were going to go out and get some air and you've been drinking. JACK: No, no, no, no. I am in complete.... full control of my faculties. JENNIFER: No you're not. JACK: Not only that I am full of a self esteem and a confidence and a good will towards all men and a deep and abiding faith in the future of all mankind.
The Jack Deveraux Story. Episode Four-hundred-seventy-seven: Jack finds $100,000, but the Money Belongs to a Drug Dealer; He Thinks All His Problems Are Solved, http://mashfordpage.com/TJDS/Ep477.html
have been + -ing / be + -ing > séquence automate
Extrait suivant : la narratrice raconte comment elle s'est fait passer pour une déséquilibrée, afin de tromper la perspicacité d'un psychiatre.
Ce texte comprend plusieurs passages en be + -ing. En plus de ses valeurs de validation et d'anaphore (ici présupposé et référence à du déjà perçu / énoncé), -ing transcrit les déductions de l'énonciateur : - d'après ce que je perçois du comportement du psychiatre, je peux en déduire que... - vu ce qui vient de me passer par la tête, je dois être vraiment dingue...
A noter que dans "I'm hearing a voice," I say, la narratrice ne prétend pas entendre une voix au moment où elle parle. Sous-entendu : J'entends souvent une voix.
Ici encore, la valeur de be + -ing n'est pas temporelle, mais anaphorique / dramatique. -ing marque le validé, le répétitif, la strate sémantique, la stase discursive : la séquence hearing a voice forme un tout indécomposable, presque autonome, quasi dépersonnalisé.
Dans un autre contexte, on pourrait imaginer un schizophrène répétant indéfiniment : hearing a voice . . . hearing a voice . . . hearing a voice . . . On peut établir un parallèle avec une scène du film The Green Mile (Frank Darabont, 1999), où le même prisonnier, qui fait office de doublure à chaque répétition d'une exécution à la chaise électrique, marmonne : getting clamped . . . getting strapped . . . getting wired . . .
A l'inverse de certains énoncés en be + -ing, où l'énonciateur focalise l'attention sur lui, se met en scène en tant que sujet parlant (I'm talking to you!, I'm giving the order!), la séquence hearing a voice est un automate. Parler est ici un acte automate, anonyme, dépersonnalisé : le langage "parle" la personne.
"I'm Mr Graver," he says, "a clinical nurse specialist, and I'm going to take your pulse." A hundred per minute. "That's a little fast," says Mr Graver. "I'd say it's on the very high side of normal. But, of course, who wouldn't be nervous, given where you are and all. I mean, it's a psych ER. That would make anyone nervous." And he shoots me a kind, soft smile. "Say," he says, "can I offer you a glass of spring water?" And before I can answer, he's jumped up, disappeared, only to re-emerge with a tall, flared glass, almost elegant, and a single lemon slice of the palest white-yellow. The lemon slice seems suddenly so beautiful to me, the way it flirts with colour but cannot quite assume it. He hands me the glass. This, also, I had not expected - such kindness, such service. Rosenhan writes about being dehumanised. So far, if anyone's dehumanised here, it's Mr Graver, who is fast becoming my own personal butler. I take a sip. "Thank you so much," I say. "Anything else I can get you? Are you hungry?" "Oh no no," I say. "I'm fine really." "Well, no offence but you're obviously not fine," says Mr Graver, "or you wouldn't be here. So what's going on, Lucy?" he asks. "I'm hearing a voice," I say. He writes that down on his intake sheet, nods knowingly. "And the voice is saying?" "Thud." The knowing nod stops. "Thud?" he says. This, after all, is not what psychotic voices usually report. They usually send ominous messages about stars and snakes and tiny hidden microphones. "Thud," I repeat. "Is that it ?" he says. "That's it," I say. "Did the voice start slowly, or did it just come on?" "Out of the blue," I say, and I picture, for some reason, a plane falling out of the blue, its nose diving downward, someone screaming. I am starting, actually, to feel a little crazy. How hard it is to separate role from reality, a phenomenon social psychologists have long pointed out to us. "So when did the voice come on?" Mr Graver asks. "Three weeks ago," I say, just as Rosenhan and his confederates reported. He asks me whether I am eating and sleeping OK, whether there have been any precipitating life stressors, whether I have a history of trauma. I answer a definitive no to all of these things: my appetite is good, sleep normal, my work proceeds as usual. "Are you sure?" he says. "Well," I say, "as far as the trauma goes, I guess when I was in the third grade, a neighbour named Mr Blauer fell into his pool and died. I didn't see it, but it was sort of traumatic to hear about." Mr Graver chews on his pen. He's thinking hard. "Thud," Mr Graver says. "Your neighbour went thud into his pool. You're hearing 'thud'. We might be looking at post-traumatic stress disorder. The hallucination could be your memory trying to process the trauma." Into
the cuckoo's nest :
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