Nowadays, the ordinary meaning of the noun "poop" is feces. Perhaps because "poop" is a nursery word, it is apparently less offensive than "crap" or "shit." And yet less infantile than kaka or doodoo.
But "poop" did not refer to the work of the lavatory until about 1720. Nor do I remember it being in general use during my childhood.
I myself first encountered the word "poop" in the escapist seagoing novels to which I was addicted as an adolescent: the Bounty trilogy, the Hornblower series, Treasure Island, Mr Midshipman Easy, and the buccaneering books of Rafael Sabatini, Jeffery Farnol, and many many others whose names have been long forgotten. In these romantic novels, it was often the case that a handsome young midshipman and a pretty maiden, her golden hair cascading over her shapely shoulders, would flirt while leaning against the taffrail of the "poop." I had known or suspected that "poop" carried stercoraceous overtones, my budding fantasy life would have turned to dreck. Thank goodness I knew nothing.
The poop deck, I soon deduced, was the roof of the cabin built into the aft of a sailing vessel. Why "poop?" From the French word for stern, poupe, itself derived from the Latin puppis (also signifying stern). Wherefore puppis? No one knows -- the word has no analogues in other ancient languages.
Shakespeare used the naval "poop" in the celebrated passage in Anthony and Cleopatra in which Anthony was greeted by Cleopatra. It's the epitome of classical conspicuous consumption as well as Shakespearean eloquence.
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold;
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that
The winds were love-sick with them.
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