Na’viteri.org: Recent Episodes
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Kaltxì, ma frapo.
A very belated Mipa Zìsìt Lefpom. Nìrangal oe tsirvun pivlltxe san fìzìsit sngolä’i nìltsan sìk, slä ke tsängun. At least there’s room for things to get better as the year progresses.
Kezemplltxe, I have a lot of comments and submissions to respond to, but the situation in Los Angeles right now is difficult, and my mind is on other things. I’ll get to the needed responses as soon as I can.
In the meantime, let me share a recent email discussion with you that I think you’ll find interesting.
A member of the lì’fyaolo’ wrote:
A question came up about pum:
Could pum ever be used without a narrowing descriptor attached? (We seem to have no examples of this.)
e.g., Is the following translation valid?
‘You have too many arrows? Give me one!’
Lu ngaru swizaw nìhawng srak? (?)Tìng oer pumit!
Or, is the sentence Tìng oer pumit ungrammatical because pum has no narrowing descriptor like an adjective or clause or genitive along with it?
My response:
Your analysis of pum, in that it requires a narrowing descriptor (I like that terminology!), is correct. That’s the only thing we’ve seen so far, and I’d like to keep it that way.
So I would not consider Tìng oer pumit grammatical. But there’s a simple way out of this:
When you’re saying “Give me one,” it really is one, not two or three or twenty. If it were, “Give me five,” for example, what would that be?
Lu ngaru swizaw nìhawng srak? Tìng oer pumit amrr!
That’s fine, since pumit has the descriptor amrr.
So ‘Give me one’ would be:
Tìng oer pumit a’aw!
That being said, some related things came to mind.
First, when you say “Give me one,” what are you really saying? It’s “Give me one OF THEM,” i.e., give me one of the things you have or that we’ve been talking about.
Some languages make “of them” in this context obligatory. Take French and Italian, for example. (I’ll switch from “arrow” to “book” for familiarity.) For “You have too many books. Give me five.”:
FRENCH: Tu as trop de livres. Donne-m’en cinq.
ITALIAN: Hai troppi libri. Dammene cinque.
Here, en in French and ne in Italian are obligatory particles, often classified as pronouns, that mean “of them.”
But other languages don’t require this.
SPANISH: Tienes demasiados libros. Dame cinco.
GERMAN: Du hast zu viele Bücher. Gib mir fünf.
You could specify “of them” in these languages by adding “de ellos” (Sp.) and “davon” (Ger.), but it’s not obligatory.
I’d like Na’vi to have the non-obligatory “of them” option. That would be sawta (from aysa’u + ta) for non-animates, fota (ayfo + ta) for people. So, for example:
Lu ngaru ’eveng apukap, slä smon oer fota pum amrr nì’aw.
‘You have six children, but I only know five of them.’
Note that without fota, the sentence could conceivably be ambiguous. Perhaps you’re saying you’ve only known five kids in your entire experience, not necessarily the kids of the person you’re speaking to! Adding fota rules out that admittedly unlikely interpretation.
Another thing: “Give me one!” made me consider a different use of “one,” as in “You have a house and I have one too.”
Should we use pum here? *Lu ngaru kelku ulte lu oer pum kop?
That violates the “narrowing descriptor” rule, and this time you can’t save it with a’aw, because you’re not talking about one as opposed to more than one. So I would rule that ungrammatical. How to translate the sentence, then? Probably just:
Lu ngaru kelku, ulte oeru nìteng.
Another hapxìtu lì’fyaolo’ä responded:
The only complication is that the genitive is sometimes used in this partitive sense, adding questions for me for the {sawta} and {fota} uses.
Na’viyä luyu hapxì.‘You are part of the Na’vi.’
Tsu’teyìl tolìng oer mawlit smarä.Tsu’tey gave me a half of the prey.
So, you’ve used both genitives and {ta} for a partitive. How would you say, “send five of the warriors” (out of a larger group) vs. just “send five warriors?”
My response:
Good point about the genitive option. I actually considered it myself. The reason I went with the ta forms is because of the ambiguity of genitives like feyä:
Lu ayngaru pxaya tsamsiyu. Fpe’ ayoer __?__ pumit amrr.‘You have many warriors. Send us five of them.’
The genitive form here would be feyä. But that looks like a possessive adjective, i.e. ‘their,’ with a resulting meaning something like, ‘Send us their five ones,’ which doesn’t make sense in this context. Fota doesn’t run into that problem.
But the examples you’ve pointed out with the genitive aren’t wrong. There are two related ways to form partitives, which are sometimes but not always interchangeable:
1a. Na’viyä luyu hapxì.
1b. Na’vita luyu hapxì.
2a. Tsu’teyìl tolìng oer mawlit smarä.
2b. Tsu’teyìl tolìng oer mawlit smarta.
The a and b forms are acceptable in both cases. I’ll have to consider whether there are rules for preferring one over the other; right now I can’t think of any. But sawta and fota should be used with pum.
Hayalovay.
Kaltxì, ma frapo.
Whether you’ve been celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Festivus, or anything else, I hope this holiday season has been, and continues fo be, a healthy and happy one for you all.
Before anything else, I want to reassure you that I haven’t forgotten about the UDHR submissions! I was hoping to have some comments for you by this time, but other matters have intervened. I will, however, get to them in the next few days. Ayngeyä tìmweypeyri irayo!
In the meantime, here are some odds and ends I hope you’ll find useful:
More on indirect questions
There’s nothing here that’s really new. It’s more of a completion of things we already know.
Many of you have seen this explanation before—back in 2011, actually!—but I think it’s worth a review. An Indirect question is a question embedded in another sentence, which allows you talk about the question. For example, “Why did he leave?” is a direct question; “I know why he left” is indirect, where the speaker is commenting on the direct question. As this example shows, some languages—English, for instance—require different syntax for direct and indirect questions:
DIRECT
Why did he leave?
*Why he left?
INDIRECT
*I know why did he leave.
I know why he left.
As you know, Na’vi prefers directness, retaining the original quote for reported speech and the original question for embedded questions. So rather than the equivalent of “She said she would come,” Na’vi retains the speaker’s original statement: Poltxe po san oe zasya’u sìk, “She said (quote), ‘I will come’ (unquote).’
For embedded questions, Na’vi makes the underlying semantics clear. When we say, “I know why he left,” what are we really saying? It’s that we know the answer to the question, “Why did he leave?” Na’vi spells this out explicitly, using the noun for answer, tì’eyng, in a shortened form, teyng,as the base of various subordinate conjunctions: tì’eyng + a teyngla, tì’eyngit + a –> teyngta, etc.
Our example sentence ‘I know why he left’ then becomes Omum oel teyngta lumpe po holum. In tortured English, this is essentially, “I know the why-did-he-leave answer.’
With that in mind, here are the teyng-forms we’ve already seen:
SUBJECTIVE: teynga
Teynga lumpe po holum ke lu law.‘It’s not clear why he left.’
AGENTIVE: teyngla
Teyngla lumpe po holum oeti heykolangham.‘Why he left made me laugh.’
PATIENTIVE: teyngta
Omum oel teyngta lumpe po holum.‘I know why he left.’
That’s what we’ve seen up to now. But teyng exists in the other three cases as well:
DATIVE: teyngra (from tì’eyngur + a)
Rutxe law sivi teyngra lumpe po holum.
‘Please clarify why he left.’
GENITIVE: teyngä (from tì’eyngä + a)
Tìrunìl teyngä lumpe po holum oeti keftxo ’eykolefu.‘The discovery of why he left saddened me.’
tìrun (n., tì.RUN) ‘discovery’
TOPICAL: teyngria (from tì’eyngri + a)
Teyngria lumpe po holum oel ke tslam ke’ut.‘I understand nothing about why he left.’
(‘As for why he left, I understand nothing.’)
Note: The dative and topical forms were submitted to me by the LEP a little over a year ago. Irayo nìtxan, ma smuk!
One more thing: teyng can take adpositions too. For example:
Ayoe perängkxo teri teynga lumpe po holum.‘We’re chatting about why he left.’
Moving on, here are a few things I’ve discussed with people privately via email that I’d like to share with everyone:
A question arose about the “intentional future” infixes, the ones with s. How would we translate the well-known quote from Lord of the Rings, “You shall not pass!” Using ftem ‘pass by,’ would it be Ngal oeti ke ftìyem Or Ngal oeti ke ftìsyem? This was my response:
I would say that for “You shall not pass!” it’s better not to use <ìsy> and just use <ìy>. As you know, adding the s to the future infixes adds the idea of intent to a simple prediction about the future. That’s why the sy-forms are used exclusively in the first person: You know what your own intentions are, but you can’t make assertions about someone else’s, since you’re not in their head.
When you say Oe hasyum, you’re actually saying two things: (1) Something is going to happen, i.e., my departure; (2) it’s going to happen because it’s my intention—i.e., I am going to cause it to happen. (Of course, we have sentences like, “John intends to leave,” but that’s a little different. It’s making a statement about John’s current mindset as we understand it, but it’s not really making a prediction about the future. John may wind up not leaving at all, due to circumstances beyond his control.) For “You shall not pass,” we’re not saying, “Your intention is not to pass,” or that “I can compel you to intend not to pass.” It’s really a simple prediction about your behavior, even though it’s based on my own intentions.
Counterfactual ‘should have’
A question arose about how to express counterfactual ‘should have’ expressions in Na’vi as in, “You should have gone (but you didn’t).” Here’s what I wrote:
As you know, “should” in Na’vi is sweylu, which literally means, “it’s best (that).”
So “You should (counterfactually) have gone” is actually “If you had gone, it would have been better.”
From the rules we’ve seen, this is:
(1) Zun nga kilvä, zel sweylilvu. Turning it around:
(2) Zel sweylilvu zun nga kilvä.
But we also know that if the time of both clauses is the same, we can use the bare verb in the zel clause:
(3) Zun nga kilvä, zel sweylu. And turning that around,
(4) Zel sweylu zun nga kilvä.
Finally, in sentences like (4), we can omit zel in casual conversation to get:
(5) Sweylu zun nga kilvä.
So all of (1) through (5) are acceptable for “You should have gone.”
One wrinkle:
The above assumes that the “better” part was in the past: You didn’t go last year, and LAST YEAR it would have better if you HAD gone. But we could also mean that the better part is NOW: If you had gone last year, the situation would be better NOW. (There were negative consequences of the person’s not going that are affecting the present situation.) This changes (1) and (2) to:
(1’) Zun nga kilvä, zel sweylivu.
(2’) Zel sweylivu zun nga kilvä.
Note that there are no parallels to (3) and (4), since the verb in the zel clause can only go into the root form if the time of both clauses is the same:
(3’) *Zun nga kilvä, zel sweylu.
(4’) *Zel sweylu zun nga kilvä.
However, we can omit zel as in (5) to get:
(5’) Sweylivu zun nga kilvä.
And finally, a new idiom:
na fkxen eo fkio Literally, ‘like vegetable food before a tetrapteron.’
It’s used in the sense of ‘to go to waste.’ Tetrapterons (ayfkio) are predators and have no use for vegetable-based food. If you place vegetables before them, that food will go to waste.
Ngeyä fìtìkangkemvi atxantsan ke slayu na fkxen eo fkio.‘This excellent work of yours will not go to waste.’
That’s it for now. Hayalovay!
I’m delighted to announce that the Sarentu Song from Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora has won Best Song in a Video Game (console & PC) at the 2024 Hollywood Music in Media Awards!
The complete list of winners is here, and you can hear the Sarentu Song and see the lyrics here.
The beautiful melody was composed by Pinar Toprak, and I provided the Na’vi lyrics. The recording and production were under the direction of Patrick Görtjes of Massive Entertainment in Sweden, a division of Ubisoft.
It was a real pleasure to be part of the team that developed this beautiful, moving song. And, of course, I’m proud that something involving Lì’fya leNa’vi has won this recognition.
On another note, irayo nìtxan to all of you who’ve already contributed translations for our UDHR project! I’m so glad you’ve taken the plunge and found the effort worthwhile. I won’t comment on the submissions until after the closing date, December 15th, but please know I appreciate all of them—and I welcome more! (Related to the UDHR, I’m about to add a couple more resource links to the previous post that I think you’ll find interesting.)
Hayalovay!
Kaltxì, ma frapo, ulte Vospxìvosìng lefpom! Happy December! I hope that those of you who celebrated Thanksgiving had a great day with family and friends, and that you’re all doing well as we zoom into the holiday season.
I’d like to propose a little project that I think will be fun and productive to work on, and that also has relevance to the current world situation.
What is the most translated piece of writing that exists? If you answered “the Bible,” you’re right in that it’s the most translated book (or, if you prefer, collection of books). But if you’re talking about a document, it’s the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the UDHR, which was adopted by members of the United Nations in 1948. To date, it’s been translated into 569 languages.
I think it’s time for a Na’vi translation!
Translating the entire document, with its lengthy preamble and thirty articles, is a major undertaking. (I should mention that a complete translation into Klingon is now available! It was submitted to and accepted by the United Nations in February of this year.) What we can do, however, is get started with the best-known part of the UDHD, Article 1:
Article 1
All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.
So I’d like to invite any and all members of the lì’fyaolo’ who are interested to submit a translation!
Let’s do this: The deadline for submission will be two weeks from now, Sunday, December 15. You can submit your response in two ways: (1) as a comment to this post, which of course will include your Na’vi name, or, if for any reason you’d prefer not to have your name attached, (2) in an email to me (frommer@marshall.usc.edu) with the subject line “UDHR Na’vi,” which I will then transfer anonymously to a comment along with the others. Either way is fine. Feel free to include whatever explanation and discussion you think would be helpful, and any remaining questions you have. And please don’t feel your version has to be perfect! All efforts, at any level, will be appreciated! Once all the entries are in, I’ll review them and try to put together an “official” Na’vi translation using the best parts of the submissions as I see them.
By the way, don’t think the English version is the original one, with all the others being secondary. The original version was actually the French one, which is considered authoritative if disputes arise about meaning. But the translations are not all parallel. Many, if not most, reflect something about the culture and environment in which the particular language is spoken. As one author has written (see the link below), “Translating this document isn’t self-evident . . . . Every language is a vehicle of different ideas, cultures and philosophical traditions; some would even go so far as to say that languages influence how we see the world.” (Sound familiar? )
This means that our Na’vi translation is likely to reflect aspects of the Na’vi themselves: their way of thinking, their environment, perhaps their proverbs, similes, and metaphors, etc. You can use all of the vocabulary we have so far, but given the abstract concepts in Article 1, you’ll probably have to invent some new vocabulary as well. I’ll be interested to see what you come up with! But at the same time, don’t feel that if the English (or French, or German, . . . ) translation has a particular lexical item, you necessarily have to have a parallel item in your Na’vi version! There may be other ways to get the meaning across. (See the example below.)
For any sulfätu lelì’fya who would like to go further than Article 1, I’d suggest Article 19:
Article 19
Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.
Or you could choose whatever part(s) of the UDHR appeal to you the most. But these additions are not necessary. For the time being, we’re only aiming to produce an official version of Article 1.
Here are some resources you’ll find useful:
First, the official web site of the UDHR.
Next, the Wikipedia article.
Here is the complete UDHR in English.
This article on UDHR translation issues is one I especially recommend.
Finally, this Maori version of Article 1 illustrates how a translation can get the basic ideas across without slavishly following the vocabulary and structure of any other version.
Fìtìkangkemvi ahì’i ’o’ livu nì’aw! I’m looking forward to seeing your creativity!
Update December 2nd:
Here are two more resource links that I think you’ll find interesting:
First, this is an excellent 12-minute podcast on the UDHR that provides a more in-depth look at its history and context. It’s in the “Documents That Changed the World” series, written, produced, and narrated by Joe Janes, a professor in the Information School of the University of Washington and a personal friend.
And this translation site provides a remarkable collection of UDHR translations in both written and audio form. Type the language you want into the search box and chances are you’ll get a written translation read by a native speaker.
Kaltxì, ma frapo.
I hope you’ve all had an appropriately fun and spooky Halloween, and that November has started out well for you. Ulte ayngeyä tìmweypeyri irayo seiyi oe nìtxan.
I’ve finally replied to the comments I received on the last post—take a look when you can, as there are a couple of new vocabulary items there that you may find useful.
And here, for those who missed it, I’m finally posting the video of my Na’vigation talk from a few months back, which Tekre provided in a form that mercifully eliminated the technical glitches that were entirely my own fault. Irayo nìtxan, ma tsmuk!
The video is available on Google Drive here.
(If there’s any problem with the link, please let me know.)
As you’ll see, the talk was especially targeted to those of you who have created, or are thinking of creating, your own constructed language. The examples I gave, however, are largely from Na’vi.
One new thing in this talk was a brief discussion of orthography—that is, writing systems. So let me say a few things—or rather, ask you a few questions—about orthography as it relates to Na’vi.
For convenience, here are the relevant PowerPoint slides:
Orthography slides–4 Aug 2024
Some questions to think about:
A. Of the five types of orthographies mentioned—alphabets, abugidas, abjads, syllabaries, and logographic systems—which do you think works the best for Na’vi? Why?
B. In particular, what about a syllabic system for Na’vi? Syllabaries work very well for Japanese. Would they work for Na’vi too? (Hint: What is the significance of the number 8,690?)
C. The standard alphabetic system we use to write Na’vi is of course a modified form of the Roman alphabet. In most cases, there’s a one-to-one correspondence between sound and symbol: each distinctive sound is mapped onto one written symbol, and each written symbol is mapped onto one distinctive sound. But there are exceptions: the digraphs. These are pairs of letters that correspond to single consonants. The Na’vi digraphs are ng, ts, kx, px, and tx (and in Reef Na’vi, ch and sh).
For many, digraphs are unappealing—partly for logical or aesthetic reasons (“Why should a single sound need two letters?”) but also because of possible ambiguities. Think of English words like “mishap” and “cathouse” and you’ll see the problem.
Some of you may recall that early on, there were two proposed Roman alphabetic systems for Na’vi—the one we have now, which we can call the “popular” system, and one that eliminated some of the digraphs, which we can call the “scientific” system.
In the scientific system, the ts sound was written as c. Since c is not otherwise used in Na’vi, this is perfectly possible. And in fact some earth languages use c in exactly this way, so there’s ample precedent for this usage.
Also, the ng sound—the velar nasal—was written simply as g. Since g by itself is not used in Na’vi, this works well. And as with c, there is precedent in earth languages for this usage. (Pago Pago, the capital of American Samoa, is actually pronounced “Pango Pango.”)
All this being said, the scientific system was not successful and died out quickly. Why do you think that happened?
Hayalovay, ma eylan.
Ma eylan,
Tse, Vospxìvolaw polähem sneyä tì’i’aro, ulte leiu oe txen.
(If you don’t know the reference, try this.)
We haven’t had any new vocabulary in a long time, so here are a couple dozen words I hope you’ll find useful. They’re taken from, or inspired by, the large backlog of submissions I have from the LEP committee. Seysonìltsan, ma smuk!
In no particular order:
keve’o (n., ke.VE’.o) ‘chaos, disorder’
This is from ke + ve’o ‘order.’
Ngeyä aysafpìlmì tse’änga oel keve’ot nì’aw.‘In your thinking, I see only chaos.’
lekve’o (adj., lek.VE’-o) ‘chaotic’
Lam oeru kifkey lekve’o.‘The world seems chaotic to me.’
vurtu (n., VUR.tu) ‘fictional character’
Txon Kihote lu vurtu nì’aw; ke fkeytolok kawkrr.Don Quixote is a fictional character; he never existed.
tstunlan (adj., TSTUN.lan) ‘kind-hearted’
From tstunwi ‘kind’ + txe’lan ‘heart.’ It’s the opposite of kawnglan ‘bad-hearted, malicious.’
kalintu (n., ka.LIN.tu) ‘sweet person’
Lu nga kalintu nìngay.‘You’re really a sweet person.’
Kalintu can be used as an endearing form of address, as in ma kalintu, but it’s not as intimate or affectionate as paskalin.
txeym (adj.) ‘interested’
As an adjective, txeym is used with ’efu. So we now have two ways to say we’re interested in something:
Oeri tsavur eltur tìtxen si.
Tsavuri oe ’efu txeym.
‘I’m interested in that story.’
Txeym, however, yields the noun for ‘interest’:
tìtxeym (n., tì.TXEYM) ‘interest’
Feyä vuri lolu txana tìtxeym.
‘There was great interest in their story.’
tengralì’u (n., TENG.ra.lì.u) ‘synonym’
This is clearly derived from teng ‘same’ + ral ‘meaning’ + lì’u ‘word.’
Melì’u alu pxel sì na lu tengralì’u.
‘The two words pxel and na are synonyms.’
wäralì’u (n., WÄ.ra.lì.u) ‘antonym’
Recall that wä means ‘opposing.’
zal (n.) ‘clay, usually for pottery’
Fkol fìfnetsngalit txula ta zal.
‘This kind of cup is made of clay.’
let’eylan (adj., let.’EY.lan) ‘friendly’ ofp
tì’eylanga’ (adj., tì.EY.la.nga’) ‘friendly’ nfp
Ayhapxìtu soaiä ngeyä lu oeru let’eylan nìwotx.
‘Your family members are all friendly to me.’
Ngeyä aylì’uri atì’eylanga’ seiyi irayo.‘Thank you for your friendly words.’
hasa’ (n. ha.SA’) ‘orphan’
Krrka tsam slängu pxaya ’eveng hasa’.
‘During war, sad to say, many children become orphans.’
yehaw (adj., YE.haw) ‘well-rested, having had enough sleep’
As you recall, ye is an adjective meaning ‘content’ or ‘satiated.’ The second syllable, of course, comes from hahaw ‘sleep.’
Lam frakem letsunslu krra fko ’efu yehaw.‘Everything seems possible when one is well-rested.’
tseovi (n., TSE.o.vi) ‘work of art’
Fìfkxile lu tseovi alor.‘This necklace is a beautiful work of art.’
tìnitram (n., tì.nit.RAM) ‘happiness’
We now have three words that refer to happiness: fpom, lawnol, and tìnitram. Although there is overlap, they’re all slightly different in meaning. Fpom refers to the general feeling or situation of peace and well-being in your life. Lawnol is the most intense of the three—a transcendant feeling of joy. Tìnitram usually refers to the happiness resulting from a particular situation or event.
Note the two equivalent grammatical constructions:
Oe ’efu nitram.
Lu oer(u) tìnitram.
‘I feel happy.’
okupsyu (n., O.kup.syu) ‘dairy product’
Clearly from okup ‘milk’ + syuve ‘food.’
stxang (n.) ‘axe, hatchet, tomahawk’
There was some discussion about whether the Na’vi traditionally use axe-like tools, but it seems plausible that they do, since these are natural tools for chopping down trees and other vegetation.
tìwätenga’ (adj., tì.wä.TE.nga’) ‘controversial’ nfp
Recall the word tìwäte, meaning ‘argument’ or ‘dispute.’
Fipukmì a aysäfpìl lu tìwätenga’ nìtxan.‘The ideas in this book are very controversial.’
velun (n., ve.LUN) ‘logic’
This is a compound of ve’o ‘order’ + lun ‘reason.’
Ngeyä tìhawlìri ke längu kea velun.‘I’m sorry to say there’s no logic in your plan.’
säpxor (n., sä.PXOR) ‘explosion’
Stìmawm säpxorit! Tul!‘(I) just heard an explosion! Run!’
txikx (vtr.) ‘chew’
säkeynven (n., sä.keyn.VEN) ‘step’
This word is colloquially pronounced skeynven and often written that way informally.
Rawng tsaslärä ftu fìtsenge lu vola skeyven nì’aw.‘The entrance to the cave is only eight steps from here.’
kawlo (adv., KAW.lo) ‘not once’
This is a contraction of ke ‘not’ + ’awlo ‘one time.’
Oel keng kawlo ke solar kea räptulì’fyat ngahu!‘I have never even once used vulgar language with you!’
That’s it for now. If you see any typos or other goofs, please let me know!
Hayalovay!
Ma eylan,
Soaiari Uniltìrantokxä, alo amuve längu fmawn atìkeftxonga’. Ayngari txo ke li ke stilvawm, zene oe piveng san tolerkängup awngeyä eyktan sì ’eylan alu Jon Landau.
It came as a terrible shock to learn that Jon Landau, Avatar’s producer and James Cameron’s dear friend and collaborator, died Friday, July 5th, at the age of 63.
My acquaintance with Jon went all the way back to 2005, when I first signed on to the Avatar team. Since then, I interacted with him numerous times. He would often call me to give me a Na’vi assignment or ask how to say such-and-such in the language. He was sometimes my conduit to JC when for whatever reason I couldn’t contact Jim directly with a question. And he approved—and sometimes revised J —the character and clan names for the video games.
Something that stands out in my memory was Jon’s unannounced visit to one of the U.S. Avatar meet-ups, where he surprised and delighted all the fans in attendance with his warmth and support. In talking to the group about things to come, he expressed his enthusiasm for Na’vi and how he wanted to see the language develop. Needless to say, that was good to hear.
Jim wrote a moving tribute to Jon on Instagram. If you haven’t seen it, let me share it with you:
“The Avatar family grieves the loss of our friend and leader, Jon Landau. His zany humor, personal magnetism, great generosity of spirit and fierce will have held the center of our Avatar universe for almost two decades. His legacy is not just the films he produced, but the personal example he set — indomitable, caring, inclusive, tireless, insightful and utterly unique.
“He produced great films, not by wielding power but by spreading warmth and the joy of making cinema. He inspired us all to be and to bring our best, every day.
“I have lost a dear friend, and my closest collaborator of 31 years. A part of myself has been torn away.”
In my note of condolence to Jim, I included the following:
“Human lifetimes are short, but what you and Jon created together will live on as long as people watch movies, bringing awe and wonder and joy to generation after generation.
“Tolerkup tute; tìkangkem peyä tì’i’avay krrä rayey. The person dies; his work will live on forever.”
Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, ma Jon. Nga lom layu ayoeru nìtxan.
ta Pawl
Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo!
Our LEP (Lexical Expansion Project) has been working overtime, and I have an impressive list of submissions, some from months ago, that I’m gradually going through. Most of the following new vocabulary items are either taken directly from their submissions or inspired by them.
First, some body parts:
tsyokxtil (n., TSYOKX.til) ‘wrist’ (usually pronounced tsyoktil)
Tsyokx, as you know, means ‘hand.’ Recall that til means ‘joint.’
zektil (n., ZEK.til) ‘knuckle’ (from zekwä ‘finger’+ til)
tstir (n.) ‘palm of a hand’
stang (n.) ‘torso’
sil (n.) ‘body stripe (non-facial)’
Compare pil, which refers specifically to facial stripes.
Pori frapil sì frasil lor lu nìtxan.’He/She is very attractive.’
(Literally: ‘As for him/her, every facial and body stripe is very beautiful.’)
In Na’vi slang, this proverbial expression is often reduced to:
Frapil frasil!
‘Wow! Check him/her out! He/She is gorgeous!’
tski (n.) ‘jaw’
kxon (n.) ‘internal organ’
Lu tokxur tuteyä polpxaya kxon?‘How many internal organs does a person’s body have?’
The next few words are not strictly body parts themselves but are related to them:
rumtsyokx (n., RUM.tsyokx) ‘fist’ (lit.: ball hand)
rìktsyokx (n., RÌK.tsyokx) ‘flat hand’ (lit.: leaf hand)
Ateyol Entut tolakuk fa rumtsyokx.‘Ateyo punched Entu (i.e. struck him with his fist).’
Ateyol Entut tolakuk fa rìktsyokx.‘Ateyo slapped Entu (i.e. struck him with his flat hand).’
heynyì (n., HEYN.yì) ‘lap’ (i.e., the flat surface created when sitting)
Za’u heyn sìn oey heynyì, ma ’evi.‘Come sit on my lap, my child.’
A couple of grammatical terms:
rawnlì’u (n., RAWN.lì.’u) ‘pronoun’ (from rawn ‘substitute, replace’)
pamrìrlì’u (n., pam.RÌR.lì.’u) ‘onomatopoetic word’
An onomatopoetic word is one that imitates (rì’ìr si) the sound of its referent. Most if not all languages have such words. An English example is ratatat, ‘a rapid succession of knocking, tapping, or cracking sounds.’ A Na’vi example is kxangangang ‘boom.’
And some miscellaneous words:
tìtok (n., tì.TOK) ‘presence’
I really like this word! It’s obviously from tok ‘be at, occupy a space.’
Tìtokìl ngeyä ngop tìngäzìkit fraporu.‘Your presence creates a difficulty for everyone.’
tìktok (n., tìk.TOK) ‘absence’
This is a development of tì + ke + tok. Since tìtok and tìktok are close in sound but opposite in meaning, you need to distinguish them carefully in speaking. If there’s any danger of confusion, you can say the original long form of the word, tìketok.
Tìktokit peyä fkol tsoleri.‘His absence was noted.’
Tìtok slu tìktok fa pamtsyìp a’aw.‘Presence becomes absence by means of one little sound.’(A proverbial expression meaning: ‘Small things can make a big difference.’)
pamtsyìp (n., PAM.tsyìp) ‘small or slight sound’
tskxemauti (n., TSKXE.ma.u.ti) ‘nut’
From tsxke ‘stone’ + mauti ‘fruit’
yayl (n.) ‘nonsense, gibberish’
Yayl can refer either to something completely unintelligible or to something that’s foolish and makes no sense.
Faylì’u a poltxe nga lu yayl nì’aw.‘What you said is nothing but nonsense.’
You can also use the bare word yayl as a rude put-down of what someone has just said or written:
Yayl!
‘Bullshit!’
leyayl (adj., le.YAYL) ‘nonsensical’
tìtxanro’a (n., tì.txan.RO.’a) ‘fame, glory’
This is a nice sentence to practice out loud for stress and rhythm:
Tsatu a new tìtxanro’at nì’aw / ke slayu eyktan atxantsan kawkrr.‘The person who wants only fame will never become an excellent leader.’
zeklor (adj., ZEK.lor) ‘pleasant to the touch’
Clearly from zekwä ‘finger’ + lor ‘beautiful.’
Sunu oer fìfnesrä taluna lu zeklor.‘I like this kind of cloth because it feels good.’
Hayalovay, ma eylan!
Kaltxì, ma eylan, ulte Vospxìpuk lefpom!
Happy June, everyone. I hope you’re all doing well as summer (or winter, depending on where you live!) fast approaches.
Among the most recent vocabulary submissions from the LEP (Lexical Expansion Project) were some excellent suggestions for certain time expressions, which got me thinking more generally about time in Na’vi. Up to now we’ve seen quite a few expressions for stretches of time: zìsìt ‘year,’ vospxì ‘month,’ kintrr ‘week,’ muntrr ‘weekend,’ trr ‘day,’ and various parts of the day—rewon ‘morning,’ kxamtrr ‘noon,’ ha’ngir ‘afternoon,’ kaym ‘evening,’ txon ‘night,’ etc.
What we haven’t seen, however, is anything corresponding to hours here on earth, not to mention minutes and seconds. And so we don’t as yet have official ways to ask what time it is.
The difficulty is clear: We don’t know if the Na’vi divide their day into uniformly equal segments like our hours. Even if they do, we have no reason to think they use a 24-hour division as we do. However, if we’re going to use Na’vi ’Rrtamì, it would be very useful to be able to talk about hours, minutes, and seconds, and ask what time something occurred or will occur. So let’s see what would be a reasonable way to do that.
First of all, we have this general word for a day division;
trrpxì (n., trr.PXÌ) ‘part of a day’
A trrpxì could be a rewon, a kaym, a txon, etc.
A: Fo pähem pesrrpxì (OR: trrpxìpe)?
B: Srekamtrr.
A: ‘What part of the day will they arrive?’
B: ‘Before noon.’
But trrpxì could also be a uniform division of the Pandoran day—possible although so far unattested.
When the Na’vi interacted with the Sawtute and became acquainted with the human way of reckoning time, it’s likely they adapted their already existing word trrpxì as a way of expressing ‘hour.’ To avoid ambiguity, they modified the word to specifically indicate an hour on the 24-hour human cycle, doing this in one of two ways:
trrpxì Sawtuteyä (n., trr.PXÌ SAW.tu.te.yä) ‘hour (in the 24-hour human cycle)’
pxevotrrpxì (n., pxe.vo.trr.PXÌ) ‘hour (in the 24-hour human cycle)’
The latter word clearly comes from pxevol ‘twenty-four’ and trrpxì, where the l of pxevol has eroded over time. (Tìkangkem atxantsan, ma ayhapxìtu LEP-ä!).
However, if the context is clearly that of an earth or human environment where we’re talking about hours on the clock, we can simply use trrpxì for a normal, familiar hour.
With that in mind, we have the following:
trrpxì (n., trr.PXÌ) ‘part of a day; hour’
trrpxìvi (n., trr.PXÌ.vi) ‘minute’
trrpxìvitsyìp (n., trr.PXÌ.vi.tsyìp) ‘second’
Note the following ways to translate time expressions in which English uses “in” and “for”:
Oe pähem maw trrpxìvi amrr. OR Oe pähem kay trrpxìvi amrr.‘I’ll be there in five minutes.’
(Recall that maw is ‘after’ and kay is ‘from now’; they’re equally correct here.)
Po tìkangkem soli (ka) trrpxìo amrr.’She has worked for five hours.’
(Note the -o suffix to indicate duration with time words. Ka, which further indicates duration, is optional here.)
We’re now ready to talk about clock time: five o’clock, seven thirty, and so on. Before we do, however, we need to note a subtlety in Na’vi that’s usually glossed over in English.
For five o’clock, the most natural Na’vi expression would seem to be trrpxì amrrve, literally ‘the fifth hour’ (where, as we’ve noted before, we’re using trrpxì for a standard clock hour). But trrpxì really refers to a stretch or span of time, while 5:00 is a point in time. That is, 5:00 is actually the point that marks the end of the fifth hour! (I was originally tempted to say beginning, but if you think about it, that’s not right! )
So technically, five o’clock is properly tì’i’a trrpxìyä amrrve, ‘the end of the fifth hour.’ However, in normal, everyday usage, we simply say trrpxì amrrve, with the understanding that this is short for tì’i’a trrpxìyä amrrve.
We need one more important vocabulary item, and then we’re ready to talk about time to our heart’s content:
lik (n.) ‘point, spot, particular place or position in some area’
Tskoti fyep fìlikro.
‘Grasp the bow at this spot.’
Ro salik a mì säftxulì’u atì’iluke peyä, oe holum.‘At that point in his endless speech, I left.’
This give us:
krrlik (n., KRR.lik) ‘point in time’
We now have two ways to ask “What time?”:
pesrrpxì / trrpxìpe (inter., pe.srr.PXÌ / trr.PXÌ.pe) ‘what time?’
pehrrlik / krrlikpe (inter., pe.HRR.lik / KRR.lik.pe) ’what time?’
To answer and say “It’s five o’clock,” the full and somewhat bookish response is:
Krrlik lu trrpxì amrrve.‘The time is five o’clock’
Colloquially, however, we can simply say:
Lu mrrve.
‘It’s five.’ (Literally, ‘It’s the fifth [hour],)
A: Nga pähem pehrr?
B: Ro srrpxì amrrve. OR (colloquially) Ro mrrve.A: ‘When will you arrive?’
B: ‘At five o’clock.’ OR ‘At five.’
(We could have said payähem in the above question, but it’s not necessary to do so.)
Finally, to add some minutes:
5:30 : trrpxì amrrve sì mawl OR (colloquially) mrrve sì mawl
5:24 : trrpxì amrrve sì trrpxìvi apxevol OR (colloquially) mrrve sì pxevol
4:50 (i.e., ten minutes to five): trrpxìvi avomun sre srrpxì amrrve
OR (colloquially) vomun sre mrrve
That’s it for now. I hope you found this post worth your time.
Hayalovay!
Kaltxì, ma frapo!
Fleltrr Lefpom! Happy April Fool’s Day!
No tricks—just a few new words this time along with a new way to use a word you already know. I hope you’ll find these useful.
Actually, the only word family for today that’s directly related to foolery is based on:
flel (vtr.) ‘trick (someone), fool (someone)’
Entul Peyralit fìtxan flolel kuma fpìl poe san oe yawne lu por.‘Entu fooled Peyral so much that she thought he loved her.’
OR ‘Entu tricked Peyral into thinking that he loved her.’
säflel (n., sä.FLEL) ‘trick, hoax, dishonest act or scheme’
Pot spaw rä’ä! Lu fì’u säflel!’Don’t believe him! It’s a trick!’
Don’t confuse säflel with ìngyentsyìp, which also means ‘trick’ but in another sense. An ìngyentsyìp is a clever device, as in “There’s a trick to solving this equation.” A säflel is something dishonest.
tìflel (n., tì.FLEL) ‘trickery (abstract concept)’
fleltu (n., FLEL.tu) ‘fool, sucker, mark, someone easily tricked’
NOTE: Keep in mind that when you encounter nouns where the -tu suffix has been attached to a verb, the meanings have to be learned individually, since you don’t know beforehand whether the noun refers to the agent or the patient of the verb. I can’t do better than to quote the Horen:
-tu creates agent nouns most often from parts of speech other than verbs . . . When attached to verbs, the noun might refer to either the agent or the patient of a verbal action, such as frrtu guest from frrfen visit (agent), spe’etu captive from spe’e capture (patient). [Horen 5.1.5.1]
Fleltrr (n., FLEL.trr) ‘April Fool’s Day’
Fleltu slu rä’ä! Fìtrr lu Fleltrr!‘Don’t be fooled! Today is April Fool’s Day!’
säfleltsyìp (n., sä.FLEL.tsyìp) ‘practical joke’
Here’s another -tu word that works the same way as spe’etu and fleltu:
hawntu (n., HAWN.tu) ‘one under someone’s protection’
Oey yawntu lu oey hawntu.‘My beloved is under my protection.’
OR ‘The one I love is the one I protect.’
The next word is a result of someone asking me how to say “washing machine” in Na’vi. That led me to ask myself what “machine” would be in general. What’s the essence of a machine, and did the Na’vi have the concept of machine prior to the arrival of the Sawtute?
It seemed to me that “machine” has two basic defining components: (1) It’s something that helps you do something you couldn’t do or do as well without it, and (2) it’s something that’s constructed rather than occurring in nature. In this sense, a bow could be considered a kind of machine, since it satisfies properties (1) and (2). This led to:
säsrung (n, sä.SRUNG) ‘helper (inanimate), something that helps’
Contrast säsrung (inanimate) with srungsiyu, ‘helper’ in the sense of an assistant or person who helps.
Oeyä tìtslamìri tìoeyktìng ngeyä lolu säsrung.‘Your explanation helped my understanding.’
(This is admittedly a bit stiff compared to the simpler and more natural Oeyä tìtslamur tìoeyktìng ngeyä srung soli.)
A machine, then, is a constructed (txawnula, from txula) säsrung.
txawnulsrung (n., txaw.NUL.srung) ‘machine’
The historical derivation is a bit complex:
*txawnulasäsrung > txawnulsäsrung > txawnulsrung
And so:
txawnulsrung a yur (n.) ‘washing machine’
This pattern is obviously the basis for other kinds of machines, such as:
txawnulsrung a tswayon (n.) ‘airplane’
kahena (vtr., ka.HE.na, inf. 2,3) ‘transport’
The derivation here is obvious: ka ‘across’ + hena ‘carry,’ similar to the derivation of the English word from Latin trans ‘across’ + portare ‘carry.’ (Sometimes humans and Na’vi think alike.)
Fwa kahena fì’uranit atsawl ftu tsray oeyä ne pum ngeyä layu ngäzìk.‘It’s going to be difficult to transport this large boat from my village to yours.’
tìkahena (n., tì.ka.HE.na) ‘transportation (abstract concept)’
säkahena (n., sä.ka.HE.na) ‘means of transport, transportation device, vehicle’
As with other sä– words, the unstressed ä usually drops in casual pronunciation when the resulting consonant cluster is permissible. So this word is usually pronounced skahena colloquially.
Contrast säkahena with sämunge, which also means a transportation device. The difference is that sämunge usually refers to something small that something else can fit in, like a pouch, while a säkahena is typically something that can move large things, including people.
Finally, there’s now a pet turtle in the Lightstorm office, and I’ve been asked how to say “turtle” in Na’vi. As with other terrestrial animals that don’t exist on Pandora, we take the name of the Pandoran animal that seems the closest and typically add –tsyìp, since our earth versions are usually smaller. So alongside nantangtsyìp ‘dog’ and palukantsyìp ‘cat,’ we now have:
mawuptsyìp (n., MA.wup.tsyìp) ‘turtle’
from mawup ‘turtapede.’
Now for that new use of a familiar word that I mentioned above:
We haven’t yet seen how the Na’vi express the kind of emphasis we achieve in English with the “self” words, as in: I myself, you yourself, etc. For example, “You yourself said I shouldn’t go!”
To do this in Na’vi, we use the adposition sko, which we’ve seen glossed as ‘in the capacity of, in the role of,’ with a repeated noun or pronoun. An example will show you how this works:
Nga sko nga poltxe san rä’ä kivä!‘You yourself said don’t go!’
Literally, this means something like “You in the role of you,” which is weird in English but fine in Na’vi as a means of emphasis.
Keep in mind two things: First, sko is one of those adpositions that trigger lenition in the following word, and (2) like all adpositions, it can be suffixed onto its object. So the above example could also be Nga ngasko poltxe san . . . For ‘I myself,’ it’s either oe sko oe or oe oesko. As you would anticipate from oehu and oene, the latter is pronounced WES.ko.
That’s it for now. Nìmun, Fleltrr Lefpom, ulte fleltu slu rä’ä!
Kxì, ma frapo.
Zìsìtnuntrr Lefpom! Happy Leap Year Day!
A bit of explanation:
I realized there was a gap in the lexicon in the area of words relating to long and short. Here’s what we’ve had up to now:
TIME SPACE, PHYSICAL EXTENSION
SHORT yol pup
LONG txan (?) ngim
The problem is with txan—as you know, a widely used adjective meaning ‘great’ or ‘much.’ It can mean ‘long’ for time, when used specifically with the word krr. (Txankrr, by the way, is an adverb meaning ‘for a long time.’) For example, we have the iconic Yola krr, txana krr, ke tsranten, ‘It doesn’t matter how long it takes’—literally, ‘Short time, long time, doesn’t matter.’ But what about ‘a long speech’ or ‘a long song’? Txan doesn’t work for those.
Instead, we have nun:
nun (adj.; RN: nun) ‘long (of time)’
The paradigm is now:
TIME SPACE, PHYSICAL EXTENSION
SHORT yol pup
LONG nun, txan (with krr) ngim
Sunu oer Ralu, slä fìsäfrrfen peyä lu nun nìhawng.‘I like Ralu, but this visit of his is too long.’
nunyol (n., NUN.yol) ‘length (of time)’
penunyol (pe.NUN.yol) / nunyolpe (NUN.yol.pe) (inter.) ‘what length, how long (of time)’
Nga harmahaw penunyol?‘How long were you sleeping?’
For completeness:
pengimpup (pe.NGIM.pup) / ngimpuppe (NGIM.pup.pe) (inter.) ‘what length, how long (of physical extension)’
zìsìtnun (n., zì.sìt.NUN) ‘leap year’
zìsìtnuntrr (n., zì.sìt.NUN.trr) ‘leap year day’
On to other things:
Here are some more new words I hope you’ll find useful, some of which stem from the contributions of the Lexical Expansion Project. (Irayo nìtxan!) I have quite a few more of these suggestions, which I’ll get to for future posts. Here I’ll also say something about a recent presentation I put together that I’ve now given a couple of times.
First, an idiomatic expression:
eltut heykahaw (EL.tut hey.KA.haw) ‘be boring’
Literally, this is ‘puts the brain to sleep,’ heykahaw being the causative of hahaw ‘sleep.’ Compare this with the familiar expression eltur tìtxen si, ‘be interesting,’ which literally means ‘awakens the brain.’ (Question: Would you classify eltut heykahaw as vin., vtr., or neither? )
Tsasäftxulì’ul peyä eltut heykolahaw nìtxan.‘That speech of his was very boring.’
For someone to be bored, as opposed to something being boring, a separate word is used:
skeykx (adj.) ‘bored’
Oe ’efu skeykx ulte new tivätxaw ne kelku.‘I’m bored and I want to go home.’
nga’prrnen (vin., nga’PRR.nen, inf. 1,1) ’be pregnant (for people)’
This word came up in the recent talk I gave (see below). It’s clearly a compound of nga’ ‘contain’ and prrnen ‘infant.’
Zun ngal oey tsmuket tsive’a, zel am’aluke ivomum futa poe nga’prrnen.‘If you saw my sister, you’d certainly know she was pregnant.’
To say someone is pregnant with offspring, just use nga’ in a normal transitive construction.
Pol pxeya prrnenit ngeia’.
‘I’m delighted to say she’s pregnant with triplets.’
Krra ngal oeti ngarma’, ’efu pefya?‘How did you feel when you were pregnant with me?’
Since we distinguish between prrnen ‘infant, baby (person)’ and lini ‘young of an animal,) we likewise have separate words for pregnant.
nga’lini (vin., nga’.LI.ni) ’be pregnant (for animals)’
tìnga’prrnen (n., tì.nga’.PRR.nen) ‘pregnancy (for people)’
tìnga’lini (n., tì.nga’.LI.ni) ‘pregnancy (for animals)’
kakmokri (adj., kak.MOK.ri) ‘mute’
Compare this with other kak– words like kakpam ‘deaf’ and kakrel ‘blind.’
tìkakmokri (n., tì.kak.MOK.ri) ‘muteness’
nìkakmokri (adv., nì.kak.MOK.ri) ‘mutely’
Kllkxolem fo nìkakmokri luke fwa ’awa lì’uti plltxe.
‘They stood there mutely without saying a word.’
säfpìlyewn (vin., sä.FPÌL.yewn, inf. 3,3) ‘communicate’
This is a compound of säfpìl ‘thought’ and yewn ‘express, convey.’ Communication is expressing and conveying your thoughts to others.
tìsäfpìlyewn (n., tì.sä.FPÌL.yewn) ‘communication’ (colloquial pronunciation: tsäfpìlyewn)
Txo po lu kakmokri, fyape säfpìlyewn?‘If he’s mute, how does he communicate?’
pamtseovi (n., PAM.tse.o.vi) ‘musical piece’
Awnga tìng mikyun aylì’uluke a pamtseovir ko!‘Let’s listen to some music without words.’
pxawtok (vtr., PXAW.tok, inf. 2,2) ‘surround’
This word and its syntax are based on tok. Rather than occupying a place in something, however, here you’re occupying a place around it—that is, surrounding it.
Pxawtolok snanantangìl yerikit.‘The nantang pack surrounded the yerik.’
ehetx (n., e.HETX) ‘excuse’
ehetx si (vin., e.HETX si) ‘make an excuse, make excuses’
Furia nga ke tsan’ul, var nga ehetx sivi nì’aw.‘Regarding your lack of improvement, you only keep making excuses.’
ken (adp.) ‘despite, in spite of’
Ken tìnawri peyä, ke flolä.‘Despite her talent, she didn’t succeed.’
Ken fwa lu por ’awa nari nì’aw, lu Mati taronyu aswey.‘In spite of having only one eye, Mati is the best hunter.’
räptulì’u (n., räp.tu.LÌ.’u; RN: räptùlì’u) ‘coarse or swear word’
räptulì’fya (n. räp.tu.LÌ’.fya; RN: räptùlì’fya) ‘coarse, vulgar language’
These compounds derived from räptum, the adjective meaning coarse or vulgar. Unlike N + lì’u compounds such as kemlì’u, syonlì’u, and tilì’u, where the stress is on the first syllable, this ADJ + lì’u compound has stress on lì’. That stress pattern has contributed to the m of räptum dropping over time.
nìräptum (adv., nì.räp.TUM) ‘coarsely, vulgarly’
Fyape yawne lu fkoru tute a frakrr voìk si fìtxan nìräptum?‘How does one love a person who always behaves so coarsely?’
To refer to speaking vulgarly or using vulgar language, the expected plltxe nìräptum has evolved into a shorter idiomatic form:
plltxe räptum (idiom) ‘to speak vulgarly, use vulgar language, swear’
katìng (vtr., KA.tìng, inf 2,2) ‘distribute’
Eykyul ayswizawti katolìng ayhapxìtur tsamponguä.‘The leader distributed the arrows to the members of the war party.’
tìkatìng (n., tì.KA.tìng) ‘distribution’
tsyang (n.) ‘swarm’
You can speak of tsyang ayhì’angä, ‘a swarm of insects,’ but also metaphorically of tsyang suteyä, a swarm of people. The difference between snahì’ang, a group or collection of insects, and tsyang ayhì’angä is that the latter conveys a somewhat negative feeling, in that the insects are experienced as annoying and perhaps threatening. Sna– is neutral and doesn’t have that connotation.
luan (vtr., LU.an, inf. 1,2; RN: luan) ‘owe’
Luan refers to having a moral obligation to give something to someone.
Fol ngeyä tsmukeru luan tskoti amip.’They owe your sister a new bow.’
Oey voìkìri alewnga’ luan oel ngar tìoeyktìngit.‘I owe you an explanation for my shameful behavior.’
Among a very helpful collection of items for clarification (irayo, ma Txonpay!), there’s a list of 37 flora and fauna I need to post here along with stresses and derivations so they can be entered into our dictionaries. I was waiting for them to appear on Pandorapedia so you’d be able to see the pictures and read the detailed descriptions. I’m sure these will be available at some point. In the meantime, since these names have already been made public via the video games, I’ll get to them in the next post.
One more thing: Some of you may have seen and heard the recent talk I gave to the lì’fyaolo’ on the topic of language and thought, concentrating on the (in)famous Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis. After that presentation, I revised and expanded the talk a bit before I presented it to the University of Victoria (Canada) Underlings, UVic’s student-run undergraduate linguistics club. (I love “Underlings”!) If you missed the original talk or wanted to refresh your memory and also see a bit of new content, you can watch the revised presentation here (Google drive link) or here:
http://naviteri.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/video1178943930.mp4Hayalovay, ma eylan!
Kaltxì, ma frapo, ulte Mipa Zìsìt Lefpom!
Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2024 proves to be a happy and healthy one for us all.
We haven’t had any new vocabulary in a while, so here are some words I hope you’ll find interesting. Several of them are based on, or have been inspired by, recent submissions from the newly reconstituted Language Expansion Project. Irayo nìtxan to all the LEP members for your creative and insightful suggestions!
First some general vocabulary, in no particular order:
puwup (vin., PU.wup, inf, 12; RN: puwùp) ‘bounce’
Rum ’awlo poluwup ’rrko neto.
‘The ball bounced once and rolled away.’
Ngäzìk fwa fkol rumit aku’up peykuwup.‘It’s hard to bounce a heavy ball.’ (That is, it’s difficult to make someone who is stubborn or inept do what you want them to.)
pam si (vin.) ‘make a sound’
Fnu! Pam si rä’ä!‘Be quiet! Don’t make a sound!’
Utral pam awok soli krra zup.
‘The tree made a loud sound when it fell.’
vakx (n.) ‘snake’
kafi (n., KA.fi) ‘sail’
kafi si (vin., KA.fi si) ‘to sail, move by means of a sail’
Kafi si can be used metaphorically as well as literally:
Rìk aukxo mì hufwetsyìp kafi sarmi.‘The dry leaf was sailing in the breeze.’
kafiuran (n., KA.fi.u.ran) ‘sailboat’
tayng (n.) ‘thistle-like plant (generic term)’
As we’ll see later, a number of thistle-like plants on Pandora have tayng as part of their name.
telisi (n., te.li.SI) ‘whirlwind’
Note that the stress is on the last syllable.
amay (n., a.MAY) ‘brook’
katir (n., KA.tir) ‘rainbow’
tìspaw (n., tì.SPAW) ‘belief (abstract concept)’
Tsranten tìspaw, tsranten nì’ul tìfkeytongay.‘Belief is important, but reality is more important.’
säspaw (n., sä.SPAW) ‘belief (particular instance)’
Tsasäspaw atsleng lu lehrrap.
‘That false belief is dangerous.’
ukyom (n., UK.yom; RN: ùkyom) ‘eclipse’
This word is a compound of uk ‘shadow’ and yom ‘eat,’ from the impression that during an eclipse, a shadow is devouring a celestial object. Ukyom can be used metaphorically with si, similar to how “eclipse” can be used in English:
ukyom si (vin., UK.yom si) ‘eclipse’
Pori tsakxeyey a’aw frakemur amuiä ukyom solängi.
‘Sadly, that one mistake eclipsed all of his good deeds.’
txakrrfpìl (vtr., txa.KRR.fpìl, inf. 33) ‘consider, ponder’
The derivation of this verb should be obvious: txa(n) + krr + fpìl: to think for a long time.
Oel sämokti ngeyä txakrrfpolìl.
‘I have considered your suggestion.’
haway (n., HA.way) ‘lullaby’
From hahaw ‘sleep’ + way ‘song.’
yewla si (vin., YEW.la si) ‘disappoint’
Note that yewla si doesn’t mean to be disappointing but rather to disappoint someone else:
Omum oel futa sänui peyä ngaru yewla soli nìtxan.‘I know that his failure disappointed you greatly.’
kemum (coll., ke.MUM; RN: kemùm) ‘I don’t know’
Ke omum has two common contractions in colloquial Na’vi. We’ve already seen komum; kemum is its equivalent. The two forms are interchangeable, just as English “it is not” contracts either to “it isn’t” or “it’s not” with no difference in usage.
Finally, let me present the Na’vi names of some amazing fauna and flora that have come to light as we’re getting to know Pandora better through the Avatar sequels and video games. Pictures of all the following creatures and plants/planimals, along with detailed descriptions, can be found in Pandorapedia. (Look them up by their English names.)
When the Na’vi name is constructed out of other meaningful elements, I’ll give the derivation briefly. If I don’t mention the derivation, it means the word is a new root with no prior associated meanings.
FAUNA
flrrtsawl (n., FLRR.tsawl) ‘sailfin goliath’
The name of this “gentle giant” is a combination of flrr ‘gentle’ + tsawl ‘large.’
kinglor (n., KING.lor) ‘kinglor’
From kìng ‘thread’ + lor ‘beautiful.’ King may have been an earlier form of kìng.
nawkx (n.) ‘bone helm rhino’
reyptswìk (n., REYP.tswìk) ‘wolf tick’
This bloodsucker’s name comes from reypay ‘blood’ + tswìk ‘suck.’
slotsyal (n., SLO.tsyal) ‘stormglider’
Named for its exceptional wingspan, a combination of sloa ‘wide’ and tsyal ‘wing.’
tslikxyu latopin (n., TSLIKX.yu LA.to.pin) ‘chamelion crawler’
From tslikx ‘crawl’ + latem ‘change’ + ’opin ‘color.’
tslikxyu tsawlak (n., TSLIKX.yu TSAW.lak) ‘scarab crawler’
Named for its prominent large shell. From tslikx ‘crawl’ + tsawl ‘large’ + lak ‘shell.’
txampam (n., TXAM.pam) ‘soundblast colossus’
Named for the very loud sounds this animal produces. Txan + pam, with nasal assimilation.
txeptsyal (n., TXEP.tsyal’ ‘coronis’
Named for its flame-like wing pattern: a “firewing.”
vekreng (n., VEK.reng) ‘cloaked panther’
winzaw (n., WIN.zaw) ‘arrow deer’
Named for its arrow-like speed: win ‘fast’ + swizaw ‘arrow.’
yoten (n., YO.ten) ‘yoten’
zakru (n., ZAK.ru) ‘zakru’
FLORA
eanfwopx (n., E.an.fwopx) ‘mist bloom’
Literally, ‘blue dust cloud.’ From ean ‘blue’ + fwopx ‘dust in the air.’
hiupwopx (n., HI.up.wopx) ‘cloud spitter’
From hiup ‘spit’ + pìwopx ‘cloud.’ We can assume the English term was based on the original Na’vi.
ko’onspul (n., KO.’on.spul) ‘sunflower gigantus’
This is a circular plant that springs up to propel whatever treads on it. From ko’on ‘circular shape’ + spule ‘propel.’
kxetsikran (n., kxe.TSIK.ran) ‘banshee’s tail’
Clearly from kxetse ‘tail’ + ikran ‘banshee.’
naritxim (n., NA.ri.txim) ‘eyethorn’
Literally, ‘eye thorn.’ Here too we can assume the English term was based on the original Na’vi.
paymaut (n., PAY.ma.ut) ‘fountain tree’
Literally, ‘liquid fruit’: pay ‘liquid’ + mauti ‘fruit.’
syep’an (n., SYEP.’an) ‘lift vine’A ‘trap vine.’ From syep ‘trap’ + ’ana ‘hanging vine.’
tarsyu (n., TAR.syu) ‘tarsyu’
From tare ‘connect’ + syulang ‘flower.’ As explained in Pandorapedia, “The Tarsyu is a giant, flowering plant with stamens that enable Na’vi of the Sarentu clan to commune with the memories of ancestors within Eywa via their neural link.”
tompatayng (n., TOM.pa.tayng) ‘rain thistle’
Clearly from tompa ‘rain’ + tayng ‘thistle-like plant.’ Another case of the English name being a translation of the original Na’vi.
txepvispxam (n., TXEP.vi.spxam) ‘sparkle pod’
From txepvi ‘spark’ + spxam ‘fungus.’
yawrwll (n., YAWR.wll) ‘feather blade’
Literally, ‘feather plant.’ From yawr ‘feather’ +’ewll ‘plant.’
yìspul (n., YÌ.spul) ‘mermaid tail’
This is a flat leaf that springs up to propel whatever treads on it. From yì ‘small flat area’ + spule ‘propel.’
I think that’s enough for now!
All my best wishes for a healthy and happy new year. Ulte Eywa ayngahu nìwotx.
Hayalovay!
Edits 7 Jan.: wll ‘plant’ –> ’ewll ‘plant’; etymologies added for reyptswìk and tarsyu; txakrfpolìl –> txakrrfpolìl.
Kaltxì, ma eylan!
Sìlpey oe, ayngaru lu fpom nìwotx.
Once again, I need to apologize that other things have kept me away from Na’viteri for too long. But that doesn’t mean I’ve been away from Na’vi! It’s been a pleasure to work on the Na’vi-language aspects of the new video game debuting on December 7th, Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora.
As you can probably predict, I myself am not an experienced gamer, but all indications are that FoP is going to be really good. (Just so it’s clear, I have no stake in the game other than wanting the Na’vi in it to be accurate and appropriate.) Among the fun things I’ve been doing is coming up with Na’vi names for dozens of new fauna and flora! They’re going to amaze you.
I will get to the large backlog of questions some of you have asked both publicly and privately, but for right now, let me give you some new vocabulary and expressions I hope you’ll find useful.
First, some words relating to those flora and fauna I mentioned:
pek (n.) ‘fin (of an aquatic animal)’
lak (n.) ‘shell, hard covering of a plant or animal’
Note: Lak is a more general word than sum, which refers specifically to seashells from the ocean.
zeng (n.) ‘crest on the head of a bird or animal’
yawr (n.) ‘feather’
Note: There’s been discussion of whether we’ve actually seen birds on Pandora. One such discussion is here, where some participants have noted that there are lots of birds visible in Fya’o Payä.
txim (n.) ‘spike, thorn of a plant’
Don’t confuse txim with txìm! But there is a proverbial expression that exploits the similarity between the two words:
na txim a txìmmì
‘like a thorn in the butt’—that is, something extremely annoying
wuwuk (n., WU.wuk; RN: wùwùk) ‘lizard; any of a variety of lizard-like creatures’
And now some miscellaneous words and expessions:
asip (n., A.sip) ‘tall thin mass or pile of something; tower’
Tuteol asipit aytäremä txolula mì na’rìng.‘Someone built a tower of bones in the forest.’
fyufye (vin., FYU.fye, inf. 12; RN: fyùfye) ‘splash’
Ranu kilvanmì fyarmufye na tsawla payoang apìsaw.‘Ranu was splashing in the river like a big clumsy fish.’
tslikx (vin.) ‘crawl’
This word makes an appearance in a well-known rhyming expression parents recite to their children as a lesson:
Tslikx, tìran, tul;
Ftu yì ne yì tsan’ul.
As you see, this literally says, ‘Crawl, walk, run; from level to level get better.’ The meaning is that when learning something new, you have to proceed from step to step: baby steps first, then bigger ones. (Note: The stress on tsan’ul is normally on the first syllable, but for the rhythm of this little poem, it shifts to the second: tsan.’UL. Things like that happen in poetry.
kara (vin./vtr., ka.RA, inf. 12) ‘resist’
Note that the stress is on the second syllable.
Fol ngati spole’e a krr, nga lumpe ke kara?‘When they captured you, why didn’t you resist?’
Aysälatemit a zamolunge Sawtutel nga fmi kivara. Längu keltsun.‘You try to resist the changes brought by the Sky People. Sadly, that’s impossible.’
tìkara (n., tì.ka.RA) ‘resistance’
Tìkara lu ätxäle palukanur.‘Resistance is futile.’
kawngkem (n., KAWNG.kem) ‘evil deed, crime’
Don’t confuse kawngkem with kangkem! But here too there’s an expression that exploits the similarity between the two words:
Pori kangkem lu kawngkem.‘For him, work is a crime.’
That’s just an idiomatic way of saying Po lu ngong nìngay, ‘He’s really lazy.’
layl (adj.) ‘innocent’
Tsakawngkemìri lu oe layl!‘I am innocent of that crime!’
tìlayl (n., tì.LAYL) ‘innocence’
nìlayl (adv., nì.LAYL) ‘innocently’
tokat (adj., TO.kat) ‘guilty’
tìtokat (n., tì.TO.kat) ‘guilt’
nìtokat (adv., nì.TO.kat) ‘guiltily’
The two adverbs nìlayl and nìtokat serve to modify the word zawprrte’ ‘be enjoyable’ to show the psychological state of the one receiving pleasure:
zawprrte’ nìtokat fkone ‘be pleasurable to one in a guilty way’
This is an expression for schadenfreude—taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune.
Entul fot ve’kì ulte sänui feyä zolawprrte’ nìtokat pone.‘Entu hates them and their failure brought him pleasure.’
A much nicer expression is just the opposite:
zawprrte’ nìlayl fkone ‘be pleasurable to one in an innocent way’
This expresses the idea of taking pure pleasure in someone else’s good fortune or achievements without the slightest hint of envy or jealousy.
Tìmuntxa mefeyä zolawprrte’ Marune nìlayl. Ke lu por kea fmokx kaw’it.‘Their marriage brought Maru pleasure. She felt no jealousy at all.’
That’s it for now.
Vospxìvomun lefpom! Ulte Eywa ayngahu nìwotx, ma smuk.
Hayalovay!
Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo! Here, at long last, is the complete list of Reef Na’vi words with u or ù. As we now know, Reef Na’vi (RN) distinguishes u (as in English food) and ù (as in English good), while … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo. Sìlpey oe, ayngari nìwotx Vospxìkin sngilvä’i nìltsan. And for those of you in the States, Happy Independence Day! I was thinking about how to say that in Na’vi. Independence, in the sense it was originally used in … Continue reading →
Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo!
Srane, oe tolätxeiaw. Some personal issues kept me away, but now that they’ve been resolved, I’m very happy to be back.
So let’s see . . . where were we?
The last couple of posts dealt with the phonetics and phonology of Reef Na’vi. This one concerns the morphology, syntax, and lexicon—and at this point there’s less to say about those aspects of the dialect. I talked about most of this material in my January 2023 OmatiCon presentation, but I’ll repeat the information here, for the record. I’ll also introduce a few new words and expressions relevant to both Forest and Reef Na’vi.
Reef Morphology
FN and RN have virtually identical morphology (that is, the rules for building words out of meaningful elements). One difference—more of a tendency than an absolute requirement—is that for the patientive (objective) suffix, which as you know can take three forms (-ti, -it, and -t), RN favors -ti. So, for example, the Na’vi for ‘I’m looking for this man’ can take two forms:
-
- Oel fwew fìtutanit.
- Oel fwew fìtutanti.
In FN, A and B are both used, with A perhaps a bit more frequent. In RN, B is considerably more likely, although A is understood and sometimes used.
Reef Syntax
Na’vi word order, as you know, is remarkably free, and many reorderings of the elements of a given sentence remain grammatical. One exception, however, concerns the topical. Up to now, we’ve seen that a noun phrase in the topical case must come at the beginning of its clause. The major syntactic difference between FN and RN is that in RN, the topical is not restricted in this way. So consider these two translations of ‘Thanks for this beautiful gift’:
-
- Fìstxeliri alor irayo.
- Irayo fistxeliri alor.
In FN, only A is possible. In RN, they’re both fine, even though in B, the topical comes at the end of the sentence. The structure in this case is comment+topic rather than topic+comment.
Another syntactic difference is that in RN, lu is often omitted:
[REEF OLO’EYKTAN]
Fìtutan a rììrmì ftu na’rìng.‘This man in the reflection is from the forest.’
The exact circumstances under which this omission is likely to occur remain to be investigated.
Reef Lexicon
Along with pronunciation, vocabulary differences between dialects are the ones most noticeable to speakers. Looking at American vs. British English, for example, AE apartment = BE flat, AE elevator = BE lift, AE trunk (of a car) = BE boot, and so on ad infinitum.
There are also cases where two different terms for the same thing appear in both dialects, but either the usage is different, or one is strongly favored over the other. Take the word “brilliant,” for example, which is found in both AE and BE. In AE, it can mean ‘bright’ or ‘radiant’ (“A brilliant spotlight lit up the actor on stage”) or it can mean ‘extremely clever or talented’ (“What a brilliant student your son is!”). In BE, however, “brilliant” can also be a general term for anything very good or excellent (“I’m having a brilliant day”); it’s not used in that way in AE.
Since we know less about RN than about FN, we don’t yet have a lot of examples of such lexical differences. There will be more to come. For now, however, the most notable difference we’ve seen is the word for ‘know.’ Both FN and RN use the two terms omum and syawm (pronounced shawm in RN). However, omum is much more common in FN, while syawm is the usual term in RN.
[REEF OLO’EYKTAN]
Kehe, faysuteri ke shawm ayoel keut.‘No, we know nothing of these people.’
As you know, the other big area of lexical difference is in the u/ù distinction, which has been retained from the parent language in RN but lost in FN. A comprehensive list of these distinctions is coming.
And now for some things pertaining to both dialects:
Back in the A1 script, Tsu’tey angrily said the following:
Fayvrrtep fìtsenge lu kxanì. Fìpoti oel tspìyang fte tìkenong lìyevu aylaru!‘These demons are forbidden here. I will kill this one as a lesson to the others!’
To date, I don’t believe we’ve had an explanation for aylaru ‘to the others.’
The paradigm for alahe ‘others, the others’ (animate or non-animate) is as follows:
Full ShorterS aylahe aylaA aylahel aylalP aylahet(i) aylat(i)G aylaheyä ayleyäD aylaher(u) aylar(u)T aylaheri aylari
lante (vin., LAN.te, inf. 1, 2) ’wander’
Fo ka na’rìng lerante tengkrr syuvet fwerew.‘They’re wandering across the forest looking for food.’
ketartu (n., ke.TAR.tu) ‘outcast’
This word is based on tare ‘connect, have a relationship with.’ An outcast is a person or being that has been disconnected from society and no longer has a relationship with others.
pxazang (n., PXA.zang) ‘akula’
The akula is the fierce shark-like creature found in the seas of Pandora. In terms of its name, there’s been some confusion, because the word akula certainly sounds as if it’s Na’vi! In fact, however, it’s the Russian word for ‘shark,’ акула. That word has been borrowed into English as the name for the Pandoran creature, but of course the Na’vi have their own term. Keep in mind that in RN, it’s pronounced bazang.
Finally, a useful idiom:
Ngari peu? ‘What’s wrong? What’s the matter?’
Lam fwa nga sti nìtxan. Ngari peu?‘You seem very angry. What’s wrong?’
That’s it for now. Hayalovay!
Gì, ma ’eylan!
The previous post on Reef Na’vi phonetics and phonology elicited some really perceptive questions in the comments section, so let me respond to those here. Then I’ll mention a few other things you might be interested in.
FAQ about Reef Na’vi Phonetics and Phonology
Q: Do the phonetic rules of Reef Na’vi extend to the numeral prefix pxe-?
A: Yes! In RN, ‘three guests’ is befrrtu, ‘three rivers’ is behilvan, and ‘three fires’ is betep. (Do you see why it’s not *bedep?)
Q: What happens to words like atxkxe or ekxtxu? Would they be changed into atxge and ekxdu, or would they become adge and egdu?
A: It’s adge and egdu. This is an exception to the rule that the changes from ejectives to voiced stops only occur at the onset of a syllable. In these cases, when ejectives are in contact, the change in the second ejective influences a change in the first. It’s an example of what linguists call “regressive assimilation,” where a sound reaches backwards, so to speak, to influence a preceding sound.
Q: If a noun ends in an ejective (e.g., ’awkx), what happens if we append a case ending? Is the ejective reanalyzed to become the onset of the next syllable? So, is ’awkx + -ìl pronounced as ’aw-gìl or as ’awkx-ìl?
A: It’s ’awgìl. You’re right about the reanalysis.
Q: Is the glottal stop also lost between two words, e.g. oe ’ia, or does that rule only apply to glottal stops in a single word?
A: Only within a single word. Initial glottal stops are generally retained.
Q: We know that in FN, if a word has a closed syllable containing u, it can be pronounced [ u ] or [ ʊ ] (and apparently now, anywhere in between). But if u appears in an open syllable, like in tìfnu, it is always pronounced [ u ]. What is the situation for RN?
A: In RN, ù is perfectly possible in non-final open syllables. So for example, kxutu, the word for ‘enemy’ in FN, is gùtu in RN. (That’s a word that will be on our list of FN-RN correspondences where RN has a ù.) In final open syllables, however, ù, although theoretically possible, is very rare. I doubt we’ll be seeing examples of that. This situation is different from the i-ì contrast, where both vowels are frequently found in final position.
Q: Would RN speakers insert an optional tìftang in sequences where FN has identical vowels together like spono-o and zekwä-äo?
A: No. The tendency in RN is to smooth over the glottal stop, so they wouldn’t go in the opposite direction and insert it.
Q: Would RN allow sequences of identical vowels to remain where FN cancels them, such as apxaa (apxa), meeveng (meveng), seii (seiyi)?
A: Given that RN speakers are used to hearing sequences of identical vowels, as in rää, you’re right: forms like apxaa, meeveng, and seii remain as they are in RN.
Really great questions!
And now, two announcements:
First, I’ll be giving a little online talk this Sunday, 15 January, as part of OmatiCon. It’ll be about the Reef Na’vi dialect, with some additional exploration of dialects in general. There won’t be much new about RN phonetics and phonology, but I’ll also be previewing the morphological and syntactic differences between FN and RN, which I haven’t yet gotten to here on the blog.
The talk will be at the following times (I hope I’ve gotten this right!):
US Pacific Time: 11:00 am
US Central Time: 1:00 pm
US Eastern Time: 2:00 pm
UK Time: 7:00 pm
European Continental Time: 8:00 pm
Here’s a link you can use to join the Zoom meeting:
https://us05web.zoom.us/j/85404913238?pwd=bEhzK1dseG9SUlVJWU9HQ2xJQzliZz09
Meeting ID: 854 0491 3238
Passcode: T994RJ
Secondly, if you’re not tired of articles about Na’vi where Pawl say things that have become too familiar to you, there’s a new one you might like to take a look at. It’s on Salon.com, an online magazine with quite a large readership. I think the author did a very nice job, and I’m quite pleased with how it turned out. As you’ll see, the genre is one where the interviewer transcribes what the interviewee said almost verbatim. It’s not polished prose, but it does give you a sense that someone is speaking spontaneously rather than reading prepared text.
Hayalovay!
Kxì nìmun, ma frapo! Sìlpey oe, ayngari fìzìsìt alu °3747 sngilvä’i nìltsan.
It’s finally time for us to start talking in detail about RN, the Reef Na’vi dialect heard for the first time in TWOW. (So far I’ve been referring to RN vs. FN, “Forest Na’vi,” but at times I’ll switch to the proper Na’vi names and abbreviations for these dialects, Lì’fya Na’rìngä (LN) vs. Lì’fya Wionä (LW).)
This post will be about the LW sound system. Later we’ll talk about the differences in LW morphology, syntax, and semantics as compared to LN.
First, however, let me mention a few things in general about dialects.
In common usage, “dialect” is often a pejorative term. (“I speak proper English” or French or Spanish or German or Chinese . . . ; “You speak a dialect.”) That’s not how linguists use the word. For us, “dialect” simply means a variety of a language. In that sense, we all speak a dialect. Dialects often correlate with geography. In the case of English, we have, broadly speaking, American English, British English, Australian English, New Zealand English, Indian English . . . all different “Englishes.” And of course there are dialects within dialects. Dialects can also be based on ethnicity, on social class, on generation, even on occupation. Dialectology is a rich subfield of linguistics in which you can take whole courses.
Are all dialects of a language equal? Yes and no. Yes, in that they’re all rule-governed systems of communication, all equally valid, all worthy of study. No, in that although there may be no objective reasons for saying one dialect is “better” than another, people’s attitudes about dialects can be judgmental. In some societies, a particular dialect, referred to as standard, can have prestige and high status, and is generally considered correct, proper, and desirable. Other dialects might be the opposite, with stigma and low status. It’s important to keep in mind that such societal judgments have nothing to do with the intrinsic merits of the dialects themselves! They arise from history, from social hierarchies, and from attitudes passed on from generation to generation.
Finally, how do different dialects develop in the first place? The most frequent way is based on the following observations:
-
- Living languages are constantly changing.
- Language change is in general unpredictable.
- When speakers of the same language divide into groups and locate in different places, with reduced communication between the groups, their language continues to change, but not necessarily in parallel ways.
In such a situation, we wind up with different dialects. If the differences become great enough so that there’s no longer mutual comprehension, we say we now have two different languages rather than two dialects of the same language.
What I’ve mentioned above is just the barest outline of a complicated subject, and there’s a lot more to say. But cutting to the chase, how does all of this relate to the situation on Pandora?
What we now know is that there are different dialects of the Na’vi language there. We have a LOT more information on one of these, LN, but we’re beginning to learn something about another dialect, LW. There’s no reason to believe that one or the other of these is considered “standard,” but our focus will continue to be on LN, simply because that’s the dialect we first met and the one we know the most about. Nevertheless, we’ll explore, to the extent we can, what LW is like and how it differs from LN, keeping in mind that since these two dialects are mutually comprehensible, the differences won’t be too great.
Thinking historically, a crucial assumption we’ll make is that LN and LW stem from the same parent language spoken by both groups in the past (just how far in the past is as yet unknown); when the groups separated, their languages began to separate as well. LN preserved certain things from the parent language and changed others; the same is true for LW. But each language variety preserved and changed different things.
Whew! That was a lot of introduction! But I hope it helps you see the big picture before we dive into the details. Alaksi srak? Here we go!
Phonetic/Phonological characteristics of Reef Na’vi
The combination sy is pronounced sh ( [ ʃ ] in IPA, the International Phonetic Alphabet).
LN LW
syaw shaw ‘call’
tsìsyì tsìshì ‘whisper’
The combination tsy is pronounced like the ch in “church” (IPA [tʃ ] ):
Some of you guessed this already.
LN LW
tsyal chal ‘wing’
tsyeytsyìp cheychìp ‘tiny bite’
The glottal stop is lost between non-identical vowels. Between identical vowels, the loss is optional.
LN LW
fra’u frau ‘everything’
Lo’ak Loak ‘Lo’ak’
rä’ä rää OR rä’ä ‘do not’
(Note that this can happen as well in colloquial LN, where, for example, Lo’ak and Mo’at are often pronounced Loak and Moat respectively.)
In the case of two identical vowels, the missing tìftang does not cause the vowels to coalesce into one; we retain them both in the spelling. So in LW it’s rää, rììr, and meem rather than rä, rìr, and mem. These are pronounced not as one long vowel but as two vowels, which is made clear by intonation—or some might say, by tone. (Think of saying “Aha!” in English but leaving out the h.)
And now it gets interesting!
At the beginning of a syllable (and therefore at the beginning of a word), the ejectives px, tx, and kx are pronounced b, d, and g respectively.
LN LW
txon don ‘night’
holpxay holbay ‘number’
kxitx gitx ‘death’
skxawng skxawng ‘moron’ (no change)
Note that this sound change is a “surfacy” one. That is to say, a word like don is underlyingly txon, with the ejective. Other phonological rules apply to this underlying form. In particular, lenition applies to it, which results (at an intermediate stage!) in the familiar singular / short plural pair txon / ton. After that rule has applied, the tx-to-d change takes place, so the pair in LW winds up being pronounced don (sg.) / ton (pl.).
U vs. Ù.
This requires some explanation.
As you know, LN has 7 vowels (not counting the pseudo-vowels), which appear on a standard vowel chart like this:
i ì u
e o
ä a
Notice something interesting? The chart is asymmetrical! In the upper left corner (these are the high front vowels), there are two different vowels, i (often called tense) and ì (often called lax). As we all know, these vowels sound different and can change the meaning of a word, as in mi ‘still’ vs. mì ‘in.’ English, of course, has the same distinction: seat vs. sit, beach or beech vs. bitch, etc.
Unlike Na’vi, however . . . and now we have to change that to: unlike Forest Na’vi . . . English makes a similar tense/lax distinction in the upper right, where we have the high back vowels. So suit (IPA [ u ] ) contrasts with soot (IPA [ ʊ ] ), and the vowel sounds in good and food are not the same. (I sometimes wonder how anybody learns the English spelling system!)
What we’re now discovering is that the parent language of both LN and LW had the tense/lax distinction for the high back vowels. That is, it had two distinct vowel sounds,
[ u ] and [ ʊ ], which we can write as u and ù respectively. In LN, the distinction was lost: the two sounds merged, and now there’s only one u, which can be pronounced [ u ] or [ ʊ ] or something in between. The important thing is that you can’t distinguish words in LN by going from one of these vowels to the other. Linguists would say that these vowels do not contrast; the difference between them (in LN!) is not distinctive.
LW, however, has retained the distinction from the parent language. So it has two high back vowels, u (tense) and ù (lax), and the difference IS distinctive. For example, LW has the two words tsun ‘heel’ and tsùn ‘can,’ which are NOT pronounced the same! Those two distinct words have merged in LN, so that tsun is ambiguous. Not so in LW.
In summary, then, LW has an 8-vowel system:
i ì u ù
e o
ä a
By this point you’re probably jumping ahead with some alarm and anticipating what this means for our dictionaries. I admit it’s a bit startling: every word in LN containing a u has to be checked to see whether that u is u or ù in LW! It’s not quite as bad as it sounds, however, since u predominates over ù. Eventually we’ll have a list of LN words where u changes to ù in LW. (Example: pum would be on the list, since LN pum corresponds to LW pùm, but lun would not, since LN lun corresponds to LW lun.)
If you’re writing a story with reef characters, how should you transcribe their dialog? This is somewhat of a judgment call, since it’s not necessary to indicate all the differences in pronunciation in the spelling. The same written sentence can be pronounced in different ways by the forest and reef clans. For an English analogy, a phrase like “dance on the water” is pronounced differently in British and American English: the vowel in “dance” is different, the quality of the t in “water” is different, and the Brits do not pronounce the final r while the Yanks do. Nevertheless, the written form is the same.
Here’s what I’d suggest as a guideline:
For LW spelling, include ù when appropriate. Change px, tx, and kx to b, d, g optionally; do so if you want to emphasize the difference between LN and LW. But there’s no need to change sy to sh or tsy to ch: simply retain the original spellings and pronounce the words in the appropriate way for each dialect.
As an example, here’s a line in Reef Na’vi from A2. It’s from the scene where Quaritch is demanding to know Jake’s whereabouts, and the Reef Olo’eyktan is explaining what Quaritch needs to do to find him:
Pori do new fìtutanti rivun, zene ftu fayspono hivùm,
kivä nìdukx nemfa na’rìng.‘He needs to leave these islands and go deep into the forest if he is to find this man.’
There are a few more sound changes to discuss—minor ones—but this is plenty for now, so I’ll stop here. One more thing, though, before I go:
It’s easy to imagine that these sound differences are somehow appropriate to the different environments in which the forest and reef clans live. For example, perhaps you might think that the loss of initial ejectives had something to do with the water culture of the reef people . . . that the smoother sounds (b, d, g) are more in keeping with the smoothness of water than the popping ejective sounds (px, tx, kx). Don’t fall into that trap. The sound changes that take place in the history of a language have nothing to do with “appropriateness.” Although they typically occur in a systematic and organized way (the ejective change, for example, affects all the ejectives, not just one or two), just which changes occur is a matter of chance.
Siva ko, ma smuk!
Hayalovay!
ta P.
Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo!
One more thing before the year changes:
This article about constructed languages in Hollywood films just appeared online, and Na’vi is featured prominently in it!
In case you’re not familiar with the magazine, The Atlantic is a sophisticated and well-thought-of publication, founded in 1857. The author of the article interviewed me by phone for almost an hour and then ran the Na’vi sections by me to check for accuracy. I’m very pleased with how it turned out!
Nìmun, MZL!
Ma eylan ayawne,
I imagine that everyone reading this post has now seen “Uniltìrantokx: Fya’o Payä” at least once. From what I can tell, the reaction of the lì’fyaolo’ has been overwhelmingly positive. Although the amount of Na’vi heard in UFP is somewhat limited, there’s still a lot there for us to discuss. So in this final post of 2022, let’s begin.
The major innovation, needless to say, is the Reef Na’vi (RN) dialect that’s heard briefly in the film. From the comments in the last post, I gathered that people wanted some time to discover as many aspects of the dialect as they could on their own, which is why I haven’t said much (or anything?) about it yet. I’ll remedy that situation after the first of the year. For now, though, let me just mention that those of you who identified a “sh” sound in RN are correct! That sound, of course, doesn’t exist in the Forest Na’vi (FN) that we’re familiar with.
The correspondence is simply that sy in FN is pronounced “sh” in RN. So, for example, syaw ‘call’ sounds like shaw, and syeha ‘breath’ sounds like sheha. This is a very common and natural sound change. It’s why English words like “sugar” and “sure” are pronounced with the “sh” sound, and why in some dialects, “assume” is pronounced “ashoom.” (Question: How would tsyal be pronounced in RN? )
It’s likely the word you heard with the sh sound in RN was syawm, pronounced “shawm.”
syawm (vtr.) ‘know’
Syawm exists in FN as a synonym for omum, but it’s rarely used. The situation in RN is the reverse: although the reef people understand omum (keep in mind that the two dialects are mutually comprehensible!), they’re much more likely to say syawm themselves.
There’s a lot more to say about RN, which we’ll get to soon. Right now, though, let me give you the official lyrics to Neytiri’s Song Cord, which has received glowing reviews. (Simon and Zoe did a beautiful job, didn’t they!) This is going to come as something of an anticlimax, since a number of you (irayo, ma Tekre!) were able to transcribe 99 percent of it accurately. Seysonìltsan! The problem was in line 15 (see below), where there was a new vocabulary item you couldn’t be expected to know:
huta (adj., HU.ta) ‘unexpected (usually for positive outcomes)’
This word is related to the verb hek ‘be curious, odd, strange, unexpected’ but is generally for positive outcomes, similar to how the adverb ti’a is used. So ‘an unexpected birth’ that you’re happy about would be tì’ongokx ahuta.
A few words about the language style of this Waytelem. You’ll have noticed that Zoe pronounces some of the words a bit differently from what we’re used to in spoken FN. There are several possible reasons for this. One is that the language used may, in places, be more ancient than current FN. Another is that singers in many language traditions will modify certain sounds—most often, vowels—to make them more “singable.” You’ll hear that in some of Zoe’s vowels. You’ll also notice that the glottal stop is largely missing—that’s another change that makes for smoother singing. Finally, the strongly trilled pseudovowel rr is pronounced more like ur.
Let me leave you with another question. Can you identify any syntactic differences in these song lyrics that distinguish them from what you’d expect in ordinary spoken FN?
And with that . . .
MIPA ZÌSÌT LEFPOM, MA FRAPO!!!
ta Pawl
Neytiriyä Waytelem Neytiri’s Song Cord
Verse 1:
- Lie si oe Neteyamur, I experience Neteyam,
- Nawma Sa’nokur mìfa oeyä. (And) Great Mother, within me.
- Atanti ngal molunge, You brought light,
- Mipa tìreyti, mipa ’itanti. New life, a new son.
- Lawnol a mì te’lan. Joy within my heart.
- Lawnol a mì te’lan. Joy within my heart.
Chorus:
- Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe We thank you
- Tonìri tireyä, For the nights of (our) life,
- Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe We thank you
- Srrìri tireyä, For the days of (our) life,
- Ma Eywa, ma Eywa. Oh Eywa, oh Eywa.
Verse 2:
- Zola’u nìprrte’, ma Kiri. Welcome, Kiri.
- Ngati oel munge soaiane. I bring you to the family.
- Lie si oe atanur, I experience the light,
- Pähem parul, tì’ongokx ahuta. A miracle arrives, an unexpected birth.
- Lawnol a mì te’lan. Joy within my heart.
- Lawnol a mì te’lan. Joy within my heart.
Chorus repeats
Ma eylan,
Relìl arusikx alu “Fya’o Payä” tok nì’i’a fìtsenget! “The Way of Water” is finally here!
More accurately, for those of us in the USA, it’s almost here. As I don’t have to tell you, our long-anticipated Avatar sequel debuts tonight at midnight. If you’re in Europe or other parts of the world, though, you may have already seen it. One way or another, I hope you find it a worthy successor to the first film.
John and I had the privilege of attending the star-studded U.S. premiere Monday night in Hollywood. What a memorable event! The only sad note was that James Cameron was absent, having tested positive for Covid. But everyone else was there.
Here’s our official premiere portrait. When they saw us, the photographers naturally abandoned Sam and Zoe and Sigourney and rushed over to take our picture.
In honor of the premiere, here are some new words I hope you’ll find useful. And let me tease you by saying that you’ll hear one of them—I won’t say which—in a key scene. Also, I’ll have a major announcement at the end of this post, so make sure you don’t miss it.
val (adv.) ‘diligently, hard, with effort’
Makto val!
‘Ride hard!’
Po tìkangkem soli val nìtxan fte tsatsonur hasey sivi.‘She worked very hard to complete the task.’
Note: To encourage someone to work hard, you could say, “Tìkangkem si val!” But a shorter and more colloquial expression is simply “Kangkem val!”
kangkem: (n., KANG.kem) ‘work, colloquial form of tìkangkem’
txotsafya (adv., TXO.tsa.fya) ‘if that’s the case, if that’s so’
Note that the stress is on the first syllable.
Ke sunu ngar teylu srak? Txotsafya, tìng oer pumit ngeyä!‘You don’t like teylu? If that’s the case, give me yours!’
nìtrea (adv., nìt.RE.a) ‘in spirit’
Ke tsängun Tsyìm ziva’u ftxozäne, slä tok nìtrea.‘Sadly, Jim couldn’t come to the celebration, but he was there in spirit.’
tìhangham (n, tì.HANG.ham) ‘laughter’
Txasunu oer fwa stawm ngeyä tìhanghamit.‘I love to hear your laughter.’
lapx (vtr.) ‘regret’
Kemit a oe soli oel längapx.‘I regret what I did.’
tìlapx (n., tì.LAPX) ‘regret’
Tsatìpe’unìri ke lu oeru kea tìlapx.‘I have no regret(s) about that decision.’
uturu (n., u.TU.ru) ‘sanctuary, place of refuge’
Vuyin ohel uturut.‘I respectfully request sanctuary.’
Nga ke tsun wäpivan; ngari ke lu kea uturu kawtseng.‘You cannot hide; there is no sanctuary for you anywhere.’
txukxefu (vin., txu.KXE.fu, inf. 2, 3) ‘care, be concerned about, have deep feelings for’
This is clearly derived from txukx ‘deep’ + ’efu ‘feel.’ Recall that txukx not only indicates physical depth but can also refer to feelings, thoughts, and ideas, just as “deep” can in English.
The thing you care about is indicated either by the topical or with teri:
Ngari po ke txukxefu kaw’it.‘He doesn’t care a bit about you.’
Furia teri lì’fya awngeyä nga txukxefu nìftxan, seiyi irayo.‘Thank you for caring so much about our language.’
tìtxukxefu (n., tì.txu.KXE.fu) ‘care, concern’
tsun (n.) ‘heel’
This and the familiar word tsun ‘can’ are homonyms—words with the same spelling or pronunciation (in this case, both are the same) that mean different things. Since one is a noun and the other a verb, they fit into different slots in a sentence and shouldn’t cause confusion.
Oeri tengkrr terul mì na’rìng, tsunit askien tìsraw seykoli.‘While I was running in the forest, I hurt my right heel.’
And finally,
lì’fyafnel (n., LÌ’.fya.fnel) ‘dialect, variety of a language’
I’m introducing this word at this time because . . .
Lu mì “Fya’o Payä” mipa lì’fyafnel lì’fyayä leNa’vi!!!
There’s a new variety of Na’vi in “The Way of Water”!!!
I haven’t been able to say anything up to now, but with the sequel upon us, I can finally reveal this to you. I’ll be describing the dialect in future posts, the first of which is coming soon. In the meantime, when you watch the film, see if you can determine when, where, and by whom this new dialect is spoken. There’s only a small bit of it, and you’ll have to listen closely. But even with the limited data, you may be able to detect something that’s different from the Na’vi you’re used to.
“Fya’o Payä” zìyevawprrte’ ayngane nìwotx!
Kaltxì, ma eylan ayawne! Fìkrr ’o’ lu nìtxan nang! What an exciting time this is! Uniltìrantokx: Fya’o Payä is just around the corner, and the official trailer has everyone electrified. Also, in just a few days, members of our community, … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo! I wanted to let you know about a linguistic study concerning constructed languages taking place in November at MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, that some of you could take part in! Here’s a brief description: We … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma eylan, Hard to believe that half of 2022 is now history. Krr tswayon pesengne? (Which reminds me of a saying that used to be popular with linguistics students when I was doing my graduate work, illustrating that sentences … Continue reading →
Kxì ma frapo, Maw fpxamoa kintrr afpxamo mì tanlokxe oeyä, fula tsun lefkrra sìlenit tswiva’ hìkrr ulte livawk nìmun lì’fyati awngeyä oeti ’eykefu nitram nìtxan. To all who responded to the T3C (Teaser Trailer Translation Challenge), thanks so much! I … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo! Kezemplltxe, the excitement has begun to build, big time! I’m sure everyone reading this has now seen the teaser trailer for Uniltìrantokx: Fya’o Payä more than once. As we’ve seen, there’s little dialog in the trailer. Only … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma smuk. Ayngaru nìwotx, sìlpey oe, lu fpom. This post has been completed for quite a while, but it’s only now that I’m getting it up on the blog. I hope it will come as a little bit of … Continue reading →
From time to time I receive and answer Na’vi-related questions via email. When such discussions are likely to be of interest to the wider Na’vi community, I’ll share them here on the blog. But a word of warning: Detailed grammatical … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma eylan! It’s been a while. I hope you’re all safe, well, and ready for the most exciting year for the Avatar/Na’vi community in over a decade! I have quite a bit to share with you. Right now, here … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo! Sìlpey oe, ayngaru livu fpom nìwotx. It’s been a while since we’ve had any new vocabulary, slä nì’i’a, here are some new words I hope you’ll find useful. First, one that’s long been missing but which you … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo! The Great Na’vi Proverb and Idiom Contest is now history, and I’m delighted with the results! The insight and creativity that went into so many of the submissions impressed me to no end. Irayo nìtxan to everyone … Continue reading →
Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo! I hope you’ve been having fun coming up with new Na’vi proverbs and idioms. Now it’s time to submit your entries! I used Google Forms to create the entry form. (Fingers crossed that I did it … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo! It’s been an unusually busy month for me, but the things I’ve been involved in have been quite interesting. Spaw oel futa fayu ayngane zayawprrte’ nìteng. 🙂 To kick off the second half of the year, I … Continue reading →
A bit more on -tu: As we discussed, when -tu is attached to a verb, it sometimes indicates the person who is the object of the verb (like spe’etu and kiantu) and sometimes the subject (like snaytu and yora’tu). It … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo! Just a few new words today, but I hope they’ll fill in some important gaps. And I’ll mention a few other things I think you’ll find useful as well. NEW VOCABULARY kian (vtr., ki.AN, inf. 1, 2) … Continue reading →
Kaltxì, ma frapo!
We haven’t had any new vocabulary in quite a while, so this post will be a small step in that direction. Before anything, however, let me say a few words about lexical expansion in general.
As I consider new vocabulary, my thinking seems to organize itself into three categories:
Category 1: This is the most important one: filling in the gaps. What words and expressions needed for easy and effective communication are still missing? A good way to discover such gaps is for us to take notice every so often of what we’re saying and writing during the day, and think about how we would say the same things in Na’vi. We may discover major gaps, where it’s difficult or impossible to express something with the existing vocabulary, something for which Na’vi would most likely have a word. Or we may find we can get our thought across but only by using a clumsy circumlocution, where Na’vi would most likely have an efficient way to say the same thing. Of course, in many instances a lexical item needed for a situation on earth would not have evolved on Pandora, since the situation doesn’t exist there. (To talk about vaccinations, for example, we’d need to borrow terms from Earth languages or come up with creative workarounds.) But such situations aside, there are still plenty of native Na’vi words to discover that we can use to our advantage.
Category 2: Fine-tuning. One of the advantages of using a language with a huge vocabulary is the ability to fine-tune a thought. Think of how we can express the fact we really like something in English. We might say it’s great, excellent, wonderful, incredible, awesome, unbelievable, astounding, stupendous, miraculous, magnificent, superb, breathtaking, amazing, astonishing, fantastic, tremendous, marvelous, . . . Each term has its own particular shade of meaning. It’s true that such a proliferation isn’t necessary to get the basic idea across. (In George Orwell’s famous vision of a frightening dystopia, 1984, “Newspeak” makes do with only three words to express the whole gamut of goodness: good, plusgood, and doubleplusgood.) But having a rich variety of terms in the same semantic range adds color, precision, and individual personality to our expression. While it’s not a priority, Na’vi would benefit from more such terms, each with its own set of associations and ranges of applicability.
Category 3: Words and expressions particular to Pandora and Na’vi life and experience, terms not found in other languages. This is perhaps the most interesting, thought-provoking, and fun category. The most obvious examples are the words for flora and fauna found only on Pandora, and for specifically Na’vi body parts like kuru, tswin, and pil. But there are also words for actions, ideas, experiences, and feelings that are particular to the Na’vi: tsaheylu, meoauniaea, ’onglawn, etc. Also in this category are idioms and sayings like na loreyu ’awnampi and Txo ke nìyo’ tsakrr nìyol. These words and expressions reflect the environment and culture of the Na’vi and give the language much of its uniqueness.
All that being said, let’s move on to today’s new words and expressions:
pe’ngay (vin., pe’.NGAY, inf. 1, 1) ‘judge, conclude’
This word derives from pe’un ‘decide’ + ngay ‘true.’ To draw a conclusion is to decide that something is true. It’s used with tsnì:
Pori keyrelfa oe pole’ngay tsnì ke new ziva’u.‘From her expression, I concluded that she didn’t want to come.’
Derivations:
tìpe’ngay (n., ti.pe’.NGAY) ‘conclusion’
(Note: Don’t confuse tìpe’ngay with tì’i’a, which is also glossed as ‘conclusion.’ The former refers to a determination, the latter to a termination. )
pe’ngayyu (n., pe’.NGAY.yu) ‘judge’
wrrzärìp (vtr., wrr.ZÄ.rìp, inf. 2, 3) ‘pull out, extract’
Pol tstalit wrrzolärìp tstalsenaftu.‘He pulled the knife out of its sheath.’
This word is the basis for some common idioms:
txe’lanti wrrzärìp ‘to greatly move emotionally’ (lit.: ‘to pull out the heart’)
Oeri peyä aylì’ul txe’lanti wrrzolärìp.‘Her words moved me greatly.’
tìpe’ngayt wrrzärìp ‘infer’
To infer is to pull out a conclusion from something seen or stated.
Ngey aylì’uftu wrrzärìp oel tìpe’ngayt a lu ngar yewla.‘From your words, I infer that you’re disappointed.’
tìpe’ngayt wrrzeykärìp: ‘imply’
Here the causative
Ngey aylì’ul wrrzeykärìp tìpe’ngayt a lu ngar yewla.‘Your words imply that you’re disappointed.’
Among English speakers, “imply” and “infer,” which are not synonymous, are often used incorrectly. Hopefully the distinction is clearer in Na’vi!
lewn (vtr.) ‘endure, stand, tolerate’
Peyä tìrusolit ke tsun oe livewn.‘I can’t stand her singing.’
Hufwa tìsraw lu txan, tsun ayoe tsat livewn.‘Although the pain is great, we can endure it.’
ketsuklewn (adj., ke.tsuk.LEWN) ‘intolerable, unacceptable’
(Note: Even though ketsuk- is productive, some forms with it are so frequent that they’re listed in the dictionary, like ketsuktiam.)
Tsafnevoìk lu ketsuklewn.‘That kind of behavior is intolerable.’
tsukanom (adj., tsu.KA.nom) ‘available, obtainable’
This word developed from tsuk- ‘receptive capability’ + kanom ‘get, obtain.’ Note that kk > k.
Tsayfasuk tsukanom lu krrka fìzìsìkrr nì’aw.‘Those berries are available during this season only.’
And something perhaps more likely to be said ’Rrtamì,
Wä fìsäspxin a ’umtsa leiu set tsukanom.Medicine against this disease is happily now available.
ketsukanom (adj., ke.tsu.KA.nom) ‘unavailable, unobtainable’
tìtsukanom (n., tì.tsu.KA.nom) ’availability’
The next two terms both refer to a key point of a presentation or argument, but in different senses.
txinfpìl (n., TXIN.fpìl) ‘main point’
From txin ‘main, primary’ + säfpìl ‘idea.’ This word refers to the primary idea or thesis statement of a presentation or argument.
Oel ngeyä txinfpìlit mi ke tslam.
‘I still don’t understand your main point.’
ngrrfpìl (n., NGRR.fpìl) ‘key assumption’
From ngrr ‘root’ + säfpìl ‘idea.’ This word refers to a basic assumption that underlies a presentation or argument.
Nìlaw lu peyä ngrrfpìl fwa Sawtute ke lu mal.‘His assumption is clearly that the Skypeople can’t be trusted.’
sätarenga’ (adj., sä.TA.re.nga’, colloquially pronounced STA.re.nga’) ‘relevant, pertinent’
From sätare ‘connection’ + -nga’ ‘having, containing.’
Tsasäplltxeviri asätarenga’ irayo.‘Thanks for that pertinent comment.’
kesätarenga’ (adj., ke.sä.TA.re.nga’, colloquially pronounced ke.STA.re.nga’) ‘irrelevant’
letut (adj., le.TUT) ‘constant, continual’
lukftang (adj. luk.FTANG) ‘constant, continual’
These are two near-synonyms that can be used more or less interchangeably, although lukftang is somewhat stronger than letut.
Peyä tìpuslltxel alukftang/letut oeti srätx.
‘His constant talking annoys me.’
That’s it for now. Hayalovay, ma smuk. And for those who celebrate, Happy Passover, Happy Easter . . . ulte Lefpoma Trr Ayskxawngä a mì Vospxìtsìng!
Edit 01 April: *pe’ngayt –> tìpe’ngayt (2x) Irayo, ma Pamìrìk!
Edit 01 April: tsafnezoìk –> tsafnevoìk, Wäfìsäspxin –> Wä fìsäspxin Irayo, ma Plumps!
Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo! Sìlpey oe, ayngaru livu fpom nìwotx.
It’s too late to say Mipa Zìsìt Lefpom, but perhaps not too early to wish you Zìskrrmipaw Lefpom. Spring is officially still three weeks away, but here in Los Angeles it feels as if it’s already arrived. Blossoms and young leaves are on the trees, the weather is warm, and after a horrible start to the year, it feels as if we’re finally ready for a new beginning. The pandemic situation here seems to be getting a little better as well. John and I just received our second shots of COVID vaccine (there are a few advantages to being “of a certain age” ) and we’re feeling very fortunate indeed. I hope things are improving wherever you are as well.
From time to time, I receive emailed questions relating to Na’vi. Let me share some recent ones with you, along with my answers.
Q: You’ve stated that the patientive (objective) ending after -ey is either -t or -ti. But we’ve seen examples where it was -it. Is that correct as well?A: No. There are two cases we know of where the t and i were incorrectly transposed. But a word like kifkey is, in the patientive case, either kifkeyt or kifkeyti, not *kifkeyit.
Q: The verb tawng (vin.) is listed in the dictionary as ‘duck, dive.’ Is it (a) ‘dive’ in the sense of jumping into water to swim, or (b) strictly the action of jumping or throwing yourself to the ground?
A: It’s (a). Tawng refers to jumping into water. It could be used for jumping into water from the outside, as Olympic divers do off a diving board, or it could also be used when you’re already swimming in the water and want to dive down deeper. A typical phrase would be, tawng nemfa pay, ‘dive into the water.’
**Q: To say, “Hello to my young friends in Germany,” we can say:
(1) Kaltxì oeyä ’ewana eylanur a tok Toitslanti.
But can we also say it this way?
(2) Kaltxì oeyä eylanur a’ewan a tok Toitslanti.A: Yes. This is an exception to the rule that two “connecting a’s” can’t be on the same side of the noun—that is, that a must be adjacent to the noun being modified. For example, for “five big black cats” we can’t say mrra palukantsyìp atsawl alayon but rather mrra palukantsyìp atsawl sì layon. However, when a connects not a simple adjective but a relative clause, that clause doesn’t always have to be adjacent to the noun it modifies. We’ve had a number of precedents for this structure. For example: . . . ulte Na’viru set lu nawma eyktan amip a larmu Tawtute,* ‘and the Na’vi now had a great new leader who was a Skyperson.’
Q: What is the ordinal form of zam?
A: It’s zave. Here’s a set of reference tables that gives the cardinal and ordinal forms of numbers. For completeness, I’ve also included charts for personal pronouns and verb forms.
4 Tables
Q: Does the rule about sno that you announced in the last post hold up?
A: Unfortunately, no. The situation is more complex than I had initially thought, and the rule needs to be modified. Interestingly, there’s a somewhat parallel situation in Latin (!), which has two possessive pronouns, eius and suus, that correspond to Na’vi’s peyä and sneyä respectively. I asked my friend who’s a noted Classics professor to send me some textbook material on how those words are used and distinguished in Latin; I now have many pages of complicated grammatical discussion, which may throw light on the Na’vi situation. So stay tuned. I hope to be able to clarify the question in the not-too-distant future.
Finally, some of you who attended OmatiCon online early this year may have seen and heard my Zoom presentation on SLA—Second Language Acquisition—which I illustrated with a little sample Na’vi lesson. If you missed it, it’s available on YouTube here. I enjoyed doing it, and I hope it was fun for the participants.
Hayalovay, ma eylan.
Edit March 2: In 3rd question, friend –> friends