’Awvea Postì Zìsìtä Amip—First Post of the New Year

Kaltxì nìmun, ma smuk. Sìlpey oe, ayngari nìwotx sngilvä’i zìsìt amip nìltsan nìtxan nì’aw.

I hope 2013 has gotten off to a fine start for all of you.

Here are a few new vocabulary items and some grammatical discussion as well. Thanks as always to the LEP for the competent and creative suggestions.

rengop (vtr., RE.ngop—inf. 2, 2) ‘design’

This verb is derived from renu ‘pattern’ + ngop ‘create.’

Ngeyä tsafkxilet tupel rengolop? Tì’efumì oeyä lor lu nìtxan. Tìng mikyun
Who designed that necklace of yours? I think it’s very beautiful.

Derivations:

tìrengop (n., tì.RE.ngop) ‘design (the act or art of designing)

Tìrengopìri ioiyä lu sempul peyä tsulfätu. Tìng mikyun
Her father is a master designer of ceremonial adornments.

särengop (n, sä.RE.ngop) ‘design (a particular instance of designing)’

Faysärengopit avä’ oeru rä’ä wìntxu nìmun, rutxe. Ke sunu oer keng nì’it. Tìng mikyun
‘Please don’t show me these ugly designs again. I don’t like them one bit.’

ingyen (n., ING.yen) ‘feeling of mystery or noncomprehension’

Lu oer ingyen a Ìstaw nim lu fìtxan kuma pxìm wäpan. Tìng mikyun
‘It’s a mystery to me why (or: I’m puzzled that) Ìstaw is so shy that he frequently hides.’

Note: The syntax here—that is, lu oer(u) ingyen a . . . —is comparable to lu oer sngum a ‘I’m worried that . . .’ and lu oer yayayr a ‘I’m confused that . . .’ All three nouns—sngum, yayayr, and ingyen—represent internal subjective states, that is, things you feel.

If, however, you want to talk about the things in the world that bring about these states, you use different forms of the words:

sngumtsim (n., SNGUM.tsim) ‘worrisome matter, source of worry’

yayayrtsim (n., ya.YAYR.tsim) ‘something confusing, source of confusion’

ingyentsim (n., ING.yen.tsim) ‘mystery, riddle, enigma, conundrum’

These N + tsim compounds, where the general meaning is ‘source of N,’ cannot be created freely—they have to be learned separately and entered in the dictionary. But if you encounter a tsim-compound you haven’t seen before, you should be able to guess its meaning pretty accurately.

With these forms, we have a second syntactic structure to express ideas like worry, confusion, and mystery:

A. Lu oer sngum a po ke zola’u. Tìng mikyun
B. Lu oer sngumtsim fwa po ke zola’u. Tìng mikyun
(OR: Fwa po ke zola’u lu oer sngumtsim.Tìng mikyun

These mean essentially the same thing. A literal translation of A into clumsy English would be, “I have a feeling of worry that he didn’t come.” B would be: “It’s a source of worry to me that he didn’t come.”

One advantage of the –tsim forms is that they allow you to make general statements without specifying the experiencer:

Fwa po ke zola’u lu ingyentsim. Tìng mikyun
‘It’s a mystery that he didn’t come.’

Derivations:

ingyentsyìp (n., ING.yen.tsyìp) ‘trick, sleight of hand, clever/special methodology’

This word should properly be ingyentsimtsyìp, but it evolved naturally to the shorter form and is always used that way.

Loakìl pänutolìng futa kar oeru fya’ot a ’ìp fko nemfa ewll. Tìng mikyun
Poltxe po san lu ingyentsyìp azey. Tìng mikyun
‘Loak promised he’d teach me how to vanish into the bushes.
He said there’s a special trick to it.’

ningyen (adv., NING.yen) ‘mysteriously, in a puzzling fashion’

This adverb is obviously a contraction of + ingyen.

Oeyä tskalep ’olìp ningyen. Ke omum teyngta pesengit terok. Tìng mikyun
My crossbow has mysteriously disappeared. I don’t know where it is.’

ingyenga’ (adj., ING.ye.nga’) ‘mysterious, puzzling, enigmatic’

This word evolved from ingyentsim + nga’ , i.e. ‘containing a source of mystery.’ As in ingyentsyìp, however, the tsim part dropped over time, and then ingyen + nga’ became simply ingyenga’.

Peyä aylì’u aingyenga’ lolu sngumtsim ayoeru nìwotx. Tìng mikyun
‘His mysterious words worried us all.’

Parallel to ingyenga’ we also have:

sngunga’ (adj., SNGU.nga’) ‘worrisome, troubling’

yayayrnga’ (adj., ya.YAYR.nga’) ‘confusing’

Note: This word is often pronounced colloquially as yayaynga’, although in writing the r is retained.

Tsatìoeyktìng ayayayrnga’ srung ke soli oer fte tslivam teyngta kempe zene sivi. Tìng mikyun
‘That confusing explanation didn’t help me understand what I have to do.’

yrr (adj.) ‘wild, natural’

Yrr refers to something in its original, unmodified, untampered-with natural state. As such, it has various translations, depending on the context.

Ikranìri krra hu tute tsaheyl si, ftang livu yrr. Tìng mikyun
‘When an ikran bonds with a person, it ceases to be wild.’

Lu tsafnepayoang ftxìlor frato krra lu yrr. Tìng mikyun
‘That kind of fish is most tasty when eaten as sashimi.’

Txepìri, yrra rìnti rä’ä sar, ma skxawng. Tìng mikyun
‘Don’t use that green wood for a fire, you fool.’

Derivation:

nìyrr (adv., nì.YRR) ‘naturally, without tampering with or changing the nature’

Fkxenti pxìm yom fkol nìyrr. Tìng mikyun
‘Vegetables are often eaten raw.’

The opposite of yrr is:

zäfi (adj., ZÄ.fi) ‘modified, interfered with, no longer in a natural state’

Zäfi does not specify how the natural state of something has been interfered with, only that it’s no longer in its original state. The nature of the modification depends on context.

Oel yom tsnganit azäfi nì’aw. Tìng mikyun
‘I only eat cooked meat.’

Here, talking about food, the usual interpretation of “no longer in its natural state” is “cooked.” If you wanted to be more specific, you could of course say tsnganit a’awnem.

Tsaikranìri taluna new ngati tspivang, law lu fwa mi ke lu zäfi. Tìng mikyun
‘Since that ikran wants to kill you, it’s clear it’s still not tame.’

syor (vin.) ‘relax, chill out’

Syor, ma ’eylan, syor. Ke lu kea sngumtsim. Tìng mikyun
‘Relax, friend, relax. There’s nothing to worry about.’

New oe rivun asim tìfnunga’a tsengit a tsaro tsun syivor tsivurokx fte späpiveng. Tìng mikyun
‘I want to find a quiet place nearby where I can chill out and rest to get my head back on straight.’

Note:

tìfnunga’ (adj., tì.FNU.nga’) ‘quiet (nfp)’

Also, notice in the above example how speng ‘restore’ has been used metaphorically: späpeng = ‘restore oneself,’ that is, ‘get one’s head back on straight.’

Fìuvanìl oeti syeykor nìtxan. Tìng mikyun
‘I find this game very relaxing.’

tìsyor (n., tì.SYOR) ‘relaxation’

Krra fko taron ke lu kea skxom tìsyorä. Tìng mikyun
‘When one hunts there’s no opportunity for relaxation.’

’anla (vtr., ’AN.la—inf. 1,2) ‘yearn for’

Tìng nari! Tsayeriktsyìpìl li ’anla sa’nokit a fkol tspìmang. Keftxo! Tìng mikyun
‘Look! That little hexapede is already yearning for its mother that’s just been killed. How sad!’

sä’anla (n., sä.’AN.la) ‘yearning’

Oeru tìng mikyun, ma Ralu. Fìsä’anlal Neweyä ngati sleykayu lekye’ung! Poti tswiva’! Tìng mikyun
‘Listen to me, Ralu. This yearning for Newey is going to drive you crazy. Forget her!’

lie (n., LI.e) ‘experience’

Kop oeru lolängu lie a hapxìtu soaiä terkup. Tìng mikyun
‘Sadly, I too have had the experience of a family member dying.’

You’ve already seen lie as part of the important adverb ’awlie, which we’ve glossed as ‘once (experiential).’ When used in yes-no questions, ’awlie is best translated as ‘ever.’

Srake kolä nga ’awlie ne Nu Yorkì? Tìng mikyun
‘Have you ever been to New York?’

Kehe, slä kolä ’awlie ne Wasyìngton. Tìng mikyun
‘No, but I have been to Washington.’

We now have two ways of talking about having the experience of doing something:

A. Oel yolom ’awlie teylut. Tìng mikyun
B. Lu oeru lie a yom teylut. Tìng mikyun

These both mean, ‘I once ate teylu.’ B, however, is somewhat more formal than A.

By the way, don’t confuse ’awlie and ’awlo. Although they both mean ‘once,’ ’awlie refers simply to having an experience, while ’awlo emphasizes that the experience occurred once and once only, not twice (melo) or thrice (pxelo).

Oel yolom teylut ’awlo nì’aw. Tìng mikyun
‘I’ve only eaten teylu once.’

And now for some expressions involving ‘hope’:

tsìlpey (n., tsìl.PEY) ‘hope (abstract idea)’

This derived from original *tìsìlpey.

Tsìlpeyìl tok txe’lanit. Tìng mikyun
‘Hope lives within the heart.’

Tsìlpeyluke ke tsun kawtu rivey. Tìng mikyun
‘No one can live without hope.’

säsìlpey (n., sä.sìl.PEY) ‘hope (particular instance)’

Krra wätut tse’a, peyä säsìlpey a yora’ ’olìp. Tìng mikyun
‘When he saw his opponent, his hope of winning vanished.’

One derivative of sìlpey that you already know is nìsìlpey, ‘hopefully.’ This word requires some explanation, since we also have the word nìrangal, glossed as ‘I wish; oh that.’ What’s the difference between nìrangal and nìsìlpey?

Both words are used with the subjunctive, but there’s a semantic distinction. Nìsìlpey simply expresses a hope that something is true. The speaker doesn’t know what the truth is, but hopes that something is, was, or will be the case.

Poel nìsìlpey tivok fìtsengit. Tìng mikyun
‘I hope she’s here.’

Poe nìsìlpey zìyeva’u trray. Tìng mikyun
‘I hope she’ll come tomorrow.’

Poe nìsìlpey zimva’u (or: zilva’u) trram. Tìng mikyun
‘I hope she came yesterday.’

With nìrangal, though, the speaker knows that something is not the case but wishes it were. (For those who like fancy grammatical terminology, nìrangal is used for counterfactuals.)

Poel nìrangal tirvok fìtsengit. Tìng mikyun
‘I wish she were here.’ (But I know she’s not.)

Poe nìrangal zìyeva’u trray. Tìng mikyun
‘I wish she were coming tomorrow.’ (But I know she isn’t.)

Poe nìrangal zimva’u (or: zilva’u) trram. Tìng mikyun
‘I wish she had come yesterday.’ (But she didn’t.)

(If you find any of this confusing, I have to admit I once confused the two words myself. In my post of July 24, 2011, I wrote nìrangal zìsìtay when I meant nìsìlpey zìsìtay, ‘hopefully next year.’ I’ve since corrected the error.)

One more thing: nìsìlpey (but not nìrangal) can function as a manner adverbial as well as a sentence adverbial—that is, it can mean ‘in a hopeful way.’ (Roughly speaking, manner adverbials tell you how things are done; sentence adverbials allow the speaker to comment about what she or he is saying. If I say, “Obviously Carlson stole the money,” I’m saying that it’s obvious—to me or anyone else—that Carlson was the thief. That’s using “obviously” as a sentence adverbial. But if I say, “Carlson stole the money obviously,” I’m saying that he did it in an obvious way—he didn’t hide the theft. For some reason he wanted people to see him doing it. That’s using “obviously” as a manner adverbial.)

Tsyeyk ätxäle soli nìsìlpey tsnì livu por Uniltaron. Tìng mikyun
‘Jake hopefully requested the Dream Hunt.’

A NOTE ON CASE ENDINGS WITH DIPHTHONGS

As you know, Na’vi has four diphthongs: aw, ay, ew, ey. If a noun ends in a diphthong, there are a few things to keep in mind with some of the case endings.

The t-case for objects (also known as the patientive case):

With nouns ending in ey, the -it ending becomes simply t. Example: keyeyt ‘errors’ (not *keyeyit). With nouns ending in ay, the –it ending may become t: wayt  or wayit ‘song’—both forms are possible. For the other two diphthongs, the –it ending does not change: fahewit ‘smell,’ ’etnawit ‘shoulder.’

For all four diphthongs, the ti- form is also possible: keyeyti, wayti, fahewti, ’etnawti.

The r-case for indirect objects (also known as the dative case):

With nouns ending in ew, the -ur ending becomes simply r. Example: fahewr ‘to/for a smell’ (not *fahewur). With nouns ending in aw, the –ur ending may become r: ’etnawr or ’etnawur ‘to/for a shoulder’—both forms are possible. For the other two diphthongs, the –ur ending does not change: keyeyur ‘to/for errors,’ wayur ‘to/for a song.’

For all four diphthongs, the ru- form is also possible: keyeyru, wayru, fahewru, ’etnawru.

*          *          *

In closing, I want to say that I’m really looking forward to attending the Euroavatar meet-up in Berlin! For the last two years I was there via Skype, but this year John and I will be there in person. It should be wonderful! The dates are May 11 through May 17. Nìsìlpey tsìyevun oe ultxa sivi hu pxaya hapxìtu lì’fyaolo’ä awngeyä tsatsengmì!

Hayalovay, ma eylan.

Edit: ke srung soli –> srung ke soli. Irayo, ma Kemaweyan!
Edit: Fìsä’anla –> Fìsä’anlal. Irayo, ma Neytiri!
Edit: zìlva’u –> zilva’u (2X), zìmva’u –> zimva’u (2X). Irayo, ma Plumps!
Edit: tivok –> tirvok (with nìrangal). Irayo nìmun, ma Kemaweyan!

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25 Responses to ’Awvea Postì Zìsìtä Amip—First Post of the New Year

  1. Kemaweyan says:

    Irayo, ma Karyu.

    Oeri eltur tìtxen si tìkenong alu

    Tsatìoeyktìng ayayayrnga’ ke srung soli oer fte tslivam teyngta kempe zene sivi.

    Oer lu yayayr nì’it. Solar ngal fìtsenge lì’ut alu fte hu kemlì’u alu srung si. Slä fparmìl oel futa zene fko pivlltxe nì’aw fa melì’u alu fì’uri fu tsari, natkenong:

    Tslam teyngta kempe zene sivi a fì’uri tsatìoeyktìng ayayayrnga’ srung ke soli oer.

    Srake lu fìlì’fyavi eyawr ulte ralìri ftxey lu mìkam mesa’u tìketengo fuke? Irayo nìli.

    Tìsung. Srung ke soli – zene livu eo si 🙂

    • Pawl says:

      Kaltxì, ma Kemaweyan, ulte aysäplltxeviri ngeyä irayo.

      ’Ä’! Kezemplltxe zene fko pivlltxe san srung ke soli sìk. Tsafya pxìm tìkxey si oe; ke omum teyngta pelun. Tsatìkenongìri oel kxeyeyt zosleykolu.

      Säplltxeviri alahe, lu lì’fyavi ngeyä eyawr, lu pum oeyä eyawr nìteng. Ralìri ke ’efu oel kea tìketengit.

  2. Kemaweyan says:

    Lolu oer lahea tìpawm a teri lì’u alu nìrangal. Nì’awnomum lamu awngaru koren a pefya sar fkol tsat. Zene fko sivar kemlì’uvit alu -ilv- txo tsakem liven mì ftawnemkrr, sì pumit alu -irv- txo tsaw liven fìkrr. Tsun fko rivun tsat fìtsenge: http://forum.learnnavi.org/language-updates/a-collection/

    Ngian mì sìkenong alu Poel nìrangal tivok fìtsengit tsun fko tsive’a futa sar ngal kemlì’uvit alu -iv-. Nìngay yayayr lu oer nìmun. Fì’u eyawr lu ulte tsakorenit zene fko leykivatem srak? Tì’eyngìri irayo nìli.

    • Pawl says:

      Fìyayayrìri oeru txoa livu, ma Kemaweyan. Ngaru tìyawr; koren a tolìng oel stum pxezìsìtkam lu eyawr. Ìlä aylì’u ngeyä, lì’uri alu nìrangal zene fko sivar kemlì’uvit alu -ilv- txo tsakem liven mì ftawnemkrr, sì pumit alu -irv- txo tsaw liven fìkrr. Nìsung, txo tsakem liven mì zusawkrr, zene fko sivar kemlì’uvit alu -ìyev- (fu –iyev-). Ulte ftawnemkrrìri, -imv- tam nìteng. Mì fostì a kxeyeyti oel li zosleykolu. Irayo!

      If I may continue in English, since I want to draw an English parallel: 🙂

      You’re perfectly right to point out that nìrangal correctly takes -irv-, not -iv-. But I bet that’s an error that occurs fairly often on Pandora! The reason is that the word nìrangal itself already contains the idea of a counterfactual, so the special, less-common form of the subjunctive is somewhat redundant. It’s a little bit like saying, in English, “I wish she was here.” You hear that a lot, although it’s considered substandard, the preferred form being, “I wish she were here.”

      • Kemaweyan says:

        Tìoeyktìngìri oe seiyi irayo nìtxan. Set slolu law nìwotx 🙂

        Ulte nìngay oeru sunu fìfnel tìlatemä a len mì lì’fya arusey (pxel were -> was), ha tì’efumì oeyä fkeytok tsaw mì lì’fya leNa’vi a fì’u lu sìltsan 🙂

  3. SGM (Plumps) says:

    Ma nawma Karyu,

    so many great words, thank you so much!

    ‘… what I have to do’ as … teyngta kempe zene sivi. is interesting to me. Those si constructions really have a lot of potential 😀

    One little typo in the stress indication for sä’anla: (sä.AN.la), and, what Kemaweyan already hinted at, ‹iv› combines with ‹ol› and ‹am› to ‹ilv› and ‹imv›, not *ìlv and *ìmv, kefyak? At least, that’s how we’ve been using it.

    A first glimpse into counterfactuals—fascinating. But I guess we can’t use these infixes with txo to mean ‘if she where here, I’d be happy,’ right? 🙂

    And I almost don’t dare to mention it … but in some of the audio examples with sngum it almost sounds like *skum. At least I’m not the only one who has problems with that combination. There’s something about -sngu- … 😛

    Irayo nìtxan! 😀 Oeng nìsìlpey fìtsap tsäpìyeve’a mì Ferlin…

    • Pawl says:

      Thanks for the corrections, ma Plumps. As for the complete story on counterfactuals . . . it’s coming. 🙂 And yes, sngu- is indeed a challenge to pronounce! I was aware of the problem and rerecorded several of the examples to try to eliminate the intrusive k (or g), but I guess I didn’t get them all. If you think there are any egregious instances, let me know and I’ll try to fix them.

      Sìlpey oe, tsìyevun nga ziva’u ne Perlin!

  4. Neytiri says:

    Mipa aylì’u akosman, ma Karyu! 🙂

    ” sä’anla (n., sä.AN.la) ‘yearning’
    Oeru tìng mikyun, ma Ralu. Fìsä’anla Neweyä ngati sleykayu lekye’ung! Poti tswiva’! ”

    Sweylu fwa poltxe san fìsä’anlal sìk srak?

  5. `Eylan Ayfalulukanä says:

    Irayo nìtxan! Aylì’u apxay!

    Sunu oeru: rengop sì soaia, yrr

    Var tìkangkem sivi mì aylì’u asìltsan!

    ‘Eylan

  6. Tanri says:

    Irayo seiyi nìtxan, ma Karyu!
    Nolew oe irayo sivi ulte piveng teri mipa aylì’uo a oeyä eltur tìtxen si, slä ke tsun taluna
    fralì’u nìwotx eltur tìtxen seri 🙂
    Teri nìrangal sì kemlì’uvi alu ‹irv› – srake oel tslolam nìltsan futa tsun awnga sivar ‹iv› tengkrr plltxe nìwin fu nì’Ìnglìsì colloquially?

    • Pawl says:

      Irayo seiyi ngaru, ma Tanri! Ngari faylì’u eltur tìtxen si a fì’uri lu oe nitram.

      Ngeyä tìpawmìri mok oel futa ngal sivar kemlì’uvit alu -irv-. Txokefyaw lìyevu kxawm ‘a’awa tute a plltxe san po tìkxey soli. 🙂

  7. Temsko says:

    Thank you, for the explanation of the case endings, ma Pawl. This leads me into asking what I hope is an original question: We’re the case ending originally *iti and *uru?

    The screwed up part is, I like those better…I wish we could use ‘me, is all I saying.

    • Temsko says:

      …use them…

    • Pawl says:

      That’s good speculation, ma Temsko. I suspect you’re right. At an earlier stage in the language, the case endings may well have been *iti and *uru, which evolved into the t, ti, it / r, ru, ur forms we have today. For better or worse, though, we’re stuck with the endings as they appear in the current language.

  8. Temsko says:

    BTW, reading through the words, I noticed something…

    There’s SNGUNGA’ (without an M), then there’s TXUMNGA’ (with an M). The question is, will the latter become like the former?

    • Pawl says:

      Good observation and question. As you’ve noticed, some of these kinds of sound changes, which we call nasal assimilations, are indicated in the Na’vi spelling system and some aren’t, and it’s not always easy to predict which one it will be. In this case, *sngumnga’ has evolved to sngunga’; the change is so well established that nobody says sngumnga’, even in careful speech. (The force of the two ng’s seems to have overpowered the original m.) So since the word is always pronounced that way, it’s spelled that way too. With txumnga’, the m assimilates to the ng in casual, colloquial speech, and the word is often pronounced txunga’. The difference is that in careful speech, most people still retain the m. So the spelling hasn’t changed. I’m not saying that’s always going to be the explanation for these spelling differences, but it’s one reason you’ll see them.

      A somewhat comparable example in English is the word “input.” Lots of people pronounce it “imput.” But in careful speech people tend to retain the n, which could be a reason the spelling hasn’t been modified. (Of course this may be putting the cart before the horse: some might argue that the reason we haven’t all gone to the “imput” pronunciation is that the word is spelled with an n!)

  9. Tìsrusewä Karyu says:

    I’m still bothered by the fact the Na’vi don’t have the written word, but they have to look in the dictionary to see what words they can use. Here’s another case where the complexity of the language is outstripping the very people who are supposed to have created it. Has Dr. Frommer or anyone on the language committee ever thought about this?

    • Pawl says:

      The Na’vi don’t have to look in the dictionary to know how to use their language. They’re native speakers, with native speaker intuition. The vast majority of them to do not read and write. And even if they did, a Na’vi-English dictionary wouldn’t be of much interest. The dictionary is for us, the Sawtute who are trying to learn their language.

      The idea of a dictionary is that it reflects what native speakers intuitively know–that it, is describes the existing language. When there’s disagreement over meaning or usage, dictionaries sometimes express opinions about what’s better and what’s worse. But those decisions reflect how speakers feel about their language.

      So it’s not a question of native speakers finding out how to speak by consulting a dictionary, but the other way round: the dictionary is a record of what native speakers already know about the words in their language.

      • Tìsrusewä Karyu says:

        I feel like I should apologize. My problem is not with the dictionary. I tried to condense my point down to a single sentence, and my meaning got lost in the process.
        Above is this text “These N + tsim compounds, where the general meaning is ‘source of N,’ cannot be created freely—they have to be learned separately and entered in the dictionary.” Here is a case where a construct has only limited usage, and the allowed usages must be found in the dictionary. There are a number of similar constructs like this one in the Na’vi language already. I am not convinced that native speakers would know all such allowed words and not make up new ones that are not allowed. My experience is that humans twist words into new usages all the time – just recently, I encountered a new customer organization where everyone uses “status” as a verb. So how do the Na’vi keep these constructs straight? Eywa erases incorrect words from their minds during tsaheylu with sacred trees? Each clan has a language teacher that corrects anyone misusing the language?
        What I meant to say is: 1) The Na’vi speak this language. 2) The Na’vi do not have the written word. 3) Without the written word, they do not have a dictionary. 4) Without a dictionary, how do they keep these constructions limited to only the approved words? Sounds like the answer is “They just know!” That does not seem reasonable. A more reasonable approach is to not have such constructs. This is why I said the complexity of the language is outstripping the very people (the Na’vi) who created it. The conceptual integrity of the language is being lost as more of these constructs are invented. Yes, natural languages are messy and inconsistent. They reflect the development of the societies that created them. The Na’vi are a pre-agriculture and pre-commerce society, and maybe their language should not be so messy and inconsistent.
        I find reading this web site very interesting and informative, but sometimes I ask myself “Does this concept (word, construct) make sense given the Na’vi way of life?” These limited compounds do not fit, in my very humble opinion.
        I ask that some thought be given to the complexity of the language, and make the complexity match the Na’vi, as opposed to making the complexity match our natural human languages.

        • Pawl says:

          Thanks for the clarification, TK. And no need to apologize. 🙂

          Let me give you an English parallel to the N + tsim compounds in Na’vi that may make the situation clearer.

          In English, we can add -able to the end of a wide variety of verbs to create adjectives that mean things like “able to be Verb-ed” or “appropriate for being Verb-ed.” So we have words like workable, doable, explainable, laughable, walkable, understandable, knowable, reachable, movable, and so on.

          But adding this suffix to a verb is not completely productive. By that I mean that speakers of English can’t simply create adjectives like this from whatever verb they like. For example, we don’t have *cryable, *wantable, *endangerable, *widenable, etc. (Spell checker is putting red squiggles under all of those.)

          How do we as native speakers of English know which -able words are legitimate and which aren’t? That’s not an easy question. There may be subtle rules we’ve incorporated in our heads to tell us that “laughable” is fine but “cryable” is not. And of course we’ve often heard the real words spoken but have never heard the non-words. In any event, as native speakers we have this knowledge as part of our linguistic competence; we don’t need to consult a dictionary. (Admittedly, there is a gray area where a particular word might be accepted by some speakers and not by others, in which case a dictionary can be useful to see what’s considered correct for the standard language by people who make pronouncements about such things.)

          But non-native speakers who are learning English as a second language don’t have the internalized knowledge to know which -able words are legit. So for them, consulting a dictionary is imperative.

          As Sawtute, we’re all learners of Na’vi as a second language. So for us, dictionaries are important to help us distinguish real words from potential words that aren’t in fact part of the language. What we need to keep in mind is that saying “X is in the dictionary” is simply a shorthand way of saying, “Native speakers of Na’vi–i.e. the inhabitants of Pandora–consider X a real Na’vi word.” How do they know what’s a Na’vi word and what isn’t? The same way we know what’s an English word and what isn’t, whatever way that is. 🙂

          One more thing: It’s easy to get the idea that there’s a correlation between the complexity of culture and technology and the complexity of the language spoken in that culture. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. If you want to see mind-bogglingly complex languages, take a look at some of the languages spoken by the aboriginal peoples of Australia or some Native Americans here in the U.S. As some members of our lì’fyaolo’ can attest, the Navajo language makes Na’vi look like the proverbial piece of cake. In fact, it was used by the Americans as a code in WWII, and the Nazis weren’t able to break it. (There was a movie about that–“Windtalkers.”) So even though the Na’vi are pre-agriculture and pre-commerce, it’s not at all inappropriate for their language to have considerable complexity.

          Hope that helps, TK. And thanks again for your thoughtful questions.

          • Your welcome. Thank you for the kind words and taking time out of your busy schedule to address my concerns. You have given me much to ponder. I will sign off this time with the following thoughts.
            Complexity, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Here, again, we need to define our terms.
            My personal experience with geometrical proofs, algorithms, software systems, computer security, dancing, and writing, is that, when done properly, exhibit a simplicity and elegance that is awesome (traditional usage, not colloquial).
            No matter how simple or how complicated, well designed things or well performed activities have these qualities. I seek these qualities and this feeling in everything I do, and wish I was more successful. The Na’vi, as depicted by James Cameron in his film, have these qualities, and that is why they have captured my imagination. I am also looking for these qualities, simplicity and elegance, in the language. Guess every limitation, exception, or twist in the language works against my quest. My hope is that you experience this feeling with every major addition you make to the language.
            I will continue working to master this language, and will contribute when I can. Irayo.

          • Ikxeru Syoapìwopx says:

            Well, let me add one fact, as a non-native English speaker: I often feel that a word like cryable is not a proper adjective, on the mentioned subtle level. But in figurative speaking, or in special contexts I would use it anyway in unspoken quotation marks – and I guess this is the same in Na’vi.

            As languages IMO are subjected the dynamics of its use by the speakers, sooner or later dialects form and I guess one clan uses other constructions or has a preferred word order in clan-specific idiomatics, compared to the way of using the language to other clans.

            The productive vs. unproductive formation of contructions, which you have learn by heart for the standard Na’vi may look odd, but it represents the actual state of the language.

            If one – especially as an alien – would use an unproductive word formation rule on a word that is not covered by the rule, I guess every Na’vi would still understand it – same as you get the message behind the “illegal” word cryable.

            Kezemplltxe … “Cryable” is still a wrong word formation – properly speaking – but languages are a matter of communication and not for making the programmer of an auto-correction program happy. The complexity of a language makes it evolve natural by use. Because every speaker uses the language for one reason only: to transport messages that can be understood by the recipient. And daily usage of that simple structure of the Na’vi language notches in preferred methods of its usage and leads to an oddity that you cannot compare to a computer algorithm. Natural spoken languages don’t work that way. Who knows, if a future English dictionary will list “cryable” as a valid word and lists “laughable” as “obsolete”?

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