syeha (n., SYE.ha) ‘breath’

Derivation:

syeha si (vin.) ‘breathe’

Ma Ralu, srung si por! Nìwin! Syeha ke si!
‘Ralu, help her! Quick! She’s not breathing!’

(A note on pronunciation: Since si never carries stress, the stress pattern with negative si-constructions is KE si, not ke SI.)

sko (ADP+) ‘as, in the capacity of, in the role of’

A. Sko Sahìk ke tsun oe mìftxele tsngivawvìk.
     ‘As Tsahik, I cannot weep over this matter.’

Note: There’s another way to say the same thing, which is in fact more idiomatic than using sko:

B. Oe alu Tsahìk ke tsun mìftxele tsngivawvìk.

But sko has its advantages. Look what happens when you have a coordinate structure:

A´. Sko Sahìk ke tsun oe mìftxele tsngivawvìk; sko sa’nok tsun.
B´. Oe alu Tsahìk ke tsun mìftxele tsngivawvìk; oe alu sa’nok tsun.
      ‘As Tsahik, I cannot weep over this matter; as a mother, I can.’

As you see, the A-structure allows you to be somewhat more concise.

sna’o (n., SNA.’o) ‘set, group, pile, clump, stand’

Ayskxe a mì sasna’o ku’up lu nìtxan.
‘The rocks in that pile are very heavy.’

Note: Sna’o is nfp—not for people. For a group of people, use pongu.

What’s interesting about sna’o is that it has an abbreviated form, sna-, which functions as a noun prefix to indicate a group or collection. With living things other than people, sna- is productive—you can use it to indicate a group of any plant or animal: snanantang ‘a pack of viperwolves,’ snatalioang ‘a herd of sturmbeest,’ snautral ‘a stand of trees,’ etc. These words are not listed in the dictionary.

However, in all other cases sna- is not productive, and you’re not free to form your own words with this prefix. The meanings of such sna- words can be unpredictable, and so they have to be listed in the dictionary. For example:

snatxärem (n., sna.TXÄ.rem) ‘skeleton’ (lit.: ‘a set of bones’)

snafpìlfya (n., sna.FPÌL.fya) ‘philosophy’ (lit.: ‘a group of mindsets’)

snatanhì (n., sna.tan.HÌ) ‘constellation’ (lit.: ‘a clump of stars’)

One more thing to note about sna- words: they indicate naturally occurring groups or sets. For example, a snasyulang is a patch of flowers growing naturally on the ground or on a tree branch. Contrast that with a sästarsìm syulangä, a collection of flowers selected and put together intentionally by a person—that is, a bouquet.

sästarsìm (n., sä.STAR.sìm) ‘collection (put together intentionally by a person)’

tsu’o (n., TSU.’o) ‘ability’

Tìrusolìri ke lu poru kea tsu’o kaw’it.
‘As for singing, he has no ability whatsoever.’

Like sna’o, the most useful thing about tsu’o is its abbreviated form. In this case it’s -tswo, which is a suffix for verbs that changes the verb to a noun indicating the ability to perform the action of the verb. The great thing about –tswo is that it’s productive: you can add it to practically any verb. For example: tarontswo ‘ability to hunt,’ wemtswo ‘ability to fight,’ roltswo ‘ability to sing,’ etc.

Pori wemtswo fratsamsiyur rolo’a nìtxan.
‘His ability to fight greatly impressed all the warriors.’

It’s tempting to try to equate –tswo with English –able/-ible—after all, they’re both suffixes having to do with ability. But there’s a big difference. For example, inantswo means the ability to read; it is not equivalent to English ‘readable,’ which is the ability to be read. For that, recall that Na’vi prefixes tsuk- to form adjectives: tsukinana pamrel ‘readable writing.’

One little wrinkle: We indicated that –tswo is attached only to verbs. That’s true except in the case of si-constructions. With si-verbs, drop the si and attach –tswo to the non-verbal element: srungtswo ‘ability to help,’ pamreltswo ‘ability to write,’ tstutswo ‘ability to close.’

Kxari tstutswo tsranten krra* ke lu kea säfpìl lesar.
‘When one has no useful thoughts, the ability to close one’s mouth is important.’

*I’ve just become aware that krra is not in our official dictionary. It’s in my own database, but I guess I forgot to publicize it. Krra is the conjunction ‘when’:

krra (conj., KRR.a) ‘when, at the time that’

For example:

Oel tskoti ngaru tasyìng krra oeng ultxa si.
‘I’ll give you the bow when we meet.’

Don’t use tsakrr for this purpose. Tsakrr is an adverb, not a conjunction, meaning ‘then’ or ‘at that time.’ It’s often used with txo: txo . . . tsakrr, ‘if . . . then.’

The spelling convention krr a, as two words, is not incorrect, but krra is preferred. With the reverse clause order, however, a krr is the correct spelling. This mirrors the convention with a fì’u.

A note on stress: In keeping with the general rule, sna- and –tswo do not affect the stress of the word they’re attached to: tanHÌ, snatanHÌ; TAron, TArontswo.

Kìyevame vay vospxìay!

Here are some new words for the new season, along with a bit of grammar. Most of the new items come from the Vocabulary Committee, whom I continue to thank for their hard work and excellent suggestions. Irayo ayngaru nìfrakrr, ma eylan.
srer (vin.) ‘appear, materialize, come into view’

Note: Don’t confuse srer with lam, which means “appear” in the sense of “seem” only. Srer refers to something coming into view.

Txonam tengkrr tarmìran oe kxamlä na’rìng, sroler eo utral atsawl txewma vrrtep.
‘Last night as I was walking through the forest, a frightening demon appeared in front of a big tree.’

’ìp (vin.) ‘disappear, vanish, recede from view’

Kxamtrr lam fwa sanhì a mì saw ’olìp nìwotx slä tsakrr ke tsun fko sat tsive’a nì’aw.
At mid-day it seems that the stars in the sky have all vanished but they just can’t be seen then.

tsong (n.) ‘valley’

Awnga tsongne kivä fte stivarsìm teylut.
‘Let’s go to the valley to gather beetle larvae.’

Derivation:

tsongtsyìp (n., TSONG.tsyìp) ‘dimple’

Prrnen lrrtok si a krr, srer mesongtsyìp ahona.
‘When the baby smiles, two adorable dimples appear.’

ro’a (vin., RO.’a — inf. 1,2) ‘be impressive, inspire awe or respect’

Toruk Makto polähem a fì’u rolo’a nìtxan Omatikayaru.
‘The arrival of Toruk Makto made a great impression on the Omatikaya.’

Derivations:

säro’a (n., sä.RO.’a) ‘feat, accomplishment, great deed’

säro’a si (vin.) ‘do great deeds’

Txantstew säro’a si, fnawe’tu ke si.
‘A hero does great deeds, a coward does not.’

txanro’a (vin., txan.RO.’a — inf. 2,3) ‘be famous’

Vay fwa zola’u TsyeykSuli, Toruk Makto alu pizayu Neytiriyä txanrarmo’a frato kip ayhapxìtu Omatikayaä.
‘Until Jake Sully arrived, Neytiri’s ancestor was the most famous Toruk Makto among the Omatikaya.’ [lit.: ‘the Toruk Makto that was Neytiri’s ancestor was the most famous . . .’]

velek (vin., VE.lek — inf. 1,2) ‘give up, surrender, concede defeat’

Tì’i’ari tsamä zene Sawtute vivelek talun* tìtxur Eywayä.
‘At the end of the war, the Sky People had to give up due to the power of Eywa.’

*Note: Here, talun is functioning as an adposition (ADP-) with the meaning of ‘because of, due to.’

spono (n., SPO.no) ‘island’

Ayoel rolun mipa sponot mì hilvan.
‘We found a new island in the river.’

txew (n.) ‘edge, brink, limit, border, end’

Ikran yawolo ftu txew ’awkxä.
‘The banshee took to the air from the edge of a cliff.’

Srake pol layok txewti na’rìngä?
‘Will he approach the edge of the forest?’

(Note the syntax here: lok ‘approach’ is transitive, so pol is agentive and txewti is patientive.)

Ke tsun awnga pivey nulkrr—txew lok.
‘We can’t wait any longer—time is almost up.’

(Note: Lok is used intransitively here, so it’s txew, not txewìl. You’ll find some further explanation below.)

Derivation:

txewnga’ (adj., TXEW.nga’) ‘having a limit, not without bounds, finite’

Tuteri tìtxur lu txewnga’.
‘There are limits to a person’s strength.’

litx (adj.) ‘sharp (as a blade)’

fwem (adj.) ‘dull, blunt (as a point)’

These words require some explanation. You’ve already seen the words pxi ‘sharp’ and tete ‘dull.’ What’s the difference between the old words and the new ones?

Unlike English, Na’vi distinguishes between “point sharp/point dull” (needles, thorns, stingers, knife points) and “blade sharp/blade dull” (knife edge, leaf edge, etc.) This little chart will make it clear:

                        Sharp              Dull

Point               pxi                  fwem

Blade               litx                  tete

Eltu si! Tsatstal afwem lu litx nìtxan.
‘Pay attention! That blunt knife is very sharp.’

Fìtsgnanit ke tsun oe yivom. Koaktanä aysre’ längu fwem.
‘I can’t eat this meat. An old man’s teeth are dull.’

syura (n., syu.RA) ‘energy’

This word can mean both physical and spiritual energy. It’s the “life force of Eywa,” which pervades all of Pandora and its creatures.

Frasyurati fkol zasrolìn nì’aw ulte trro zene teykivätxaw.
‘All energy is only borrowed, and one day it will have to be given back.’

(That example sentence, like many of the others, is from the Vocabulary Committee; I think it’s wonderful.)

Derivation:

syuratan (n., syu.RA.tan) ‘bioluminescence’

Txonkrr lu syuratan na’rìngä Eywevengä lor nìtxan.
‘At night, the bioluminescence of the Pandoran forest is very beautiful.’

txonkrr (adv., TXON.krr) ‘at night’

yuey (adj., YU.ey) ‘beautiful (inner beauty)’

Both lor and yuey mean ‘beautiful.’ Lor refers to physical beauty that’s apparent to the eye; yuey refers to the “inner” beauty that stems from someone’s character, personality, spirituality, etc. Lor has wide applicability, but yuey is ofp (only for people).

Lu poe lor, lu yuey nìteng.
‘She’s beautiful on the outside and the inside.’

kxem (vin.) ‘be vertical’

txay (vin.) ‘be horizontal, lie flat’

These intransitive verbs can be used by themselves, for example:

Fìrumut lumpe ke kxem?
‘Why isn’t this puffball tree vertical?’

but they’re most important in their derived forms—for example:

nìkxem (adv.) ‘vertically’

nìtxay (adv.) ‘horizontally’

Some words you’re already familiar with come from these roots. For example, kllkxem ‘stand,’ which is fairly obvious. In the same way, we have:

klltxay (vin., kll.TXAY—inf. 2,2) ‘lie on the ground’ (and its transitive form klltxeykay ‘lay (something) on the ground’).

These verbs also combine with the word for ‘surface’:

yo (n.) ‘surface’

So we have the word txayo (from txay + yo) ‘flat surface,’ which as you know is also the word for ‘field’ or ‘plain.’ Also:

kxemyo (n., KXEM.yo) ‘wall, vertical surface’

fyep (vtr.) ‘hold in the hand, grasp, grip’

Ngäzìk lu fwa var tskoti fyivep tengkrr utralit tsyerìl.
‘It’s hard to keep holding a bow while climbing a tree.’

Fyep can be extended to general holding, not just in the hands:

Oel tstalit fyolep fa aysre’.
‘I held the knife in my teeth.’

And note these adverbs that can specify the type of holding being done:

nìk’ärìp (adv., nìk.’Ä.rìp) ‘steadily’ (lit.: ‘without letting it move’)

nìklonu (adv., nìk.lo.NU) ‘firmly, steadfastly, faithfully’ (lit.: ‘without releasing it’)

nìktungzup (adv., nìk.tung.ZUP) ‘carefully, firmly’ (lit.: ‘without letting it fall’)

nìsyep (adv., nì.SYEP) ‘tightly, in an iron grip’ (lit.: ‘like a trap’)

nìmeyp (adv., nì.MEYP) ‘weakly, loosely’

Derivation:

säfyep (n., sä.FYEP) ‘handle’

slan (vtr.) ‘support’

Slan is used for emotional, social, or personal support, but not physical support (as in “these pillars support the roof”).

Tìwäteri ngal oeti pelun ke slan kawkrr?
‘Why don’t you ever support me in an argument?’

Derivation:

tìslan (n., tì.SLAN) ‘support’

Ngeyä tìeyktanìri, tìslanìri sì tsranten frato a tì’eylanìri a ka ayzìsìt nìwotx, seiyi oe irayo nìtxan.
‘Thank you so much for your leadership, your support, and most importantly your friendship throughout the years.’

tìeyktan (n., tì.EYK.tan) ‘leadership’

Note: The above example sentence contains two (tìeyktan and tì’eylan) of the relatively rare cases where tì- has been added to a concrete noun to form the related abstract noun.

And a few more body parts:

’llngo (n., ’LL.ngo) ‘hip’

Note: In words that begin with ’ll or ’rr, there’s no lenition: the glottal stop never drops. So we have me’llngo ‘two hips,’ ay’llngo ‘hips,’ mì ’llngo ‘in the hip.’

zare’ (n., za.RE’) ‘forehead, brow’ (from zapxì + re’o)

flawm (n.) ‘cheek’

prrku (n., PRR.ku) ‘womb’ (from prrnen + kelku)

ngep (n.) ‘navel’

Finally:

A note on “ambitransitive verbs”

Don’t let the term scare you. You already know more about this than you think.

As we saw with the lok examples above, the same Na’vi verb can be transitive in one context and intransitive in another. The same thing happens in many other languages—for example, English. Take the verb eat. Sometimes it’s transitive, with an overt object: “I’m eating a cupcake.” Sometimes, it’s intransitive, where the object isn’t specified, and the focus is on the act of eating rather than on what’s being eaten: “Don’t bother me now—I’m eating.” Such verbs are sometimes referred to as “ambitransitive.” There are many other such verbs—understand, read, write, win, lose, hunt, etc.

But in English, many transitive verbs cannot be used intransitively. We can say He always rejects such offers but not *He always rejects.

Na’vi, however, is much freer than English in this regard. Most if not all transitive verbs can be used intransitively. So, for example, we have:

Oel yerom set teylut.
‘I’m eating beetle larvae now.’

Oe yerom set.
‘I’m eating now.’

and also:

Ngal pelun faystxenut frakrr tsyär?
‘Why do you always reject these offers?’

Nga pelun frakrr tsyär?
‘Why do you always reject everything (or: such things)?’

So when you see a Na’vi verb marked VTR, you can feel pretty confident that it can be used intransitively as well. Note that this does not work the other way around: intransitive verbs can’t be used transitively unless you add something to make them transitive. For example, tätxaw is the intransitive verb ‘return,’ as in “I’ll return at 3:00.” For the transitive sense of ‘return,’ as “Please return the book you borrowed,” you need to add the causative infix <eyk>: teykätxaw ‘cause to return’—that is, return in the transitive sense!

One little complication: Just because a transitive verb doesn’t have an object in its clause, you can’t always conclude that it’s being used intransitively. For example, to say ‘The teylu I’m eating is delicious,’ which is correct, A or B?

1. Teylu a oe yerom lu ftxìlor.
2. Teylu a oel yerom lu ftxìlor.

The answer is B. If you’re having trouble seeing this, think of it this way: The sentence “started out” as *Teylu a [oel yerom tsat] lu ftxìlor, that is, ‘The teylu that [I’m eating it] is delicious.’ In both Na’vi and English, you must delete the “it” in the bracketed clause (a “relative clause” for the grammarians in the audience). But even though the object has been deleted from that clause, the agentive marking remains.

On a personal note:

It’s been a while since I’ve given a public talk about Na’vi, but I have two such events coming up in April, both in California. The first is at California Polytechnic State University (aka Cal Poly) in San Luis Obispo, about halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco, the evening of April 5^th:

http://theforumatpoly.com/upcoming-forums

The second talk is two weeks later at my alma mater USC, here in Los Angeles, on April 19^th. That will be to USIL, the Undergraduate Students in Linguistics club. They haven’t told me the exact time or location yet, other than that it will be in the early evening. I’ll post the details when I have them.

If anyone is in the area and can make it to one of these events, please drop by. I can’t promise you’ll learn very much that you don’t know already (although I may say a few words about Barsoomian), but these talks are always fun, and of course I’d be delighted to say hello to you.

Hayalovay!

Edits 31 March: ka–>kxamlä; nìk.Ä.rìp–>nìk.’Ä.rìp; zapxi–>zapxì

Tse, February wasn’t a very productive month for me Na’vi-wise, I’m afraid, but I wanted to get at least one post in before month’s end. So here’s a bit of grammar and a few new vocabulary items for Leap Day (hope it was a good one), just under the wire.

NOUN FORMATION: tì- vs. sä-

You’re already very familiar with both these prefixes, which create nouns, usually out of other parts of speech. Looking at some tì- words, for example:

tìhawnu ‘protection’ comes from hawnu ‘protect’ (V –> N)

tìkanu ‘intelligence’ comes from kanu ‘intelligent’ (ADJ –> N)

tì’eylan ‘friendship’ comes from ’eylan ‘friend’ (N –> N; this is less common)

Sä- creates nouns in much the same way:

sätsìsyì ‘a whisper’ comes from tsìsyì ‘whisper’ (V –> N)

säspxin ‘sickness, disease’ comes from spxin ‘sick’ (ADJ –> N)

So what’s the difference between these two noun formers?

First of all, it’s important to keep in mind that neither one is productive. That is, you’re not free to coin new tì- and sä- words at will; you need to find them in the dictionary and learn their meanings. However, there are some rough guidelines that will help you distinguish tì- and sä- words. I say “rough” because Na’vi is not completely consistent in this area: as in natural Earth languages that have evolved over time, exceptions to the general rules are not uncommon.

The meaning of a tì- noun is generally the abstract idea or concept embodied in the verb, adjective, or noun it’s based on. So tìhawnu is the idea of protecting, that is, protection; tìkanu is the concept of being intelligent, that is, intelligence; tìlor is beauty, from lor ‘beautiful.’

You can immediately think of some common exceptions to this rule: tìrol, from rol ‘sing,’ means song, not the idea of singing. (To talk about singing in general, use tì- along with the first-position infix –us-; this process is productive—i.e., you can do it with virtually any verb. Tìrusol lu oeru mowan. ‘Singing is enjoyable to me.’) Tìpähem means arrival in the sense of a particular arrival, not arrival in the abstract sense. That’s just how it is: these items need to be learned like all other vocabulary.

Although there are exceptions for sä- nouns as well, the usage here is more consistent. There are two basic uses of sä- (with some overlap):

A. To indicate an instrument:

A sä- noun can be the instrument or tool, or the means by which something is achieved.

Examples:

You nume ‘learn’ by means of sänume ‘teaching, instruction.’

You syep ‘trap’ by means of a säsyep ‘a trap.’

You wìntxu ‘show’ by means of a säwìntxu ‘a showing, an exhibition.’

B. To indicate a particular, concrete instance of a general action:

Examples:

A sätsyìl ‘a climb’ is a particular instance of the action of climbing, tsyìl, as in, Tsasästyìl lolu ngäzìk nìngay! ‘That was a really hard climb!’

A sämyam ‘hug, embrace’ is a particular instance of hugging or embracing, meyam. (The unstressed e has been lost here.)

When both tì- and sä- nouns exist for the same root, the difference can be especially clear. For example, we saw in an earlier post that from the adjective ’ipu ‘humorous, funny, amusing’ we derive the two nouns tì’ipu and sä’ipu. Tì’ipu is the abstract concept of being humorous, that is, humor in general; sä’ipu is a particular instance of being humorous—for example, a joke.

Finally, let me correct an error on my part. The verb mok ‘suggest’ yields two nouns, tìmok and sämok, both meaning ‘suggestion.’ The distinction, as you can predict, is that tìmok is the abstract idea of suggesting, while sämok is a concrete instance of suggesting, i.e. a suggestion.

Fìtxeleri tìmok ke tam; zene fko fngivo’.
‘In this matter, suggesting won’t cut it; you need to demand.’

Feyä aysämok lu fe’ nìwotx.
‘All of their suggestions are bad.’

At least once I used tìmok when it should be have been sämok.  Thanks to everyone who pointed that out. Ngaytxoa, krro tìkxey si keng karyu. 

MORE AND LESS

You’re already familiar with nì’ul, the adverb meaning ‘more.’ It comes from the verb ’ul ‘increase.’ Its opposite is nän, ‘decrease,’ and there’s a parallel adverb as well.

’ul (vin.) ‘increase’

nän (vin.) ‘decrease’

nìnän (adv., nì.NÄN) ‘less’

Examples:

Rutxe wivem nìnän.
‘Please fight less.’

Ayhapxìtu ponguä txopu si nìnän takrra Va’rul pxekutut lätxayn.
‘The members of the group are less afraid since Va’ru defeated three of the enemy.’

We also have the following adverbs:

nì’ul’ul (adv., nì.’UL.’ul) ‘increasingly, more and more’

nìnänän (adv., nì.NÄ.nän.) ‘decreasingly, less and less’

Fralo a taron, oeyä ’itan txopu si nìnänän.
‘Each time he hunts, my son becomes less and less afraid.’

Frazìsìkrr pay kilvanä nän nì’ul’ul.
‘Every season the river dries up more and more.’

And we now have the way to say “the more . . . the more” and “the less . . . the less” (known to grammarians as “correlative comparisons”). It’s just ’ul . . . ’ul and nän . . . nän respectively. (In these cases, ’ul and nän have lost their status as verbs, just as the verb ftxey ‘choose’ is “deverbed” when it’s used to mean ‘whether.’)

Examples:

’Ul tskxekeng si, ’ul fnan.
‘The more you practice, the better you’ll get.’

’Ul tute, ’ul tìngäzìk.
‘The more people, the more problems.’

Nän ftia, nän lu skxom a emza’u.
‘The less you study, the less chance you have of passing.’

Nän yom kxamtrr, ’ul ’efu ohakx kaym.
‘The less you eat at noon, the hungrier you’ll feel in the evening.’

(A note on pronunciation: In a combination like ohakx kaym, it’s very difficult to maintain the pronunciation of the ejective because of the following k. So except in careful, slow speech, the ejective is pronounced as an ordinary k. In fact, the two k’s are not pronounced separately but rather as one “long” k, which you hold longer than a regular one.)

AND A COUPLE MORE VOCABULARY ITEMS

mek (adj.) ‘empty’

Ngeyä tsngal lumpe lu mek? Näk nì’ul ko!
‘Why is your cup empty? Drink up!’

Mek can also be used metaphorically for something “empty” in the sense of having no valuable content, in the same way we say “an empty idea” in English.

meka säfpìl ‘an empty/dumb idea’

meka säplltxevi ‘an insipid/thoughtless comment’

sämok amek ‘a useless suggestion’

leioae (n., le.i.o.A.e) ‘respect’

Luke leioae olo’ä ke tsun kea eyktan flivä.
‘Without the respect of the clan, no leader can succeed.’

leioae si (vin.) ‘to respect’ (with the dative)

Ngaru leioae si oe frato, ma ’eylan.
‘I respect you the most of all, friend.’

Note also:

leioae amek ‘feigned respect’

Hayalovay!

Before anything else, irayo nìtxan for all your encouraging comments. I truly appreciate them. And needless to say, I’m very pleased the Community is finding these posts helpful. I don’t always reply, but I do read all the comments, which are often really helpful in pointing out things that need clarification (sì oeyä keyey kop ). Apropos of that, some grammatical issues have come up that I want to address; I’ll get to those as soon as I can. In the meantime, here are some new words that some of you have been waiting for. Thanks as always to the LEP contributors for their excellent suggestions and examples.

kanom (vtr., KA.nom—inf. 1,2) ‘acquire, get’

Oeyä tsmukanìl mipa tskoti kìmaneiom.
‘My brother just got a new bow, I’m happy to say.’

säkanom (n., sä.KA.nom) ‘something acquired, an acquisition, a possession’

Tì’efumì oeyä, ngeyä fìsäkanom lu lehrrap ulte tsun ngati tìsraw seykivi.
‘In my opinion, this acquisition of yours is dangerous and can hurt you.’

käsrìn (vtr., kä.SRÌN—inf. 2, 2) ‘lend’

zasrìn (vtr., za.SRÌN—inf. 2, 2) ‘borrow’

These two verbs are derived from a root verb srìn ‘temporarily transfer from one to another’ that’s rarely used without prefixes. The thing being transferred “goes out” (kä) from the giver or lender and “comes to” (za’u) the receiver or borrower.

Sneyä masatit pol käsrolìn oer.
‘He lent me his breastplate.’

Srake tsun oe zasrivìn ngeyä tsngalit?
‘Can I borrow your cup?’

säsrìn (n., sä.SRÌN) ‘lent or borrowed thing’

Oeta a tsasäsrìnìl tok pesengit?
‘Where’s the thing (you) borrowed from me?’

Note: To express sharing rather than borrowing or lending, use the adverb nì’eng ‘equally’ with the verb that’s appropriate for the situation:

Fol tsnganit pxìmolun’i nì’eng.
‘They shared the meat.’ OR ‘They divided up the meat equally.’

pxìmun’i (vtr., pxì.mun.’I—inf. 2,3) ‘divide, cut into parts’

(Derived from hapxì ‘part’ + mun’i ‘cut.’)

Note: The range of pxìmun’i extends to situations where no actual cutting is involved:

Nìtrrtrr pxìmun’i samsiyul ayswizawit kutuä alawnätxayn snokip nì’eng.
‘Warriors typically share the arrows of their defeated enemies among themselves.’

lätxayn (vtr., lä.TXAYN—inf. 1,2) ‘defeat in battle, conquer’

sälätxayn (n., sä.lä.TXAYN) ‘defeat: an instance of defeat’

Tsasälätxayn Na’viru srung soli nì’aw fte slivu txur nì’ul.
‘That defeat only helped the People become stronger.’

Tsun awnga kelku sivi nì’eng Sawtutehu mì atxkxe awngeyä.
‘We can share our land with the Skypeople.’

If the sharing is with the entire olo’, however, a different adverb is used:

yll (adj.) ‘communal’

nìyll (adv., nì.YLL) ‘communally, in a communal manner’

Fol tsnganit pxìmolun’i nìyll.
‘They shared the meat with the entire clan.’

Fìteyluri ke narmew Va’ru yivom nìyll.
‘Va’ru didn’t want to share this teylu with the Omatikaya.’

hona (adj., HO.na) ‘endearing, adorable, cute’

Ayhemìri ’ewana tsanantangur ahì’i tìng nari. Lu hona, kefyak?
‘Look at what that little young viperwolf is doing. Isn’t that adorable?’

Note: In normal conversation don’t use kalin ‘sweet’ in the sense of cute or adorable; it only refers to the sensation of taste. Use hona instead. A ‘sweet little cat’ is hona palukantsyìp ahì’i. (Palukantsyìp is the normal shortening of palulukantsyìp in conversation.)

nìhona (adv., nì.HO.na) ‘endearingly, sweetly’

Po ätxäle soli nìhona fìtxan, ke tsun oe stivo.
‘She asked so sweetly that I couldn’t refuse.’

tìhona (n., tì.HO.na) ‘cuteness, adorableness’

Peyä ’itanìri lu hona nìtxan a fì’u law lu frapor. Slä tìhona nì’aw ke tam.
‘It’s clear to everyone that his son is very cute. But cuteness alone isn’t enough.’

fäkä (vin., fä.KÄ—inf. 2,2) ‘go up, ascend’

kllkä (vin., kll.KÄ—inf. 2,2) ‘go down, descend’ [already in the lexicon]

fäza’u (vin., fä.ZA.’u—inf. 2,3) ‘come up, ascend’

kllza’u (vin., kll.ZA.’u—inf. 2,3) ‘come down, descend’

The use of these four directional verbs is straightforward. For example:

Fäziva’u ne tsenge a oel tok!
‘Come up to where I am!’

One of the uses of fäza’u and kllkä you may not be aware of, however, is for astronomical bodies rising and setting. For example:

Fäza’u tsawke krrpe?
‘When will the sun come up?’

Another—and very common—way to express rising and setting is to use two intransitive verbs you’re already familiar with, fpxäkìm ‘enter’ and hum ‘exit, leave, depart.’ The full forms of these expressions explicitly mention entering into the sky and exiting from the sky:

Tsawke fpxeräkìm nemfa taw.
‘The sun is rising.’

Tsaysanhì hayum ye’rìn tawftu.
‘Those stars will soon set.’

But most of the time the adpositional phrases (nemfa taw, tawftu) may be omitted:

Tsawke fpxeräkìm.

Tsaysanhì hayum ye’rìn.

sämok (n., sä.MOK) ‘suggestion’

Ngeyä sämokìri akosman seiyi oe irayo.
‘Thanks for that excellent suggestion (of yours).’

mal (adj.) ‘trustworthy, trust-inspiring’

Fìtìkangkemviri letsranten ke new oe hu Ralu tìkangkem sivi. Po ke längu mal.
‘I don’t want to work with Ralu on this important project. He’s not trustworthy, unfortunately.’

To say “I trust you,” you simply say, “You are trustworthy/trust-inspiring to me”—that is, Nga mal lu oer.  The usage is parallel to Nga yawne lu oer.

Nga MAL larmu oer!!!
‘I TRUSTED you!!!’

(It’s also possible Neytiri said larmängu, but I suspect she went with the shorter form. Under the circumstances it was obvious enough that she wasn’t happy.)

Lu tsatsamsiyu le’awa hapxìtu tsamponguä a mal lu moer.
‘That warrior is the only member of the war party that we both trust.’

nìmal (adv., nì.MAL) ‘trustingly, without hesitation’

Rini tsapohu holum nìmal nìwotx.
‘Rini left with that guy without thinking twice about it.’

tìmal (n., tì.MAL) ‘trustworthiness’

Lekin lu tìtxur, lu tìtstew. Slä letsranten frato lu tìmal.
‘Strength and courage are necessary. But most important of all is trustworthiness.’

kllyem (vtr., kll.YEM—inf. 2,2) ‘bury’

Trram tolerkängup sa’nok ayawne. Poti kllyolem ayoel äo utralo alor a rofa kilvan.
‘My dear mother died yesterday. We buried her under a beautiful tree beside the river.’

tsyìl (vtr.) ‘climb, scale’

This verb is used for climbing that involves pulling your whole body up, not climbing stairs.

Tsyìl Iknimayat ulte tsaheyl si ikranhu a fì’u lu tìfmetok a zene frataronyu a’ewan emziva’u.
‘Scaling Iknimaya and bonding with a banshee is a test that every young hunter must pass.’

nìtsyìl (adv., nì.TSYÌL) ‘by climbing’

sätsyìl (n., sä.TSYÌL) ‘climbing event, a climb’

Kintrramä sätsyìl lu lehrrap slä ’o’ nìtxan.
‘Last week’s climb was dangerous but very exciting.’

Finally, some concrete nouns that don’t need example sentences:

rìn (n.) ‘wood’

flawkx (n.) ‘leather’

’ana (n., ’A.na) ‘hanging vine’

tsngawpay (n., TSNGAW.pay) ‘tears’

tsngawpayvi (n., TSNGAW.pay.vi) ‘teardrop’

Hayalovay!

Edit 23 Jan.: ayoe –> ayoel in “We buried her” example. Irayo, ma Lance.

Here’s some new vocabulary for the start of 2012, in no particular order. Thanks as always to the Vocabulary Committee and others for some excellent suggestions.

wo (vtr.) ‘reach for’

Ngal new a tsa’ut rä’ä wivo, ma ’evi. Vivin.
‘Don’t reach for what you want, child. Ask for it.’

yawo (vin., ya.WO—inf. 2, 2) ‘take off, launch’

Fwa yawo ftu kllte to fwa tswayon ftu ’awkx lu ngäzìk.
‘Taking off from the ground is harder than flying off a cliff.’

’Uol ikranit txopu sleykolatsu, taluna po tsìk yawo.
‘Something must have frightened the banshee, because it suddenly took to the air.’

tsìk (adv.) ‘suddenly, without warning’

kllwo (vin., kll.WO—inf. 2, 2) ‘alight, land (process)’

Tompa ’eko nìhawng, ha zene awnga kllwivo.
‘The rain is too strong, so we must land.’

Note: Kllwo expresses the process of landing (“reaching for the ground”) before actual touch-down is achieved. To talk about the completed act, a different verb is used:

kllpä (vin., kll.PÄ—inf. 2, 2) ‘land, reach the ground’

Maw sätswayon ayol ayoe kllpolä mì tayo a lu rofa kilvan.
‘After a short flight we landed in a field beside the river.’

sätswayon (n., sä.TSWA.yon) ‘flight (= an instance of flying)’

rawn (vtr.) ‘replace, substitute’

The syntax for “replace A with B” or “substitute B for A” is: rawn A-ti fa B.

Rolawn oel pa’lit fa ikran, ulte makto set ikranit frakrr.
‘I replaced my direhorse with a banshee, and now I ride a banshee all the time.’

tìrawn (n., tì.RAWN) ‘replacement, act of replacing’

Po ’efu ngeyn ulte kin tìrawnit nìtxan.
‘He is tired and very much needs to be replaced.’

Note: An alternative way to express this thought is: . . . ulte kin nìtxan futa fkol pot rivawn.’

särawn (n., sä.RAWN) ‘replacement, substitute, something that replaces something else’

Fìpamtseoturi ke layu ftue fwa run fkol särawnit a tam.
‘It won’t be easy to find a satisfactory replacement for this musician.’

kxeltek (vtr., KXEL.tek—inf. 1,2) ‘pick up, lift’

Pxiset ngeyä tskalepit kxeltek!
‘Pick up your crossbow right now!’

fngo’ (vtr.) ‘require, demand’

Fol fte ayspe’etut livonu fngo’ ’upet?
‘What are they demanding in order for them to release the captives?’

Fìfnetìfkeytokìl fngo’ futa kem sivi fko pxiye’rìn.
‘This kind of situation requires immediate action.’

Karyul fngolo’ futa aynumeyu pivate ye’krr.
‘The teacher required the students to arrive early.’

Note: To express the idea in the previous sentence, English gives you two choices: ‘required the students to arrive early’ or ‘required that the students arrive early.’ In Na’vi only the equivalent of the latter is possible. (Question: How would you say, “The students were required to arrive early” if you wanted to begin the sentence with “students”?)

säfngo’ (n., sä.FNGO’) ‘requirement, demand’

Ngeyä faysäfngo’ìl nìwotx steykerängi oeti nìhawng.
‘All these demands of yours are making me exceedingly angry.’

ngam (n.) ‘echo’

Fìslärmì tsun fko stivawm ngamit apxay.
‘You can hear a lot of echoes in this cave.’

slär (n.) ‘cave’

ngampam (n., NGAM.pam) ‘rhyme’

ngampam si (vin.) ‘rhyme’

Melì’u alu mungwrr sì nìfkrr ngampam si.
‘The words mungwrr and nìfkrr rhyme.’

Note: Ngampam si can also be used metaphorically, in the sense of fitting together well:

New Rini sì Ralu muntxa slivu, slä tì’efumì oeyä, ngampam ke si.
‘Rini and Ralu want to marry, but I feel they’re not compatible.’

renu ngampamä (n., RE.nu NGAM.pa.mä ) ‘rhyme scheme’

Fìwayri hìnoa renut ngampamä ke tsängun oe tslivam.
‘I’m afraid I can’t understand the intricate rhyme scheme of this poem.’

faoi (adj., FA.o.i) ‘smooth’

ekxtxu (adj., ekx.TXU) ‘rough’

Ta’leng prrnenä lu faoi, pum koaktuä ekxtxu.
‘A baby’s skin is smooth, an old person’s is rough.’

yo’ (vin.) ‘be perfect, flawless’

 Tìhawl lesngä’i lu tìkangkemvi skxawngä, slä pum alu fì’u yo’ nì’aw.
‘The original plan was the work of an idiot, but this one is just perfect.’

A: Ultxa sivi oeng sìn ramtsyìp txon’ongay.
‘Let’s meet on the hill tomorrow at nightfall.’
B: Yeio’! Tsakrrvay ko!
‘Perfect! See you then.’

Riniri nikre yängo’ nìtut.
‘Rini’s hair is always perfect. (I “hate” her. OR: I wish mine were perfect too!)’

Fìstxelit fol txerula fpi olo’eyktan. Zene yivo’ luke kxeyeyo kaw’it.
‘They’re constructing this gift for the chief. It must be perfect without a single flaw.’

nìyo’ (adv., nì.YO’) ‘perfectly, flawlessly’

Txo ke nìyo’ tsakrr nìyol. [Proverb]
‘If you can’t be flawless, at least be brief.’

tìyo’ (n., tì.YO’) ‘perfection’

Fìtseori ke tsun kawtu pivähem tìyo’ne; tsranten tìpähemä tìfmi nì’aw.
‘In this art it’s impossible to arrive at perfection; the only thing that matters is the attempt to arrive there.’

tìfmi (n., tì.FMI) ‘attempt’

Finally: HUMOR

The root word for humor is the adjective ’ipu:

’ipu (adj., ’I.pu) ‘humorous, funny, amusing’

Kawkrr ke lu peyä ayvur ’ipu kaw’it.
‘His stories are never a bit amusing.’

tì’ipu (n., tì.I.pu) ‘humor’

Srake tsun nga rivun fìtìfkeytokmì a tì’iput?
‘Can you find the humor in this situation?’

In general, anything humorous is a sä’ipu:

sä’ipu (n., sä.I.pu) ‘something humorous’

Oeru txoa livu, ma ’eylan. Rä’ä stivi. Lu hì’ia sä’ipu nì’aw.
‘I’m sorry, friend. Don’t be angry. It was just a small bit of humor.’

More specifically, there are different kinds of sä’ipu. One is a joke—that is, a story meant to be evoke laughter (for example, “A man walks into a bar . . .” in American culture)—is a hangvur:

hangvur (n., HANG.vur) ‘joke, funny story’

Poleng Neytiril hangvurit a frapot heykangham.
‘Neytiri told a joke that made everyone laugh.’

Another kind of sä’ipu is lì’uvan, humor based on language or word-play. Puns fall into this category.

lì’uvan (n., LÌ.’u.van) ‘pun, word-play’

Aylì’uvan aswey lu ’ipu, lu sìlronsem.
‘The best puns are both funny and clever.’

That’s it for now. Hayalovay!

CONTRASTIVE DEMONSTRATIVES

This sounds intimidating, but it’s actually a simple concept.

Suppose you’re an experienced mycologist gathering mushrooms in the forest with a friend. You see two different mushrooms under a tree—one edible, one deadly. So you say to your friend as you point them out, “This mushroom is delicious; that mushroom will kill you.”

How would you pronounce that last sentence?

If you’re a native speaker of English, you’d put heavy stress on the two demonstratives, this and that:

“THIS mushroom is delicious; THAT mushroom will kill you.”

I mention “native speaker” because although that kind of stress pattern—what we call “contrastive stress”—is so natural to native English speakers they don’t even think about it, it’s not natural in many other languages. When I was teaching ESL, I kept encountering student learners with very good English skills who nevertheless would pronounce the mushroom sentence like this:

“This MUSHroom is delicious; that MUSHroom will kill you.”

Languages that don’t use stress to show contrast have other ways of doing it. (For those of you who speak French, think of ce jardin vs. ce jardin-ci, ce jardin-là.)

Ha . . . Lì’fyari leNa’vi pefya?

As you know, the Na’vi demonstratives fì- and tsa- are prefixed to their nouns and not stressed, so a simple English-like pattern isn’t possible. Instead, Na’vi uses apposition with alu and a redundant pronoun. Here’s the mushroom sentence in Na’vi. (I’ve used fkxen, ‘food of vegetable origin’ as a generic vegetable here.)

Fìfkxen alu FÌ’u lu ftxìlor; tsafkxen (or: pum) alu TSA’u ngati tspang.
‘THIS vegetable is delicious; THAT one will kill you.’

Note that there is (IS!) contrastive stress here, but it’s on the fi-/tsa- of the pronoun, not of the noun. (These prefixes, of course, are not capitalized in normal writing.)

Another example:

Fìkaryu alu fìpo lu tsulfätu; tsakaryu alu tsapo lu skxawng.
‘This teacher is a master; that teacher is a fool.’

MORE ON FÌTSAP

We saw a few posts back that the adverb fìtsap ‘each other’—another useful translation is ‘reciprocally’—is used with the reflexive infix –äp- in transitive verbs to indicate reciprocal action:

Zìsìto avol ke tsäpole’a fo fìtsap.
‘They haven’t seen each other in eight years.’

But what happens if the verb is intransitive? Reflexive –äp- is only used with transitive verbs (and some si- constructions).

If you think about it, it’s odd to use ‘each other’ with intransitives: you can see each other, love each other, and slap each other, but you can’t sleep each other, talk each other, or swim each other. However, a number of important transitive verbs in English have intransitive counterparts in Na’vi: “I love you” = Nga yawne lu oer, “I know you” = Nga smon oer.

So how do you say “We know each other” in Na’vi? Fìfya:

Moe smon moeru fìtsap.
‘We know each other.’

Literally, this says: ‘We are familiar with us (i.e., with ourselves) reciprocally.’ With moe, of course, you’re talking to a third party about yourself and another person.

Note that moeru is optional: Moe smon fìtsap is fine and means the same thing.

Another example:

Ma muntxatu, oeng yawne lu (oengaru) fìtsap, kefyak?
‘We love each other, don’t we, my spouse?’

With the third person, things get a bit more complicated.

First off, how do you say “He sees himself?” Easy: Po tsäpe’a. But what about “He loves himself?” You can’t use –äp- here. If you say, Po yawne lu por, you’re saying that he loves him/her—that is, someone not himself.

Recall that we encountered a similar situation with possessive pronouns, in which case sneyä came to the rescue:

Pol ’olem peyä wutsot.
‘He made his (i.e., someone else’s) dinner.’

Pol ’olem sneyä wutsot.
He made his (own) dinner.

Sneyä has a relative snor(u) ‘to himself, to herself, to itself, to themselves’ which comes to the rescue here:

Po yawne lu snor.
‘He loves himself.’

Returning to the original question, with snor(u) and fìtsap we can translate “know each other” and “love each other”-type sentences in the third person:

Mefo yawne lu (snor) fìtsap.
‘They (=those two) love each other.’

(Like sneyä, snor(u) isn’t changed for number.)

Fo smon (snoru) fìtsap nìwotx.
‘They all know each other.’

There’s more to say about the sno family, but that will have to wait until another time.

MIPA ZÌSÌT LEFPOM, MA EYLAN!

Let’s hope 2012 is a healthy, happy, productive, and fulfilling year for all of us.

Hayalovay!

Ta Pawl

Edit 1/01: *Nga smon lu oer corrected to Nga smon oer. Irayo, ma Plumps!

He’s right—it is surprising. As you know, the general rule for forming an agent (the one who does the action) from a verb is to add the suffix –yu:

karyu ‘teacher’; ngopyu ‘creator’; täftxuyu ‘weaver’; taronyu ‘hunter’; etc.

In contrast, -tu is generally added to non-verbs:

fnawe’tu ‘coward’; fyeyntu ‘adult person’; lomtu ‘missed person’; ultxatu ‘meeting participant’; wätu ‘opponent’; etc.

Those are the general rules, and they apply perhaps 95 percent of the time. But –tu can be unpredictable. You’ve already seen examples of that:

In spe’etu ‘captive,’ –tu has been added to the verb spe’e ‘capture’ to indicate the recipient of the action, rather like the –ee suffix in English (honoree, interviewee).

In frrtu ‘guest,’ it’s not clear what –tu has been added to, since there’s no word *frr in modern Na’vi (although it may be an archaic form); the verb for visit is frrfen, so frrtu replaces the expected *frrfenyu.

And there are places where you expect –tu but find –yu instead: ‘warrior’ is tsamsiyu, not *tsamtu. (Compare: tsulfä ‘mastery’; tsulfä si ‘to master’; tsulfätu ‘master of an art, craft, or skill—not *tsulfäsiyu.)

The words for ‘winner’ and ‘loser’ are further additions to the list of oddly behaved –tu words:

yora’tu (n., yo.RA’.tu) ‘winner’

snaytu (n., SNAY.tu) ‘loser’

Note that snaytu is doubly exceptional, since snaytx ‘lose’ ends in a pxorpam. So *snaytxtu > snaytu.

Frauvanìri lu yora’tu, lu snaytu.
‘For every game, there’s a winner and a loser.’

The bottom line is that –tu words are sometimes unpredictable. The –tu suffix is not productive, so don’t try to coin these words yourself—you need to find them in the dictionary.

As most of you know, to celebrate LN’s second anniversary the Community organized a second Na’vi Writing Contest. The theme this time was “Teri fwa fmal fìlì’fyati ayawne: On keeping this beloved language alive” and the categories were once again poetry and prose. (If you missed the original announcement that included the judging criteria, you can find it here.)

The judges have now sent me the winning entries, and as I did last year, I’m delighted to announce the names of the winners and share their wonderful work with you.

I’m continually impressed with the quality of the Na’vi coming out of the Community. Perhaps you can imagine how gratifying it is for someone like me to see the language he developed used for communication in such elegant, creative, and moving ways. Awngeyä li’fyari ayngeyä tìyawn oeru teya seiyi nìngay.

Txana irayo to the judges who worked so diligently to adjudicate the entries fairly—and to everyone who submitted poems and prose. Even if you didn’t win this time, I hope you found the process valuable and enjoyable. Ulte kxawm zìyeva’u ngane tìyora’ zìsìtay!

And now to the winners. This time the two top entries in each category were so close, the judges didn’t feel there was enough difference to distinguish them. So we have two winners in each category. Seykxel sì nitram to Alyara Arati, Blue Elf, Ikran Ahiyìk, and Lance R. Casey. Your work is reproduced below, in alphabetical order of your names.

Note: The question came up about how to say “poem” in Na’vi.

The answer is simple: It’s way, the word that usually means “song.” Since among the Na’vi, poetry is generally sung or recited in a melodic way, poetry and song are considered the same thing. This is true in a number of earth languages as well.

If to avoid confusion you need to distinguish a spoken poem from a song, the expressions are:

way a plltxe ‘spoken poem’
way a rol ‘song’

If you need to refer specifically to the words of a poem or the lyrics of a song, it’s what you expect: wayä aylì’u.

Poetry by Alyara Arati

A moving expression of what Na’vi has meant to this poet.

keftxo ’armefu,
tsngarmawvängìk nì’awtu
ayfayìvaru,
krr a lì’fyati
oel rolun, alu Na’vi
a tìtxen soli
elturu oeyä
sì’efursì txe’lanä,
a lalmu syä’ä.

ha fmoli oe
fìlì’fyati nivume
hufwa nì’awve
säsulìn nì’aw
lolu talun ke spolaw
oel mi futa tsaw
tsolun zeykivo
ke’uti oeru keng txo
nivew tsat frato.

slä ’uo lolen
a teri oer ke lolu ’en,
ngian tsrolanten
oeru nìtxan nang:
ke tsolun oe ftivang
’ivong na syulang.
tengkrr ftolia
tsawl slolu mì oey vitra
Na’viyä fpìlfya.

fìlì’fyar, tafral,
lu txanwawea ayral
ulte oeti fmal
fì’ul Eywapxel.
set ’efu oe seykxel
nì’ul fa pamrel
a oer stum swok lam
taluna sleyku nitram
oet, sì txantslusam.

za’u ta txe’lan
aylì’u atxanatan;
nìngay lu txantsan.
fìlì’fya frakrr
layu pum tìyawnä oer;
sar fì’ut tengkrr
hu Yawntu aNawm
oe plltxe mì sìvawm
ulte oet Pol stawm.

oel spaw tsat talun
leNa’via srungit tsun
oe mi rivun,
alu fwa mì oey
vitra mipa tìtstew rey,
a fya’o aswey
lu fte pivllngay
oer fwa lu oe nìngay
pxan tì’i’avay.

mi leykeratem
fìlì’fyal oet nìme’em
mìfa oey ronsem;
pxiset fì’ut kin
oel na unil akalin.
new piveng nìtxin
san Na’vi ’ivong
fa fìpamrel natkenong;
oet nìngay zerong.

Prose by Blue Elf:

Why this author likes Na’vi . . . and what will keep it alive.

Lì’fya leNa’vi—peu lu tsaw? Pum a sar sutel a ta Eywa’eveng a mì ayrel arusikx alu Uniltìrantokx. Mawkrra tsole’a oel tsayrelit alo a’awve, fpìl oel futa oel tsivun nivume fìlì’fyati. Rolun oel pängkxotsengit alu LN.org a tok pxaya tutel alahe a foru lu säfpìl asteng. Set oe leiu ’awpo ayfokip.

Pelun sunu oeru fìlì’fya? Tse . . . pam lì’fyayä lu lor, ke steng pamur pumä alahe. Tìsusar fìlì’fyayä lu ’o’, hufwa pxaya tutel fpìl futa sute a tsakem seri lekye’ung lu. Krro krro ngerop oel vurit ulte yem tsat ne pängkxotseng awngeyä fte ayhapxìtu alahe tsivun ivinan tìtxulat oeyä. Nìteng fmoli oe pamrel sivi aylì’ur alor (alu “poems” nì’ìnglìsì). Fìkem ke seri oe keng fa oeyä lì’fya letrrtrr! Ha – srake ayngal spaw futa yawne lu oeru lì’fya leNa’vi?

Ke lu oe nì’awtu. Mipa sute new nivume lì’fyat awngeyä eylanä a ta Eywa’eveng – tse’a oel tsat mì numtseng leNa’vi alu Ngaynume a skxakep sngìyä’eiyi nìmun ye’rìn. Fì’u tsranten, lì’fya rey krr a sute new nivume pumit ulte terkup krr a fkol ke sar tsat.

Slä txopu ke si oe fwa lì’fya leNa’vi tayerkup. Vaykrr fko payängkxo fa pum, vaykrr awngal nìwotx paryey nìprrte’ fralì’uti amip a ngop awngeyä nawma karyu Pawlìl, vay tsakrr frawzo.

’Ivong Na’vi!

Prose by Ikran Ahiyìk:

How this author has been changed by a language and a community.

Txonmì awew, ’amefu wew, ulte oe spxin slu.
Txonmì awew, ’amefu sang, talun ramun ayngat aftxavang.

Pxìm päpeng oe san fwa sutehu pängkxo lu tsranten. Lu tsranten, oer anìm nìpxi, slä kem ke sami nìyawr. Txankrr wolan, oeri kxa tstu soli, parmey furia tuteo kivä pivlltxe oer. Krro krro fpìl futa sweylu txo fìfyat leykivatem, slä ke tsamun oe.

Frakrr oel fpìl futa oer lu syayvi, talun lì’fyat leNa’vi oel rolun. Lu oer skxom asìltsan, ulte tsun oe nivume nìtxan. Natkenong, ayfya’ori a lì’fyat txula, tsun oe nivume fìtseng nì’aw fa fìlì’fyat nivume. Faysänume lesar lu ulte furia ayfya’ot a lì’fyat alahe txula oe nume, faysänume srung si nìtxan. Slä lu ’awa lun a lu tsranten pumto aham: lu kosman fte ’uot amip sivar, ulte lu ’o’ fte tsive’a futa frapo wou . . .

Frakrr oel fpìl futa oer lu syayvi, talun fìolo’it kop oel rolun. Krr a fìlì’fyat oe nerume, lu oer srung ayngeyä. Tsun oe ’ivefu sang, alu vewng tutel alahe. Txo fìtìsangluke, nì’aw ’efu wew alu oet txìng. Fì’ut oel ve’kängì nìtxan, nìteng oet ’eykefu keftxo. Tsatxonmì ayngal aylì’ufa oeti vamewng, oe ayngaru seiyi irayo.

Tam tam, nìawnomum ke’u swey ke slu kawkrr. Nìkeftxo, krro krro kawtu oehu pivängkxo krr a oel lì’fyaviot poltxe . . . Tsole’a futa zìma’uyuo hum fìlunfa. Tì’efumì oeyä, sweylu txo fkol ke txivìng kawtut. Lu oe tìkenong ulte spaw futa lu tuteo asteng. Kawtut ke txivìng kawkrr a fìkem tsun frapoti stivarsìm ulte fpeykìl futa awnga lu ayhapxì olo’ä a’aw.

Poetry by Lance R. Casey:

Why study a language like Na’vi? This poet has an answer.

Pelun

Aynga pawm san Pelun, pelun
fìlì’fya sunu ngar?
Peul ’eykefu ngat nitram
krr a plltxe aylar?

Ayhemlì’uvi porpamsì
ke lu lekye’ung srak?
Fìlì’fya unil lu nì’aw –
ke tok kifkeyit pak!

Ha sweylu txo ayteleri
letsranten fko fpivìl;
ayut lesar nì’aw ngivop
frapey tìronsrelìl!

Lu skxawng frapo a ke tse’a:
fì’u a kan’ìn ngal
fìlì’fyati lu yaymak sìk.
Oe ’eyng fìfya tafral:

Ke tsun aynga kivame txo,
tsakrr lu kop kakrel –
fkol nume lì’fyaot a krr
’erefu fko seykxel.

Hifkeyur lì’fya si piak
nì’eylan nìlkeftang;
ftxey ta’leng ean lu, ftxey neyn,
kaw’it ke tsranten nang!

This will be a brief post, with only a handful of new words, mostly from the vocabulary committee. More to come soon.

kxukx (vtr.) ‘swallow’

Fìnaer ftxìvä’ lu nìhawng, ha sweylu txo ngal tsat kxivukx nìwin.
‘This drink tastes horrible, so you’d better swallow it quickly.’

txewm (adj.) ‘scary, frightening’

Slä ma sa’nu, ikran txewm lu! Oe txopu si!
‘But Mommy, the banshee is scary! I’m afraid!’

hìmpxì (n., hìm.PXÌ) ‘minority, least, small part’

Hìmpxì Sawtuteyä lu tstunwi, slä feyä txampxì längu kawnglan.
‘A minority of the Sky People are kind, but the majority are malicious.’

kawnglan (adj., KAWNG.lan) ‘malicious, bad-hearted’

nutx (adj.) ‘thick’

Tsun Txilte pamrelit ivinan; tafral pukot anutx munge fratseng.
‘Txilte knows how to read; therefore she brings a thick book wherever she goes.’

flì (adj.) ‘thin’ (Note: Not for people)

Krro krro, flìa vul arusey to nutxa pum akerusey lu txur.
‘A thin living branch is sometimes stronger than a thick dead one.’

flìnutx (n., flì.NUTX) ‘thickness’

Sre fwa sìn tskxepay tìran, zene fko flìnutxit stiveftxaw.
‘It’s necessary to check the thickness of the ice before walking on it.’

Nì’ul ye’rìn . . .

Here are a few new words, mostly suggestions from our hardworking Vocabulary Committee, along with a bit of new grammar.

Na’vi has two different words corresponding to the English word source; it’s important not to confuse them. One is:

letsim (adj., le.TSIM) ‘original, unique, not derived from another source’

This adjective is derived from the noun tsim ‘source, origin.’

Sweylu txo ngal ke txivìng säfpìlit letsim.
‘You shouldn’t abandon your original idea.’

The meaning here is that you came up with a new and unique idea that you shouldn’t abandon.

But we also have:

lesngä’i (adj., le.SNGÄ.’i) ‘original, existing at or from the start, first in a series’

Sweylu txo ngal ke txivìng säfpìlit lesngä’i.
‘You shouldn’t abandon your original idea.’

Here the meaning is that your very first idea is better than the current one.

The related adverbs are:

nìtsim (adv., nì.TSIM) ‘originally, in an original way, with originality’

nìsngä’i (adv., nì.SNGÄ.’i) ‘originally, at first’

Frakrr po fpìl nìtsim nìwotx.
‘Her thinking is always completely original.’

Nìsngä’i fmawnit fo narmew wivan, slä nì’i’a frapor lolonu.
‘They originally wanted to hide the news, but in the end they revealed it everyone.’

ngong (adj.) ‘lethargic, lacking sufficient energy, lazy’

Ftue lu fwa taron ngonga ioangit to fwa taron pumit a lu walak sì win.
‘It’s easier to hunt lethargic animals than to hunt perky, speedy ones.

walak (adj., WA.lak) ‘energetic, active’

Tìtusaronìri txo new fko slivu tsulfätu, zene smarto livu walak.
‘If you want to become a master hunter, you have to be more active than your prey.’

Fìtrr oe ’efu ngong nìwotx.
‘I’m just not motivated to do anything today.’

Derivations:

tìngong (n., tì.NGONG) ‘lethargy, laziness’

nìngong (adv., nì.NGONG) ‘lethargically, lazily’

Note: When applied to people, ngong and its derivatives have a pejorative force: it’s not good to be lazy and lethargic.

Fwa Ìstawhu ’awsiteng tìkangkem si ke sunu oer; tìngongìri ke lu kawtu
na po.
‘I don’t like to work with Ìstaw; he’s famous for his laziness.’

To talk about doing something in a leisurely or unhurried way, without the negative connotation, we use a different set of words:

txi (n.) ‘hurry, hurriedness, frenzy’

letxi (adj., le.TXI) ‘hurried, frenzied’

nìtxi (adv., nì.TXI) ‘hurriedly, in a frenzied way’

letxiluke (adj., le.TXI.lu.ke) ‘unhurried’

nìtxiluke (adv., nì.TXI.lu.ke) ‘unhurriedly, leisurely’

Tsun oe ngahu tsatsengene kivä, slä nulnew futa sivop oeng nìtxiluke.
‘I can go there with you, but I prefer to travel leisurely.’

kulat (vtr., KU.lat — inf. 1,2 ) ‘reveal, bring forth, uncover (literally and metaphorically)’

Maw txantompa, pxaya rìkäo lamu tskalep peyä, ha tsat kulat ayoel.
‘After the rainstorm, his crossbow was under a lot of leaves, so we uncovered it (removed the leaves from it).’

txantompa (n., txan.TOM.pa) ‘rainstorm, heavy rain’

Lolu kavuk, slä Tsenul tìngayit kolulat.
‘There was treachery, but Tsenu revealed the truth.’

meyam (vtr., me.YAM — inf. 1,2) ‘hug, embrace, hold in one’s arms’

Ma sa’nu, oe txopu si. Meyam oeti!
‘Mommy, I’m scared. Hold me!’

Derivation:

sämyam (n., säm.YAM) – hug, embrace

Sämyamìl poru wayìntxu futa ngata lolu li txoa.
‘A hug will show him that you’ve already forgiven him.’
Now here’s the first bit of new grammar. How would you say, “They hugged each other?”

For this “reciprocal structure,” Na’vi uses the reflexive infix ‹äp› along with the adverbfìtsap:

fìtsap (adv., fì.TSAP) ‘each other’

This word evolved from fìpo+tsapor, literally ‘this person/thing to that person/thing.’

Example:

Mefo fìtsap mäpoleyam tengkrr tsngawvìk.
‘The two of them hugged each other and wept.’

Note two things here. First, it’s mefo, not mefol, since a reflexive verb takes the subjective, not the agentive, case. Second, if you omitted fìtsap, the sentence would mean that the two of them hugged themselves—that is, A hugged A and B hugged B rather than A hugged B and B hugged A.

Note also that the verb pom ‘kiss’ and the derived noun säpom ‘a kiss’ are parallel in all respects to meyam and sämyam.

nuä (adp.+, NU.ä) ‘beyond’

Awnga kelku si nuä ayram alusìng.
‘We live beyond the flying mountains.’

Note the difference between nuä ‘beyond’ and few ‘across, aiming for the opposite side of.’

Fo kelku si few ’ora.
‘They live across the lake.’ (That is, on the opposite side of the lake, on the other shore.)

Fo kelku si nuä ora.
‘They live beyond the lake.’ (That is, a great distance beyond and out of sight of the lake.)

(I’m sure everyone knows why it’s ’ora in one but ora in the other.  )

kanfpìl (vin., KAN.fpìl — inf. 1, 2) ‘concentrate, focus one’s attention’

Furia sneyä tskoti ngop po kanfpìl.
‘He’s concentrating on making his bow.’

Txo new nga tslivam, zene kivanfpìl.
‘If you want to understand, you have to concentrate.’

fmokx (n.) ‘jealousy, envy’

The syntax is: Lu oeru fmokx. ‘I’m jealous.’

Note that fmokx carries a neutral connotation unless otherwise specified with ‹äng› or‹ei›.

Furia fìtxan fnängan Ulreyìl tsko swizawit, lu oeru fmokx.
‘I’m jealous of the fact that Ulrey is such an excellent archer.’

Fko plltxeie san menga muntxa slolu sìk! Seykxel sì nitram! Slä lu oeru
fmokx nì’it.
‘I’m so happy to hear you got married! Congratulations! I am a little envious, though.’

Derivation:

nìfmokx (adv., nì.FMOKX) ‘jealously, enviously’

Txewìl tukrut Loakä narmìn nìfmokx.
‘Txewì was eyeing Loak’s spear enviously.’

kìmar (adj., kì.MAR) ‘in season (of foods, vegetable or animal)’

Teylu kìmar lìyu a fì’u oeru teya si.
It fills me with joy that teylu is about to be in season.

Derivation:

nìkmar (adv., nìk.MAR) ‘in the right season, opportunely’

Nìkmar can be used to describe events and situations that occur at a convenient or appropriate time.

Po tsap’alute soli nìkmar.
‘He apologized at the right time.’

Awngal tok kelkut.  Nìkmar zup tompa set.
‘We’re home.  Now is a good time for it to be raining.’

When occurring in a negated phrase, the meaning is not merely ‘not in season’ but ‘genuinely out of season, occurring at an inappropriate or inconvenient time.’

Fo ke perängkxo oehu nìkmar.
‘They were chatting with me at a bad time.’

Contrast the previous sentence with:

Kìmar lu fwa fo ke pängkxo oehu.
‘It was opportune that they didn’t chat with me.’ (That is, ‘They chose a good time not to chat with me.’)

 
Finally, here’s a use of the second-position infix ‹ats› that I don’t think you’ve seen before. (Thanks to one of our sulfätu lì’fyayä for this suggestion.)

‹ats› is used in what we might call “conjectural questions.” In a normal question, I don’t know something but I expect you do—that’s why I’m asking.  In a conjectural question, however, I don’t know and I don’t think you do either.

Tsa’u latsu peu?
‘What on earth is that?

Pol pesenget tatsok?
‘Where in the world could she be?’

Srake pxefo li polähatsem?
‘I wonder if the three of them have already arrived.’

’O’a Ftxozä Hälowinä, ma frapo!

ta Pawl

P.S.—I owe some of you responses to your comments on the previous post, and I’m sure there will comments on this one as well. I’ll get to them as soon as I can, but it probably won’t be until Wednesday night at the earliest.