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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 Songcord, 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 semantically 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 Songcord

Verse 1:

1. Lie si oe Neteyamur,                       I experience Neteyam,
2. Nawma Sa’nokur mìfa oeyä.       (And) Great Mother, within me.
3. Atanti ngal molunge,                      You brought light,
4. Mipa tìreyti, mipa ’itanti.             New life, a new son.
5. Lawnol a mì te’lan.                          Joy within my heart.
6. Lawnol a mì te’lan.                          Joy within my heart.

Chorus:

7. Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe                   We thank you
8. Tonìri tìreyä,                                      For the nights of (our) life,
9. Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe                   We thank you
10. Srrìri tìreyä,                                       For the days of (our) life,
11. Ma Eywa, ma Eywa.                      Oh Eywa, oh Eywa.

Verse 2:

12. Zola’u nìprrte’, ma Kiri.              Welcome, Kiri.
13. Ngati oel munge soaiane.            I bring you to the family.
14. Lie si oe atanur,                               I experience the light,
15. Pähem parul, tì’ongokx ahuta. A miracle arrives, an unexpected birth.
16. Lawnol a mì te’lan.                        Joy within my heart.
17. Lawnol a mì te’lan.                        Joy within my heart.

Chorus repeats

Edit 30 Dec.: tireyä –> tìreyä (2X)  Irayo, ma Vawmataw!

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, include yours truly, will be arriving in Cambridge, Massachusetts to participate in the research study on constructed languages being conducted at MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. (Nìfkeytongay, I’m writing the draft of this post on the plane to Boston! 🙂 )

Speaking of which . . .

If you can’t make it to the conlang conference in person on Friday, 11 November, it’s still possible for you to attend . . . online, via Zoom! But you need to register. Here’s the official information, including the registration link. Once you’ve officially registered, you’ll receive a Zoom link that will allow you to attend virtually.

The McGovern Institute presents:

November 11, 2:00 – 5:30 pm EST in Singleton Auditorium (46-3002)

Followed by a reception with food and drink in 3^rd floor atrium

Registration link (for both in person and virtual attendees): https://www.eventbrite.com/e/brains-on-conlang-tickets-427467255067

Contact: saimamm@mit.edu

A network of regions in the left hemisphere of our brain responds robustly when we read or listen to language, but not when we solve arithmetic or logic problems, listen to music, or observe others’ facial expressions or gestures. But what precise features of language drive this network remains debated. One way to tackle this question is to test the “limits” of the language network by examining how it responds to artificially created languages—conlangs. Like natural languages, conlangs can express any idea. However, although these languages are typically modeled on natural languages, they have not undergone thousands of years of evolution and have not been optimized by communicative pressures and learning constraints. So, does listening to Esperanto, Klingon, or Dothraki activate the brain network that processes natural languages?

To explore this question, McGovern Investigator Ev Fedorenko with her graduate student Saima Malik-Moraleda will scan the brains of proficient speakers of five conlangs (Esperanto, Klingon, Dothraki, High Valyrian, and Na’vi) while they listen to sentences spoken in the language of interest. Four conlang creators — Marc Okrand (Klingon), David Peterson and Jessie Sams (Dothraki and High Valyrian), and Paul Frommer (Na’vi) — will discuss the process of language creation. Linguists Damián Blasi and Arika Okrent will talk about their research relevant to conlangs, linguistic creativity, and linguistic diversity. And Fedorenko and Malik-Moraleda will present some preliminary findings from their research. There will also be language games organized by Duolingo.

And a personal request:

I’m very much looking forward to meeting some of you “in the flesh” whom I’ve only known so far via posts and emails, and often only with your Na’vi name. If you’re planning to be there in person, could you do me favor? Send me an email with (1) your Na’vi name, (2) your full ’Rrta name, and (3) (optionally) a photo of your handsome/beautiful face so I can recognize you immediately. My email address is my last name at marshall.usc.edu. Irayo!

And now for a few new words and expressions:

sätsawn (n., sä.TSAWN) ‘harvest (particular instance)’

Fìzìsìtä sätsawn txantsan leiu.
‘I’m pleased to say that this year’s harvest was excellent.’

(By the way, if you’re wondering: Yes, there is agriculture on Pandora! 😉 )

’eylyong (n., ’EYL.yong) ‘pet’

You can probably guess the derivation: ’eylan ‘friend’ + ioang ‘animal.’

Tìkan fìpayoangä ke lu fwa tsun fko pot yivom; lu oeyä ’eylyong.
‘This fish is not meant to be eaten; it’s my pet.’

(Since it’s a pet, it would be more natural here to say pot rather than tsat. A pet is usually more like a person than a thing.)

tsefta (n., TSE.fta) ‘vengeance, revenge’

Omum oel futa ngal pot ve’kì, slä tsefta ke lu tì’eyng amuiä.
‘I know you hate him, but vengeance is not a proper response.

tsefta si (vin., TSE.fta si) ‘take revenge’

Tutanur a eyktanayti tspolang oeyä sempul tsefta sayi.
‘My father will take revenge on the man who killed the deputy.’

tseftanga’ (adj., TSE.fta.nga’) ‘vengeful’

This word can be used for both people and things: tute atseftanga’ ‘vengeful person,’ aylì’u atseftanga’ ‘vengeful words.’

layro (adj., LAY.ro) ‘free (from oppression)’

tìlayro (n., tì.LAY.ro) ‘freedom’

These words refer to not being under anyone’s control, able to act as you like without oppression.

Aysutel nìwotx new tìlayrot.
‘All people want freedom.’

And finally, two adverbs that express different kinds of surprise:

ti’a (adv., TI.’a) ‘surprisingly (for unexpectedly positive outcomes)’

um’a (adv., UM.’a) ‘surprisingly (for unexpectedly negative outcomes)’

These words are more specific than nìloho ‘surprisingly,’ which is neutral as to outcome.

Ramu ke lu txur nìtxan, slä uvanit yolora’, ti’a.
‘Ramu isn’t very strong, but surprisingly, he won the game.’

Pol tìkangkemit tsyolul nìso’ha, slä tsa’ur hasey ke soli, um’a.
He began the work enthusiastically, but surprisingly, he didn’t finish it.

That’s it for now. Hayalovay!

Edit 21 Nov.: spolang –> tspolang
Edit 29 Dec.: amuia–> amuiä, ke hasey soli –> hasey ke soli  Irayo, ma Zángtsuva!

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 are researchers in the McGovern Institute for Brain Research and the Brain and Cognitive Sciences department at MIT and we are interested in how the human brain processes language (evlab.mit.edu).

One research question we would like to ask is whether the processing of constructed languages (conlangs) recruits the same mechanisms as those supporting the processing of natural languages. To do this, we need to test (in an fMRI scanner) speakers / learners of conlangs. The testing would take place in Boston in November 2022 (exact dates TBD) and will likely be combined with an MIT-CONLANG event (with special guests, like the creators of some of the languages and/or famous users). We will also subsidize travel expenses for those selected for participation.

The date of the MIT Conlang event has now been set: Friday, November 11. And Na’vi will be part of the study!

If you’re an intermediate-to-advanced Na’vi learner/speaker and you’d like to come to Boston, with travel expenses subsidized, to participate in the event, fill out this form online:

https://mit.co1.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_aaDQw3jpWRyOmN0

Don’t be concerned that Na’vi isn’t mentioned on the form; we were added later. Just check the Other box and fill in Na’vi.

The original announcement about this study was made on Twitter, and a few members of the Na’vi community heard about it and have already applied. It would be great if we could get more participants!

I’ll be there myself on Nov. 11 to participate in a panel discussion. Nìsìlpey tsìyevun oe hu eylan a ta lì’fyaolo’ awngeyä ultxa sivi tsatseng!!

Hayalovay!

ta Pawl

UPDATE: Just to be clear, if you’re chosen to participate in the study, you will not be asked to produce Na’vi, either in oral or written form! Rather, you’ll listen to some recorded material and simply be asked to comprehend it, while your brain is being monitored. That might be encouraging to people whose comprehension of spoken Na’vi is good but who feel less confident about speaking themselves.

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 that seem similar on the surface can have very different underlying structures: “Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.” 🙂  )

In any event, the second half of this year is sure to be an exciting period for everyone in Kifkey Uniltìrantokxä! I’ve been more than busy with a lot of Na’vi-related things and haven’t been as involved with the blog or responsive to your comments as I would like. But for now, let me at least offer one response and a few new vocabulary items.

There were a number of comments expressing concern about the term olo’eykte, presumably meaning ‘female clan leader.’ The question was whether the term is canon, and if so, whether olo’eyktan, which prior to this was considered gender-neutral, actually referred to a specifically male clan leader.

My correspondence regarding this term goes back over a year. In a nutshell, olo’eykte arose in a natural and understandable way. Since we have such triples as eveng ‘child,’ evengan ‘boy,’ evenge ‘girl’; tsmuk ‘sibling,’ tsmukan ‘brother,’ tsmuke ‘sister’; po ‘he/she,’ poan ‘he,’ poe ‘she,’ etc., olo’eykte arose based on that pattern. (To fit in with these triples, there should be a third, neutral term such as *olo’eyktu, but that doesn’t exist.) However, there is a second pattern, where words in –an are gender-neutral. The obvious example is ’eylan ‘friend.’

Since olo’eykte is attested in a lot of official documentation, it is canon and will appear in our dictionaries. The best way to think of it is somewhat like “actor” vs. “actress” in current English. If there is a good reason to distinguish between male and female thespians, then you can use “actor” for males and “actress” for females. (In the Academy Award presentations, otherwise known as the Oscars, there are separate categories for “Actor in a Leading Role” and “Actress in a Leading Role.”) But nowadays, many if not most females who act prefer to refer to themselves as actors, not actresses.

In somewhat the same fashion, olo’eyktan can definitely still be used in a gender-neutral way to refer to both males and females. However, if for any reason you want to distinguish between male and female clan leaders, you can use olo’eyktan for a male and olo’eykte for a female. Context should be able to differentiate between these two uses of olo’eyktan.

One more thing: Although gender-neutral terms are preferable when gender is not an issue, it’s sometimes useful in narratives to be able to distinguish gender. For example, suppose you’re relating a conversation between two Na’vi, one male and one female: “He said . . .” “She said . . .” “Then she said . . .” “Then he said . . .” You can use po for both people, of course, but it might be easier to track the conversation in terms of who said what if you distinguish between Poan poltxe and Poe poltxe.

Now for a handful of new words. Most of these are straightforward and don’t require example sentences.

’eng (n.) ‘beak of a bird or animal’

wion (n., WI.on) ‘reef’

Two words for body types, used for people and animals:

ompu (adj., OM.pu) ‘fat, corpulent’

litsi (adj., LI.tsi) ‘thin, lean, lithe’

These terms are objective and nonjudgmental. Also, don’t confuse litsi with flì. Flì is used for things, not people: frir aflì ‘thin layer,’ flìa vul ‘thin branch.’

tsukmong (adj., tsuk.MONG) ‘reliable, dependable’

This word derives from mong ‘depend on, rely on’ and can be used for both people and things: tute atsukmong ‘dependable person,’ aysìoeyktìng atsukmong ‘reliable explanations.’

And finally:

man (vin.) ‘belong’

This is ‘belong’ in the sense of fitting in; feeling comfortable as part of a group; being in a place, position, or relationship where one belongs. (Note that you can’t use man in a possessive sense, as in “This bow belongs to me.”) Man is often accompanied by a place expression or one with hu:

Man po fìpongumì nìlaw.
‘He clearly belongs in this group.’

Nga man oehu, ma paskalin.
‘You belong with me, honey.’

Krro krro fpìl oel futa ke man oe kawtseng.
‘Sometimes I think I don’t belong anywhere.’

Rolun oel olo’ti a ’efu fta oe man tsatsengmì.
‘I’ve found a community where I feel I belong.’

And that’s what I truly hope both newcomers and old timers will be able to say, and continue to say, about our united lì’fyaolo’ as the days, months, and years go by.

Hayalovay.

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 was impressed and delighted—although not surprised—by the creativity, nuance, and linguistic sensitivity that went into your responses. Oeri leiu fìlì’fyaolo’ lawnoltsim.

lawnoltsim (n., LAW.nol.tsim; colloquially, LAW.no.tsim) ‘source of (great) joy’

Obviously there’s no “correct answer” here, and the responses contained a lot of viable options. Although everyone had something useful to say, let me comment on a few things that particularly struck me.

Translation of “fortress”

Lots of good options. The most popular seemed to be the existing word zongtseng, which is glossed in the dictionary as ‘safe place’ or ‘refuge.’ That can certainly be the function of a fortress.

I’m not sure, though, that zongtseng fully conveys the idea of strength, of something impervious to attack. We can’t know what was actually in Jake’s mind, but as a former military guy, he may have been picturing “fortress” in its original sense in English, i.e., as a military fortification or stronghold, and using it metaphorically. With that in mind, I myself, like some of you as well, had come up with txurtseng—a place of strength, or as was mentioned in the comments, a bulwark. What we don’t know is whether this concept already existed in Na’vi culture. Did the Omatikaya think of Kelutral as both a zongtseng and a txurtseng? Or were there other physical structures in their culture and experience that were more clearly txurtseng? Hard to say at this point.

Some other ideas I liked:

• zongku (zong ‘defend’+ kelku ‘home’)
• kelhawn (kelku + hawnu ‘protect, shelter’ = ‘house of protection’)
• hawntseng (‘place of protection’)
• ekxakxemyo (ekxan ‘barricade’ + kxemyo ‘wall’)—nice, although a bit challenging to pronounce!
• tìslan aseykxel (tìslan ‘support’ + seykxel ‘confidently strong’)
• tìtxur (‘strength’)—the simplest of all, but it might very well be that “fortress” in the sense of a physical structure used metaphorically is an ’Rrta concept and not part of Na’vi thinking, in which case “strength” could best convey Jake’s intent.

In the end, I’m going to add txurtseng to the dictionary, and reserve zongtseng for ‘refuge’:

txurtseng (n., TXUR.tseng) ‘fortification, fortress, bulwark’

Translation of Jake’s complete statement

I thought there were three main considerations here: Jake’s statement should—

• Be concise
• Be idiomatic and true to the spirit of Na’vi
• Have good rhythm, flow, and emphasis

(It’s true that conciseness isn’t a necessary requirement, and I appreciated the spirited defense of a wordier version. 🙂  But I think this is a case where less is more.)

There was broad agreement about how this should go, but also some interesting differences.

“I know one thing . . .”

The question here is whether “one thing” should be translated literally. For those who did it that way (I was among them—at first!), it comes out:

Omum oel (or: Oel omum—there’s no difference) fì’ut a’aw (or: ’awa fì’ut) . . .

Why not just ’ut(i) a’aw, without the fì-? I don’t believe we’ve had a hard and fast rule about this, but ’u ‘thing’ isn’t used much by itself; instead, it usually has some modifier: fì’u, tsa’u, ’uo . . . So a more literal, although still idiomatic, English parallel would be, ‘I know this one thing:’

However, what does “one thing” here really mean? Jake can’t be saying he knows just one thing in his life! He may not be an intellectual giant, but his knowledge base is wider than that! Rather, he’s saying: “I am completely certain of what I am about to say.” That’s why I really liked the suggestion to use the idiomatic Na’vi word nì’pxi, which is glossed as ‘pointedly, especially, unambiguously.’ That is, Omum oel fì’ut ni’pxi . . .

“Wherever we go . . .”

Most everyone realized this was a perfect place to use the conjunction ketsran, which means ‘no matter’: ketsran tsengne kivä . . .

Note that we use the subjunctive (-iv-) form of the verb with ketsran. It’s like saying in English: “no matter where we may go.”

Someone submitted a wordier structure that’s perfectly grammatical: ketsrana tseng a kivä tsawne, which is closer to ‘whatever place we may go to.’ (Here ketsran is not a conjunction but an adjective.) But in the present context, I think the more concise version wins.

Related to the above construction, I was intrigued by the suggestion that ketsrana tseng ‘whatever place’ might contract to *ketsreng ‘wherever.’ Some parallels might be:

ketsrana tute ‘whatever person’ à *ketsrute ??? ‘whoever’

ketsrana krr ‘whatever time’ à *ketskrr ??? ‘whenever’

ketsrana ’u ‘whatever thing’ à *ketsru ??? ‘whatever’

These contractions, of course, aren’t necessary. The question is, would they have arisen naturally, and if so, are they useful? I’d be interested in your thoughts about this!

“this family is our fortress.”

Several of you noticed something important about how Na’vi likes to handle personal pronouns.

Here’s an iconic sentence (well, part of a sentence) from American history, the last words of the Declaration of Independence (1776):

“[W]e mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.” (It’s interesting that English used to capitalize common nouns the way German does today!)

How would you translate that into Na’vi? In particular, what would you do with “we,” “our,” “our,” and “our”? If you use ayoe once and ayoeyä three times, you’ll get a grammatical but awkward and repetitive-sounding sentence. English gets away with this kind of repetition because English pronouns are so short and sweet. But personal pronouns in Na’vi are often two and three syllables.

Instead, idiomatic Na’vi does something different: It uses the topical to “set the stage,” so to speak, in this case placing the whole sentence in the context “as for us . . .” Once that’s established, the related personal pronouns can generally be omitted. So for Jake’s statement, we need only say awngari once; after that, we don’t need further pronouns for we and our:

Awngari ketsran tsengne kivä, fìsoaia lu txurtseng.

Finally, there was the question of what word would be the most impactful at the end, “family” or “fortress”? In English, Jake wound up with “fortress.” But he could have said, “. . . our fortress is this family.” Likewise, the Na’vi version could be either fìsoaia lu txurtseng or txurtseng lu fìsoaia. I’m not sure which one I like better. Part of the decision would rest on the prior context of the statement. Has Jake already mentioned soaia? If so, it’s “old information,” in which case the “new information” (txurtseng) is better at the end of the sentence.

Thank you all again for your ideas! If I didn’t mention your particular contribution, it’s not because I didn’t value it. It’s just that this post has already gotten longer than I anticipated.  🙂

One last thing: Regarding the question about the future of the Na’vi language, although I can’t tell you anything specific about the upcoming movies, I’m happy to reassure you all that Na’vi will remain a vital part of the Avatar canon and the story world going forward.

Zusawkrr lì’fyayä leNa’vi leiu txur!

Hayalovay!

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 Jake speaks, and he says the following:

“I know one thing: Wherever we go, this family is our fortress.”

I suspect that members of the lì’fyaolo’ are all asking themselves the same question: What was the original Na’vi of this statement? 🙂

I was about to post my own answer to the question. But then I thought it would be interesting and fun to see what YOU all thought about it!

What do you think would be the most natural and idiomatic way to express in Na’vi what Jake has said? Feel free to post your answers in the comments, along with any explanation you’d like to share about how and why you came up with your version. In a subsequent blog post, we’ll discuss the results.

Note that you’ll need to use a new vocabulary item, since we haven’t yet seen the word for ‘fortress.’ This could be an entirely new root, or it could be derived from existing terms in the dictionary. (I have a simple word in mind, but I’d be interested to see what you think.)

Ayngeyä aysìralpengit ngop nì’o’!

Hayalovay . . .

ta Pawl

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 welcome distraction from things that are going on in the world.

The topic is honorific language: the kind of formal—and, in the wrong circumstances, overly polite and stilted—language exemplified by Norm when he’s first speaking Na’vi:

Ätxäle suyi ohe pivawm, peolo’ luyu pum ngengeyä?
‘May I ask what tribe you belong to?

That sentence (which didn’t make it into the final cut of A1) contains the special elements of honorific language we’re familiar with:

• • The first-person pronoun oe ‘I’ becomes ohe.
  • The second-person pronoun nga ‘you’ becomes ngenga.
  • Verbs contain the honorific infix <uy>.

(Note: ‹uy› is not always required with the honorific pronoun forms, and vice versa, Using honorific pronouns along with <uy> constitutes the most formal register. Using the pronouns without <uy>, or <uy> without the pronouns, is possible and somewhat less formal.)

But there’s more we can say about this style of speech, which is an example of what linguists call a register. (“Register” is different from “dialect.” In brief, dialects are varieties of a language used by different people. Registers are varieties of a language used by the same people in different circumstances.)

For one thing, there are a few more honorific pronouns. These are relatively rare, which is why we’re only seeing them now.

• • The third-person pronoun po ‘he, she’ becomes poho [PO.ho].
  • The third-person pronoun poe ‘she’ becomes pohe [po.HE].
  • The third-person pronoun poan ‘he’ becomes pohan [po.HAN].

Example:

Ätxäle suyi ohe pivawm, muntxatul ngengeyä tuyok pesenget? Srake luyu poho set ro helku?
‘If I may ask, where is your spouse? Is he/she at home now?’

In addition to acting in a formally polite way, however, the Na’vi can talk about this kind of behavior as well. For that, some vocabulary is needed.

The word for formal politeness in general, not just with respect to language, is:

henga (n., HE.nga) ‘formally polite behavior’

We’re not absolutely sure where this word comes from, but a possible derivation is from the two most familiar honorific pronouns, where PN + PN > N:

ohe + ngenga = ohengenga > hengenga > hengnga > henga

The associated verb is:

henga si (vin.) ‘act in a formally polite or honorific way’

Krra ultxa si nga tsatxanro’tuhu, zerok futa zene henga sivi, ma ’eveng.
‘When you meet that famous person, remember that you have to be formally polite, child.’

txanro’tu (n., txan.RO’.tu) ‘famous person, celebrity’

A txanro’tu is a tute a txanro’a.

The adjective is:

leheng (adj., le.HENG) ‘formally polite’

(NOTE: Leheng is not the opposite of räptum ‘coarse, vulgar.’ You can be the opposite of “coarse and vulgar”—i.e., polite, considerate, and socially acceptable—without using the formally polite, honorific language.)

Here the final unstressed a has dropped over time.

For formally polite or honorific language, however, there are different words:

lì’fyeng (n., lì’.FYENG) ‘honorific language’

The derivation is:

lì’fya + leheng = lì’fyaleheng > lì’fyalheng > lì’fyaheng > lì’fyeng

Note that lì’fyeng, with stress on the second syllable, breaks the pattern of the other lì’-containing words, where the stress is on lì’. The reason is that the stress in the source word is clearly on heng: lì’.fya.le.HENG, and it has remained there.

And as you would expect, the verb is:

lì’fyeng si (vin.) ‘use honorific language’

Now what if you’re in a situation when someone is being overly polite with you, and you want to tell them to just relax and chill out? How do you respond?

One thing you can say is:

Henga rä’ä si, ma tsmuk.
‘Don’t be so formal, bro/sis.’

You can also say:

Henga kelkin.
‘Formality isn’t necessary.’

When it comes to formal language specifically, there are a variety of things you can say. (Note: These are all considered friendly.)

1. Lì’fyeng rä’ä si.
   ‘Don’t use honorific language.’
   .
2. Fwa lì’fyeng si lu kelkin.
   ‘It’s not necessary to use honorific language.’

Shorter, more colloquial versions of 2 are:

3. Lì’fyeng kelkin.
   ‘No need to speak so formally.’
   .
4. Lì’fyeng kelkin ko.
   ‘Let’s not speak so formally with each other.’

And the most colloquial of all:

5. Fyengkekin.
   ‘Don’t be so stiff, dude.’

fyengkekin (conv., FYENG.ke.kin) ‘no need to use honorific language’

The derivation is:

lì’fyeng + kelkin = lì’fyengkelkin > fyengkelkin > fyengkekin

Hayalovay, ma eylan.

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 discussions are not everyone’s cup of tea. If you’re someone who finds such analyses confusing, boring, or useless, that’s OK! You can become proficient in a language without consciously relying on grammatical rules. (That’s how we learned our native language, after all!) In fact, as I’ve mentioned before, some linguists believe that true language acquisition results from “comprehensible input,” not from conscious attention to grammar. So feel free to skip such posts if they’re not your thing.

With that said, here are two recent such discussions:

1. Case endings for certain borrowed words

This discussion began with my wishing someone Merry Christmas in Na’vi:

Ftxozä Kerìsmìsä Lefpom.

The word for Christmas is obviously an English borrowing that comes out as Kerìsmìsì (based on the spoken pronunciation, not the spelling). But why is the genitive Kerìsmìsä rather than Kerìsmìsìyä?

It’s because the root of the word really “should be” simply Kerìsmìs, but since Na’vi doesn’t allow final s, we add the “neutral vowel” ì as a surfacy kind of adjustment. However, with the genitive ending ä, that’s not necessary, so we add it to the “theoretical root” (there’s probably a better term for that) and wind up with the natural-sounding Kerìsmìsä.

The next question that came up was the interesting one of how the German city of Köln (Cologne) is rendered in Na’vi in the various cases.

Na’vi doesn’t have the German vowel ö, so that vowel, when filtered through the Na’vi sound system, becomes e. (For the phoneticians and phonologists in the audience, the front-rounded vowel ö loses its rounding feature, resulting in e. It’s a common process.) So Köln becomes Keln. But since Na’vi can’t have two consonants at the end of a word, the neutral vowel ì is added: Kelnì. That’s the “unmarked,” Subjective case used for subjects of intransitive verbs.

But what about the rest of the cases? For example, what’s the Patientive case?

Following the Christmas example, we should add the case endings to the “theoretical root,” *Keln. The Genitive should therefore be Kelnä, which it is. So far so good.

But for roots that end in a consonant, the rules we’ve seen say there are two possibilities: -it and -ti (e.g., Eytukanit, Eytukanti). Kelnit is fine. But *Kelnti is not.

The resolution of this conundrum is that the familiar rules apply to native Na’vi roots. As we’ve seen, with Kelnì the “theoretical root” is *Keln, which of course could not be a native Na’vi root because of the syllable-final consonant cluster. In cases like these, you add the usual endings to the “theoretical root” when the result would be an allowable Na’vi word; when it wouldn’t, you have to make adjustments.

In this case, you need two simple adjustments. One is that the Subjective form becomes Kelnì. The other is that for the Patientive, the -ti form must be excluded. The entire paradigm is then:

S: Kelnì

A: Kelnìl (note that this is Keln + ìl, not Kelnì+ l)

P: Kelnit (not Kelnti and not Kelnìt)

D: Kelnur

G: Kelnä

T: Kelnìri (again, Keln + ìri, not Kelnì+ ri)

Also, remember there are native roots that end in ì. Hapxì is a good example. These follow the usual rules for roots ending in a vowel. So the paradigm for hapxì is:

S: hapxì

A: hapxìl

P: hapxìt OR hapxìti

D: hapxìr OR hapxìru

G: hapxìyä

T: hapxìri

2. Transitive/intransitive determination for certain verbs

Several verbs have long been in the dictionaries as simply “v.” Their transitive (vtr) or intransitive (vin) status has finally been specified. These are:

’ong                       ‘blossom’            vin
fkarut                   ‘peel’                   vtr
kämakto              ‘ride out’            vin
kenong                 ‘represent’         vtr
latsi                       ‘keep up with’   vin
mun’i                    ‘cut’                     vtr
nong                      ‘follow’               vtr
pate                       ‘arrive’                vin
salew                    ‘proceed’            vin
spä                         ‘jump’                 vin
tireapängkxo    ‘commune’        vin
tsä’                         ‘squirt’               vin
tuvon                   ‘lean’                   vin
virä                       ‘spread’              vin

A word about nong and kenong:

Both these verbs, along with tìkenong ‘example,’ appeared long ago, prior to the release of A1. Tìkenong was in Tsu’tey’s line:

Fayvrrtep fìtsenge lu kxanì. Fìpoti oel tspìyang [today I’d say tspìsyang] fte tìkenong lìyevu aylaru.
‘These demons are forbidden here. I will kill this one as a lesson to the others.’

Nong is vtr:

Nong oet!
‘Follow me!’

Kenong ‘represent, exemplify’ is vtr as well. I don’t know if I’ve ever used this word or provided an example sentence for it. Such a tìkenong ( 😊 ) might be:

Fayhemìl peyä ke kenong tìsayt a fkol fngo’ pota.
‘These actions of his do not represent the loyalty that is required of him.’

Important: Kenong is NOT derived from ke ‘not’ + nong ‘follow’! I know kenong LOOKS like ke + nong, but it’s actually a root, not a compound. (It would be hard to derive ‘example, model’ from ‘not follow’!) Such misleading exceptions are a natural part of real languages and have to be accepted as such. We have such things in English as well. For example, “cockroach” is not a compound of “cock” ‘rooster’ plus “roach” ‘kind of insect’! It actually comes from Spanish cucaracha.

Hayalovay, ma eylan!

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 are 20 new words I hope you’ll find useful, with more things to follow soon.

First, two different senses of ‘save’:

’avun (vtr., ’A.vun)  ‘save (time, food, etc.)’

Ngari txo fìkem sivi fìfya, krrti ’avun.
‘If you do it like this, you’ll save time.’

tarep (vtr., TA.rep) ‘save, rescue’

Mawkrra palulukan posìn spolä, ke tsängun fko pot tivarep.
‘Sadly, once the thanator had jumped on her, she could not be rescued.’

Tarep is stronger than zong, which we’ve previously glossed as ‘save, defend.’ Tarep implies rescue from a dangerous or distressing situation. If your life is being threatened, you can yell, “Tarep! Tarep!” which would be the equivalent of “Help! Help!”

tareptu (n., TA.rep.tu) ‘rescuee, someone who has been rescued or saved’

Maw tsafekem, new tareptu sneyä tarepyur irayo sivi.
‘After the accident, the rescuee wanted to thank his rescuer.’

sätarep (n., sä.TA.rep) ‘rescue, an incidence of rescuing’

A missing derivative of frrfen:

säfrrfen (n., sä.FRR.fen) ‘visit, an instance of visiting’

Furia nga zola’u irayo; ngey säfrrfen txasunu oer.
‘Thank you for coming; I enjoyed your visit very much.’

Some words for good and bad people:

tsantu (n., TSAN.tu) ‘good person, “good guy” ’

nawmtu (n., NAWM.tu) ‘noble person’

kawngtu (n., KAWNG.tu) ‘bad person, “bad guy” ’

Lala tsarelmì arusikx, yemstokx tsantul hawre’ti ateyr, kawngtul pumit alayon.
‘In that old movie, the good guy wears a white hat, the bad guy a black one.’

tìk (adv.) ‘immediately, without delay’

As an adverb, tìk is a concise synonym for pxiye’rìn.

Tsakem si tìk!
‘Do it immediately!’

(This is stronger than Tsakem si set—more of an order or command.)

Don’t confuse tìk with tsìk, a different adverb meaning ‘suddenly, without warning.’ It’s interesting to speculate on a possible etymological or evolutionary relationship between these two words, but until there’s evidence for that, it’s best to consider the resemblance a coincidence.

Unlike pxiye’rìn, tìk is also a conjunction indicating that a second action immediately follows a first:

Fìioang ke tsun slivele; nemfa pay zup tìk spakat.
’This animal cannot swim; if it falls into the water, it immediately drowns.’

spakat (vin., SPA.kat) ‘drown’

Note the syntax in the above example. When two actions immediately follow one another, with the second being a consequence of the first, this “clipped style” (root-V tìk root-V) is often used colloquially. It’s a bit like pointing to the “third rail” along a train track and saying, “You touch that, you die.” Just as you could say, “If you touch that, you’ll die,” you could say in Na’vi, Txo nemfa pay zivup, tìk spayakat, but that would be less colloquial.

Note also the idiom:

Tse’a tìk yawne
‘Love at first sight’

fwum (vin.) ‘float (on the surface of a liquid)’

Don’t confuse fwum, which typically indicates floating on the surface of water, with lìng, which refers to floating or hovering, usually in the air but possibly also under water, like a diver.

Merìk alor paysìn fwarmum.
‘Two beautiful leaves were floating on the water.’

wapx (vin.) ‘sink’

Ke omum teyngta fìuran aku’up fu fwayum fu wayapx.
‘I don’t know (or: It’s not known) whether this heavy boat will float or sink.’

tamìfa (adj., ta.MÌ.fa) ’internal’

tawrrpa (adj., ta.WRR.pa) ’external’

Fìtxelel fngo’ sälangit atawrrpa.
’This matter requires an external investigation.’

zam mì zam (adv.) ‘completely, one hundred percent’

Zam, literally meaning 64, is the functional equivalent of 100 in octal. So zam mì zam

Is equivalent to 100 in 100, that is, 100 percent. It’s often used in place of nìwotx. (And it sounds nice!)

Ngahu mllte oe zam mì zam.
‘I agree with you one hundred percent.’

tsantxäl (n., tsan.TXÄL) ‘invitation’

From sìltsan ‘good’ + ätxäle ‘request.’

Ngeyä fìtsantxälìri atìtstunwinga’ irayo, slä ke tsängun oe ziva’u.
‘Thank you for this kind invitation, but unfortunately I cannot come.’

tsantxäl si (vin., tsan.TXÄL si) ‘invite’

Po tsantxäl soli oer tsnì ziva’u kelkune.
‘She invited me to come to her home.’

(The use of tsnì here is related to its use with ätxäle si.)

say (adj.) ‘loyal’

Leiu po ken’aw sayrìp släkop say.
‘He’s not only handsome but also, I’m happy to say, loyal.’

(As far as we know, say and sayrìp are not related.)

tìsay (n., tì.SAY) ‘loyalty’

Tì’eylanìri tsranten frato tìsay.
‘What matters most in friendship is loyalty.’

nìsay (adv., nì.SAY) ‘loyally’

MIPA ZÌSÌT LEFPOM, MA EYLAN!