Na’viteri.org

Ma smuk,

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.

Kaltxì, ma frapo. Sìlpey oe, ayngari zìsìt amip sngilvä’i nì’o’ nì’aw.

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!

Here’s the last post for 2011, with a bit of new grammar. I have a large backlog of vocabulary I want to get to you, but that will have to wait until next year.

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!

In his comment in the previous post, Plumps noted that yora’tu ‘winner’ surprised him; he expected yora’yu.

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.

Ma smuk,

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!

Kaltxì nìmun, ma smuk—

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 . . .

Ma eylan,

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.

Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo—

Here are some new words I hope you’ll find useful. Thanks as always to the Vocabulary Committee for their excellent ideas. Much of the following material is due to their efforts.

• stxenu (n., STXE.nu) ‘offer’

This word originated from stxeli ‘gift’ + lonu ‘release, let go.’ It refers to anything that’s given freely, whether tangible or intangible.

Po poltxe san tìtstewnga’a stxenuri irayo seiyi oe ngaru nìtxan.
‘She said, “I thank you very much for your courageous offer.”’

• tìtstew (n., tì.TSTEW) ‘courage, bravery’
• tìtstewnga’ (adj., tì.TSTEW.nga’) ‘courageous, brave’ (nfp*)

Note: *nfp = not for persons. Contrast ofp = only for persons. In English, the word “brave” can be used for both people and things/actions: a brave person, a brave deed. That’s not the case in Na’vi. Certain adjectives have one form for persons and another for things. An example of this is the contrast between the two adjectives tstew and tìtstewnga’:

Kem atìtstewnga’ si tute atstew.
‘A brave person does brave deeds.’

The related verb is:

• stxenutìng (vtr.: STXE.nu.tìng – inf. 3,3) ‘offer’

Oeri tìreyti oel stxenutolìng fpi olo’ awngeyä.
I offered my life for the sake of our clan.

Related vocabulary:

• mll’an (vtr.: mll.’AN – inf. 1,2) ‘accept’
• tìmll’an (n., tì.mll.’AN) ‘acceptance’
• tsyär (vtr.) ‘reject’
• tìtsyär (n., tì.TSYÄR) ‘rejection’

Ngal lumpe oeyä stxenut tsyolängär?
‘Why did you reject my offer?’

Stxenutolìng oel futa lì’fyat leNa’vi poeru kivar. Mol’an nìprrte’.
‘I offered to teach her Na’vi. She accepted gladly.’

• kam (adp.-) ‘ago’
• kay (adp.-) ‘from now (in the future)’

These adpositions refer to time backward or forward from the time of speaking:

Tskot sngolä’i po sivar ’a’awa trrkam (or: kam trr a’a’aw).
‘He started to use the bow several days ago.’

Zaya’u Sawtute fte awngati skiva’a kay zìsìt apxey (or: pxeya zìsìtkay)!
The Sky People will come to destroy us three years from now!

Note: If the measure of time is relative to another event rather than to the time of speaking, use the adverbs srekrr ‘beforehand’ and mawkrr ‘afterwards’:

Polähem Sawtute kam zìsìt amrr, hum mezìsìt mawkrr.
‘The Sky People arrived five years ago and left two years later.’

• ’awnìm (vtr.: ’AW.nìm – inf. 1,1) ‘avoid’

This word stems from ’ì’awn ‘remain’ + alìm ‘at a distance.’

Ngal ’erawnìm oeti srak?
‘Are you avoiding me?’

Poltxe po san oe ke tsängun ’ivawnìm futa kutuhu oeyä ultxa si.
‘He said that sadly, he can’t avoid meeting with his enemies.’

• ’ä’ (conv.) ‘whoops!’

(I mentioned this one in a comment in the previous post—I just didn’t want it to get lost.)

’Ä’! Oel tsngalit tìmungzup. Ngaytxoa!
‘Whoops! I just dropped the cup. Sorry about that!’

• steng (adj.) ‘similar

Meuniltìrantokx Toktor Kìreysä sì Tsyeykä ke lu teng ki steng.
‘The avatars of Grace and Jake aren’t the same, but they are similar.’

Ngaru tìyawr. Lolu oer stenga säfpìl.
‘You’re right. I had a similar idea.’

And here’s a very nice proverb the Committee came up with:

Säfpìl asteng, tìkan ateng.
‘Great minds think alike.’

Derivation:

• nìsteng (adv., nì.STENG) ‘similarly’

Tseyk tswamayon fa ikran srekrr; tafral fmoli fìkem sivi fa toruk nìsteng.
‘Jake flew with an ikran before; therefore he tried to do it with a toruk in a similar fashion.’

(Note: The verb tswayon ‘fly’ is intransitive—you fly by means of an ikran.)

• nim (adj.) ‘timid, shy’

Yerik lu swirä anim nìtxan.
‘The hexapede is a very timid creature.’

Nim rä’ä lu! Pohu pivängkxo!
‘Don’t be shy! Talk to her!’

(Note that it’s pohu, not poru. You can’t use the dative with pängkxo.)

• srätx (vtr.) ‘annoy, bother’

Oeti rä’ä srätx.
‘Don’t bother me.’

Derivation:

• säsrätx (n., sä.SRÄTX) ‘annoyance’

• rì’ìr (n., RÌ.’ìr) ‘reflection’

This is a nice example of what linguists call iconicity, where the symbol itself (in this case, a word) mirrors what it represents.

Oeri payìl tìng rì’ìrit keyä.
‘My face is reflected in the water.’

Derivation:

• rì’ìr si (vin.) ‘reflect, imitate’

Rì’ìr rä’ä sivi tsmuktur!
‘Don’t imitate your sibling!’

I think there’s some iconicity in the next couple of words as well:

• tsìsyì (vin.: TSÌ.syi – inf. 1,2) ‘whisper’

Rutxe pivlltxe nìwok nì’it, oel ngati stum ke stängawm krra nga fìfya tserìsyì!
‘Please speak up a bit, I can barely hear you when you’re whispering like this!’

• nìwok (adv., nì.WOK) ‘loudly’

Note: Na’vi doesn’t have a separate word for ‘hardly, barely, scarcely.’ Instead, stum ke ‘almost not’ is used.

Derivations:

• sätsìsyì (n., sä.TSÌ.syì) ‘whisper’

Po pamlltxe a krr, frapo tarmìng mikyun nìpxi, taluna mokri lu sätsìsyìtsyìp.
‘When he spoke, everyone listened intently, because his voice was a tiny whisper.’

That last word makes a good tongue-twister. Fmi pivlltxe alo avol nìwin!  🙂

• nìtsìsyì (adv., nì.TSÌ.syì) ‘by whispering, in a whisper’

Since tsìsyì is intransitive, to talk about “whispering something” we use this adverb:

Pol tstxoti oeyä poltxeie nìtsìsyì.
‘He whispered my name, I’m happy to say.’

• fwefwi (vin., FWE.fwi – inf. 1,2) ‘whistle’

Nga fwefwi nìlkeftang a fì’u lu säsrätx atxan oeru.
‘It’s a major annoyance to me that you whistle continuously.’

Derivation:

• nìfwefwi (adv., nì.FWE.fwi) ‘by whistling, in a whistling manner’

Like tsìsyì, fwefwi is intransitive. To express the idea of whistling a tune, we use the following vocabulary and structure:

• lawr (n.) ‘tune, melody’
• tìng lawr (vin.) ‘sing wordlessly, give out a tune or melody’

’Evanìl alo a’awve nì’awtu na’rìngit tarmok, ha tolìng lawr nìfwefwi fteke txopu sivi.
‘The boy was alone in the forest for the first time, so he whistled a tune to calm his fears.’

• säomum (n., sä.O.mum) ‘(piece of) information’

As in many languages (but emphatically not as in English), the word for ‘information’ is countable and can be used in the plural. If it’s a single piece of information—one fact—use the singular; if several pieces of information are being conveyed, use the plural.

Aysäomumìri lesar seiyi oe ngaru irayo nìtxan.
‘Thanks very much for (all) this useful information.’

Ulte nìsyen:

• kosman (adj., ko.SMAN) ‘wonderful, terrific, fantastic’

Fol lì’fyati awngeyä sar a fya’o lu kosman.
‘It’s wonderful the way they use our language.’

Alternatively, we can use the adverbial form of this word:

• nìksman (adv., nìk.SMAN) ‘wonderfully’

Fol lì’fyati awngeyä sar nìksman.
‘They use our language wonderfully.’

Nìvingkap, what did you all think of the news about Avatar + Disney? Lu fmawn a eltur tìtxen si nìtxan, kefyak?

As always, please let me know about any typos and slips you discover.

Hayalovay, ma eylan.

Edits, 24 Sept.: Spellings of nìtsìsyi etc. and ’a’awa corrected.

After this post, you’ll be able to ask and answer that question.  🙂

By the way

Na’vi has two adverbs that function like English “by the way” but are used in different situations.

mìftxele (adv., mì.FTXE.le) ‘by the way, in this regard, related to this matter’

The derivation of this adverb—mì + fì- + txele ‘in this matter’—makes the meaning clear: the speaker comes in with a statement or question related to something that has just been discussed.  Example:

—Lam oer fwa tsazìma’uyul ke fnan tìtusaronit.
   ‘It seems to me that that newcomer isn’t any good at hunting.’

—Oeru nìteng. Mìftxele pori lu oer letsrantena fmawn a new piveng ngar.
   ‘(It seems that way) to me as well. By the way, I have some important news I want to
….tell you about him.’

zìma’uyu (n., zì.MA.’u.yu) ‘newcomer, someone who has just arrived on the scene’

Sometimes, however, we use “by the way” to change the subject and introduce something new into the conversation, something we’ve just remembered that’s just popped into our minds. That’s a different word:

nìvingkap (adv., nì.VING.kap) ‘by the way, incidentally’

Pronunciation: Note that it’s ving, not vìng.

Example:

—Slä tsalsungay, txo tìtslam for, lu txayo na’rìngto sìltsan.
   ‘But even so, if they’re smart they’ll take open terrain over bush.’

—Mllte oe. Nìvingkap ngeyä tsmukanur alu Ralu lu fpom srak?
…Txankrr ngal ke lawk pot kaw’it.
    ‘I agree. Oh by the way, how’s your brother Ralu? You haven’t mentioned a thing
….about him in a long time.’

txankrr (adv., txan.KRR) ‘for a long time’

Nìvingkap comes from the transitive verb vingkap:

vingkap (vtr., VING.kap – inf. 1,2) ‘occur to one, strike one, pop into one’s mind’

Vìmingkap oeti fula poe ke li ke poltxe san oe zasya’u.
‘It just occurred to me that she hasn’t yet said she’s coming.’

Reading

As you know, Na’vi was not a written language until the Sky People arrived on Pandora. So there’s no native Na’vi word that exclusively means “read written material.” Instead, the word for “gain knowledge from sensory input” was adopted to fill this need.

inan (vtr.: i.NAN – inf. 1,2) ‘read (e.g. the forest), gain knowledge from sensory input’

Note: Like omum, inan has an irregular stress pattern. When used without affixes, the stress is final: inan. But when prefixes or infixes are added, the stress shifts: erinan, ivinan, olinan, tinan.

Tìomummì oeyä, pol na’rìngit inan nìltsan.
‘As far as I know, he reads the forest well.’

tìomum (n., tì.O.mum) ‘knowledge’

tìomummì oeyä ‘to my knowledge, as far as I know’

Derivatives:

tinan (n., TI.nan) ‘reading’

ninan (adv., NI.nan) ‘by reading’

Examples:

Tsmìmìri wätx fol tinanit nìngay.
‘They’re really bad at reading animal tracks.’

tsmìm (n.) ‘animal track’

Nari si! Äo fìutral lu tsmìm ’angtsìkä!
‘Watch out! There’s a hammerhead track under this tree!’

Tìtusaronìri fte flivä, zene fko sivutx smarit ninan nìno.
‘To succeed at hunting, you have to track your prey by reading (the forest) with attention to detail.’

(Ninan nìno—NInan nìNO—is fun to say! Thanks to the LEP Committee for the example.)

The following bit of dialog shows you how to use inan for the sense of reading written material:

—Kempe si sempul?
   ‘What is father doing?’

— (Pol) pamrelit erinan.
    ‘He’s reading,’ [Literally: He’s reading writing.]

—Pefnepamrelit?
   ‘What is he reading?’ [Literally: What kind of writing?]

—Inan pukot a teri aysam a ’Rrtamì.
   ‘He’s reading a book about the wars on Earth.’

As you see, when you use inan in this sense, you need to supply an object–something that can be read. If it’s a general statement or question about reading with no particular written material in mind, the object is simply pamrel ‘writing.’

Ulte sìlpey oe, fì’upxaret inan a fì’u silvunu ayngaru nìwotx!

Edits: Spelling of letsrantena corrected; ke added before li; pukito –> pukot. Explanations in the comments.

Kaltxì, ma frapo—

Here’s some information about reported speech that I hope you’ll find useful.

Reported speech

As you know, the main speech verb is plltxe, which can be both transitive and intransitive. When you’re reporting what someone said, the most idiomatic way to express that in Na’vi is to use plltxe intransitively, with san and sìk. You also know that Na’vi likes direct speech, where you’re quoting someone’s words exactly, rather than indirect speech. So:

Poltxe po san oe new kivä sìk.
‘He said, “I want to go.”’ OR ‘He said he wanted to go.’

As you see, there are two ways to do it in English but only one in Na’vi. In this structure, it might help to think of plltxe as “speak” and san as “say”: ‘He spoke, saying “I want to go.”’

Now how do you translate simple things like “What did she say?” and “She didn’t say that”?

For these, we use plltxe as a transitive verb. But what do you use for “what” and “that” in those sentences? The obvious candidates are peut and tsat respectively:

Poltxe pol peut?
‘What did she say?’

Ke poltxe pol tsat.
‘She didn’t say that.’

[For the record, I’ve used VSO order here, but of course other word orders are just as possible: Pol poltxe peut? Peut poltxe pol? And so on . . . ]

The two sentences above are acceptable Na’vi, but they’re not the best style. The reason is that they’re using forms of the catch-all word ’u, ‘thing’—you’re talking about saying athing. Na’vi prefers to be more specific: what you say is words. So more idiomatic versions of these sentences are:

Poltxe pol paylì’ut?
‘What did she say?’ [= What words did she say?]

Ke poltxe pol tsaylì’ut.
‘She didn’t say that.’  [=She didn’t say those words.]

(If you’re talking about a single word, it’s tsalì’ut.)

Transitive plltxe can also be used for reported speech:

Poltxe pol faylì’ut a oe new kivä.
‘She said, “I want to go.”’ OR ‘She said she wanted to go.’

Just as fì’ut a usually contracts in colloquial conversation to the single word futa, faylì’ut a contracts to fayluta:

Poltxe pol fayluta oe new kivä.
‘She said, “I want to go.”’ OR ‘She said she wanted to go.’

Note that whether you use the plltxe san . . . sìk or the plltxe fayluta structure, you still use direct speech, reporting the exact words the person said. But keep in mind that plltxe san . . . sìk is the more idiomatic choice in Na’vi and the one you should prefer for reported speech.

For ‘hear’ and ‘tell’ in this context, Na’vi again prefers a more specific object than ’u. What you hear is news or a report—i.e. fmawn. Fmawnit a contracts conversationally to fmawnta:

Stolawm oel fmawnta fo new hivum.
‘I heard they want to leave.’

Ngal poleng oer fmawnta po tolerkup.
‘You told me that he died.’

Reported and indirect questions

How do you say, “He asked where Neytiri was going”?

With pawm as with plltxe, there are both transitive and intransitive structures. The intransitive forms are by far the more common:

Polawm po san Neytiri kä pesengne (sìk).
‘He asked where Neytiri was going.’ (Literally: He asked, saying, “Where is Neytiri going?”)

One wrinkle: With pawm but not with plltxe, the san is optional. So this is also possible, and in fact quite common:

Polawm po, Neytiri kä pesengne?

The transitive use of pawm is possible but infrequent, since there’s another transitive verb that’s much more common in this structure:

vin (vtr.) ‘ask for, request’

This has wider applications than just asking a question—it can be used in place of ätxäle si:

Ätxäle si tsnì livu oheru Uniltaron.
Or:
Vuyin ohel Uniltaronit.
‘I respectfully request the Dreamhunt.’

Pol volin mipa tskalepit.
‘He asked for a new crossbow.’

To use vin with indirect questions, what’s the appropriate object? Well, what you’re asking for is a certain answer—a certain tì’eyng. So:

Volin pol tì’eyngit a Neytiri kä pesengne.
‘He asked where Neytiri was going.’ (Literally: He requested the where-is-Neytiri-going answer.)

Some conversational contractions of tì’eyng are:

tì’eyng  + a > teynga

tì’eyngìl  + a > teyngla

tì’eyngit  + a > teyngta

So:

Volin oel teyngta Neytiri kä pesengne.
‘I asked where Neytiri was going.’

Ke omum oel teyngta fo kä pesengne.
‘I don’t know where they’re going.’

Teynga lumpe fo holum ke lu law.
‘It’s not clear why they left.’

Ulte sìlpey oe, faysìoeyktìng livu law nìwotx!

Edit: Corrected two errors pointed out in the comments: Nga –> Ngal, bow –> crossbow. Irayo!