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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!

Kaltxì, ma frapo!

Sìlpey oe, ayngaru livu fpom nìwotx.

It’s been a while since we’ve had any new vocabulary, slä nì’i’a, here are some new words I hope you’ll find useful.

First, one that’s long been missing but which you may have guessed at:

lìngtskxe (n., LÌNG.tskxe) ‘unobtanium’

This clearly comes from lìng ‘float’ + tskxe ‘rock.’

säfmong (n. sä.FMONG) ’theft (particular instance)’

We’ve already seen tìfmong, the abstract concept of theft. Säfmong is a particular instance of stealing.

Poeri säfmong lora tsafkxileyä lolu na ayskxe mì te’lan.
‘For her, the theft of that beautiful necklace was like stones in her heart.’

Srake lu ngay fwa tìfmong ke fkeytok kip Na’vi?
‘Is it true that theft does not exist among the Na’vi?’

kakan (adj., KA.kan) ‘rough’

Don’t confuse kakan with ekxtxu. Ekxtxu is rough in the physical sense, as in a rough surface as opposed to a smooth (faoi) one. Kakan is the opposite of flrr ‘gentle’ and refers to behavior. It’s used for both people and things.

Kakana aylì’uri a poltxe oel nìsti, tsap’alute.
‘I apologize for the rough words that I spoke in anger.’

nìkakan (adv., nì.KA.kan) ’roughly’

txaw (vtr.) ‘punish’

Sempulìl asìltsan sney evengit ke txaw nìkakan.
‘A good father doesn’t punish his children roughly.’

tìtxaw (n., tì.TXAW) ‘punishment’

ra’un (vtr., RA.’un, inf. 1,2) ’surrender, relinquish, give up’

It may seem we already have a word for ‘surrender, give up’—namely, velek. But the two words are different. Velek is vin.—intransitive, i.e., not taking an object. So to say, “I give up. I surrender. You win,” you use velek. On the other hand, ra’un is vtr. and takes an object: it refers to giving up or surrendering something:

Fìatxkxeti ke raya’un ayoel kawkrr!
‘We will never give up this land!’

tìra’un (n., tì.RA.’un) ’surrender, relinquishment’

Peyä tìra’un tìeyktanä leyewla lu nìtxan.
‘His surrender of leadership is very disappointing.’

’älek (adj, ’Ä.lek) ‘determined’

This refers to someone who has made a firm decision that is not subject to change.

Tìfläri lolu po ’älek.
‘She was determined to succeed.’

tì’älek (n., tì.’Ä.lek) ‘determination’

Peyä tì’älek oeru rolo’a nìtxan.
‘His determination impressed me greatly.’

nì’älek (adv., nì.’Ä.lek) ‘determinedly, with determination’

pung (vtr.) ‘hurt, injure’

This verb means the same as tìsraw seyki but has a simpler syntax.

Ngal perung oet fìfya pelun?
‘Why are you hurting me like this?’

Teya si oer fwa ngal pawnunga ayioangit zong.
‘It moves me that you save injured animals.’

lewng (n.) ‘shame’

Lewng is the opposite of nrra ‘pride.’

Munge fnawe’tul lewngit soaiaru sneyä.
‘A coward brings shame to his/her family.’

There are two different adjectival forms for ‘shameful’—one for people, one for things.

lelewng (adj., ofp, le.LEWNG) ‘shameful’

lewnga’ (adj., nfp, LEW.nga’) ‘shameful’

(Here, lewng + nga’ has coalesced to lewnga’.)

So: tute lelewng ‘a shameful person’ but voìk alewnga’, ‘shameful behavior.’

swapxì (n., swa.PXÌ) ‘family member’

This is a contraction of soaia + hapxì. The steps in the derivation are:

soaia + hapxì > soapxì > swapxì.

Ayswapxìl oeyä tok fìtsenget nìwotx.
‘All the members of my family are here.’

sweyn (vtr.) ‘keep, preserve’

Ayngal syuvet sweyn peseng fteke ayioang tsivun tsat kivanom?
‘Where do you keep the food so that animals can’t get it?’

Sweyn can also be used in the sense of ‘leave alone’ or ‘not disturb’:

Tsayayotsrulit sweyn, ma ’itan.
Don’t disturb that bird’s nest, son.

Oey fpomit sweyn!
‘Leave me alone! (I.e., ‘Do not disturb my peace!’)

(Recall that an equivalent version of the last example, using the verb txung ‘destroy, disrupt, bother,’ is:

Oey fpomit txung rä’ä!
‘Leave me alone!’ OR ‘Don’t bother me!’)

Finally, when you want to attract someone’s attention, how do you say ‘excuse me’ or ‘hey’ in Na’vi? There are three levels of politeness:

1. Addressing a stranger using honorific language:

manawmtu (intj., ma.NAWM.tu) ‘excuse me sir, excuse me madam’

Manawmtu, srake luyu ngenga eyktan fìolo’ä?
‘Excuse me, sir, are you the leader of this clan?

2. Addressing a stranger using neutral language, neither overly polite nor overly familiar:

matu (intj., ma.TU) ‘excuse me, hey’

Matu, ngal hawntsyokxit tìmungzup.
‘Excuse me, you just dropped your glove.’

3. Addressing someone you’re close to or superior to. Be careful with this, since in the wrong situation it can be impolite and rude (unless that’s your intention!).

manga (intj., ma.NGA) ‘hey, hey you’

Manga! Kempe si?
‘Hey! What are you doing?’

That’s it for now. I have some great material from members of the lì’fyaolo’ that I hope to publish soon. Tsakrrvay, makto zong, ma eylan.

Edit 01 Oct.: Tsayayotsrulit sweyn rä’ä –> Tsayayotsrulit sweyn + example with txung.   Irayo, ma Tekre!

Edit 20 July 2023: In the second example sentence: tìfkeytok –> fkeytok. Irayo, ma Zángtsuva!

Kaltxì, ma frapo!

The Great Na’vi Proverb and Idiom Contest is now history, and I’m delighted with the results! The insight and creativity that went into so many of the submissions impressed me to no end.

Irayo nìtxan to everyone who entered. I received a total of 19 forms, with the coding system working perfectly to ensure the anonymity of the entrants. Here are the codes, in numerical order, so you can check to make sure I saw your entry: 0003600, 301176, 1108012, 1211194, 1211948, 1983228, 2142013, 2154828, 2220182, 3264728, 3605005, 4152006, 4301986,4835789, 4974523, 5295292, 5305412, 7418529, 199454510

Below are the submissions I was particularly impressed with, the ones I thought best reflected Na’vi and Pandoran life and/or used the language the most creatively, and were also the most striking. These can now appear in any officially approved list of proverbs, idioms, or useful phrases. If your entry is among them, Seykxel sì Nitram! But if not, please don’t feel discouraged. Judging such contests is necessarily subjective, and different judges might well come up with different results. Also, since I now see how easy it is to set up such things, there will be other such contests. (I already have one in mind!) So if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. (Hmm. What would the Na’vi equivalent of that be?)

I’ll list the winners in each category in random order, including the code numbers, with no hierarchy implied. If your entry is here and you’d like to identify yourself either publicly in the comments or privately to me in an email (my-last-name AT marshall DOT usc DOT edu), please do so! Tìftxey pum ngeyä—the choice is yours, i.e., it’s up to you.

I should add that in a few cases I took the liberty of slightly altering the original submission and/or explanation. In those instances, I kept the original thought but tweaked the Na’vi a bit for better word usage, clarity, conciseness, or what I thought was improved rhythm and flow. I hope the authors won’t mind the editing. 😊 Also, I want to mention some things to a couple of the entrants, which I’ll do in the comments by addressing the code numbers.

Irayo nìmun, ma smuk! Ayngeyä tsulfä tìyawnsì fìlì’fyayä awngeyä oeru teya si.

ta P.

Proverbs

Kxìm utuftu fnawe’tu.
Entrant code: 0003600
Author’s explanation:
A coward commands from the canopy. That is, a real leader will have “boots on the ground” and will help out, whereas a coward will only tell people (from afar) what to do. Can be used to say, “If you’re not gonna help, then shut up!” with someone who is being extra bossy.

’Uori hìpey, kxawm ngaru ke ley.
Entrant code: 4835789
Author’s explanation:
If you hesitate doing something, it might not be important to you.
Of course, we often hesitate with things that are in fact important to us, because we’re afraid to fail. So this proverb is more meant/used as a motivation for someone hesitating, or even as a teasing to get someone into action: “Hey, if it’s important for you, then you have to just do it, even though it’s hard! If you don’t start now, maybe you don’t care enough.”

Spä skxawng sìn ’ana aflì.
Entrant code: 301176
Author’s explanation:
A fool jumps onto a thin vine.
Don’t engage in an unpromising and/or potentially risky cause. Example: Tsayerik terul ne ‘awkx. Spä skxawng sìn ’ana aflì. ‘That hexapede is running toward the cliff. Only a fool jumps onto a thin vine.’ This is a hunter telling their partner there is no use in pursuing the hexapede, since the danger is too great and the chance of success too small.

Hahaw nì’aw txo palukan smivon ngar.
Entrant code: 2220182
Author’s explanation:
Only sleep if you are familiar with the Thanator.
Don’t think you’re safe unless you’re aware of the danger. (It could create a false sense of safety.)

Ke kur fko fa kxetse.
Entrant code: 3605005
Author’s explanation:
One can’t hang by a tail.
Don’t rely on something/someone untrustworthy or useless, just as a Na’vi tail can’t be relied on to bear weight.

Idiomatic Expressions

(na) fwampop fkip fìwopx
Entrant code: 199454510
Author’s explanation:
(Like a) tapirus in the clouds
“Fish out of water”; something or someone out of their usual element or comfort zone.

’Awsiteng lu mefo lanay’ka.
Entrant code: 5305412
Author’s explanation:
They are a slinger (together).
A slinger is a Pandoran predator that’s actually not a single organism. It’s two creatures in a symbiotic relationship. One acts as the head, the other as the body. Calling two people a slinger praises how well they work together and complement each other: Tolaron mefol mesalioangit! Tewti, ‘awsiteng lu mefo lanay’ka. ‘They hunted two sturmbeest? Wow, they work very well together.’

(na) lanay’ka luke re’o
Entrant code: 2154828
Author’s explanation:
Like a slinger without a head—i.e., completely lost. Po maw kxitx muntxatuä ‘amefu na lanay’ka re’oluke. ‘After the death of his spouse, he felt completely lost.’

zawr (a) mì na’rìng
Entrant code: 1983228
Author’s explanation:
an animal cry in the forest
“Old news”, i.e., you can’t pass off an animal cry in the forest as something newsworthy because it’s present almost all the time. A: Srake ngal stolawm futa Tsenu Ralur mowan lu nìtxan? ‘Have you heard that Ralu has the hots for Tsenu?’ B: Zawr mì na’rìng, ma tsmuk! Tsat omum oel kintrro. ‘Old news, brother! I’ve known it for a week.’

Kxetse kì’ong!
Entrant code: 7418529
Author’s explanation:
Slow tail! [Short for Ngari kxetse kì’ong livu.]
That is, “Don’t get angry.” When the Na’vi get angry, their tails whip around, so “slow down your tail” is another way to say calm down.

yerik (a) mì yrrap
Entrant code: 2142013
Author’s explanation:
Hexapede in a storm: a metaphor or simile representing extreme panic, anxiety or timidity.

Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo!

I hope you’ve been having fun coming up with new Na’vi proverbs and idioms. Now it’s time to submit your entries!

I used Google Forms to create the entry form. (Fingers crossed that I did it correctly!) You’ll find it here:

https://forms.gle/ctcwr11JM8KyG5j29

As you’ll see, I’ve asked you to enter a 7-digit code (example: 9272031) that will be unique to you. I’ll announce the winning entries via these codes, and then the winners can identify themselves.

You can submit either one proverb, or one idiom, or one of each.

Deadline for submission:
Saturday, 7 August 2021, midnight PDT (Pacific Daylight Time).

Furia tse’a aysäfpìlìt ayngeyä, srefereiey nìprrte’ nìngay!

ta P.

Kaltxì, ma frapo!

It’s been an unusually busy month for me, but the things I’ve been involved in have been quite interesting. Spaw oel futa fayu ayngane zayawprrte’ nìteng. 🙂

To kick off the second half of the year, I thought it would be fun to have another little contest, this time to create new proverbs and idiomatic expressions.

My idea is this: Entrants would contribute either one new proverb, one new idiomatic expression, or one of each. I’d receive the contributions anonymously, judge them, and announce the results. Entries will be judged on creativity, aptness, conciseness, and naturalness–that is to say, the sense that these proverbs and expressions evolved naturally among the Na’vi and often turn up in their conversation. Winning entries that I feel make the grade will become part of the official language and appear in our dictionaries.

Guidelines

Proverbs

These can be of three types.

Type 1: Proverbial expressions that uniquely reflect the Na’vi, their culture, and their environment. These could not have developed anywhere but on Pandora. Examples:

Kxetse sì mikyun kop plltxe.
‘The tail and ears also speak.’

Ätxäle si palukanur tsnì smarit livonu.
’Ask a thanator to release its prey.’

Txìm a’aw ke tsun hiveyn mì tal mefa’liyä.
‘One butt can’t sit on the backs of two direhorses.’

Type 2: Proverbial expressions that are not necessarily unique to Pandora and could have arisen elsewhere, but that play with the Na’vi language:

Kem amuiä, kum afe’.
‘Proper action, bad result.’

Fwäkì ke fwefwi.
 ‘A mantis doesn’t whistle.’

Payìl a lipx tskxeti ripx.
 ‘Dripping water pierces a stone.’

Txo ke nìyo’, tsakrr nìyol.
‘If you can’t be flawless, then be brief.’

Type 3: Proverbial expressions with the characteristics of both Type 1 and Type 2.

Note that the intended meaning of a proverb is not necessarily apparent at first glance. (What does “A mantis doesn’t whistle” mean?) But once it’s explained, it should feel natural. (In this example: ‘Don’t expect someone to do something that’s not in their nature.’)

Idiomatic expressions

These are brief conversational phrases unique to Pandora:

(na) loreyu ’awnampi
 ‘like a touched helicoradian’

pewn torukä
‘the Toruk’s throat’

sre fwa sngap zize’
‘before the hellfire wasp stings’

(na) kenten mì kumpay
‘like a fan lizard in gel’

With these idioms as well, the meanings may not be immediately apparent, but once explained, they should be clear and striking.

What do you think? Do you like this idea? If so, what’s the best way to implement this little contest? In particular, what’s the best way for me to receive the entries anonymously? I’m open to suggestions! Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

Hayalovay!

Edit to add: 10 July

Pìlok tolätxeiaw!!!

As some of you may have noticed, the blog was offline for a short time. It was due to a bureaucratic error, and getting the problem resolved was frustratingly difficult. But eventually it worked out. I am very relieved!

Fya’o angäzìk ne kum akosman. (‘All’s well that ends well.’) 🙂

Ma Eana Unil, ma Vawmataw, ma Plumps, ma Wind12, ayngeyä aysämokìri sì tìslanìri seiyi oe irayo. I agree that Google Forms is a good solution to the anonymous contribution question. I’m working on an appropriate form.

I’m glad you like the contest!

A bit more on -tu:

As we discussed, when -tu is attached to a verb, it sometimes indicates the person who is the object of the verb (like spe’etu and kiantu) and sometimes the subject (like snaytu and yora’tu). It may seem strange and unnatural that the same suffix can have two different and opposite functions. But in fact this kind of thing occurs in Earth languages as well—for example, in English!

Think of the words for people that end in stressed –ee. (There are a lot more of them than I would have thought! This paper lists 520 such forms, most of which were entirely new to me.) Here are some examples:

They employed her. She is an employee.
They appointed him. He is an appointee.
I tutor her. She is my tutee.
We nominated him. He is our nominee.

And many more.

Notice that these –ee words all refer to the object of the relevant verb.

But now take a look at these words:

He returned to his homeland. He is a returnee.
She stood at the concert. She was a standee.
He escaped from prison. He is an escapee.
She retired from work last year. She is a retiree.

These refer to the subject of the verb!

Eltxur tìtxen si, kefyak? 🙂