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Kaltxì nìmun, ma eylan. Srane, oel mi tok fìtsenget!  🙂 I’m afraid I’ve been preoccupied with other things lately, but I’ve been sitting on some great suggestions from the LEP for some time now, and I wanted to get those words to you without any more delay. In a few cases I’ve made some changes, but the words and examples below are mostly as submitted to me. Tìkangkem atxantsan, ma smuk!

’on si (vin.) ‘shape; give shape (to something)’

This si-verb can be used either for physical shaping or, metaphorically, for giving shape to something abstract like an idea, relationship, etc.

Oe ’on si tskxeru fte na ikran livam.
‘I shape a rock to look like an ikran.’

Olo’ìri poan zusawkrrur ’on soli.
‘He shaped the tribe’s future.’

kxange (vin., KXA.nge, inf. 1,2) ‘yawn’

As on earth, yawning can be a result of fatigue or boredom.

(Note: The original submission had kxange as a noun, with the verb as kxange si, but I thought that the verbal form was more basic.)

Oe kxìmange taluna ’efu ngeyn.
‘I just yawned because I feel tired.’

Keng krra sänumvi eltur tìtxen ke si, nga sweylu txo ke kxivange mì numtseng.
‘Even when the lesson isn’t interesting, you shouldn’t yawn in school.’

säkxange (n., sä.KXA.nge) ‘a yawn’

walew (vin., wa.LEW, inf. 1,2) ‘get over, accept some fact, reconcile oneself, move on’

This verb expresses the psychological state of accepting or reconciling oneself to some negative fact or occurrence.

Furia oe yawne ke lu Va’rur nulkrr, ke tsängun oe wivalew.
‘I can’t get over the fact that Va’ru no longer loves me.’

Tìska’ari Kelutralä Na’vi wayalew pefya?
‘With the destruction of Hometree, how will the Na’vi ever move on?’

nìnew (adv., nì.NEW) ‘voluntarily, willingly, by desire’

This is clearly the adverbial form of new ‘want.’ It indicates something was done willingly or voluntarily, not through coercion. Nìnew is different from nìtkan, which has the sense of doing something on purpose or deliberately as opposed to accidentally.

Nga tsakem soli nìnew srak?!
‘You did that without being asked to?!’

Tsasänumvit oel poru kayeiar nìnew!
‘I’m happy to teach him that lesson!’

Oel pelun ftxalmey nìnew futa srung si skxawngur anafì’u?
‘Why did I choose, of my own free will, to help such a fool?’

tawtxew (n., TAW.txew) ‘horizon, skyline’

The horizon is the “edge (txew) of the sky” where the sky seems to touch the land or water.

Several adpositions can be used with tawtxew to indicate positions right on the horizon (sìnor ro), in front of the horizon, i.e. in the distance almost at the skyline (eo), behind the horizon, i.e. partially visible, partially sunk below the horizon (uo), etc.

Lu ayram sìn tawtxew.
‘There are mountains on the horizon.’ (I.e. exactly on the skyline).

Naranawmä mawl mi lu uo tawtxew.
‘Half of Polyphemus is still behind the horizon.’ (I.e. overlapping the skyline, partially invisible)

frir (n.) ‘layer’

Tskxepayri lu frir aflì sìn ’ora.
‘There’s a thin layer of ice on the lake.’

Fayfrir letskxe lor lu nìtxan.
‘These stone layers are very beautiful.’

Derivations:

lefrir (adj., le.FRIR) ‘layered’

nìfrir (adv., nì.FRIR) ‘in layers’

leyr (adj.) ‘frozen’

Ke tsun ioang rivun syuvet mì hllte aleyr.
‘Animals can’t find food in the frozen ground.’

To say something freezes, use slu ‘become’ along with leyr:

Mì zìsìkrr atxawew slu ayora leyr.
‘In the very cold season, the lakes freeze.’

leyr si (vin.) ‘freeze (something)’

Leyr si, although a si-verb and therefore intransitive, conveys the transitive sense of “freeze” in English:

Txo awnga fìtsnganur leyr sivi, tsun tsat yivom kintrray.
‘If we freeze this meat, we can eat it next week.’

Hayalovay!

Kaltxì, ma eylan! Here’s Part 2 of our Zama Lì’u Amip—°40 (32) more new vocabulary items, at least some of which I hope will be useful to you. Since John and I are leaving for France tomorrow, May 1, to celebrate John’s °120a ftxozä (that looks even more impressive in Na’vi!), and since I want to keep my promise about 64 new words this month, I’m going to make this a briefer post than usual, leaving out examples for items that seem straightforward and self-explanatory.

Here are the mipa aylì’u sì aylì’fyavi, in alphabetical order (except for derivations):

fnelan (n., FNE.lan) ‘male’

fnele (n., FNE.le) ‘female’

We’ve had a number of pairs of words where male and female are distinguished by the endings -an and -e respectively: tutan/tuté, ’itan/’ite, evengan/evenge, etc. But up to now we haven’t seen words for ‘male’ and ‘female’ by themselves. These two words, obviously built on fnel ‘kind, type,’ serve that purpose.

The corresponding adjectives are the expected ones:

lefnelan (adj., le.FNE.lan) ‘male’

lefnele (adj., le.FNE.le) ‘female’

fwìng (n.) ‘humiliation, embarrassment, loss of face’

Raluri fwa tìfmetokit ke emzola’u längu fwìng atxan.
‘Ralu’s not passing the test was a great humiliation (to him).’

fwìng si (vin.) ‘humiliate’

fyawìntxuyu (n., fya.wìn.TXU.yu) ‘guide’

A fyawìntxuyu is a person who guides you, not an abstract principle that can serve as a guide. So you can’t use fyawìntxuyu for things like “This rule is a guide to proper behavior.”

han (vtr.) ‘lose’

This important verb fills a long-standing gap. We already have a verb for ‘lose’ as the opposite of ‘win,’ but han is ‘lose’ in the sense of not having something you once had. You can han something out of forgetfulness or through some other process—for example, losing someone who has died.

The noun is:

tìhan (n, tì.HAN) ‘loss’

Maw tìhan sa’nokä, Txewì afpawng sarmängi zìsìto apxay.
‘Sadly, after the loss of his mother, Txewì grieved for many years.’

hipx (vtr.) ‘control’

Karyu asìltsan zene tsivun aynumeyut hivipx mì numtsengvi.
‘A good teacher has to be able to control (his/her) students in the classroom.’

The derived noun is:

tìhipx (n., tì.HIPX) ‘control’

Another related noun is:

snotipx (n., sno.TIPX) ‘self-control’

This is derived from sno+ tìhipx, where the ìh part has become elided over time.

Ke fkeytok tìeyktan atìflänga’ luke snotipx.
‘Successful leadership does not exist without self-control.’

kämunge (vtr., kä.MU.nge, inf. 2, 3) ‘take’

Kämunge is the opposite of zamunge. Munge by itself is neutral as to direction, and can mean either ‘bring’ or ‘take.’ Zamunge is specifically munge towards the speaker; kämunge is munge away from the speaker.

kawnomum (adj., kaw.NO.mum) ‘unknown’

This is derived from ke+ awnomum (omum with the infix <<awn>>, changing ‘know’ to ‘known’).

le’awtu (adj., le.’AW.tu) ‘alone, on one’s own, lone, by oneself; lonely’

From a profitable discussion I had with our own Neytiri:

Le’awtu has a range of meaning. As ‘alone, lone, on one’s own,’ it’s neutral as to positive or negative connotations: it simply means ‘solitary.’ However, it also has the potential to be used negatively to mean ‘lonely.’ Context should tell you the intended meaning, perhaps with the help of <<äng>>.

Oe ‘efu le’awtu.
‘I feel alone.’ (Could be a bad thing, could be ok.)

Oe ‘efängu le’awtu.
‘I feel lonely.’

Oe lu le’awa tute a tsun srung sivi, ulte ‘efu le’awtu nìngay.
‘I’m the only one who can help, and I feel really alone.’

This could also be translated, ‘. . . I feel really lonely,’ since the context shows sadness about the aloneness. <<äng>> would be optional if you wanted to emphasize the sadness/loneliness.

Le’awtua talioangìri lu kifkey tsenge lehrrap.
‘The world is a dangerous place for a lone sturmbeest.’

lie si (vin., LI.e.si) ‘experience’

This has a wide range of objects: you can experience an event, a feeling, even a person. As with other si-verbs, the object is in the dative.

Tute a keftxo frato lu tsapo a tìyawnur lie ke soli kawkrr.
‘The saddest person of all is the one who has never experienced love.’

liswa (n., li.SWA) ‘nourishment’

liswa si (vin. li.SWA si) ‘nourish, provide nourishment’

Fì’ewll liswa si Na’viru.
‘This plant provides nourishment to the People’

meuia si (vin., me.U.i.a si) ‘honor’

Ngeyä faylì’u atìtstunwinga’ oeru meuia soli nìngay.
‘These kind words of yours have honored me greatly.’

meyptu (n., MEYP.tu) ‘weakling’

A meyptu can be either physically weak or have a weak character.

nafpawng (adv., na.FPAWNG) ‘grievingly, with grief’

This word is a contraction of *nìafpawng.

nìt’iluke (adv., nìt.’I.lu.ke) ‘never-endingly, forever’

The derivation here is nì+ tì’iluke ‘never-ending, endless.’ Nari si! Don’t confuse this adverb with nìtxiluke ‘unhurriedly, leisurely’! The two words are not pronounced the same. They provide a good exercise in distinguishing an ejective from a glottal stop.

nongspe’ (vtr., nong.SPE’, inf. 1, 2) ‘pursue with an intent to capture’

Obviously a compound of nong ‘follow’ + spe ’‘capture.’

Taronyul yerikit narmongspe’, slä tsun yerik hivifwo.
‘The hunter was pursuing a hexapede, but the hexapede was able to escape.’

tìsyortsyìp (n., tì.SYOR.tsyìp) ‘break, small rest or relaxation’

From the verb syor ‘relax, chill out’ with the noun-creator tì– and the diminutive suffix, this word literally means a ‘little relaxation’—i.e., a break.

Tìkangkem soli oe kawl nìtxan, ’efu ngeyn, ulte kin oel tìsyortsyìpit.
‘I’ve worked hard, I’m tired, and I need a break.’

to tìtseri (idiom; to tì.TSE.ri) ‘than is apparent, than you are aware of’

This is a useful idiom, literally meaning ‘than awareness.’ It indicates that something is different from what a person may think or assume, or that something isn’t what it seems.

Lu poe na nga nì’ul to tìtseri.
‘She’s more like you than you think (or: than you know).’

tswal (n.) ‘power’

Although there is some overlap, tswal is different from tìtxur ‘strength, power.’ Tswal can imply not just physical prowess but also psychological, emotional, or political power. There are two related adjectives meaning ‘powerful,’ one for people and one for things.

letswal (adj., le.TSWAL) ‘powerful (ofp)’

tswalnga’ (adj., TSWAL.nga’) ‘powerful (nfp)’

tswesya (n., TSWE.sya) ‘current’

tswesya si (vin., TSWE.sya si) ‘flow’

Nari si, ma ’itan. Kilvan tswesya si nìwin nìtxan.
‘Be careful, son. The river is flowing very swiftly.’

txe’lankong (n., txe’.LAN.kong) ‘heartbeat’

Clearly from txe’lan+ ’ekong.

txurtu (n., TXUR.tu) ‘strongman/woman, brawny person’

Like its opposite meyptu, a txurtu can be either physically strong or have a strong character.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to respond to questions or comments for a while, although I will as soon as I can. But as always, if you spot any typos or other obvious goofs (which aren’t unlikely, since I’ve posted this more quickly than usual), please let me know.

Hayalovay, ma smuk!

ta Pawl

Edit: Fixed problems with lie si. Irayo, ma R One sì SGM!

Kxì nìmun! As promised, here’s a post that should add quite a few new entries to our dictionaries. I have more than 64 new words on my list; I’ll post 32 (°40) now and include the rest in a follow-up post shortly. Sìlpey oe, faylì’u amip sìyevunu ayngar ulte lesar lìyevu nìteng.

First, in keeping with the holiday season (mìftxele, for those who celebrate, Happy Easter and Happy Passover!), here is some new vocabulary specifically related to belief and the spiritual dimension:

aho (vin., a.HO, inf. 1,2) ‘pray’

Eywaru aho, ma ’itan, fte Nawma Sa’nokìl tìyevìng ngar tìtxurit.
‘Pray to Eywa, my son, that Great Mother will give you strength.’

Derivatives:

tìaho (n., tì.a.HO) ‘prayer (in general, abstract idea)

saho (n., sa.HO) ‘a prayer’

Saho is derived from *säaho, where the two vowels have merged.

syawn (n.) ‘blessing’

As in English, syawn can refer to the deity’s conferring favor upon something, or to someone’s sanction or support for a thing or activity.

Newey yawne lu oer ulte new oe muntxa sivi poehu. Rutxe, ma sempul, tìng moer ngeyä syawnit.
‘I love Newey and want to marry her. Please, father, give us your blessing.’

The verbal form is:

tìng syawn (vin.) ‘bless’

The syntax is similar to that of tìng mikyun, tìng nari, etc.

Eywa tivìng syawn ngar, ma ’ite.
‘May Eywa bless you, my daughter.’

 (An alternative and acceptable rendering of the previous example is Eywal tivìng ngar sneyä syawnit.)

parul (n., pa.RUL) ‘miracle’

As in English, a parul is a surprising or extraordinary event with positive consequences that can’t be explained by the laws of nature and is often attributed to divine intervention. Also as in English, its meaning can be extended to events that are highly unusual, extraordinary, or unexpected.

Fwa ayioang apxay fìtxan Na’viru srung soli fte Sawtutet livätxayn lu parul nìngay.
‘That so many animals helped the Na’vi defeat the Sky People was a genuine miracle.’

Derivations:

parulnga’ (adj., pa.RUL.nga’) ‘miraculous’ (nfp)

parultsyìp (n., pa.RUL.tsyìp) ‘term of affection for children’

Txon lefpom, ma parultsyìp. Hivahaw nìmwey.
‘Good night, my dear little one. Sleep peacefully.’

A parul is more than unusual:

keltrrtrr (adj., kel.TRR.trr) ‘unusual’

(The derivation is obviously from ke + letrrtrr.)

It is in fact extraordinary:

txankeltrrtrr (adj., TXAN.kel.TRR.trr) ‘extraordinary’

nìtxankeltrrtrr (adv., nì.TXAN.kel.TRR.trr) ‘extraordinarily’

Oey ’eylan plltxe nìNa’vi na hufwe nìtxankeltrrtrr.
‘My friend speaks Na’vi extraordinarily fluently.’

Next, some vocabulary based on new roots:

hafyon (n., ha.FYON) ‘wisdom’

Note that hafyon is more than just tìomum ‘knowledge’; it implies the mature judgment that comes from experience.

Derivations:

lafyon (adj., la.FYON) ‘wise’ (ofp)

This comes from le + hafyon, where *lehafyon has evolved over time to simply lafyon.

hafyonga’ (adj., ha.FYO.nga’) ‘wise (nfp)’

(Here the n of hafyon has been absorbed by the ng of –nga’.)

So a wise leader is eyktan lafyon, while wise words are aylì’u ahafyonga’.

fkxara (n., FKXA.ra) ‘stress (mental or emotional feeling)’

Krra oe ftxulì’u, pxìm ’efu fkxarat nìtxan.
‘When I give a speech, I often feel a lot of stress.’

fkxaranga’ (n., FKXA.ra.nga’) ‘stressful’

Ngeyä fpomtokxìri fìtìfkeytok afkxaranga’ lu lehrrap.
‘This stressful situation is dangerous to your health.’

afpawng (n., a.FPAWNG) ‘grief’

Maw kxitx sempulä larmängu Peyralä afpawng txewluke.
‘After (her) father’s death, Peyral’s grief was endless.’

afpawng si (vin.) ‘grieve’

keyn (vtr.) ‘put down’

Keyn is the opposite of kxeltek ‘pick up.’

Ngey tskoti kiveyn. Li yerik holifwo.
‘Put down your bow. The hexapede has already run away.’

Some words connected with fire:

palon (vin., PA.lon, inf. 1,2) ‘burn’

We’ve already seen the transitive verb for ‘burn,’ nekx, which typically indicates fire burning or consuming something else. Palon is the intransitive ‘burn’:

Txep ahì’i mì teptseng parmalon.
‘A little fire was burning in the fireplace.’

rem (n.) ‘fuel’

Na’viri lu fìutralä rìn rem letsranten.
‘The wood of this tree is an important fuel for the Na’vi.’

tong (vtr.) ‘put out, quench’

Mawkrra ngal txepit tolong tsun hivum.
‘After you’ve put out the fire you can leave.’

The folks at the Disney theme park asked for some words to use with kids who are engaging in a coloring activity with crayons. First, they needed specific words for red and orange. As you know, the Na’vi words ean and tun cover the blue-green and red-orange parts of the spectrum respectively. Blue specifically is ta’lengean (“skin ean”) while green is rikean (“leaf ean”). But what about red and orange?

reypaytun (adj., REY.pay.tun) ‘red’ (“blood tun”)

(As a reminder, although the Na’vi have blue skin, their blood is red like ours.)

txeptun (adj., TXEP.tun) ‘orange’ (“fire tun”)

As for crayon:

vultsyìp (n., VUL.tsyìp) ‘stick’

’opinvultsyìp (n., ’O.pin.vul.tsyìp) ‘crayon’

A crayon, then, is literally a “color stick.” ’Opinvultsyìp is quite a mouthful for kids, but fortunately there’s a colloquial shortening:

pinvul (n., PIN.vul) ‘crayon’

Here’s a conversational term I think you’ll find useful:

srankehe (part., intj., sran.KE.he) ‘more or less, somewhat, yes and no, kind of’

You’re already very familiar with a compound word from srane + kehe, namely srake/srak. Srankehe comes from the same source but has a very different use. It’s an equivocal response to a yes-no question, when you don’t want to commit yourself—that is, when you want to hedge. You’re not saying yes, you’re not saying no.

A: Srake faysäfpìl lu pum ngey nìwotx?
     ‘Are all these ideas your own?’
B: Srankehe.
    ‘More or less.’

In colloquial speech, this word is usually pronounced srangkehe, although it’s not spelled that way.

tì’ongokx (n., tì.’O.ngokx) ‘birth’

Tì’ongokxìri ngeyä ’itanä seykxel sì nitram!
‘Congratulations on the birth of your son!’

Finally, a few words from my backlog of LEP suggestions:

rìkxi (vin., rì.KXI, inf. 1,2) ‘tremble, shake, shiver’

As the LEP members described it, “The meaning of this verb is ‘tremble, shiver’ as a leaf in the wind, or ‘shake’ as a vigorous, intentional movement. When not intentional, it is best described as a quick, erratic movement caused by the cold or [an] intense emotion.”

Pori mesyokx rìkxi, ha ke tsayun yerikit tivakuk.
‘His hands tremble, so he will not be able to hit the hexapede.’

Ralu rìkxi krra srew, rì’ir si palukanur a lu alaksi fte spivä.
‘Ralu does a shake while dancing, imitating a thanator that’s ready to leap.’

The transitive sense of shake is expressed by the causative <eyk> infix:

Reykìkxi utralti, zup mauti.
‘If you shake the tree, the fruit will fall.’ (That is, actions have consequences.)

Derivation:

nìrìkxi (adv., nì.rì.KXI) ‘shakily, tremblingly’

kawkxan (adj., kaw.KXAN) ‘free, unblocked, unobstructed, clear’

This is derived from ke + ’aw + exkan ‘barricade, obstruction.’

Nga tsun kivä set. Fya’o lu kawkxan.
‘You can go now. The way is clear.’

That’s it for Part 1. Part 2 of the Zama Lì’u Amip is coming soon.

As always, please let me know if you spot any typos or other goofs. And again, Happy Easter, Happy Passover, and Happy Spring ayngaru nìwotx!

Hayalovay!

ta Pawl

P.S. My apologies to all those whose questions and comments I haven’t yet responded to. I will as soon as I can.

Edit 1 April: Repeated entry mawftxele replaced by tì’ongokx; *tìyeving –> tìyevìng. Irayo ma Plumps.
Edit 3 April: Nawma Sa’nok –> Nawma Sa’nokìl, keltxek –> kxeltek, ‘opinvulstyìp –> ‘opinvultsyìp. Irayo ma pxeylan alu Kxrekorikus, Plumps, sì EanaUnil!
Edit 30 Sept: For nìtxankeltrr, adj –> adv. Irayo, ma Eana Elf!

Kxì (see below) nìmun, ma eylan. I’ve been gone from the blog a long time, and many questions you’ve asked me still remain unanswered—oeru txoa livu mìftxele. But rest assured I haven’t been wasting my time. Kifkeymì Uniltìrantokxä tìkangkem si oe kawl slä nì’o’ nì’aw. 🙂

I’m currently working on a big post with a lot of new vocabulary, which I hope to complete shortly. Tsakrrvay, let me respond to a question that was posed by the LEP last year: how to ask and answer negative questions in Na’vi. The LEPers provided some very interesting examples from German, where “doch” and “nein” are used in the answers to such questions, and asked if there’s anything parallel in Na’vi. This discussion won’t cover every possibility, but it will at least make a start.

Negative questions are a lot more complicated than they might seem—at least that’s what I’m discovering! At first, it appears that a negative question simply turns a negative statement into a question: You aren’t hungry. –> Aren’t you hungry? I didn’t see you yesterday. –> Didn’t I see you yesterday? He has no shame. –> Has he no shame?

But what do those negative questions actually mean? What is the speaker trying to find out—and trying to get across? In other words, even if the syntax is straightforward, what are the semantics of these questions?

Take a simple positive question like “Are you John?” What’s being asked? Well, the speaker is considering the statement “You are John” and asking for confirmation: Is that statement true? In other words, “You are John—true or false?” If it’s true, the other person answers “Yes,” which means “The statement you’re asking about is correct.” A fuller answer would be, “Yes, I’m John.” If the statement is not correct—if the person is in fact David, not John—the answer is “No,” which means “The statement you’re asking about is not correct.” So far so good.

What happens, however, if the statement being turned into a question is negative? For example, “You are not John,” which becomes the negative question “Aren’t you John?” If we follow the analysis in the previous paragraph, the speaker is considering the statement “You are not John” and asking for confirmation: “You are not John—true or false?” A response of “Yes” should then mean, “The statement you’re asking about is correct—I am not John.” And “No” should mean, “The statement you’re asking about is incorrect—I am indeed John.”

But that is not what people usually mean when they ask such questions. When a speaker asks someone, “Aren’t you John?” there’s a pre-existing belief on her part that this person is in fact John, and she’s asking for confirmation of that belief. “I believe you’re John. That’s correct, isn’t it?” An alternative form of the question gets this across more clearly: “You’re John, aren’t you?” In this case, an answer of “Yes” means, “Your pre-existing belief is correct. I am John.” And “No” means “Your pre-existing belief is incorrect. I am not John.” Confused yet?

I’m happy to report that with srak(e) questions Na’vi, such pre-existing beliefs don’t enter the picture, and the situation is more straightforward. That is, a question of the form Srake [X] or [X] srak , where X is some statement, simply asks whether or not X is true. It doesn’t matter whether X is a positive or a negative statement. An answer of “Srane” means that X is true. Kehe means X is not true. The questions do not imply any pre-existing beliefs on the part of the questioner. For example:

• Nga lu Txewì srak? means: “Please tell me if the statement ‘You are Txewi’ is true or false.” An answer of “Srane” means, “Yes, it’s true.” “Kehe” means “No, it’s not true.”
• Nga ke lu Txewì srak? means: “Please tell me if the statement ‘You are not Txewi’ is true or false.” Just as above, an answer of “Srane” means, “Yes, it’s true. I am not Txewì.” “Kehe” means “No, it’s not true. I am indeed Txewì.”

How, then, would you convey the idea of the English question “Aren’t you Txewì?” with its pre-existing belief? In Na’vi it would simply be, “Nga lu Txewì, kefyak?” That’s exactly parallel to the English “You’re Txewì, aren’t you?” which is to say, “You’re Txewì–isn’t that true?” And as in English, an answer of “Srane” means “Your pre-existing belief is correct—I am Txewì,” while “Kehe” means “Your pre-existing belief is incorrect—I’m not Txewì.”

There’s more to be said about this subject, but I think that’s quite enough for now.  🙂

Oh, by the way:

kxì (intj.) ‘hi, hiya”

This was a nice suggestion from the LEP members for a more casual greeting than kaltxì, to be used among friends.

Kxì, ma ’eylan! Kempe leren?
‘Hey dude! What’s happenin’?’

Hayalovay!

Hum zìsìt alal, pähem pum amip. Yo’kofya atì’iluke. (See below.) Let’s hope 2018 proves to be a healthy, happy, and fulfilling year for all of us.

To start things off, a few new vocabulary items:

yo’kofya (n., YO’.ko.fya) ‘cycle’

From yo’ko ‘circle’ + fya’o ‘path, way.’

tì’iluke (adj., tì.I.lu.ke) ‘endless, never-ending’

This word is derived from tì’i’a ‘ending, conclusion’ and luke ‘without.’ The original word *tì’i’aluke contracted to tì’iluke over time. As you know, we already have a word meaning endless or boundless, txewluke. Although tì’iluke and txewluke overlap to a certain extent, tì’iluke usually has more of a temporal sense, describing something that goes on and on continually without end. A long, boring speech that seems endless, for example, would be described as tì’iluke.

txanso’hayu (n., txan.SO’.ha.yu) ‘fan, enthusiast’

The derivation is straightforward: txan ‘much’ + so’ha ‘be enthusiastic about’ + -yu ‘agentive suffix.’ A shorter, more colloquial form of the word is simply so’yu.

Lu pxaya txanso’hayu tsarelä arusikx alu Uniltìrantokx kifkeyka nìwotx.
‘There are many fans of Avatar all over the world.’

’oktrr (n., ’OK.trr) ‘day of commemoration’

We already have the familiar, general word ftxozä meaning ‘celebration,’ which can be used in a wide variety of situations. But there are also words for more specific kinds of celebrations. ’Oktrr, literally ‘remembrance day,’ is used for any kind of commemorative anniversary, not necessarily a yearly one. To specifically refer to a yearly anniversary, we have:

zìsìtsaltrr (n., zì.sìt.SAL.trr) ‘(yearly) anniversary’

The derivation is zìsìt + sal(ew) + trr, i.e., ‘year-pass day.’ Colloquially, this becomes:

zìtsaltrr (n., zìt.SAL.trr or zì.TSAL.trr) ‘(yearly) anniversary’

(Note: I’ve hedged on the syllabification here, since I think it’s likely that the original t+s combination, in consecutive syllables, would coalesce into the ts phoneme. In actual speech, I doubt the two possibilities could be distinguished.)

Zìtsaltrrìri tìmuntxayä aylrrtok!
‘Happy anniversary (of your marriage)!’

The following new words and examples are based on some excellent suggestions from the LEP. Irayo nìfrakrr, ma smuk!

tsukx (vtr.) ‘stab’

The LEP members explained: “This word [is] used much the same way as it is in English. Literal usage would be reserved for knives/spears/etc. but poetic/figurative usage is allowable (‘Her words stabbed my heart like a knife).”

Neytiril nantangit tsolukx fte peyä tìsrawti ’eykivi’a.
‘Neytiri stabbed the viperwolf to end its pain.’

ripx (vtr.) ‘pierce’

Lu Neytiriru ’awa mikyun arawnipx nì’aw.
Neytiri has only one pierced ear.

sävll (n., sä.VLL) ‘sign, indication, signal’

This of course is derived from the verb vll ‘indicate, point at.’ As the LEP members pointed out, the difference between sävll and aungia is that the latter word, meaning ‘sign, omen’ and which we’re familiar with from the movie, has more of a mystical or spiritual sense to it, as in aungia a ta Eywa. Sävll, on the other hand, simply says that A indicates B:

Kxener lu sävll txepä.
Smoke is a sign/an indication that there is fire.

Mì sangek a sävllit ngolop eykyul tarponguä.
The sign on the tree trunk was made by the leader of the hunting party.

I have quite a few more excellent suggestions from the LEP. These will be coming in future posts.

Hayalovay!

Edit Jan. o1: mìkyun –> mikyun. Irayo, ma Ney.

You can now hear Neytiri reading her poem—quite beautifully, I might add. Irayo nìtxan, ma tsmuk!

Our own Neytiri has written a beautiful narrative poem leNa’vi inspired by some of the words in the 30 Sept. blog post. It’s about a pa’li and an ilu named Lilu and Luli respectively. I think you’ll really like the pamuvan it contains.

Neytiri’s English translation is in the spoiler after the poem. Suggestion: Don’t look at the English until you’re sure you’ve gotten as much as you can out of the Na’vi.

For the record, here are three new compound words, all of which you’d be able to figure out on your own:

vurway (n., VUR.way) ‘story poem, narrative poem’

pamuvan (n., PAM.u.van) ‘sound play’

Note: Pamuvan and lì’uvan ‘wordplay, pun’ aren’t quite the same. Although there’s some overlap, puns are witty and humorous, whereas pamuvan refers to simply playing with and enjoying the sounds of language, as poets often do.

paytxew (n., pay.TXEW) ‘shoreline, water’s edge’

Fìvurwayt ivinan nì’o’ nì’aw!

Trro aetrìp pa’lil alu Lilu ilut alu Luli rolun,
Ma hiyìka pa’li a slele nì’aw sìk, Luliru Lilu leym,
San ngari kifkeyt, rutxe, livawk ko; ngeyä vurit oeru piveng!
Ha Luli ftumfa pay tsapa’liru ’oleyng,
San txampayä olo’ä lu oe ilu, nìwin sì nìmal oe slele,
Krra lini larmu oe uvan soli, kip wura ayweopx apxay,
Oeri kifkey lu fayoang sì neni, pay, aysum, sì tatx,
Nìrangal tsirvun wivìntxu ngaru, trro fya’ot riyevun.

Nìtrrtrr fäprrfen fìmeylan fìtsap,
Pa’li sì ilu,
Nì’ul’ul mefo fìtsap slu lor,
Pa’li sì ilu,

Kaymo a pa’li sì ilu ultxa si fte tìreyti livawk,
Ma hiyìka ilu a tul sìn reym sìk, Liluru Luli leym,
San ngari kifkeyt, rutxe, livawk ko; peng oeru vurit ngey!
Ha Lilul lok paytxewit, fte Luliru pivlltxe,
San txayoä olo’ä lu oe pa’li, nìler sì nìnrra tul oe,
Krra lini larmu oe uvan soli, sìn ayramtsyìp lezeswa,
Oeri kifkey lu ayutral sì ’akra, ukxo, unyor, sì sang,
Nìrangal tsirvun wivìntxu ngaru, trro fya’ot riyevun,

Nìtrrtrr fäprrfen fìmeylan fìtsap,
Pa’li sì ilu,
Nì’ul’ul mefo fìtsap slu yawne,
Pa’li sì ilu,

Txono pa’li paytxewne pähem nìfya’o akeftxo,
Ma fyolea pa’li a slele nìlor sìk, Luliru Lilu leym,
San oeru ngaru fmawn längu; aylì’u mì te’lan lu skxe;

Latem zìsìkrr, oeyä olo’ herum, zene oe nìteng.
Ma lora ilu a tìran sìn awkx sìk, Liluru Luli ’oleyng,
San oeri vitra set tsngerawvìk, nga lom li lu oer,
Oel new f(u)ta ngahu tul oe, f(u)ta nga hu oe slele,
Oel kawkrr ke tsaye’a ngeyä kifkeyt; kawkrr ngal pumti oey!

Tsakrr nìflrr, äo sanhì, Luliru Lilu poltxe,
San tam tam, ma yawntu, ngari txe’lan mawey,
Spaw oe, tsafya’ot roleiun.

You can hear Neytiri reading her poem here:

Edit 9 Oct.: Stress corrected for paytxew: PAY.txew –> pay.TXEW

Close quote added in the English translation, after “and I must leave too.”

Added voice recording of Neytiri reading her poem.

Fyape pängkxo fko teri lì’fya leNa’vi . . . nìNa’vi? Tse . . . nì’awve fkol kin aylì’ut azey.

To talk about Na’vi in Na’vi, we need some specialized vocabulary. We already have a start. The following terms have long been in the dictionary:

tstxolì’u          ‘noun’
kemlì’u           ‘verb’
kemlì’uvi        ‘infix’
pamrelvi         ‘letter’
snapamrelvi   ‘alphabet’

Here are some more terms to facilitate grammatical discussion. A big irayo to our Pìlumsì alu Stefan for his creative and apt suggestions along these lines. Txampxì faylì’uä ftu eltu peyä zola’u.

lì’ukìng (n., LÌ’.u.kìng) ‘sentence’

This clearly derives from lì’u + kìng ‘thread.’ We have a similar notion in English: a string of words.

lì’ukìngvi (n., LÌ’.u.kìng.vi) ‘phrase’

“Phrase” is tricky to define precisely without talking about linguistic trees and constituent structure, but we don’t have to get into those technicalities. The basic idea is that of consecutive words that “hang together” as a unit. So, for example, take the sentence:

Oeyä ’eylanìl alu Va’ru lora fkxilet amip tolìng sneyä ’iteru.
‘My friend Va’ru gave his daughter a beautiful new necklace.’

Some of the lì’ukìngvi in this sentence are:

• oeyä ’eylanìl alu Va’ru
• lora fkxilet amip
• lora fkxilet amip tolìng sneyä ’iteru
• sneyä ’iteru

These, however, are not lì’ukìngvi:

• ’eylanìl alu
• amip tolìng sneyä
• Va’ru lora fkxilet

lì’kong (n., LÌ’.kong) ‘syllable’

“Syllable” is another term that’s tricky to define technically, but the basic idea is clear: a sequence of consonants and vowels that make up a rhythmic “beat” in a word. For example, if you were singing the English word “absolutely” or the Na’vi word fìhawre’ti, in each case you could put the word on four different notes corresponding to the four syllables in each one. The term lì’kong comes from lì’u + ’ekong ‘rhythmic beat.’ (Why not *lìu’kong, you may ask? So that there’s a greater distinction between the words for sentence and syllable. We have precedent for dropping the u of lì’u in compounds—lì’fya, for example.)

Lu tsalì’ur alu fìhawre’ti tsìnga lì’kong.
‘The word fìhawre’ti has four syllables.’

lì’uvi (n., LÌ’.u.vi) ‘affix’

An affix is a prefix, suffix, or infix.

eolì’uvi (n., E.o.lì’.u.vi) ‘prefix’  (that is, an affix that comes in front)

uolì’uvi (n., U.o.lì’.u.vi) ‘suffix’  (that is, an affix that comes behind)

Lu tsalì’ur alu fìhawre’ti melì’uvi alu ’awa eolì’uvi sì ’awa uolì’uvi.
‘The word fìhawre’ti has two affixes—one prefix and one suffix.’

syonlì’u (n., SYON.lì.u) ‘adjective’

Syon, as you recall, means ‘feature, trait, characteristic.’

fyalì’u (n., FYA.lì.u) ‘adverb’

Adverbs tell you how something is done. (Well, at least that’s true for “manner adverbials.” Some adverbs serve to explain how speakers feel about what they’re saying, as in “Sadly, I don’t think he’s going to succeed.”) There shouldn’t be any confusion between fyalì’u and lì’fya.

starlì’u (n., STAR.lì’u) ‘adposition’

This compound is a shortening of sätare ‘connection, relationship’ + lì’u. Na’vi adpositions (hu, ta, eo, sìn, sre, tafkip . . .) are “relationship words.” (Stefan pointed out the similar term in German, „Verhältniswort“, lit. ‘relation word.’)

Consider these examples:

1. hu Eywa
2. Eywahu

In A, hu is a starlì’u but not a lì’uvi or an eolì’u.

In B, hu is a starlì’u, a lì’uvi, and an uolì’uvi.

Finally,

tilì’u (n., TI.lì.u) ‘conjunction’

The elements here are til ‘joint, hinge’ + lì’u. A conjunction (sì, fu, slä, txo, tengkrr, . . .) is a kind of hinge or joint that links two things of the same sort.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I hope these terms will be useful to those of us who enjoy grammatical discussions. But please don’t get the idea that in order to speak and write Na’vi well you need to know and understand them! Many excellent English speakers and writers—probably most!—would not be able to tell you what a subordinate conjunction is, or an infinitive, or a gerund, or any other technical grammatical term—but they nevertheless use the language beautifully. The equivalent is true for any language.

Hayalovay!

Kaltxì nìmun, ma eylan. It’s been a while! I hope you’ve all been happy and healthy—and doing interesting, satisfying, fun things. As for me, you can guess what’s been occupying my time more and more. Tìkangkem anawm sngolä’eiyi! Needless to say, I can’t divulge anything about the Avatar sequels except that they’re going to be absolutely terrific. You’ve probably seen this already, but just in case you haven’t, here’s the latest information that’s been released to the public.

Also in the category of things you’ve probably already seen but should see if you haven’t, there’s a beautiful Facebook post in which Avatar fans, including several members of our lì’fyaolo’, express to the filmmakers their thanks for the movie and their hopes for the sequels. You can hear some nice Na’vi in it.

We haven’t had any additions to the lexicon in a long time, so here are some new items—I counted 29—at least some of which I hope you’ll find useful. Several of these new words and examples come from our indefatigable LEP, for which I thank the members sincerely.

kemwiä (adj., kem.WI.ä) ‘improper, unfair, wrong, unjustified’

This is clearly the opposite of muiä. Note that there are two ways to say something is unfair: “Ke lu muiä!” as in Avatar 1 (we now need to distinguish among A1, A2, A3, A4, and A5!), and “Lu kemwiä!”

Derivation:

tìkemwiä (n., tì.kem.WI.ä) ‘unfairness, injustice’

leymkem (vin., leym.KEM, inf 1,1) ‘protest’

You might think the kem part is the familiar word for ‘act’ or ‘deed,’ but in fact it’s a truncated form of kemwiä. So the derivation is leym ‘call out, cry out’ + kem(wiä) ‘unfair, unjustified’—that is, when you protest, you cry out that something is unfair. The verb is intransitive. When you protest something, use the topical case or teri-. To protest that something is unfair, we use the tsnì construction, which as you know is used for complements of certain intransitive verbs, like sìlpey and mowar si.

Oe leymkem! Fìtsamìl Na’vit tìsraw seykayi nì’aw ulte kutut ke lätxayn.
‘I protest! This war will only harm the People and not defeat the enemy.’

Tsayhemìri (OR: Tsayhemteri) po loleymkem.
‘She protested those actions.’

Loleymkem po tsnì fwa Akwey slu olo’eyktan lu kemwiä.
‘He protested that it was unfair for Akwey to become clan leader.’

In colloquial speech, the first m in leymkem often becomes ng by assimilation to the following k—that is, it sounds like leyngkem, even though the spelling doesn’t change.

Derivations:

tìleymkem (n., tì.leym.KEM) ‘protesting, protest (abstract concept)’

säleymkem (n., sä.leym.KEM) ‘protest, instance of protesting’

Eyktanìl ngeyä säleymkemit stolawm ulte paye’un teyngta zene fko pehem sivi.
‘The leader has heard your protest and will decide what must be done.’

A related word is:

leymfe’ (vin., leym.FE’, inf 1, 1) ‘complain’

This word derives from leym + fe’ ‘bad’—that is, to complain is to cry out that something is bad. The syntax is similar to that of leymkem.

Fo lereymfe’ tsnì syuve lu wew.
‘They’re complaining that the food is cold.’

Derivations:

tìleymfe’ (n., tì.leym.FE’) ‘complaining’

säleymfe’ (n., sä.leym.FE’) ‘complaint’

tìleym (n., tì.LEYM) ‘call’

Eywal tìleymit awngeyä stoleiawm!
‘Eywa has heard our call!’

tìtstunwinga’ (adj., tì.TSTUN.wi.nga’) ‘kind (nfp)’

I realize I should have explained this earlier. A kind person is tute atstunwi. Kind words are aylì’u atìtstunwinga’.

Similarly,

tìflänga’ (adj., tì.FLÄ.nga’) ‘successful (nfp)’

A successful plan is tìhawl atìflänga’. A successful person is tute a flolä.

ekxan si (vin., e.KXAN si) ‘exclude, keep out, bar’

Srake fìkxemyo tsun tsayioangur lehrrap ekxan sivi?
‘Can this wall keep out those dangerous animals?’

nìtsleng (adv., nì.TSLENG) ‘falsely’

This word is the opposite of nìngay. And just as you can say Nìngay plltxe nga, ‘You speak truly,’ or ‘What you say is true,” you can also say Nìtsleng plltxe nga, ‘You speak falsely.’ Although the Na’vi do not have a word for “liar” per se, they can express the idea that someone is lying through this construction.

Plltxe nìtsleng! Tsafkxilet ke tolìng ngar Entul!
‘Liar! Entu didn’t give you that necklace!’

kawl (adv.) ‘hard, diligently’

Makto kawl, ma samsiyu, fte tsivun pivähem nìwin!
‘Ride hard, warriors, so you can get there fast!

yawntutsyìp (n., YAWN.tu.tsyìp) ‘darling, little loved one’

This is a tender term of endearment that a parent might call a child, for example. It exists alongside yawn(e)tu, which for some speakers, although certainly not all, carries a romantic or sexual overtone. Yawntutsyìp often reflects parental or familial love.

Semputi rä’ä srätx, ma yawntutsyìp. Tìkangkem seri.
‘Don’t bother daddy, little one. He’s working.’

And on the opposite end of the spectrum:

vonvä’ (n., von.VÄ’) ‘butthole, asshole, dickhead’

This word is highly abusive and vulgar, and is never used in polite society. It’s a strongly contracted form of vitronvä’, which is sometimes heard in that fuller form. The word derives from vitra ‘soul’ + onvä’ ‘bad-smelling, stinking.’ So a literal translation in English might be “stinksoul.” In colloquial pronunciation, the n is often lost and the preceding o nasalized: [võ.VÄ’].

weopx (n., we.OPX) ‘wave (of water)’

Krra hufwe tul nìwin, tsun fko tsive’a ayweopxit a sìn yo payä.
‘When there is strong wind, you can see waves on the water.’

Note: When viewed from the shore, waves can srer ‘appear, come into view’ and ’ìp ‘disappear, recede from view.’

Derivation:

leweopx (adj., le.we.OPX) ‘wave-like’

Tsayrenur leweopx a sìn neni tìng nari.
Look at those wave-like patterns in the sand.

tsìltsan (n., tsìl.TSAN) ‘good (abstract concept), goodness’

This word evolved from *tìsìltsan, much the same way as *tìsìlpey became tsìlpey.

Tìkawng a sutel ngop var rivey, tsìltsanit pxìm kllyem fkol feyä täremhu.
[See Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.   🙂 ]

lerìn (adj., le.RÌN) ‘wooden, of wood’

letskxe (adj., le.TSKXE) ‘stony, of stone’

These words can be used to indicate the material an object is made from. For example, to say ‘a spear made of wood,’ all of the following are possible:

• tukru a txolula fkol ta rìn
• tukru a ta rìn
• tukru lerìn

mawftxele (adv., maw.FTXE.le) ‘belatedly, in hindsight, after the fact, as an afterthought’

This word is parallel to mìftxele ‘in this regard’ and derived the same way.

Oel peyä ftxozäti tswolänga’, ha poltxe por san ftxozäri aylrrtok ngaru sìk mawftxele.
‘Unfortunately I forgot his birthday, so I said “Happy Birthday” belatedly.’

pìsaw (adj., pì.SAW) ‘clumsy, accident-prone’

This adjective describes a not-very-clever or impractical person. It can also be used as an interjection, for example when you’ve acted clumsily with unintended negative results, often accompanied by a sharp intake of breath.

Po lu pìsaw. Trram toltem venuti sneyä nìtkanluke.
‘He is accident-prone. Yesterday he unintentionally shot his own foot.’

Lu Sawtute wok sì pìsaw nìwotx, na prrnen.
‘The skypeople are all loud and clumsy, like a baby.’

Derivation:

tìpsaw (n., tìp.SAW) clumsiness

Poeyä tìpsawìl txopu sleykolu yerikit ha po hifwo.
‘Her clumsiness scared the hexapede, so he escaped.’

Finally, four expressions relating to Na’vi culture or the Pandoran environment:

Txintseng Sawtuteyä (prop. n., TXIN.tseng SAW.tu.tey.ä) ‘Hell’s Gate’

This literally means ‘The Sky People’s Base.’ It’s how the Na’vi refer to Hell’s Gate.

txintseng (n., TXIN.tseng) ‘base of operations’

lanay’ka (n., la.NAY’.ka) ‘slinger’

You can find a description here.

ilu (n., I.lu) ’ilu’

From the Disney pamphlet ”Guide to the Flora and Fauna of the Valley of Mo’ara”: “The ilu is a large plesiosaur-like sea creature that is the direhorse of the Pandoran ocean. With multiple fins/flippers and a long, streamlined shape, this aquatic pack animal serves the reef Na’vi clans like direhorses serve the Na’vi clans of the forests, jungles and planes.”

sye’otxang (n., SYE.’o.txang) ‘wind instrument’

From syeha ‘breath’ + ’otxang ‘musical instrument.’ This is the generic term for any instrument played by blowing. A pawk is a kind of sye’otxang.

As I don’t have to tell some of you, I still have a considerable backlog of suggestions and questions from the LEP and others that I need to get to. I’ll do that as soon as I can. Tsakrrvay, fpom livu ayngaru nìwotx.

I’ll leave you with a question. Someone recently asked me if srak can ever be used completely on its own. In other words, could someone ever say, simply, “Srak?” I responded that I had never considered that possibility but would think about it. What’s your feeling? Are there any situations in which this could make sense? For example, suppose you’ve asked a question and gotten no answer. If you then said “Srak?” angrily, could it mean, “Well, are you going to answer me or not? Yes or no???” And if you think you could use this question word this way, would it more likely be “Srake?”? Rutxe ayngeyä aysäfpìlit piveng oer!

Ta Pawl

Kaltxì, ma frapo–

I came across an article in today’s New York Times that I thought you’d like to see. It’s a feature on the Disney Avatar theme park, complete with wonderful photos. They even quoted a Na’vi phrase (Swotu Wayä) correctly!  🙂

The author was very positive about the park experience, writing:

[T]he world aims to give fans of the film (and young fans in the making) the same jaw-dropping, immersive experience that they came away with after watching the movie the first time.

Did they pull it off? The answer is a resounding yes. 

And here is a “360 video” that accompanies the article.

I can’t wait until November when I’ll get to see the park first-hand during the Avatar Meet-up. Nìsìlpey ultxarìyevun oel pxaya hapxìtut lì’fyaolo’ä awngeyä tsatseng nìteng!