Na’viteri.org

Ma eylan,

Soaiari Uniltìrantokxä, alo amuve längu fmawn atìkeftxonga’. Ayngari txo ke li ke stilvawm, zene oe piveng san tolerkängup awngeyä eyktan sì ’eylan alu Jon Landau.

It came as a terrible shock to learn that Jon Landau, Avatar’s producer and James Cameron’s dear friend and collaborator, died Friday, July 5^th, at the age of 63.

My acquaintance with Jon went all the way back to 2005, when I first signed on to the Avatar team. Since then, I interacted with him numerous times. He would often call me to give me a Na’vi assignment or ask how to say such-and-such in the language. He was sometimes my conduit to JC when for whatever reason I couldn’t contact Jim directly with a question. And he approved—and sometimes revised 🙂 —the character and clan names for the video games.

Something that stands out in my memory was Jon’s unannounced visit to one of the U.S. Avatar meet-ups, where he surprised and delighted all the fans in attendance with his warmth and support. In talking to the group about things to come, he expressed his enthusiasm for Na’vi and how he wanted to see the language develop. Needless to say, that was good to hear.

Jim wrote a moving tribute to Jon on Instagram. If you haven’t seen it, let me share it with you:

“The Avatar family grieves the loss of our friend and leader, Jon Landau. His zany humor, personal magnetism, great generosity of spirit and fierce will have held the center of our Avatar universe for almost two decades. His legacy is not just the films he produced, but the personal example he set — indomitable, caring, inclusive, tireless, insightful and utterly unique.

“He produced great films, not by wielding power but by spreading warmth and the joy of making cinema. He inspired us all to be and to bring our best, every day.

“I have lost a dear friend, and my closest collaborator of 31 years. A part of myself has been torn away.”

In my note of condolence to Jim, I included the following:

“Human lifetimes are short, but what you and Jon created together will live on as long as people watch movies, bringing awe and wonder and joy to generation after generation.

“Tolerkup tute; tìkangkem peyä tì’i’avay krrä rayey. The person dies; his work will live on forever.”

Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, ma Jon. Nga lom layu ayoeru nìtxan.

ta Pawl

Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo!

Our LEP (Lexical Expansion Project) team has been working overtime, and I have an impressive list of submissions, some from months ago, that I’m gradually going through. Most of the following new vocabulary items are either taken directly from their submissions or inspired by them.

First, some body parts:

tsyokxtil (n., TSYOKX.til) ‘wrist’  (usually pronounced tsyoktil)

Tsyokx, as you know, means ‘hand.’ Recall that til means ‘joint.’

zektil (n., ZEK.til) ‘knuckle’ (from zekwä ‘finger’+ til)

tstir (n.) ‘palm of a hand’

stang (n.) ‘torso’

sil (n.) ‘body stripe (non-facial)’

Compare pil, which refers specifically to facial stripes.

Pori frapil sì frasil lor lu nìtxan.
’He/She is very attractive.’
(Literally: ‘As for him/her, every facial and body stripe is very beautiful.’)

In Na’vi slang, this proverbial expression is often reduced to:

Frapil frasil!
‘Wow! Check him/her out! He/She is gorgeous!’

tski (n.) ‘jaw’

kxon (n.) ‘internal organ’

Lu tokxur tuteyä polpxaya kxon?
‘How many internal organs does a person’s body have?’

The next few words are not strictly body parts themselves but are related to them:

rumtsyokx (n., RUM.tsyokx) ‘fist’ (lit.: ball hand)

rìktsyokx (n., RÌK.tsyokx) ‘flat hand’ (lit.: leaf hand)

Ateyol Entut tolakuk fa rumtsyokx.
‘Ateyo punched Entu (i.e. struck him with his fist).’

Ateyol Entut tolakuk fa rìktsyokx.
‘Ateyo slapped Entu (i.e. struck him with his flat hand).’

heynyì (n., HEYN.yì) ‘lap’ (i.e., the flat surface created when sitting)

Za’u heyn sìn oey heynyì, ma ’evi.
‘Come sit on my lap, my child.’

A couple of grammatical terms:

rawnlì’u (n., RAWN.lì.’u) ‘pronoun’  (from rawn ‘substitute, replace’)

pamrìrlì’u (n., pam.RÌR.lì.’u) ‘onomatopoetic word’

An onomatopoetic word is one that imitates (rì’ìr si) the sound of its referent. Most if not all languages have such words. An English example is ratatat, ‘a rapid succession of knocking, tapping, or cracking sounds.’ A Na’vi example is kxangangang ‘boom.’

And some miscellaneous words:

tìtok (n., tì.TOK) ‘presence’

I really like this word! It’s obviously from tok ‘be at, occupy a space.’

Tìtokìl ngeyä ngop tìngäzìkit fraporu.
‘Your presence creates a difficulty for everyone.’

tìktok (n., tìk.TOK) ‘absence’

This is a development of tì + ke + tok. Since tìtok and tìktok are close in sound but opposite in meaning, you need to distinguish them carefully in speaking. If there’s any danger of confusion, you can say the original long form of the word, tìketok.

Tìktokit peyä fkol tsoleri.
‘His absence was noted.’

Tìtok slu tìktok fa pamtsyìp a’aw.
‘Presence becomes absence by means of one little sound.’
(A proverbial expression meaning: ‘Small things can make a big difference.’)

pamtsyìp (n., PAM.tsyìp) ‘small or slight sound’

tskxemauti (n., TSKXE.ma.u.ti) ‘nut’

From tsxke ‘stone’ + mauti ‘fruit’

yayl (n.) ‘nonsense, gibberish’

Yayl can refer either to something completely unintelligible or to something that’s foolish and makes no sense.

Faylì’u a poltxe nga lu yayl nì’aw.
‘What you said is nothing but nonsense.’

You can also use the bare word yayl as a rude put-down of what someone has just said or written:

Yayl!
‘Bullshit!’

leyayl (adj., le.YAYL) ‘nonsensical’

tìtxanro’a (n., tì.txan.RO.’a) ‘fame, glory’

This is a nice sentence to practice out loud for stress and rhythm:

Tsatu a new tìtxanro’at nì’aw / ke slayu eyktan atxantsan kawkrr.
‘The person who wants only fame will never become an excellent leader.’

zeklor (adj., zek.LOR) ‘pleasant to the touch’

Clearly from zekwä ‘finger’ + lor ‘beautiful.’

Sunu oer fìfnesrä taluna lu zeklor.
‘I like this kind of cloth because it feels good.’

Hayalovay, ma eylan!

Edit: ZEK.lor –> zek.LOR

Kaltxì, ma eylan, ulte Vospxìpuk lefpom!

Happy June, everyone. I hope you’re all doing well as summer (or winter, depending on where you live!) fast approaches.

Among the most recent vocabulary submissions from the LEP (Lexical Expansion Project) were some excellent suggestions for certain time expressions, which got me thinking more generally about time in Na’vi. Up to now we’ve seen quite a few expressions for stretches of time: zìsìt ‘year,’ vospxì ‘month,’ kintrr ‘week,’ muntrr ‘weekend,’ trr ‘day,’ and various parts of the day—rewon ‘morning,’ kxamtrr ‘noon,’ ha’ngir ‘afternoon,’ kaym ‘evening,’ txon ‘night,’ etc.

What we haven’t seen, however, is anything corresponding to hours here on earth, not to mention minutes and seconds. And so we don’t as yet have official ways to ask what time it is.

The difficulty is clear: We don’t know if the Na’vi divide their day into uniformly equal segments like our hours. Even if they do, we have no reason to think they use a 24-hour division as we do. However, if we’re going to use Na’vi ’Rrtamì, it would be very useful to be able to talk about hours, minutes, and seconds, and ask what time something occurred or will occur. So let’s see what would be a reasonable way to do that.

First of all, we have this general word for a day division;

trrpxì (n., trr.PXÌ) ‘part of a day’

A trrpxì could be a rewon, a kaym, a txon, etc.

A: Fo pähem pesrrpxì (OR: trrpxìpe)?
B: Srekamtrr.
A: ‘What part of the day will they arrive?’
B: ‘Before noon.’

But trrpxì could also be a uniform division of the Pandoran day—possible although so far unattested.

When the Na’vi interacted with the Sawtute and became acquainted with the human way of reckoning time, it’s likely they adapted their already existing word trrpxì as a way of expressing ‘hour.’ To avoid ambiguity, they modified the word to specifically indicate an hour on the 24-hour human cycle, doing this in one of two ways:

trrpxì Sawtuteyä (n., trr.PXÌ SAW.tu.te.yä) ‘hour (in the 24-hour human cycle)’

pxevotrrpxì (n., pxe.vo.trr.PXÌ) ‘hour (in the 24-hour human cycle)’

The latter word clearly comes from pxevol ‘twenty-four’ and trrpxì, where the l of pxevol has eroded over time. (Tìkangkem atxantsan, ma ayhapxìtu LEP-ä!).

However, if the context is clearly that of an earth or human environment where we’re talking about hours on the clock, we can simply use trrpxì for a normal, familiar hour.

With that in mind, we have the following:

trrpxì (n., trr.PXÌ) ‘part of a day; hour’

trrpxìvi (n., trr.PXÌ.vi) ‘minute’

trrpxìvitsyìp (n., trr.PXÌ.vi.tsyìp) ‘second’

Note the following ways to translate time expressions in which English uses “in” and “for”:

Oe pähem maw trrpxìvi amrr. OR Oe pähem kay trrpxìvi amrr.
‘I’ll be there in five minutes.’

(Recall that maw is ‘after’ and kay is ‘from now’; they’re equally correct here.)

Po tìkangkem soli (ka) trrpxìo amrr.
’She has worked for five hours.’

(Note the -o suffix to indicate duration with time words. Ka, which further indicates duration, is optional here.)

We’re now ready to talk about clock time: five o’clock, seven thirty, and so on. Before we do, however, we need to note a subtlety in Na’vi that’s usually glossed over in English.

For five o’clock, the most natural Na’vi expression would seem to be trrpxì amrrve, literally ‘the fifth hour’ (where, as we’ve noted before, we’re using trrpxì for a standard clock hour). But trrpxì really refers to a stretch or span of time, while 5:00 is a point in time. That is, 5:00 is actually the point that marks the end of the fifth hour! (I was originally tempted to say beginning, but if you think about it, that’s not right! 🙂 )

So technically, five o’clock is properly tì’i’a trrpxìyä amrrve, ‘the end of the fifth hour.’ However, in normal, everyday usage, we simply say trrpxì amrrve, with the understanding that this is short for tì’i’a trrpxìyä amrrve.

We need one more important vocabulary item, and then we’re ready to talk about time to our heart’s content:

lik (n.) ‘point, spot, particular place or position in some area’

Tskoti fyep fìlikro.
‘Grasp the bow at this spot.’

Ro salik a mì säftxulì’u atì’iluke peyä, oe holum.
‘At that point in his endless speech, I left.’

This gives us:

krrlik (n., KRR.lik) ‘point in time’

We now have two ways to ask “What time?”:

pesrrpxì / trrpxìpe (inter., pe.srr.PXÌ / trr.PXÌ.pe) ‘what time?’

pehrrlik / krrlikpe (inter., pe.HRR.lik / KRR.lik.pe) ’what time?’

To answer and say “It’s five o’clock,” the full and somewhat bookish response is:

Krrlik lu trrpxì amrrve.
‘The time is five o’clock’

Colloquially, however, we can simply say:

Lu mrrve.
‘It’s five.’ (Literally, ‘It’s the fifth [hour]’)

A: Nga pähem pehrr?
B: Ro srrpxì amrrve. OR (colloquially) Ro mrrve.
A: ‘When will you arrive?’
B: ‘At five o’clock.’ OR ‘At five.’

(We could have said payähem in the above question, but it’s not necessary to do so.)

Finally, to add some minutes:

5:30  :  trrpxì amrrve sì mawl OR (colloquially) mrrve sì mawl

5:24 :  trrpxì amrrve sì trrpxìvi apxevol OR (colloquially) mrrve sì pxevol

4:50 (i.e., ten minutes to five): trrpxìvi avomun sre srrpxì amrrve
OR (colloquially) vomun sre mrrve

That’s it for now. I hope you found this post worth your time. 🙂

Hayalovay!

Kaltxì, ma frapo!

Fleltrr Lefpom! Happy April Fool’s Day!

No tricks—just a few new words this time along with a new way to use a word you already know. I hope you’ll find these useful.

Actually, the only word family for today that’s directly related to foolery is based on:

flel (vtr.) ‘trick (someone), fool (someone)’

Entul Peyralit fìtxan flolel kuma fpìl poe san oe yawne lu por.
‘Entu fooled Peyral so much that she thought he loved her.’
OR ‘Entu tricked Peyral into thinking that he loved her.’

säflel (n., sä.FLEL) ‘trick, hoax, dishonest act or scheme’

Pot spaw rä’ä! Lu fì’u säflel!
’Don’t believe him! It’s a trick!’

Don’t confuse säflel with ìngyentsyìp, which also means ‘trick’ but in another sense. An ìngyentsyìp is a clever device, as in “There’s a trick to solving this equation.” A säflel is something dishonest.

tìflel (n., tì.FLEL) ‘trickery (abstract concept)’

fleltu (n., FLEL.tu) ‘fool, sucker, mark, someone easily tricked’

NOTE: Keep in mind that when you encounter nouns where the -tu suffix has been attached to a verb, the meanings have to be learned individually, since you don’t know beforehand whether the noun refers to the agent or the patient of the verb. I can’t do better than to quote the Horen:

-tu creates agent nouns most often from parts of speech other than verbs . . . When attached to verbs, the noun might refer to either the agent or the patient of a verbal action, such as frrtu guest from frrfen visit (agent), spe’etu captive from spe’e capture (patient). [Horen 5.1.5.1]

Fleltrr (n., FLEL.trr) ‘April Fool’s Day’

Fleltu slu rä’ä! Fìtrr lu Fleltrr!
‘Don’t be fooled! Today is April Fool’s Day!’

säfleltsyìp (n., sä.FLEL.tsyìp) ‘practical joke’

Here’s another -tu word that works the same way as spe’etu and fleltu:

hawntu (n., HAWN.tu) ‘one under someone’s protection’

Oey yawntu lu oey hawntu.
‘My beloved is under my protection.’
OR ‘The one I love is the one I protect.’

The next word is a result of someone asking me how to say “washing machine” in Na’vi. That led me to ask myself what “machine” would be in general. What’s the essence of a machine, and did the Na’vi have the concept of machine prior to the arrival of the Sawtute?

It seemed to me that “machine” has two basic defining components: (1) It’s something that helps you do something you couldn’t do or do as well without it, and (2) it’s something that’s constructed rather than occurring in nature. In this sense, a bow could be considered a kind of machine, since it satisfies properties (1) and (2). This led to:

säsrung (n, sä.SRUNG) ‘helper (inanimate), something that helps’

Contrast säsrung (inanimate) with srungsiyu, ‘helper’ in the sense of an assistant or person who helps.

Oeyä tìtslamìri tìoeyktìng ngeyä lolu säsrung.
‘Your explanation helped my understanding.’

(This is admittedly a bit stiff compared to the simpler and more natural Oeyä tìtslamur tìoeyktìng ngeyä srung soli.)

A machine, then, is a constructed (txawnula, from txula) säsrung.

txawnulsrung (n., txaw.NUL.srung) ‘machine’

The historical derivation is a bit complex:

*txawnulasäsrung > txawnulsäsrung > txawnulsrung

And so:

txawnulsrung a yur (n.) ‘washing machine’

This pattern is obviously the basis for other kinds of machines, such as:

txawnulsrung a tswayon (n.) ‘airplane’

kahena (vtr., ka.HE.na, inf. 2,3) ‘transport’

The derivation here is obvious: ka ‘across’ + hena ‘carry,’ similar to the derivation of the English word from Latin trans ‘across’ + portare ‘carry.’ (Sometimes humans and Na’vi think alike.)

Fwa kahena fì’uranit atsawl ftu tsray oeyä ne pum ngeyä layu ngäzìk.
‘It’s going to be difficult to transport this large boat from my village to yours.’

tìkahena (n., tì.ka.HE.na) ‘transportation (abstract concept)’

säkahena (n., sä.ka.HE.na) ‘means of transport, transportation device, vehicle’

As with other sä– words, the unstressed ä usually drops in casual pronunciation when the resulting consonant cluster is permissible. So this word is usually pronounced skahena colloquially.

Contrast säkahena with sämunge, which also means a transportation device. The difference is that sämunge usually refers to something small that something else can fit in, like a pouch, while a säkahena is typically something that can move large things, including people.

Finally, there’s now a pet turtle in the Lightstorm office, and I’ve been asked how to say “turtle” in Na’vi. As with other terrestrial animals that don’t exist on Pandora, we take the name of the Pandoran animal that seems the closest and typically add –tsyìp, since our earth versions are usually smaller. So alongside nantangtsyìp ‘dog’ and palukantsyìp ‘cat,’ we now have:

mawuptsyìp (n., MA.wup.tsyìp) ‘turtle’

from mawup ‘turtapede.’

Now for that new use of a familiar word that I mentioned above:

We haven’t yet seen how the Na’vi express the kind of emphasis we achieve in English with the “self” words, as in: I myself, you yourself, etc. For example, “You yourself said I shouldn’t go!”

To do this in Na’vi, we use the adposition sko, which we’ve seen glossed as ‘in the capacity of, in the role of,’ with a repeated noun or pronoun. An example will show you how this works:

Nga sko nga poltxe san rä’ä kivä!
‘You yourself said don’t go!’

Literally, this means something like “You in the role of you,” which is weird in English but fine in Na’vi as a means of emphasis.

Keep in mind two things: First, sko is one of those adpositions that trigger lenition in the following word, and (2) like all adpositions, it can be suffixed onto its object. So the above example could also be Nga ngasko poltxe san . . . For ‘I myself,’ it’s either oe sko oe or oe oesko. As you would anticipate from oehu and oene, the latter is pronounced WES.ko.

That’s it for now. Nìmun, Fleltrr Lefpom, ulte fleltu slu rä’ä! 🙂

Kxì, ma frapo.

Zìsìtnuntrr Lefpom! Happy Leap Year Day!

A bit of explanation:

I realized there was a gap in the lexicon in the area of words relating to long and short. Here’s what we’ve had up to now:

                                    TIME                           SPACE, PHYSICAL EXTENSION

SHORT                       yol                                 pup

LONG                          txan (?)                        ngim

The problem is with txan—as you know, a widely used adjective meaning ‘great’ or ‘much.’ It can mean ‘long’ for time, when used specifically with the word krr. (Txankrr, by the way, is an adverb meaning ‘for a long time.’) For example, we have the iconic Yola krr, txana krr, ke tsranten, ‘It doesn’t matter how long it takes’—literally, ‘Short time, long time, doesn’t matter.’ But what about ‘a long speech’ or ‘a long song’? Txan doesn’t work for those.

Instead, we have nun:

nun (adj.; RN: nun) ‘long (of time)’

The paradigm is now:

                                    TIME                           SPACE, PHYSICAL EXTENSION

SHORT                       yol                                                    pup

LONG                          nun, txan (with krr)                     ngim

Sunu oer Ralu, slä fìsäfrrfen peyä lu nun nìhawng.
‘I like Ralu, but this visit of his is too long.’

nunyol (n., NUN.yol) ‘length (of time)’

penunyol (pe.NUN.yol) / nunyolpe (NUN.yol.pe) (inter.) ‘what length, how long (of time)’

Nga harmahaw penunyol?
‘How long were you sleeping?’

For completeness:

pengimpup (pe.NGIM.pup) / ngimpuppe (NGIM.pup.pe) (inter.) ‘what length, how long (of physical extension)’

zìsìtnun (n., zì.sìt.NUN) ‘leap year’

zìsìtnuntrr (n., zì.sìt.NUN.trr) ‘leap year day’

On to other things:

Here are some more new words I hope you’ll find useful, some of which stem from the contributions of the Lexical Expansion Project. (Irayo nìtxan!) I have quite a few more of these suggestions, which I’ll get to for future posts. Here I’ll also say something about a recent presentation I put together that I’ve now given a couple of times.

First, an idiomatic expression:

eltut heykahaw (EL.tut hey.KA.haw) ‘be boring’

Literally, this is ‘puts the brain to sleep,’ heykahaw being the causative of hahaw ‘sleep.’ Compare this with the familiar expression eltur tìtxen si, ‘be interesting,’ which literally means ‘awakens the brain.’ (Question: Would you classify eltut heykahaw as vin., vtr., or neither? 🙂 )

Tsasäftxulì’ul peyä eltut heykolahaw nìtxan.
‘That speech of his was very boring.’

For someone to be bored, as opposed to something being boring, a separate word is used:

skeykx (adj.) ‘bored’

Oe ’efu skeykx ulte new tivätxaw ne kelku.
‘I’m bored and I want to go home.’

nga’prrnen (vin., nga’PRR.nen, inf. 1,1) ’be pregnant (for people)’

This word came up in the recent talk I gave (see below). It’s clearly a compound of nga’ ‘contain’ and prrnen ‘infant.’

Zun ngal oey tsmuket tsive’a, zel am’aluke ivomum futa poe nga’prrnen.
‘If you saw my sister, you’d certainly know she was pregnant.’

To say someone is pregnant with offspring, just use nga’ in a normal transitive construction.

Pol pxeya prrnenit ngeia’.
‘I’m delighted to say she’s pregnant with triplets.’

Krra ngal oeti ngarma’, ’efu pefya?
‘How did you feel when you were pregnant with me?’

Since we distinguish between prrnen ‘infant, baby (person)’ and lini ‘young of an animal,) we likewise have separate words for pregnant.

nga’lini (vin., nga’.LI.ni) ’be pregnant (for animals)’

tìnga’prrnen (n., tì.nga’.PRR.nen) ‘pregnancy (for people)’

tìnga’lini (n., tì.nga’.LI.ni) ‘pregnancy (for animals)’

kakmokri (adj., kak.MOK.ri) ‘mute’

Compare this with other kak– words like kakpam ‘deaf’ and kakrel ‘blind.’

tìkakmokri (n., tì.kak.MOK.ri) ‘muteness’

nìkakmokri (adv., nì.kak.MOK.ri) ‘mutely’

Kllkxolem fo nìkakmokri luke fwa ’awa lì’uti plltxe.
‘They stood there mutely without saying a word.’

säfpìlyewn (vin., sä.FPÌL.yewn, inf. 3,3) ‘communicate’

This is a compound of säfpìl ‘thought’ and yewn ‘express, convey.’ Communication is expressing and conveying your thoughts to others.

tìsäfpìlyewn (n., tì.sä.FPÌL.yewn) ‘communication’ (colloquial pronunciation: tsäfpìlyewn)

Txo po lu kakmokri, fyape säfpìlyewn?
‘If he’s mute, how does he communicate?’

pamtseovi (n., PAM.tse.o.vi) ‘musical piece’

Awnga tìng mikyun aylì’uluke a pamtseovir ko!
‘Let’s listen to some music without words.’

pxawtok (vtr., PXAW.tok, inf. 2,2) ‘surround’

This word and its syntax are based on tok. Rather than occupying a place in something, however, here you’re occupying a place around it—that is, surrounding it.

Pxawtolok snanantangìl yerikit.
‘The nantang pack surrounded the yerik.’

ehetx (n., e.HETX) ‘excuse’

ehetx si (vin., e.HETX si) ‘make an excuse, make excuses’

Furia nga ke tsan’ul, var nga ehetx sivi nì’aw.
‘Regarding your lack of improvement, you only keep making excuses.’

ken (adp.) ‘despite, in spite of’

Ken tìnawri peyä, ke flolä.
‘Despite her talent, she didn’t succeed.’

Ken fwa lu por ’awa nari nì’aw, lu Mati taronyu aswey.
‘In spite of having only one eye, Mati is the best hunter.’

räptulì’u (n., räp.tu.LÌ.’u; RN: räptùlì’u) ‘coarse or swear word’

räptulì’fya (n. räp.tu.LÌ’.fya; RN: räptùlì’fya) ‘coarse, vulgar language’

These compounds derived from räptum, the adjective meaning coarse or vulgar. Unlike N + lì’u compounds such as kemlì’u, syonlì’u, and tilì’u, where the stress is on the first syllable, this ADJ + lì’u compound has stress on lì’. That stress pattern has contributed to the m of räptum dropping over time.

nìräptum (adv., nì.räp.TUM) ‘coarsely, vulgarly’

Fyape yawne lu fkoru tute a frakrr voìk si fìtxan nìräptum?
‘How does one love a person who always behaves so coarsely?’

To refer to speaking vulgarly or using vulgar language, the expected plltxe nìräptum has evolved into a shorter idiomatic form:

plltxe räptum (idiom) ‘to speak vulgarly, use vulgar language, swear’

katìng (vtr., KA.tìng, inf 2,2) ‘distribute’

Eykyul ayswizawti katolìng ayhapxìtur tsamponguä.
‘The leader distributed the arrows to the members of the war party.’

tìkatìng (n., tì.KA.tìng) ‘distribution’

tsyang (n.) ‘swarm’

You can speak of tsyang ayhì’angä, ‘a swarm of insects,’ but also metaphorically of tsyang suteyä, a swarm of people. The difference between snahì’ang, a group or collection of insects, and tsyang ayhì’angä is that the latter conveys a somewhat negative feeling, in that the insects are experienced as annoying and perhaps threatening. Sna– is neutral and doesn’t have that connotation.

luan (vtr., LU.an, inf. 1,2; RN: luan) ‘owe’

Luan refers to having a moral obligation to give something to someone.

Fol ngeyä tsmukeru luan tskoti amip.
’They owe your sister a new bow.’

Oey voìkìri alewnga’ luan oel ngar tìoeyktìngit.
‘I owe you an explanation for my shameful behavior.’

Among a very helpful collection of items for clarification (irayo, ma Txonpay!), there’s a list of 37 flora and fauna I need to post here along with stresses and derivations so they can be entered into our dictionaries. I was waiting for them to appear on Pandorapedia so you’d be able to see the pictures and read the detailed descriptions. I’m sure these will be available at some point. In the meantime, since these names have already been made public via the video games, I’ll get to them in the next post.

One more thing: Some of you may have seen and heard the recent talk I gave to the lì’fyaolo’ on the topic of language and thought, concentrating on the (in)famous Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis. After that presentation, I revised and expanded the talk a bit before I presented it to the University of Victoria (Canada) Underlings, UVic’s student-run undergraduate linguistics club. (I love “Underlings”!) If you missed the original talk or wanted to refresh your memory and also see a bit of new content, you can watch the revised presentation here (Google drive link) or here:

Hayalovay, ma eylan!

Kaltxì, ma frapo, ulte Mipa Zìsìt Lefpom!

Happy New Year, everyone! I hope 2024 proves to be a happy and healthy one for us all.

We haven’t had any new vocabulary in a while, so here are some words I hope you’ll find interesting. Several of them are based on, or have been inspired by, recent submissions from the newly reconstituted Language Expansion Project. Irayo nìtxan to all the LEP members for your creative and insightful suggestions!

First some general vocabulary, in no particular order:

puwup (vin., PU.wup, inf, 12; RN: puwùp) ‘bounce’

Rum ’awlo poluwup ’rrko neto.
‘The ball bounced once and rolled away.’

Ngäzìk fwa fkol rumit aku’up peykuwup.
‘It’s hard to bounce a heavy ball.’ (That is, it’s difficult to make someone who is stubborn or inept do what you want them to.)

pam si (vin.) ‘make a sound’

Fnu! Pam si rä’ä!
‘Be quiet! Don’t make a sound!’

Utral pam awok soli krra zup.
‘The tree made a loud sound when it fell.’

vakx (n.) ‘snake’

kafi (n., KA.fi) ‘sail’

kafi si (vin., KA.fi si) ‘to sail, move by means of a sail’

Kafi si can be used metaphorically as well as literally:

Rìk aukxo mì hufwetsyìp kafi sarmi.
‘The dry leaf was sailing in the breeze.’

kafiuran (n., KA.fi.u.ran) ‘sailboat’

tayng (n.) ‘thistle-like plant (generic term)’

As we’ll see later, a number of thistle-like plants on Pandora have tayng as part of their name.

telisi (n., te.li.SI) ‘whirlwind’

Note that the stress is on the last syllable.

amay (n., a.MAY) ‘brook’

katir (n., KA.tir) ‘rainbow’

tìspaw (n., tì.SPAW) ‘belief (abstract concept)’

Tsranten tìspaw, tsranten nì’ul tìfkeytongay.
‘Belief is important, but reality is more important.’

säspaw (n., sä.SPAW) ‘belief (particular instance)’

Tsasäspaw atsleng lu lehrrap.
‘That false belief is dangerous.’

ukyom (n., UK.yom; RN: ùkyom) ‘eclipse’

This word is a compound of uk ‘shadow’ and yom ‘eat,’ from the impression that during an eclipse, a shadow is devouring a celestial object. Ukyom can be used metaphorically with si, similar to how “eclipse” can be used in English:

ukyom si (vin., UK.yom si) ‘eclipse’

Pori tsakxeyey a’aw frakemur amuiä ukyom solängi.
‘Sadly, that one mistake eclipsed all of his good deeds.’

txakrrfpìl (vtr., txa.KRR.fpìl, inf. 33) ‘consider, ponder’

The derivation of this verb should be obvious: txa(n) + krr + fpìl: to think for a long time.

Oel sämokti ngeyä txakrrfpolìl.
‘I have considered your suggestion.’

haway (n., HA.way) ‘lullaby’

From hahaw ‘sleep’ + way ‘song.’

yewla si (vin., YEW.la si) ‘disappoint’

Note that yewla si doesn’t mean to be disappointing but rather to disappoint someone else:

Omum oel futa sänui peyä ngaru yewla soli nìtxan.
‘I know that his failure disappointed you greatly.’

kemum (coll., ke.MUM; RN: kemùm) ‘I don’t know’

Ke omum has two common contractions in colloquial Na’vi. We’ve already seen komum; kemum is its equivalent. The two forms are interchangeable, just as English “it is not” contracts either to “it isn’t” or “it’s not” with no difference in usage.

Finally, let me present the Na’vi names of some amazing fauna and flora that have come to light as we’re getting to know Pandora better through the Avatar sequels and video games. Pictures of all the following creatures and plants/planimals, along with detailed descriptions, can be found in Pandorapedia. (Look them up by their English names.)

When the Na’vi name is constructed out of other meaningful elements, I’ll give the derivation briefly. If I don’t mention the derivation, it means the word is a new root with no prior associated meanings.

FAUNA

flrrtsawl (n., FLRR.tsawl) ‘sailfin goliath’

The name of this “gentle giant” is a combination of flrr ‘gentle’ + tsawl ‘large.’

kinglor (n., KING.lor) ‘kinglor’

From kìng ‘thread’ + lor ‘beautiful.’ King may have been an earlier form of kìng.

nawkx (n.) ‘bone helm rhino’

reyptswìk (n., REYP.tswìk) ‘wolf tick’

This bloodsucker’s name comes from reypay ‘blood’ + tswìk ‘suck.’

slotsyal (n., SLO.tsyal) ‘stormglider’

Named for its exceptional wingspan, a combination of sloa ‘wide’ and tsyal ‘wing.’

tslikxyu latopin (n., TSLIKX.yu LA.to.pin) ‘chamelion crawler’

From tslikx ‘crawl’ + latem ‘change’ + ’opin ‘color.’

tslikxyu tsawlak (n., TSLIKX.yu TSAW.lak) ‘scarab crawler’

Named for its prominent large shell. From tslikx ‘crawl’ + tsawl ‘large’ + lak ‘shell.’

txampam (n., TXAM.pam) ‘soundblast colossus’

Named for the very loud sounds this animal produces. Txan + pam, with nasal assimilation.

txeptsyal (n., TXEP.tsyal’ ‘coronis’

Named for its flame-like wing pattern: a “firewing.”

vekreng (n., VEK.reng) ‘cloaked panther’

winzaw (n., WIN.zaw) ‘arrow deer’

Named for its arrow-like speed: win ‘fast’ + swizaw ‘arrow.’

yoten (n., YO.ten) ‘yoten’

zakru (n., ZAK.ru) ‘zakru’

FLORA

eanfwopx (n., E.an.fwopx) ‘mist bloom’

Literally, ‘blue dust cloud.’ From ean ‘blue’ + fwopx ‘dust in the air.’

hiupwopx (n., HI.up.wopx) ‘cloud spitter’

From hiup ‘spit’ + pìwopx ‘cloud.’ We can assume the English term was based on the original Na’vi.

ko’onspul (n., KO.’on.spul) ‘sunflower gigantus’

This is a circular plant that springs up to propel whatever treads on it. From ko’on ‘circular shape’ + spule ‘propel.’

kxetsikran (n., kxe.TSIK.ran) ‘banshee’s tail’

Clearly from kxetse ‘tail’ + ikran ‘banshee.’

naritxim (n., NA.ri.txim) ‘eyethorn’

Literally, ‘eye thorn.’ Here too we can assume the English term was based on the original Na’vi.

paymaut (n., PAY.ma.ut) ‘fountain tree’

Literally, ‘liquid fruit’: pay ‘liquid’ + mauti ‘fruit.’

syep’an (n., SYEP.’an) ‘lift vine’A ‘trap vine.’ From syep ‘trap’ + ’ana ‘hanging vine.’

tarsyu (n., TAR.syu) ‘tarsyu’

From tare ‘connect’ + syulang ‘flower.’ As explained in Pandorapedia, “The Tarsyu is a giant, flowering plant with stamens that enable Na’vi of the Sarentu clan to commune with the memories of ancestors within Eywa via their neural link.”

tompatayng (n., TOM.pa.tayng) ‘rain thistle’

Clearly from tompa ‘rain’ + tayng ‘thistle-like plant.’ Another case of the English name being a translation of the original Na’vi.

txepvispxam (n., TXEP.vi.spxam) ‘sparkle pod’

From txepvi ‘spark’ + spxam ‘fungus.’

yawrwll (n., YAWR.wll) ‘feather blade’

Literally, ‘feather plant.’ From yawr ‘feather’ +’ewll ‘plant.’

yìspul (n., YÌ.spul) ‘mermaid tail’

This is a flat leaf that springs up to propel whatever treads on it. From yì ‘small flat area’ + spule ‘propel.’

I think that’s enough for now!

All my best wishes for a healthy and happy new year. Ulte Eywa ayngahu nìwotx.

Hayalovay!

Edits 7 Jan.: wll ‘plant’ –> ’ewll ‘plant’; etymologies added for reyptswìk and tarsyu; txakrfpolìl –> txakrrfpolìl.

Kaltxì, ma eylan!

Sìlpey oe, ayngaru lu fpom nìwotx.

Once again, I need to apologize that other things have kept me away from Na’viteri for too long. But that doesn’t mean I’ve been away from Na’vi! It’s been a pleasure to work on the Na’vi-language aspects of the new video game debuting on December 7th, Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora.

As you can probably predict, I myself am not an experienced gamer, but all indications are that FoP is going to be really good. (Just so it’s clear, I have no stake in the game other than wanting the Na’vi in it to be accurate and appropriate.) Among the fun things I’ve been doing is coming up with Na’vi names for dozens of new fauna and flora! They’re going to amaze you.

I will get to the large backlog of questions some of you have asked both publicly and privately, but for right now, let me give you some new vocabulary and expressions I hope you’ll find useful.

First, some words relating to those flora and fauna I mentioned:

pek (n.) ‘fin (of an aquatic animal)’

lak (n.) ‘shell, hard covering of a plant or animal’

Note: Lak is a more general word than sum, which refers specifically to seashells from the ocean.

zeng (n.) ‘crest on the head of a bird or animal’

yawr (n.) ‘feather’

Note: There’s been discussion of whether we’ve actually seen birds on Pandora. One such discussion is here, where some participants have noted that there are lots of birds visible in Fya’o Payä.

txim (n.) ‘spike, thorn of a plant’

Don’t confuse txim with txìm! But there is a proverbial expression that exploits the similarity between the two words:

na txim a txìmmì
‘like a thorn in the butt’—that is, something extremely annoying

wuwuk (n., WU.wuk; RN: wùwùk) ‘lizard; any of a variety of lizard-like creatures’

And now some miscellaneous words and expessions:

asip (n., A.sip) ‘tall thin mass or pile of something; tower’

Tuteol asipit aytäremä txolula mì na’rìng.
‘Someone built a tower of bones in the forest.’

fyufye (vin., FYU.fye, inf. 12; RN: fyùfye) ‘splash’

Ranu kilvanmì fyarmufye na tsawla payoang apìsaw.
‘Ranu was splashing in the river like a big clumsy fish.’

tslikx (vin.) ‘crawl’

This word makes an appearance in a well-known rhyming expression parents recite to their children as a lesson:

Tslikx, tìran, tul;
Ftu yì ne yì tsan’ul.

As you see, this literally says, ‘Crawl, walk, run; from level to level get better.’ The meaning is that when learning something new, you have to proceed from step to step: baby steps first, then bigger ones. (Note: The stress on tsan’ul is normally on the first syllable, but for the rhythm of this little poem, it shifts to the second: tsan.’UL. Things like that happen in poetry.

kara (vin./vtr., ka.RA, inf. 12) ‘resist’

Note that the stress is on the second syllable.

Fol ngati spole’e a krr, nga lumpe ke kara?
‘When they captured you, why didn’t you resist?’

Aysälatemit a zamolunge Sawtutel nga fmi kivara. Längu keltsun.
‘You try to resist the changes brought by the Sky People. Sadly, that’s impossible.’

tìkara (n., tì.ka.RA) ‘resistance’

Tìkara lu ätxäle palukanur.
‘Resistance is futile.’

kawngkem (n., KAWNG.kem) ‘evil deed, crime’

Don’t confuse kawngkem with kangkem! But here too there’s an expression that exploits the similarity between the two words:

Pori kangkem lu kawngkem.
‘For him, work is a crime.’

That’s just an idiomatic way of saying Po lu ngong nìngay, ‘He’s really lazy.’

layl (adj.) ‘innocent’

Tsakawngkemìri lu oe layl!
‘I am innocent of that crime!’

tìlayl (n., tì.LAYL) ‘innocence’

nìlayl (adv., nì.LAYL) ‘innocently’

tokat (adj., TO.kat) ‘guilty’

tìtokat (n., tì.TO.kat) ‘guilt’

nìtokat (adv., nì.TO.kat) ‘guiltily’

The two adverbs nìlayl and nìtokat serve to modify the word zawprrte’ ‘be enjoyable’ to show the psychological state of the one receiving pleasure:

zawprrte’ nìtokat fkone ‘be pleasurable to one in a guilty way’

This is an expression for schadenfreude—taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune.

Entul fot ve’kì ulte sänui feyä zolawprrte’ nìtokat pone.
‘Entu hates them and their failure brought him pleasure.’

A much nicer expression is just the opposite:

zawprrte’ nìlayl fkone ‘be pleasurable to one in an innocent way’

This expresses the idea of taking pure pleasure in someone else’s good fortune or achievements without the slightest hint of envy or jealousy.

Tìmuntxa mefeyä zolawprrte’ Marune nìlayl. Ke lu por kea fmokx kaw’it.
‘Their marriage brought Maru pleasure. She felt no jealousy at all.’

That’s it for now.

Vospxìvomun lefpom! Ulte Eywa ayngahu nìwotx, ma smuk.

Hayalovay!

Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo!

Here, at long last, is the complete list of Reef Na’vi words with u or ù. As we now know, Reef Na’vi (RN) distinguishes u (as in English food) and ù (as in English good), while Forest Na’vi (FN) does not. So for every word in FN that contains a u, we have to find out whether the corresponding word in RN has u or ù. This list allows us to do that.

A few things to note:

To make the differences stand out clearly, I’ve used boldface for the words that have ù.

If the only u in a word is at the end, it’s not on this list, since final u’s are never (well, hardly ever!) ù. We may eventually see an exception or two to this rule, but there aren’t any in the vocabulary we’ve had so far.

In keeping with the rules of RN pronunciation, I’ve omitted the tìftang if it occurs between vowels. So, for example, on this list the word for ‘sentence’ is written lìukìng, not lì’ukìng, since that’s how it’s pronounced in RN. Other pronunciation differences from FN, however, have not been indicated.

Finally, for those of you who know Fya’o Payä well, see if you agree with me about how the Reef people pronounce the words for ‘sanctuary’ and ‘tulkun.’ I hear them as utùru and tùlkun respectively, but if you hear them differently, please let me know!

Also, if you notice any errors or inconsistencies in this list, please let me know that as well.

For convenience, here are two docs you can download, one with the complete list you see below and the other with only the words containing ù.

RN words with u or ù rev2

RN words with ù rev2

Hayalovay, ma eylan!

EDIT July 23, 2023 3:00 PM PDT: With the help of some sharp-eyed readers (irayo, ma eylan!), I’ve corrected some errors and added some missing items. The list below along with the documents for downloading incorporate the following changes from the original versions.

EDIT July 26: Our intrepid linguistic sleuths discovered two more needed corrections and one more missing item. I’ve made these changes below and in the documents above (rev2). Irayo nìmun, ma smuk! Hopefully we now have definitive versions of the RN u/ù list for all the vocabulary we’ve seen so far.

EDIT July 26 #2: ’Ä’! Poltxe oe ye’krr nìhawng. I spoke too soon. A couple more excellent comments indicated there are further corrections and additions to be made. Oh well . . . I’ll get to those as soon as I can. Thanks for your diligence, ma frapo!

CORRECTED ITEMS
feul
fìmuntrr
huru
kùng
mùngwrrI’ll
mùngwrrtxo
numùltxa
numùltxatu
peekxinùm
snùmìna
tìmùngwrr
tìtunu
tìtsyul
txansngum
txukxefu
uniltìrantokx
uniltìrantokxolo’
zup

ADDED ITEMS
ketsuktswa’
muwìntxu
ngimpùp
omùm
sunu
tìterkup
tsùktswa’
tsùkyom
txekxùmpay
ùltxatu

Kaltxì, ma frapo.

Sìlpey oe, ayngari nìwotx Vospxìkin sngilvä’i nìltsan.

And for those of you in the States, Happy Independence Day! I was thinking about how to say that in Na’vi.

Independence, in the sense it was originally used in the 1776 Declaration of Independence, which opens with a statement about the necessity “for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another,” is clearly about cutting ties. So that’s the key idea, I think, that should be represented in Na’vi.

syìmawnun’i (n., syì.maw.nun.’I) ‘cut tie, dissolved connection’

Note that the stress is on the final syllable. The somewhat convoluted derivation is from mun’i ‘cut’ and säyìm:

säyìm (n., sä.YÌM) ‘tie, something used for binding’

You tie something—or someone!—up (the verb yìm) with a säyìm, a tool for binding, which could typically be a rope or chain. The word is often pronounced and spelled syìm.

So we have syìm + mawnun’i (the passive participle of mun’i)
–> syìmmawnun’i
–> syìmawnun’i, where the double m’s have coalesced into one—thus, a tie or binding that has been cut. The word can be used in the context of a dissolved relationship:

Oengari sätare syìmawnun’i slolängu.
‘As for the two of us, I’m sorry to say our relationship is dissolved.’

The speaker here is saying to the addressee that their former relationship has become a tie that is now severed.

A related word of wider use is:

tìsyìmawnun’i (n., tì.syì.maw.nun.’I’) ‘independence, freedom from a pre-existing relationship’

It’s often pronounced and spelled tsyìmawnun’i.

To become independent, we use tsyìmawnun’i along with the verb mu’ni ‘achieve.’ (It’s easy to confuse mun’i ‘cut’ with mu’ni ‘achieve’! The two words differ not only in the placement of the tìftang but also in their stress: mun’I but MU’ni.)

Zene fra’eveng tsyìmawnun’it a ta sa’sem nì’i’a mivu’ni.
‘Every child must eventually achieve independence from his or her parents.’

And this finally brings us to:

Trr Tsyìmawnun’iyä Lefpom!
‘Happy Independence Day!

🙂

More soon . . .

Edit 5 July: Typos corrected: tsyì’mawnun’i –> tsyìmawnun’i 3X. Irayo, ma Mesyokx Tìlatemä!

Kaltxì nìmun, ma frapo!

Srane, oe tolätxeiaw. Some personal issues kept me away, but now that they’ve been resolved, I’m very happy to be back.

So let’s see . . . where were we?

The last couple of posts dealt with the phonetics and phonology of Reef Na’vi. This one concerns the morphology, syntax, and lexicon—and at this point there’s less to say about those aspects of the dialect. I talked about most of this material in my January 2023 OmatiCon presentation, but I’ll repeat the information here, for the record. I’ll also introduce a few new words and expressions relevant to both Forest and Reef Na’vi.

Reef Morphology

FN and RN have virtually identical morphology (that is, the rules for building words out of meaningful elements). One difference—more of a tendency than an absolute requirement—is that for the patientive (objective) suffix, which as you know can take three forms (-ti, -it, and -t), RN favors -ti. So, for example, the Na’vi for ‘I’m looking for this man’ can take two forms:

1. 1. Oel fwew fìtutanit.
   2. Oel fwew fìtutanti.

In FN, A and B are both used, with A perhaps a bit more frequent. In RN, B is considerably more likely, although A is understood and sometimes used.

Reef Syntax

Na’vi word order, as you know, is remarkably free, and many reorderings of the elements of a given sentence remain grammatical. One exception, however, concerns the topical. Up to now, we’ve seen that a noun phrase in the topical case must come at the beginning of its clause. The major syntactic difference between FN and RN is that in RN, the topical is not restricted in this way. So consider these two translations of ‘Thanks for this beautiful gift’:

1. 1. Fìstxeliri alor irayo.
   2. Irayo fistxeliri alor.

In FN, only A is possible. In RN, they’re both fine, even though in B, the topical comes at the end of the sentence. The structure in this case is comment+topic rather than topic+comment.

Another syntactic difference is that in RN, lu is often omitted:

[REEF OLO’EYKTAN]
Fìtutan a rììrmì ftu na’rìng.
‘This man in the reflection is from the forest.’

The exact circumstances under which this omission is likely to occur remain to be investigated.

Reef Lexicon

Along with pronunciation, vocabulary differences between dialects are the ones most noticeable to speakers. Looking at American vs. British English, for example, AE apartment = BE flat, AE elevator = BE lift, AE trunk (of a car) = BE boot, and so on ad infinitum.

There are also cases where two different terms for the same thing appear in both dialects, but either the usage is different, or one is strongly favored over the other. Take the word “brilliant,” for example, which is found in both AE and BE. In AE, it can mean ‘bright’ or ‘radiant’ (“A brilliant spotlight lit up the actor on stage”) or it can mean ‘extremely clever or talented’ (“What a brilliant student your son is!”). In BE, however, “brilliant” can also be a general term for anything very good or excellent (“I’m having a brilliant day”); it’s not used in that way in AE.

Since we know less about RN than about FN, we don’t yet have a lot of examples of such lexical differences. There will be more to come. For now, however, the most notable difference we’ve seen is the word for ‘know.’ Both FN and RN use the two terms omum and syawm (pronounced shawm in RN). However, omum is much more common in FN, while syawm is the usual term in RN.

[REEF OLO’EYKTAN]
Kehe, faysuteri ke shawm ayoel keut.
‘No, we know nothing of these people.’

As you know, the other big area of lexical difference is in the u/ù distinction, which has been retained from the parent language in RN but lost in FN. A comprehensive list of these distinctions is coming.

And now for some things pertaining to both dialects:

Back in the A1 script, Tsu’tey angrily said the following:

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

To date, I don’t believe we’ve had an explanation for aylaru ‘to the others.’

The paradigm for alahe ‘others, the others’ (animate or non-animate) is as follows:

            Full                  Shorter
S          aylahe               ayla
A          aylahel             aylal
P          aylahet(i)         aylat(i)
G          aylaheyä          ayleyä
D          aylaher(u)       aylar(u)
T           aylaheri           aylari

lante (vin., LAN.te, inf. 1, 2) ’wander’

Fo ka na’rìng lerante tengkrr syuvet fwerew.
‘They’re wandering across the forest looking for food.’

ketartu (n., ke.TAR.tu) ‘outcast’

This word is based on tare ‘connect, have a relationship with.’ An outcast is a person or being that has been disconnected from society and no longer has a relationship with others.

pxazang (n., PXA.zang) ‘akula’

The akula is the fierce shark-like creature found in the seas of Pandora. In terms of its name, there’s been some confusion, because the word akula certainly sounds as if it’s Na’vi! In fact, however, it’s the Russian word for ‘shark,’ акула. That word has been borrowed into English as the name for the Pandoran creature, but of course the Na’vi have their own term. Keep in mind that in RN, it’s pronounced bazang.

Finally, a useful idiom:

Ngari peu? ‘What’s wrong? What’s the matter?’

Lam fwa nga sti nìtxan. Ngari peu?
‘You seem very angry. What’s wrong?’

That’s it for now. Hayalovay!