Na’viteri.org

Kxì, ma frapo!

In the previous post, some questions that came up in the comments were left hanging. Rather than answering them there, I thought I’d do that here, since I don’t won’t anyone to miss them.

RN U VS. Ù

Thank you to Zángtsuva, Txonpay, and the others who pointed out that I haven’t been consistent in marking new vocabulary for u vs. ù in Reef Na’vi. Going forward, I’ll try to remember to do that. As before, if a word containing u is not otherwise noted, you can assume the RN version is u. Only words that have ù in RN will be called out.

New or recent words with ù in RN:

lemùngwrr
parwùn
fleyùl

Mangkuan, ’ulte, and <uy> are u in RN, not ù. And to confirm Záng’s assumptions, yes, derived words like wätùm and utùrtu have the expected pronunciations based on their etymologies, and we still have no exceptions to the tendency that ù does not occur at the end of a word.

THE ORDERING OF FINAL -PE AND CASE ENDINGS

This deserves some discussion.

The question came up in this example sentence:

Ayioangìlpe fìsponot parwun?
’What animals inhabit this island?’

As you know, ayioangìlpe ‘what animals’ is in the Agentive case. The breakdown is:

ayioang (animals: noun) + ìl (Agentive case ending) + pe (interrogative particle)

Several people felt the ordering of ìl and pe should have been the other way around: ayioangpel.

It’s remarkable to me that after all this time, there are still basic questions to be asked about grammar and structure! In this case, the question is:

When interrogative <pe> is a suffix, does it precede or follow case endings?

I don’t think there’s an immediately obvious answer to this question. Na’vi could go in either direction. Although I’m leaning one way, before I make a ruling I’d like to get your input—whether you feel strongly it should be this way or that, and why.

As some people noted, we have a possibly parallel situation with the -o suffix. In Wiliam Annis’s authoritative Horen, the rule is stated clearly:

3.1.3. Indefinite -o. A noun may take the indefinite suffix -o, one, some. Case endings follow the -o, such as puk-o-t.

So if -pe is analogous to -o, we’re done: it’s noun + pe + case endings. But are -o and -pe really parallel? Or perhaps the question is, do they need to be treated as parallel?

Before anything else, if anyone knows of a canonical example where one or the other of these orderings is found, please let me know! We should be consistent with what’s already been established. But I haven’t been able to find such examples, so at this point it’s an open question.

To facilitate your thinking, consider these examples:

1. Which teacher gave you that book?
A. Peharyul tolìng ngar tsapukit?
B. Karyulpe tolìng ngar tsapukit?
C. Karyupel tolìng ngar tsapukit?

2. Which book did the teacher give you?
A. Karyul tolìng ngar pefukit?
B. Karyul tolìng ngar pukitpe?
C. Karyul tolìng ngar pukpet?

3. To which student did the teacher give that book?
A. Karyul tolìng tsapukit penumeyur?
B. Karyul tolìng tsapukit numeyurpe?
C. Karyul tolìng tsapukit numeyuper?

4. To which teacher’s student did you give that book?
A. Ngal tolìng tsapukit numeyur peharyuä?
B. Ngal tolìng tsapukit numeyur karyuäpe?
C. Ngal tolìng tsapukit numeyur karyupeyä?

Items 1 through 4 illustrate <pe> with the Agentive, Patientive, Dative, and Genitive case endings respectively. In each item, A has <pe> as a lenition-triggering prefix, where there’s no controversy. B and C have <pe> as a suffix. In B, the ordering is case ending + pe. In C, the ordering is pe + case ending.

Looking at the B and C versions, which seem more natural to you? Which do you think would be easier to understand and process in conversation? Do you have a gut feeling about which one is preferable?

Let me know in the comments!

ta P.

ADDENDUM    18 April

Tewti! Tìpängkxo akosman nìtxan nang!! Irayo seiyi oe ayngaru nìwotx, ma eylan!

What great comments! Thanks so much to each one of you who contributed. I can hardly imagine a more intelligent, informed, and helpful discussion. Lì’fyaolo’ri awngeyä leiu oeru nrra nìtxan!

I’ve now read through all the comments (well, TJ-K, I’m still working on yours, but I’ll get there! 🙂 ). I’ll try to respond to all of them individually, although it may take a little time. But for the present, let me tell you my conclusions.

Although a few of you preferred the B versions, where pe was in final position, and provided well-considered arguments for that choice, most preferred the C versions, with the case endings final. Since it became clear that (1) the C-version is the ordering that’s been taught up to now, (2) most people feel more comfortable with C, and (3) most persuasively, we have canonical examples of C, which I had forgotten (’upet, tupel, yìpet), C will be the standard ordering. That is,

When interrogative <pe> is a suffix, it precedes case endings.

Accordingly, I’ve changed the example in the previous post to ayioangpel.

That said, I believe there are situations in which some speakers may come up with B-type orderings spontaneously. (See Neytiri’s interesting example in the previous post.) But those will be considered non-standard.

A bit more, if you haven’t already had your fill:

I suspect one of the reasons *ayioangìlpe sounded right to me when I wrote the previous post was influence from another language. As research for a language project I’ve been working on, I’ve been looking closely at Finnish, a non-Indo-European language I’ve found extremely interesting but also quite a challenge. (It has 15 cases!) In Finnish, you have forms like this:

autossani ‘in my car’

The breakdown is:

auto ‘car’

autossa ‘in a/the car’

autossani ‘in my car’

Importantly, <ssa> is not a postposition but rather a case ending (the Inessive case). So in this language, case endings are not necessarily word-final. That fact may have unconsciously influenced my thinking about Na’vi.

There’s more to say about how <pe> interacts with adpositions compared to how it interacts with case endings, but I think that’s enough for now. 🙂

Edit 4-20-26: In headline, postìyä –> postä. Irayo, ma Tekre.

Kxì, ma frapo!

It’s too late for me to wish people Happy Easter or Happy Passover, but for those who celebrated, I hope you had a pleasant and meaningful holiday.

As you’ve probably gathered, I’ve been busy with time-consuming projects that have temporarily taken me away from Na’vi. Happily, though, they’re mostly complete, so I can turn once again to my major conlang love. 🙂

We haven’t had any new vocabulary in quite a while, so here’s a start: 32 words. Some of these are predictable “housekeeping” items—obvious derivatives of existing items that should be in the dictionary. But most are entirely new, largely stemming from a translation project someone asked me to do. (That’s the best way to discover the gaps in a conlang, I think: to realize while translating that we really do need a word for X!)

I should reiterate that I have a significant backlog of LEP submissions I need to get to. Although those suggestions don’t figure among the new words below, I haven’t forgotten about them. As always, LEP members, thanks for your patience!

In no particular order:

le’awnì’aw (adj., le.’AW.nì.’aw) ‘unique’

This is ‘unique’ in the sense of exclusivity: there’s no other item in the world like the one in question. Compare that with letsim, also glossed as ‘unique.’ Letsim, however, indicates ‘original, not derived from another source.’

Tsatìoeyktìng lu le’awnì’aw; kea pumit anafì’u ke stolawm oel kawkrr.
‘That explanation is unique; I’ve never before heard one like it.’

tì’awnì’aw (n., tì.’AW.nì.’aw) ‘uniqueness’

säkelpxìmrun (n., sä.kel.PXÌM.run) ‘a rarity’

As you would conclude from the sä- prefix, this word refers to a particular instance of being rare. It’s often pronounced colloquially as skelpxìmrun.

Nafì’ua mokri lu säkelpxìmrun.
‘Such a voice is a rarity.’

tìkelpxìmrun (n., tì.kel.PXÌM.run) ‘rarity, rareness’

The tì- prefix here indicates the state or quality of being rare.

Tìkelpxìmrunit nafì’ua mokriyä ke tsun fko wätive.
‘The rarity of such a voice can’t be disputed.’

lemungwrr (adj., le.mung.WRR) (RN: lemùngwrr) ‘exceptional’

sätäftxu (n., sä.tä.FTXU) ‘piece of weaving, a woven thing’

As you would predict, this is often pronounced colloquially as stäftxu.

wesek (adj., WE.sek) ‘subtle’

tìwesek (n., tì.WE.sek) ‘subtlety’

Ke lolu kea tìwesek mì säftxulì’u aräptum peyä.
‘There was no subtlety in his coarse speech.’

txanley (vin., TXAN.ley, inf. 2,2) ‘be invaluable’

Obviously from txan ‘great’ + ley ‘be of value.’

Ngeyä mowar txanley oer.
‘Your advice is invaluable to me.’

nuäslew (vtr., NU.ä.slew, inf. 3,3) ‘surpass, transcend’

This is a contraction of nuä ‘beyond’ + salew ‘go, proceed.’ Note that it’s transitive:

Ngeyä wayìl nuäslew pumit oeyä.
‘Your song surpasses mine.’

huslew (vtr., HU.slew, inf. 2,2) ‘accompany’

Another compound with salew.

Srake nivew nga huslivew oeti ftxozäne?
‘Would you like to accompany me to the celebration?’

tìhuslew (n., tì.HU.slew) ‘accompaniment’

huslewtu (n., HU.slew.tu) ‘accompanier, escort, companion’

reymtxew (n., REYM.txew) ‘coast, shore’

A compound of reym ‘dry land’ + txew ‘edge.’

lereymtxew (adj., le.REYM.txew) ‘coastal’

Fìtuté lu hapxìtu olo’ä lereymtxew.
‘This woman is a member of a coastal clan.’

mimu (vtr., MI.mu, inf. 1,2) ’develop’

Zene awnga mivimu tìhawlit a lätxayn kxutut.
‘We have to develop a plan to defeat the enemy.’

tìmimu (n., tì.MI.mu) ‘development’

fpusìl (adj., fpu.SÌL) ‘sapient’

This is just the –us– form—i.e., the present participle—of fpìl ‘think.’ So usually, it simply means ‘thinking.’ But since it’s also used in a somewhat specialized way to mean ‘sapient,’ as in swirä afpusìl, ‘sapient creature,’ it should be listed as such in the dictionary.

sätse’a (n., sä.tse.’A) ‘something seen, a sight)

As you know, we already have the word ’ur glossed as ‘sight, look, appearance.’ Although there is some overlap, the basic difference is that sätse’a refers to everything in your field of vision, while ’ur is narrower, referring to the appearance of a particular thing. So, for example, if you witnessed the destruction of Hometree, you might say, “Sätse’a afpxamo nìtxan nang!” ‘What a terrible sight!’ or ‘What a terrible thing to see!’ That is, everything in your field of vision is terrible.

reymsätsa (n., REYM.sä.tsa) ‘landscape’

Note that in this compound, sätse’a > sätsa.

txampaysätsa (n., TXAM.pay.sä.tsa) ‘seascape’

txurplltxe (vin. and vtr., TXUR.pll.txe, inf. 2,3) ‘declare’

To declare something is to say it strongly.

Used intransitively:

Po txurpoltxe san nga yawne lu oer!
‘He declared, “I love you!”’

Used transitively:

Ayngal krrpe txurpoltxe tsyìmawnun’it?
‘When did you declare (your) independence?’

sätxurplltxe (n., sä.TXUR.pll.txe) ‘declaration’

Often pronounced colloquially as stxurplltxe.

ru’u (vtr., RU.’u, inf. 1,2) ‘glance at’

A glance is a quick or hurried look.

Tsole’a oel futa ngal ru’u oeti.
‘I saw that you glanced at me.’

säru’u (n., sä.RU.’u) ‘a glance’

Colloquially: sru’u.

swayì (n., SWA.yì) ‘generation within a family’

This is an evolved compound that originated as soaia ‘family’ + yì ‘level.’

Swayì refers to generations in a family—for example, children, parents, and grandparents being three different generations. It cannot be used for societal generations like Gen X, Gen Z, etc. (Are those terms only used in America?)

Mì helku oeyä pxeswayì kelku si ’awsiteng.
‘Three generations live together in my home.’

parwun (vtr., PAR.wun, inf. 1,2) (RN: parwùn)  ’inhabit’

Ayioangpel fìsponot parwun?
’What animals inhabit this island?’

(Question: As you know, interrogative pe can be either a prefix or a suffix: pehrr vs. krrpe. In the above example, why is pe better as a suffix? 🙂 )

parwuntu (n., PAR.wun.tu) ‘inhabitant (for people only)’

lätek (vtr., LÄ.tek, inf. 1,2) ’recognize’

Oeru txoa livu! Oel ngati ke lolätek mì sìvawm.
’Forgive me! I didn’t recognize you in the darkness.’

As in English, lätek can be used for identifying a person (“I recognize you”) or for acknowledging the significance of something (“I recognize the importance of your work”).

tìlätek (n., tì.LÄ.tek) ‘recognition’

tspu’ (vtr. and vin.) ‘extend, hold out’

When used transitively, tspu’ refers to holding something out, often to offer it to someone:

Pol tspolu’ oer utumautit tsakrr oel munge.
‘She held a banana fruit out to me and I took it.’

When used intransitively, tspu’ refers to occupying a certain place or stretching to a certain point:

Atxkxe ayoeyä tspu’ nuä ayram.
‘Our land extends beyond the mountains.’

And finally, I was asked to come up with a term for ecosystem. Here’s what I did:

ve’o ayruseyä (n.p., VE.’o ay.ru.SEY.ä) ‘ecosystem’

Ve’o means ‘order, organization’ and rusey can be a noun meaning ‘living thing.’ So an ecosystem is an organization of living things.

As always, please let me know if you catch any typos or other infelicities.

Sìlpey oe, faylì’u amip ayngaru lesar lìyevu!

Hayalovay, ma eylan!

ta P.

Edit 18 April: Ayioangìlpe –> Ayioangpel  (See next post for explanation.)

Kaltxì, ma frapo,

I’d like to encourage our many creative members of the lì’fyaolo’ to participate in a Na’vi-related research project being conducted at the University of British Columbia, Canada. Dr. Christine Schreyer, whom I’ve often mentioned in my talks, is a well-known linguistic anthropologist–and conlanger!–who’s had in interest in Na’vi from its inception. Under her direction, a graduate student at UBC, Jay Edwards, is creating a Virtual Reality digital archive for Na’vi texts. You’ll find a fuller description below.

I think this is a great opportunity for our creative community members to share their Na’vi-related materials–stories, essays, poems, songs, art work, learning resources–in a central archive that will not only foster wider access to them but also be a model of how such an archive can benefit endangered natural languages.

Please feel free to contact Christine and/or Jay at the email addresses below to ask any questions you might have and forward them your materials.

Irayo, ma smuk!

Pawl

Na’vi Language Immersive Digital Archive – Fan Material Request Letter

Kaltxì! We are seeking Na’vi speakers who are interested in contributing to a new research project that aims to bridge the gap between innovative technologies and low-resource languages. As part of this project, we are creating a Virtual Reality digital archive where Na’vi texts can be explored and enjoyed by the community.

We would greatly appreciate any fan-created materials you have made, such as fan art to decorate the archive or stories, songs, poems, etc., to train the language model, which will allow users to ask questions about the texts. These contributions will help bring the archive to life, showcase the creativity of the Na’vi community, and serve as a template for future projects that work with low-resource or constructed languages.

If you would like to assist or have questions about the project, please do not hesitate to contact us. Your participation will help make this archive a meaningful experience for Na’vi language speakers. Thank you for your time.

Kaltxì, ma frapo!

The projects I’ve been working on seem to have slowed down a bit, at least temporarily, which provides more time for me to get to my big backlog of Na’vi contributions and comments. For right now, let me say a few things about two recent comments that I thought might be of general interest.

The first concerns Varang’s line to her warriors, ’Ur fkivan tstew! ‘Do not show fear!’ which I discussed last time. As I mentioned, ’ur is a noun having to do with how something comes across to you—the sight, look, or appearance of someone or something. So this brief sentence is an idiomatic way of saying, “Let your appearance look brave.” However, Zángtsuva pointed out that tstew ‘brave’ is an adjective marked “for people.” The corresponding word for things is tìtstewnga’. Since ’ur is a quality or thing, not a person, why isn’t the sentence ’Ur fkivan tìtstewnga’?

Good question. In fact, the version with tìtstewnga’ is grammatically correct. However, in the context in which Varang speaks it, the original version is justified, even if it bends the rules. She wants to say something sharp and punchy, with good rhythm. ’Ur fkivan tstew! is much stronger than ’Ur fkivan tìtstewnga’. And it’s perfectly understandable.

More than that, however, the distinction between words that are ofp—only for people—and those that are nfp—not for people—can blur and change over time. The example that always comes to my mind is English healthy vs. healthful. (I see I first mentioned this in an October 2014 blog post.) When I was in school all those many years ago, I remember being taught that healthy is for living things that can experience good health. I am healthy, my son is healthy, my cat is healthy, this tree is healthy. Healthful refers to something that provides good health: healthful food, healthful exercise, a healthful mental attitude. There’s a clear distinction! Saying “These tomatoes are very healthy” only makes sense if you’re talking about tomatoes on the vine in your backyard that are growing beautifully.

Well, that distinction seems to be ancient history. “Healthful” is rarely used now, and people have no problem saying, “This restaurant serves healthy food,” not realizing that this way of speaking was once frowned upon. Language changes! So it’s not out of the question to think that tstew in Na’vi might be evolving in a similar direction, where the ofp form widens its scope and the formerly nfp form is used less and less often.

The other comment I wanted to address concerns sru, the adposition I introduced last time which means a particular kind of ‘through.’ Is it legitimate to have a Na’vi word that sounds close to a word in an Earth language that means the same thing?

I’d divide this question into two components. First, how close, really, are through [θɹu] and sru [sɾu ]? When you transcribe their pronunciations in IPA, you see only one phoneme in the two words, the vowel, that’s identical. The others—the initial consonant and the r-like one—are not. It’s certainly true that the common [s] sound and the much rarer [θ] one are phonetically similar, with [θ] sometimes replaced by [s]. For example, when Persian borrows Arabic words, the letter representing the [θ] sound in standard Arabic, ث , is always pronounced [s] in Persian. And as Plumps pointed out, you hear that substitution as well in strongly German-accented English. (I may have referenced this before, but there’s an old TV commercial for the Berlitz language school that I’ve always loved. I find its humor gentle and delightful, and I hope no one will be offended.)

That said, for most English speakers, [s] and [θ] are totally different phonemes, and think and sink are just as different from each other psychologically as are link and pink. I have to confess that when I was first considering sru, it didn’t even occur to me it might be too close in sound to through. 🙂

But there’s a more general question here: Does it ever happen that two words in completely unrelated languages are very similar, or even identical, and mean the same thing? Well, yes. Irayo to Yätù’aw for the information about the Australian language in which “dog” is dog! The example I myself always think of is mahi. In Persian, it means ‘fish.’ In Hawaiian, mahi-mahi is a certain kind of fish. Persian and Hawaiian are completely unrelated. Cue the Twilight Zone music? Nope. It’s a coincidence.

I thought I’d share this exercise with you from the linguistics workbook I wrote years ago with Edward Finegan, Looking at Languages. The idea is for students to look at similarities in different languages and decide how to explain them. Are the languages related, so that you would expect to see lots of similar things? Did one language borrow from the other? Could there be some universal tendency involved? Or is the similarity merely a coincidence? If you’re interested and you have some time, take a look! Make sure to read the introduction first. I’ve included the answer key, but don’t be tempted to check it until you’ve completed the whole exercise. Have fun!

Introduction

Items 1 – 16

Items 17 – 33

Items 34 – 42

Hayalovay!

ta P.

Ma eylan,

Ayngeyä kosmana aysäplltxeviri a teri tsapostì oeyä, seiyi irayo nìtxan! I always look forward to the useful and thought-provoking comments I get from the lì’fyaolo’. Thanks to everyone who wrote!

I’ll get to all those comments as soon as I can (including the ones from November!). But for right now, let me address Eana Unil’s question about the Tìlalim song, since I had forgotten to include that in the post.

Only one line of the song made it into the final cut of the film, and as often happens, that line underwent several transformations until it reached the form we all heard in Txep sì Txeva.

Here’s the recording:

And here are the words:

Txong hufwesru ’ulte, ulte ’efu nitram tawka.
‘The ship glides in the wind, and (we) feel happy across the sky.’

As you see, there are some new lexical items here.

txong (n.) ‘Windtrader airship’

sru (adp.+) ‘through’

Sru and kxamlä both mean ‘through’ and can sometimes be used interchangeably. But sru has the special connotation of moving inside and through a continuous substance, whether it’s water, air, or gel. So regarding the proverbial expression na kenten mì kumpay, ‘like a fan lizard in gel,’ i.e., being in an environment where you’re prevented from doing what’s natural to you, we could simply say,

Ke tsun kenten tswivayon sru kumpay.
’A fan lizard can’t fly through gel.’

To help you further distinguish these two adpositions:

• • Walking through the forest: better to use kxamlä. A forest is not a continuous substance.
  • A ship sailing through the water: better to use kxamlä. The ship is on the surface of the water, not inside it.
  • Swimming under water: better to use sru. You’re swimming inside and through a continuous substance.
  • A knife cutting through butter: better to use sru.
  • A yerik running through the grass: Debatable! Grass is not actually a continuous substance since it’s made up of individual stalks, but it can sometimes seem like an ocean. Either kxamlä or sru can be used here.

And finally:

’ulte (vin., ’ul.TE) ‘glide’

So there’s nice wordplay here with ’ulte followed by ulte.

Hayalovay!

Kaltxì, ma eylan!

As I’m writing this, it’s still January here in California, so perhaps it’s not out of the question to wish you all a very belated Mipa Zìsìt Lefpom. I wish I could say 2026 has gotten off to a great start, but for many reasons, that’s clearly not the case. Let’s hope things improve significantly on all levels as we move forward into the year.

I assume everyone has seen Uniltìrantokx: Txep sì Txeva by now so that I don’t have to say “spoiler alert” in talking about it. But just in case you haven’t yet seen it, you might want to postpone this post until you do.

As you’ve discovered, there’s not a lot of Na’vi in A3. We don’t hear Ash People speaking very much in the language, and when they do, there’s no new dialect to be examined. When I asked JC back in 2017 about the kind of language Varang would speak, he explained that she would sound like the Omatikaya, which makes sense given her history.

That being said, there is some Na’vi in A3 that I hope attracted your attention!

First, there’s Varang’s lines to the Ash warriors:

Kllkxem kiven! ’Ur fkivan tstew!
‘Stand up straight! Do not show fear!’

I discussed Kllkxem kiven in last November’s blog post, although at the time I didn’t mention it was actually a line from the movie. 🙂

As for ’Ur fkivan tstew, fkivan, as you know, is from fkan, which means something like “come to the senses as” and is used in a basic “middle voice” paradigm. We’ve had examples like:

Nikreri Riniyä ’ur fkan lor.
‘Rini’s hair looks beautiful.’

’Ur is a noun glossed as ‘sight, look, appearance.’ A literal but very clumsy English translation of ’Ur fkivan tstew! would be, “May your appearance come to the senses as brave!” A normal, idiomatic translation would simply be, “Look brave!”

There’s also Varang’s chanting:

Txep payalon, payalon txep!
‘The fire will burn!

Payalon, of course, is the future of palon [PA.lon] ‘burn (vin., not vtr.)’. What’s interesting here is that Varang put the stress on the first syllable: PA.ya.lon, not on the second one, pa.YA.lon, as would be expected. It occurred to me that this might be the result of a small dialectal difference between Forest and Ash Na’vi. As you know, in FN, verbs with infixes always retain stress on the originally stressed vowel of the root: PA.lon vs. pa.YA.lon, since the A in palon is stressed. But the rule might be different in AN: infixed forms keep the stress on the same syllable as the one that’s stressed in the root: PA.lon vs. PA.ya.lon. If there’s a need to develop AN in the future, I’ll consider that possibility.

The more extended piece of Na’vi was the Jake-Quaritch conversation. Jake mentions kame to Quaritch, who responds testily:

Lì’uti oel omum.
‘I know the word.’

Then Jake says:

Ha nume fte kivame! Täpare hu ’uo a ngato lu nawm—’uo a nawm frato mì sìrey.
‘Then learn to See! Connect to something greater than you—greater than anything you’ve ever known.’

I hope that was understandable when you watched the movie!

One question I asked myself when I was thinking about Quaritch’s terse response to Jake is whether omum is the best verb to use when you want to say you know a word. We’ve certainly had precedent for it, as in this sentence from a 2013 blog post:

Pol ke tslam stum ke’ut, omum lì’ut avol nì’aw.
‘He understands almost nothing and only knows eight words.’

So omum used in this sense is perfectly grammatical. But there’s another way to express the idea:

Tsalì’u smon oeru.
‘I’m acquainted with that word.’ OR ‘That word is familiar to me.’

As most of you know, many languages insist on this difference. In French, for example, ‘I know that word’ is Je connais ce mot, where the verb connais means ‘am acquainted with.’ Saying this with the verb for knowing a fact, *Je sais ce mot, is ungrammatical. (French speakers: Let me know if you don’t agree with that!) But in Na’vi, both forms are acceptable.

It occurred to me, however, that there might be a subtle difference between (1) Oel omum tsalì’ut and (2) Tsalì’u smon oer. (2) could merely state you’re familiar with the word, in the sense that you’ve heard it before, while (1) implies you have a deeper understanding of the word’s meaning.

In any event, Quaritch, with his developing but still imperfect Na’vi, would more likely know omum than smon, so I think his response was appropriate.

I have a lot of proposals from the LEP for new vocabulary to consider, which have been sitting and aging on my desk. I’ll get this post out now and then turn to those next. As I often have to say, thank you all so much for your patience.

Hayalovay!

ta P.

Kaltxì, ma eylan!

As many of you know, the world premiere of Uniltìrantokx: Txep sì Txeva took place Monday night, December 1st, here in Hollywood. It was, as expected, an exciting and gala event. I won’t say much about the movie, since you’re still waiting to see it, but I can tell you that if you loved A2, you’re going to love A3 just as much or even more.

For now, let me share some images from the premiere.

Here’s a little video to show you what we were greeted with in the gathering place before we entered the Dolby Theater. It was impressive!

Flaming Avatar A

Guess who:

Here’s how the screen looked inside the theater as people took their seats:

James Cameron was there to introduce the film and the major actors. You probably recognize all of these people.

Responses to the comments on the previous post are coming . . .

Hayalovay!

Ma eylan,

Tse . . . kezemplltxe, txankrr oel ke tolok fìtsenget. I’ve been busy with things professional and personal that have kept me away, but I’m glad to be back in touch with you all, especially now that excitement is building for the advent of Txep sì Txeva. (See below!)

Before I get to the new vocabulary, let me mention a couple of things I’ve been doing, or will do soon, that I’d like to share with you.

First, a few days ago I attended a book-launching event for Jon Landau’s posthumous memoir, The Bigger Picture: My Blockbuster Life & Lessons Learned Along the Way.

It was a big gathering in a private section of an upscale Japanese restaurant here in Los Angeles, and very well attended. People spoke movingly about Jon, both in person and on video. James Cameron was there, along with Jon’s wife and sons. I had the chance to talk with some Avatar people I hadn’t seen in a while, including the composer Simon Franglen and the actor Joel David Moore, who of course played Norm Spellman. It was a wonderful and uplifting evening.

Also related to Avatar, I completed a little project that you might get a kick out of, once the Blu-ray disc of A3 becomes available. I’ll leave it at that for now. 😉

And for the third time, I’ll have the privilege of attending an Avatar opening. Fire and Ash premieres on Monday, December 1, here in Hollywood. I can’t wait!

OK, on to the new words and expressions. A few of these were LEP submissions—irayo nìfrakrr! And who knows—perhaps some of them might be useful to keep in mind as you’re watching A3. 🙂

txeva (n., TXE.va) ‘ash’

As you know, we already have the word txepìva meaning ‘ash (of a fire.)’ Txeva is a shortened form of the word known to all the clans but used especially by the Ash People.

And so, Avatar: Fire and Ash is, in Na’vi, Uniltìrantokx: Txep sì Txeva.

Speaking of the new clans you’ll encounter in A3, you’ve doubtless heard of the Mangkwan (Ash People) and the Tlalim (Windtraders). These names have already appeared in the media. I suspect you’ve noticed they do not obey the standard rules of Na’vi word formation. The explanation is that these spellings represent how the names are colloquially pronounced. Mangkwan “should be” Mangkuan, and Tlalim “should be” Tìlalim. But the forms in standard spelling have three syllables (Mang.ku.an, Tì.la.lim), while in colloquial pronunciation they only have two. If you’re composing a text in Na’vi and you want to include these clan names, you can choose between the nonstandard colloquial spellings or the standard ones—it’s up to you.

keri (adj., KE.ri) ‘fierce’

Keri can be used either for people (tsamsiyu akeri ‘fierce warrior’) or things (aylì’u akeri ‘fierce words’). As an example of this latter use, note this proverb in the form of a short poem:

Aylì’u akeri
Lekxu to tìtseri.
’Fierce words can be more harmful than you think.’

This has been shortened from the full form of the expression, Aylì’u akeri tsun lekxu livu nì’ul to tìtseri, which, while perhaps clearer, isn’t nearly as memorable. Recall the idiom to tìtseri ‘than is apparent, than you are aware of.’

lekxu (adj., le.KXU) ‘harmful’

fleyul (n., FLEY.ul) (RN: fleyùl) ‘falsehood, falsity’

The expected word for this concept, tìtsleng, is also possible:

tìtsleng (n., tì.TSLENG) ‘falsehood, falsity’

But fleyul is more commonly used.

Fleyul aylì’uä peyä law slolu frapor.
‘The falsity of his words became clear to everyone.’

Fleyulìl pot skola’a.
‘Falsehood destroyed her.’

palate (vin., pa.LA.te, inf. 2,3) ‘crumble, fall apart, disintegrate’

Tsanivi atxawnula nìfe’ hufwemì palolate.
‘That poorly constructed hammock fell apart in the wind.’

kxew (intj.) ‘expression of disappointment or frustration when things don’t go as planned’

This useful word is used like the English expressions Nuts! Darn! Damn!

Kxew! Oey tsko tsìlmawng!
‘Damn! My bow just broke into pieces!’

fpal (vtr.) ‘honor or fulfill a commitment or undertaking’

Oey fänut oel fpal frakrr.
‘I always keep my promises.’

Ngal kea tsonit ke fpal kawkrr!
‘You never fulfill your obligations!’

uturtu (n., u.TUR.tu) ‘refugee, person in need of uturu’

Zene awnga fayuturtur srung sivi.
‘We must help these refugees.’

kakzir (adj., kak.ZIR) ‘numb’

Compare this word to the other kak– words we’ve had relating to the lack of certain senses—kakrel ‘blind,’ kakpam ‘deaf,’ kakmokri ‘mute.’

Pori pxun kakzir latsu.
‘His arm must be/appears to be numb.’

Kakzir can also be used metaphorically to mean “emotionally numb,” as if your emotions were turned off just like physical numbness.

Teri kxitx peyä stawm a krr, oe kakzir slolu nìwotx.
‘When I heard about her death, I became completely numb.’

tìkakzir (n., tì.kak.ZIR) ‘numbness’

And finally,

ken (vin.) ‘behave assertively and with confidence’

As you know, this verb has a homonym, namely the adposition ken meaning ‘despite, in spite of.’ Since the two kens are totally different parts of speech, there shouldn’t be confusion as to which one is meant.

Eyktan asìltsan, ken ayskxe mì te’lan, zene kiven frakrr.
‘A good leader, despite the stones in his heart, must always behave confidently.’

And note the following idiom:

Kllkxem kiven!
‘Stand up straight!’

The implication here is: stand up straight and proud, projecting a feeling of confidence.

That’s it for now. Hayalovay, ma eylan!

ta P.

P.S.: Irayo nìtxan to all those who contributed suggestions for revising the resource list. I haven’t gotten to that yet, but I will, and I appreciate all of your submissions.

Kxì, ma frapo.

Vospxìvolaw lefpom! Happy September! And for those of you in the USA, Ftxozä Tìkangkemä prrte’ livu ayngar! Enjoy your Labor Day!

If you look over on the side of this page, you’ll see Na’vi on the ‘Net, a list of resources for Na’vi learners. As I don’t have to tell you, it hasn’t been updated in a very long time; in its current state, it’s incomplete and out of date. I’d like to remedy that situation.

So, for those of you who are interested, I’d like to solicit your help in making the revisions. Please let me know which of the listed resources are out of date or defunct and should be removed, but also, more importantly, which ones you’d like to see added. These can be resources created by other people that you’ve found valuable, or ones you’ve created yourself.

Rather than replying in the comments with your suggestions, please contact me privately via email. I think you all know my address: my-last-name AT marshall DOT usc DOT edu. And please use the subject line “Na’vi Resources” so I’ll be able to flag these emails immediately. Please also include a VERY BRIEF DESCRIPTION, no more than one sentence, of the online resource along with its URL, which I’ll try to include in the listing. (If you’d like to elaborate on your suggestions in your email to me, explaining why you feel they’re useful, that will of course be fine.) I’ll take all your suggestions into consideration as I revise the list. (As has been the case up to now, names of creators won’t be included in the Na’viteri listing, although they may well be available on the resource site itself.)

Please get your suggestions to me no later than Sunday, 14 September.

Irayo, ma eylan!

ta P.

Kxì, ma frapo! Hi all!

To start off the new month, here’s a bit of new vocabulary along with some conversational expressions I hope you’ll find useful. As usual, some but not all the new words are taken or adapted from recent LEP submissions.

sweri (vtr., SWE.ri, inf. 1,2) ‘praise’

Tarontswot peyä frapol sweri.
‘Everyone praises his hunting ability.’

Ngeyä nantangtsyìpit sweri krra lek aysäkxìmit!
‘Praise your dog when he follows (your) commands!’

Lesnonrra tute a swäperi frakrr slu eyktan afpxamo.
‘An arrogant individual who always praises himself makes a terrible leader.’

säkxìm (n., sä.KXÌM) ‘a command or order’

tìsweri (n., tì.SWE.ri) ‘praise (general sense)’

säsweri (n., sä.SWE.ri) ‘praise (instance of)’

tìswäper (n., tì.swä.PER) ‘self-praise’

As you might guess, tìswäper has a negative sense and overlaps with the idea of boasting.

lehangham (adj., le.HANG.ham) ‘laughable, ridiculous, absurd’

Keep in mind that the meanings of le- adjectives are not always predictable. Here, lehangham doesn’t mean ‘pertaining to laughter’ or ‘funny’ (that would be ’ipu) but rather something that makes you laugh derisively. It can be used to describe people as well as ideas and events.

fenge (vtr., FE.nge, inf. 1,2) ‘mock, ridicule’

Oeti fenge rä’ä!
’Don’t mock me!’

Folenge frapol peyä tìhawlit lehangham.
‘Everyone ridiculed his ridiculous plan.’

tìfenge (n., tì.FE.nge) ‘ridicule’

nìleyn (adv., nì.LEYN) ‘repeatedly’

nal (vin.) ‘suffer’

Nal can refer both to experiencing physical pain and to emotional suffering .

Krra tse’a oel tìfkeytokit txanlokxeyä oey, nal nìtxan mì te’lan.
‘When I see the condition of my country, I suffer greatly in my heart.’

nalsteng (vin., NAL.steng, inf. 1,1) ‘feel empathy or compassion’

This verb is a compound of nal + ’awsiteng ‘together.’ The idea is that when you feel empathy or compassion for someone, you are suffering together with them. (In fact, the English word “compassion” was derived in much the same way: the com– part goes back to the Latin word cum, meaning ‘with,’ while the passion part relates to suffering, as in the Christian notion of Christ’s passion on the cross.)

Pori oe nalsteng.
‘I feel compassion for him.’

Alternatively, we can use hu:

Pohu oe nalsteng.
‘I feel compassion for him.’

tìnalsteng (n., tì.NAL.steng) ‘compassion, empathy’

lenalsteng (adj. ofp, le.NAL.steng) ‘compassionate’

tìnalstenga’ (adj. nfp, tì.NAL.ste.nga’) ‘compassionate’

Finally, take a look at these idiomatic ways of saying that something or someone looks/sounds/tastes/smells good or bad. They’re more common in colloquial conversation than the related structures using fkan. The outline of the structure is:

SUBJECT + za’u + ADVERB + ne + [SENSE ORGAN]

Here are some examples that should clarify this usage:

Nga za’u nìltsan ne nari.
‘You look good.’
(Literally: You come well to the eye.)

Po za’u nìfe’ ne nari.
‘She looks bad.’

Fìsyuve za’u nìfe’ ne ftxì.
‘This food tastes bad.’
(Literally: ‘This food comes badly to the tongue.’)

Nga za’u nìfpxamo ne mikyun. Mokriri kempe lolen?
‘You sound terrible. What happened to your voice?’
(Literally: ‘You come terribly to the ear.’)

And a heads-up: As many of you know, the annual online Na’vigation conference takes place this weekend, Friday Aug. 1 through Sunday Aug. 3. It’s open to absolutely everyone who’s interested in the Na’vi language. You can watch the proceedings here. And the schedule of events is here.

Hayalovay, ma eylan!