Telpahké: the thread - Verbal Morphology
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Frislander
- Posts: 431
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Re: Telpahké: the thread - Personal Pronouns
I don't think there are too many pronouns, it strikes me as a rather natural system for an Australian language imo.
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Personal Pronouns
thank you for the interest, an update will follow tomorrow. Initially about clothing, but I’m also minded to just wrap up nominal morphology before attacking verbs: verbal morphology will be a massive post.EDIT: By "tomorrow" I mean "Thursday". Literally finished work around 8ish, way too knackered to post anything in depth now. Apologies!
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Imparin Clothing
Imparin Clothing
Textiles
The most common fibres used in Imparin clothing are méθal 'jute', pɛł 'cotton', hának 'silk' and hul 'linen'. Of these, only silk is not produced in the Isles: typically it is imported from Adeia and is therefore something of a prestige good. Aside from cotton, it is relatively rare for textiles to be made out of only one kind of fibre: linen and jute are commonly blended with cotton (or sometimes silk).
The Impar are fond of colourful clothing. Particularly common are yellows and reds, both generally derived from plant-based dyes. However, the most prized colour is fareθó ka hákar (lit. 'crimson from Adeia'), a deep crimson derived from the dried body of the sagrotis insect which is imported from Carasta. After reds and yellows, blue is particularly common, derived from the leaves of the náhtor bush.
Men's clothing
The fundamental article of men's clothing is the θáfan 'loincloth', a word fairly trasparently derived from θɔfál 'to tie'. There are numerous regional styles of the loincloth, but the most common in the north-eastern islands of the archipelago, and therefore most familiar to Adeian travellers, is a length of cloth (usually cotton or a cotton and linen mix) approximately one span wide and five cubits long (hence the alternative name kemíl muǝk 'five cubits'). One end is held on the shoulders while the other is passed through the legs and wound around the waist, then the first end is allowed to fall, passed through the legs and wound around the waist. The overall effect is pretty similar to the Japanese fundoshi.
Other notable styles are far more elaborate, with much wider cloths, tasselled ornamentation, embroidery and so on. The traditional clothing of priests, for example, is a loincloth much like the Philippine bahag: this is a length of cloth about a cubit wide and approximately nine cubits long, which is tied in such a way to leave apron-like flaps at the front and back, which are generally richly embroidered and starched.
In the earliest times, the loincloth would have been a man's only garment. Indeed, among men who are engaging in physical activity, particularly at sea or in rural areas, only a loincloth is worn even to this day. However, in urbanised society a fully grown man wandering the streets in just a loincloth would be seen as eccentric at best, batshit crazy at worst. To appear in front of someone whom you respect in just a loincloth would be seen as a horrible insult[1]. The more formally a man wishes to present himself, the more clothes he puts on. This is likely a result of the archipelago's climate, as being able to put on lots of clothes and sit around in the shade without sweating profusely is a marker of high status.
The next article of clothing worn by men is the rúhal 'jerkin'. In contrast to the general Imparin preference for wrapped clothing, the jerkin is a tailored garment, cut close to the body and stitched together. Its presence in the isles seems to be relatively recent - maybe only five centuries - and has most likely been adapted from the Adeian asrîk. In form, it is a sleeveless garment, opening at the front and covering the upper body. The length of the jerkin has varied through the years: currently among sophisticated urbanites it reaches to about mid-thigh and is worn fastened at the chest by elaborate ties (buttons are not used in Imparin clothing). Older men wear theirs longer, and fasten them by means of a broad sash around the waist, while young batchelors wear them cut to the waist and louchely unfastened at the front. Typically, they are made from a stiff jute-cotton mixed fabric, dyed blue or red, with silk embroidery around the seams.
The final traditional garment worn by men is the ahłáran 'wrap'. Finding an equivalent English translation is tricky here. Another wrapped garment, made of light cotton cloth twenty cubits long by two cubits wide. There are two ways of wearing it: either simply wrapped around the waist and tied at the front, or wrapped around the waist, passed through the legs and elaborately pleated in front. The former method gives a garment not dissimilar to what this man is wearing, while the latter produces something more like an Indian dhoti - although the Imparin garment is shorter in both cases, reaching to just below the knee. It is worth noting that originally the wrap was not a particularly high-status garment. The Θíǝŋer class would wear elaborate loincloths and cloaks decorated with bird feathers and the Wɔhtár class would just wear simple loincloths: the wrap was the garment characteristic of the mercantile and farming Súǝmar class. With the rise to power of this class, their manner of dress became first normative, and then restricted more and more to formal occasions. Today, the wrap is found in the most formal contexts: rituals, ceremonies, governmental business, when you want to make a favourable impression on your future father in law/someone you want to borrow money from and so on. However, an exception to this is travelling abroad: most Imparin traders are aware that their native dress makes Adeians uncomfortable, and so will generally wear the more concealing wrap when abroad.
Women's clothing
Linguistically, women's clothing uses many of the same terms as men's clothing does; but applies them in a different way. A number of the same themes are seen: a preference for wrapped rather than tailored clothing, and the concept that putting on more clothing increases the overall formality of the outfit. However, there are some fundamental differences: women's clothing has far more regional and class variety than men's clothing does. While the above section can be said to hold largly true accross the bulk of the archipelago, this section will by necessity only really discuss what urban middle-class women of the Sórtay islands wear. Additionally, attitudes towards men's and women's bodies are different, with differing standards of modesty. While the Impar have the near-universal human taboo against exposing one's genitalia in public, standards between the sexes beyond that are different: for a woman to expose her buttocks is shameful, for a man unremarkable. Female thighs are always covered (or discreetly revealed), while men's thighs are only covered in more formal circumstances. However, it should not be assumed that the Impar have a Victorian attitude towards women's bodies: for a woman to expose her breasts in public is as unremarkable as for a man (although it is highly taboo for a woman to expose her stomach- which leads to some odd fetishisation of the belly among Imparin men).
As for men, the most fundamental garment is the loincloth, although for women it is strictly an undergarment. Situations in which a women wears a loincloth and nothing else are limited to single-sex spaces, such as bathing or women-only rituals. Over the loincloth, a woman wears a tɛ́na 'petticoat', a length of cotton about two cubits wide and some four cubits long, which is wrapped around the hips and covers the thighs to just above the knee. Generally, this will be brightly coloured, although not embroidered. At home, relaxing amongst the family, this is the bare minimum that a woman will wear.
In public, a woman will add to this a soyɛ́nt 'bodice'. This is a square of silk or cotton cloth, often richly embroidered and brightly coloured, which has two ties attached to one of the corners. These are fastened around the neck, and the cloth then tied at the back, draping the breasts and stomach: the closest Terrestrial equivalent here is the Vietnamese yếm. The bodice covers the belly and allows some support for the breasts and, for nursing mothers, allows relatively easy access for breast feeding.
The next garment to be added is the wrap, which uses the same word as for the male garment: ahłáran. This is wrapped around the waist and tied at the front, and reaches down to about mid-calf. Currently, it is fashionable to arrange the knot and the resulting pleats so that the front of the petticoat is exposed, with the wrap being in a pleasingly contrasting colour to the petticoat. The level of formality added by the wrap is somewhat less than when it is worn by men: petticoat, bodice and wrap is the typical outfit for a modern urban woman going about her daily business.
Finally, there is the female version of the jerkin. Using the same word as the male garment, rúhal, the jerkin as worn by women tends to be open at the front, tight around the bosom but long and fairly free-flowing hanging almost towards. Unlike the male version, the female jerkin is not made of stiff cloth but softer silk or cotton, sometimes even diaphanous voile-like fabric. This is considered to be both elegant and formal, and is what a woman will wear for most important occasions.
Children's clothing
Babies are generally left naked until they start to toddle: before this time they are normally carried arround in a sling by their mother. The Impar don't use nappies or similar, instead they practise what in modern childrearing terms would be called 'elimination communication'- parents (mothers) learn to anticipate when the child is going to evacuate its bowels and take it to the toilet. As such, Imparin babies are generally toilet trained relatively early from a Terrestrial point of view; normally it starts between sixteen and twenty months[2].
Once babies start to walk upright, they are clothed in a plain, undyed linen tɛ́na, which is wrapped around their waists and tied in place: this makes cleaning up after "accidents" a bit easier. By about five or so, children start wearing smaller versions of adult clothing. In the case of boys, this is generally just a loincloth, while girls will wear a petticoat and a bodice.
Children only start wearing more formal adult style clothing, such as jerkins in the case of boys and wraps in the case of girls, when they hit puberty. Even in that case, there remains a distinction between proper "adult" clothing and that of unmarried young people: adolescent boys wear loincloth and a waist-length jerkin, while adolescent girls will wear a wrap that reaches to the ankles rather than just below the knee[3].
Footwear
The universal footwear for men, women, boys and girls is the síǝhe 'sandal'[4]. Normally, these are made from either wiǝ 'coir, coconut fibre' or pak 'leather'. Coir sandals are generally made from a sole of "felted" coir rope, which is coiled into a sole shape, soaked with water, pounded and pressed, attached to the foot with leather or jute straps (looking vaguely like this). These are the normal option in urban areas, particularly for women and children. Men, and pretty much everyone in rural areas apart from the very poor, are more likely to wear leather sandals, which look rather like Roman caligae.
Headwear
Telpahké has two words which roughly correspond to the English word "naked": tan and wełtɛ́l. The former denotes being without clothing on the body, while the latter denotes being without clothing on the head. Both men and women wear headgear, which takes a rather bewildering variety of forms: again, with variances both regional, class-based and through time. However, whether one wears headgear or not is dependent solely according to whether one is married or not: both married men and women cover their heads, while unmarried men and women do not.
The most basic and common head-covering is the θɔ́fal 'kerchief', which is basically a square of dyed cloth. For most men in relatively informal situations, the kerchief is simply tied in much the same way as a Terrestrial bandana is, albeit with the cloth being rather larger. For women, the kerchief might be worn as a shawl around the shoulders as well, and held in place with pins, but again being tied around the head is not uncommon. this man and this woman are wearing kerchiefs in a manner not dissimilar to typical everyday Imparin wear. (As an aside, the man's skin tone is pretty close to that of the Impar. The facial structure would be slightly off, however, as Telmonan humans aren't Homo sapiens but rather a different species within the genus Homo)
Beyond this, the possibilities are endless, from elaborate starched and folded headdresses to turban-like wraps. It is said that every city on every island has its own characteristic way of wearing a kerchief.
Accessories and adornments
In general, because most Imparin clothing is sleeveless, most jewellery and ornamentation is worn on the arms. This might be a leather or cloth armband worn around the bicep, or bangles and armlets made out of precious metal (gold is preferred: silver is for currency) and elaborately worked. Anklets are also not uncommon, although necklaces are rare.
The Impar historically have had something of a horror of body modification. Pierced ears and noses are only ever really seen in the far north-east, and even then it is seen as a somewhat exotic Adeian affectation, only seen on those who have spent a large amount of time abroad. Tattoos are almost entirely unknown aside from on Sahtíǝl: the rest of the archipelago sees them as a strange and somewhat distasteful aping of Tarì ways. Make-up is, however, common. Both men and women will outline their eyes with ɛ́har 'kohl', and women typically stain their finger- and toenails blue using a paste made of náhtor leaves.
[1] An exception here is for the parties in a court case: it is expected that the plaintiff and defendent will both wear only loincloths, symbolising their wretched status (and trying to elicit sympathy from the judges). The more extreme (or aggrieved) will turn up naked, wearing only ashes on their head.
[2] Sixteen months makes up a Telmonan year, approximately. The Telmonan year is roughly the same length as a Terrestrial year, so sixteen Telmonan months is about twelve Terrestrial months. A post on the calendar is forthcoming.
[3] This is in part due to how adolescent boys and girls are treated in Imparin society. While a more in-depth treatment will have to wait for a later post, suffice it to say that adolescent girls are isolated from men and boys as much as possible until marriage, while adolescent boys are expected to be rather promiscuous. You might immediately spot the contradiction there, and you would be right to do so. Think ancient Athens, and you won't be far wrong.
[4] Linguistically, síǝhe is a singulative, the expected plural would be **siǝ. However, the original plural is not used, and the actual plural is sehsaθíǝ. It was more transparent in Old Telpahké: cēse 'pair of sandals', cēsesa 'single sandal', cēsesatay 'multiple individual sandals', which gives siǝ, síǝhe and sehsaθíǝ respectively. In other dialects, the situation isn't quite as fucked up: on Kamustíǝl for example one speaks of a single ɕɛixǝx and multiple ɕɛix, which is a touch more transparent.
Textiles
The most common fibres used in Imparin clothing are méθal 'jute', pɛł 'cotton', hának 'silk' and hul 'linen'. Of these, only silk is not produced in the Isles: typically it is imported from Adeia and is therefore something of a prestige good. Aside from cotton, it is relatively rare for textiles to be made out of only one kind of fibre: linen and jute are commonly blended with cotton (or sometimes silk).
The Impar are fond of colourful clothing. Particularly common are yellows and reds, both generally derived from plant-based dyes. However, the most prized colour is fareθó ka hákar (lit. 'crimson from Adeia'), a deep crimson derived from the dried body of the sagrotis insect which is imported from Carasta. After reds and yellows, blue is particularly common, derived from the leaves of the náhtor bush.
Men's clothing
The fundamental article of men's clothing is the θáfan 'loincloth', a word fairly trasparently derived from θɔfál 'to tie'. There are numerous regional styles of the loincloth, but the most common in the north-eastern islands of the archipelago, and therefore most familiar to Adeian travellers, is a length of cloth (usually cotton or a cotton and linen mix) approximately one span wide and five cubits long (hence the alternative name kemíl muǝk 'five cubits'). One end is held on the shoulders while the other is passed through the legs and wound around the waist, then the first end is allowed to fall, passed through the legs and wound around the waist. The overall effect is pretty similar to the Japanese fundoshi.
Other notable styles are far more elaborate, with much wider cloths, tasselled ornamentation, embroidery and so on. The traditional clothing of priests, for example, is a loincloth much like the Philippine bahag: this is a length of cloth about a cubit wide and approximately nine cubits long, which is tied in such a way to leave apron-like flaps at the front and back, which are generally richly embroidered and starched.
In the earliest times, the loincloth would have been a man's only garment. Indeed, among men who are engaging in physical activity, particularly at sea or in rural areas, only a loincloth is worn even to this day. However, in urbanised society a fully grown man wandering the streets in just a loincloth would be seen as eccentric at best, batshit crazy at worst. To appear in front of someone whom you respect in just a loincloth would be seen as a horrible insult[1]. The more formally a man wishes to present himself, the more clothes he puts on. This is likely a result of the archipelago's climate, as being able to put on lots of clothes and sit around in the shade without sweating profusely is a marker of high status.
The next article of clothing worn by men is the rúhal 'jerkin'. In contrast to the general Imparin preference for wrapped clothing, the jerkin is a tailored garment, cut close to the body and stitched together. Its presence in the isles seems to be relatively recent - maybe only five centuries - and has most likely been adapted from the Adeian asrîk. In form, it is a sleeveless garment, opening at the front and covering the upper body. The length of the jerkin has varied through the years: currently among sophisticated urbanites it reaches to about mid-thigh and is worn fastened at the chest by elaborate ties (buttons are not used in Imparin clothing). Older men wear theirs longer, and fasten them by means of a broad sash around the waist, while young batchelors wear them cut to the waist and louchely unfastened at the front. Typically, they are made from a stiff jute-cotton mixed fabric, dyed blue or red, with silk embroidery around the seams.
The final traditional garment worn by men is the ahłáran 'wrap'. Finding an equivalent English translation is tricky here. Another wrapped garment, made of light cotton cloth twenty cubits long by two cubits wide. There are two ways of wearing it: either simply wrapped around the waist and tied at the front, or wrapped around the waist, passed through the legs and elaborately pleated in front. The former method gives a garment not dissimilar to what this man is wearing, while the latter produces something more like an Indian dhoti - although the Imparin garment is shorter in both cases, reaching to just below the knee. It is worth noting that originally the wrap was not a particularly high-status garment. The Θíǝŋer class would wear elaborate loincloths and cloaks decorated with bird feathers and the Wɔhtár class would just wear simple loincloths: the wrap was the garment characteristic of the mercantile and farming Súǝmar class. With the rise to power of this class, their manner of dress became first normative, and then restricted more and more to formal occasions. Today, the wrap is found in the most formal contexts: rituals, ceremonies, governmental business, when you want to make a favourable impression on your future father in law/someone you want to borrow money from and so on. However, an exception to this is travelling abroad: most Imparin traders are aware that their native dress makes Adeians uncomfortable, and so will generally wear the more concealing wrap when abroad.
Women's clothing
Linguistically, women's clothing uses many of the same terms as men's clothing does; but applies them in a different way. A number of the same themes are seen: a preference for wrapped rather than tailored clothing, and the concept that putting on more clothing increases the overall formality of the outfit. However, there are some fundamental differences: women's clothing has far more regional and class variety than men's clothing does. While the above section can be said to hold largly true accross the bulk of the archipelago, this section will by necessity only really discuss what urban middle-class women of the Sórtay islands wear. Additionally, attitudes towards men's and women's bodies are different, with differing standards of modesty. While the Impar have the near-universal human taboo against exposing one's genitalia in public, standards between the sexes beyond that are different: for a woman to expose her buttocks is shameful, for a man unremarkable. Female thighs are always covered (or discreetly revealed), while men's thighs are only covered in more formal circumstances. However, it should not be assumed that the Impar have a Victorian attitude towards women's bodies: for a woman to expose her breasts in public is as unremarkable as for a man (although it is highly taboo for a woman to expose her stomach- which leads to some odd fetishisation of the belly among Imparin men).
As for men, the most fundamental garment is the loincloth, although for women it is strictly an undergarment. Situations in which a women wears a loincloth and nothing else are limited to single-sex spaces, such as bathing or women-only rituals. Over the loincloth, a woman wears a tɛ́na 'petticoat', a length of cotton about two cubits wide and some four cubits long, which is wrapped around the hips and covers the thighs to just above the knee. Generally, this will be brightly coloured, although not embroidered. At home, relaxing amongst the family, this is the bare minimum that a woman will wear.
In public, a woman will add to this a soyɛ́nt 'bodice'. This is a square of silk or cotton cloth, often richly embroidered and brightly coloured, which has two ties attached to one of the corners. These are fastened around the neck, and the cloth then tied at the back, draping the breasts and stomach: the closest Terrestrial equivalent here is the Vietnamese yếm. The bodice covers the belly and allows some support for the breasts and, for nursing mothers, allows relatively easy access for breast feeding.
The next garment to be added is the wrap, which uses the same word as for the male garment: ahłáran. This is wrapped around the waist and tied at the front, and reaches down to about mid-calf. Currently, it is fashionable to arrange the knot and the resulting pleats so that the front of the petticoat is exposed, with the wrap being in a pleasingly contrasting colour to the petticoat. The level of formality added by the wrap is somewhat less than when it is worn by men: petticoat, bodice and wrap is the typical outfit for a modern urban woman going about her daily business.
Finally, there is the female version of the jerkin. Using the same word as the male garment, rúhal, the jerkin as worn by women tends to be open at the front, tight around the bosom but long and fairly free-flowing hanging almost towards. Unlike the male version, the female jerkin is not made of stiff cloth but softer silk or cotton, sometimes even diaphanous voile-like fabric. This is considered to be both elegant and formal, and is what a woman will wear for most important occasions.
Children's clothing
Babies are generally left naked until they start to toddle: before this time they are normally carried arround in a sling by their mother. The Impar don't use nappies or similar, instead they practise what in modern childrearing terms would be called 'elimination communication'- parents (mothers) learn to anticipate when the child is going to evacuate its bowels and take it to the toilet. As such, Imparin babies are generally toilet trained relatively early from a Terrestrial point of view; normally it starts between sixteen and twenty months[2].
Once babies start to walk upright, they are clothed in a plain, undyed linen tɛ́na, which is wrapped around their waists and tied in place: this makes cleaning up after "accidents" a bit easier. By about five or so, children start wearing smaller versions of adult clothing. In the case of boys, this is generally just a loincloth, while girls will wear a petticoat and a bodice.
Children only start wearing more formal adult style clothing, such as jerkins in the case of boys and wraps in the case of girls, when they hit puberty. Even in that case, there remains a distinction between proper "adult" clothing and that of unmarried young people: adolescent boys wear loincloth and a waist-length jerkin, while adolescent girls will wear a wrap that reaches to the ankles rather than just below the knee[3].
Footwear
The universal footwear for men, women, boys and girls is the síǝhe 'sandal'[4]. Normally, these are made from either wiǝ 'coir, coconut fibre' or pak 'leather'. Coir sandals are generally made from a sole of "felted" coir rope, which is coiled into a sole shape, soaked with water, pounded and pressed, attached to the foot with leather or jute straps (looking vaguely like this). These are the normal option in urban areas, particularly for women and children. Men, and pretty much everyone in rural areas apart from the very poor, are more likely to wear leather sandals, which look rather like Roman caligae.
Headwear
Telpahké has two words which roughly correspond to the English word "naked": tan and wełtɛ́l. The former denotes being without clothing on the body, while the latter denotes being without clothing on the head. Both men and women wear headgear, which takes a rather bewildering variety of forms: again, with variances both regional, class-based and through time. However, whether one wears headgear or not is dependent solely according to whether one is married or not: both married men and women cover their heads, while unmarried men and women do not.
The most basic and common head-covering is the θɔ́fal 'kerchief', which is basically a square of dyed cloth. For most men in relatively informal situations, the kerchief is simply tied in much the same way as a Terrestrial bandana is, albeit with the cloth being rather larger. For women, the kerchief might be worn as a shawl around the shoulders as well, and held in place with pins, but again being tied around the head is not uncommon. this man and this woman are wearing kerchiefs in a manner not dissimilar to typical everyday Imparin wear. (As an aside, the man's skin tone is pretty close to that of the Impar. The facial structure would be slightly off, however, as Telmonan humans aren't Homo sapiens but rather a different species within the genus Homo)
Beyond this, the possibilities are endless, from elaborate starched and folded headdresses to turban-like wraps. It is said that every city on every island has its own characteristic way of wearing a kerchief.
Accessories and adornments
In general, because most Imparin clothing is sleeveless, most jewellery and ornamentation is worn on the arms. This might be a leather or cloth armband worn around the bicep, or bangles and armlets made out of precious metal (gold is preferred: silver is for currency) and elaborately worked. Anklets are also not uncommon, although necklaces are rare.
The Impar historically have had something of a horror of body modification. Pierced ears and noses are only ever really seen in the far north-east, and even then it is seen as a somewhat exotic Adeian affectation, only seen on those who have spent a large amount of time abroad. Tattoos are almost entirely unknown aside from on Sahtíǝl: the rest of the archipelago sees them as a strange and somewhat distasteful aping of Tarì ways. Make-up is, however, common. Both men and women will outline their eyes with ɛ́har 'kohl', and women typically stain their finger- and toenails blue using a paste made of náhtor leaves.
[1] An exception here is for the parties in a court case: it is expected that the plaintiff and defendent will both wear only loincloths, symbolising their wretched status (and trying to elicit sympathy from the judges). The more extreme (or aggrieved) will turn up naked, wearing only ashes on their head.
[2] Sixteen months makes up a Telmonan year, approximately. The Telmonan year is roughly the same length as a Terrestrial year, so sixteen Telmonan months is about twelve Terrestrial months. A post on the calendar is forthcoming.
[3] This is in part due to how adolescent boys and girls are treated in Imparin society. While a more in-depth treatment will have to wait for a later post, suffice it to say that adolescent girls are isolated from men and boys as much as possible until marriage, while adolescent boys are expected to be rather promiscuous. You might immediately spot the contradiction there, and you would be right to do so. Think ancient Athens, and you won't be far wrong.
[4] Linguistically, síǝhe is a singulative, the expected plural would be **siǝ. However, the original plural is not used, and the actual plural is sehsaθíǝ. It was more transparent in Old Telpahké: cēse 'pair of sandals', cēsesa 'single sandal', cēsesatay 'multiple individual sandals', which gives siǝ, síǝhe and sehsaθíǝ respectively. In other dialects, the situation isn't quite as fucked up: on Kamustíǝl for example one speaks of a single ɕɛixǝx and multiple ɕɛix, which is a touch more transparent.
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Clothing
I appreciate the level of detail you've put into this; it's done really well, and is inspiring me to continue working on my own worldbuilding!
Since you're on the topic of clothing, I have some very specific questions about textiles (a personal interest!) among the Impar, which you may feel free to ignore.
1. I expect these textiles are primarily woven, but are there other methods for creating textiles? (eg. nalbinding or knitting). If so, what sorts of garments or goods are
2. Do they have access to spinning wheel technology, or is all yarn and thread spun by hand? What kind of technology is used?
3. Spinning and weaving in significant quantities are quite labor-intensive for the amount of cloth produced, which means that in many historical societies, very large segments of the population have engaged in these activities (especially women, though not always). I assume the caste divide also plays a part in who does most textile manufacturing.
Since you're on the topic of clothing, I have some very specific questions about textiles (a personal interest!) among the Impar, which you may feel free to ignore.
1. I expect these textiles are primarily woven, but are there other methods for creating textiles? (eg. nalbinding or knitting). If so, what sorts of garments or goods are
2. Do they have access to spinning wheel technology, or is all yarn and thread spun by hand? What kind of technology is used?
3. Spinning and weaving in significant quantities are quite labor-intensive for the amount of cloth produced, which means that in many historical societies, very large segments of the population have engaged in these activities (especially women, though not always). I assume the caste divide also plays a part in who does most textile manufacturing.
Telpahké: the thread - Some questions answered
Did I base the Imparin pronoun system on any real natlang? Yes, but you'll be surprised as to which one.evmdbm wrote: ↑Fri Nov 09, 2018 6:37 am This really is my unattainable counsel of perfection! Having said that....
This is different from Japanese, which I'm plagiarising ruthlessly, in that Japanese not only has different personal pronouns for say first person singular - watakushi, watashi, boku, atashi, atakushi and so on, it also has the plain and polite forms of the verb with -masu. Did you base this idea of grammaticalising distinctions of politeness solely in pronouns on any real natlang? When I asked you about the impact of caste on language earlier you said you were looking at Javanese - about which I know nothing. There's nothing here about caste; presumably Mokór and Hɔθár use the intimate peer pronouns in their fraternity, but is there any chance of their being in different castes and that affecting the pronouns they use even outside of the court room?
And why the blank for intimate younger interlocutors? There isn't a blank in the plural. The plural blank for inclusive we with lower status non-intimate I understand (what are doing associating with these people?)
While Japanese was not a direct influence, it was certainly something I was aware of: the idea of "proper" pronouns being replaced by lexical nouns was certainly something that I wanted to use, but the initial inspiration was not from Japanese.
If you ignore the non-intimate pronouns for a minute and take out the "intimate peer" pronouns, what we essentially have is a fairly bog-standard system where older members of the family refer to themselves as "mummy", "daddy", "auntie", "uncle" and so on, and the younger members of the family mirror this by using the same "titles", as it were. For the younger generation, rather than saying "you", they say "mummy", "daddy" etc: so there are no first person singular pronouns in the "intimate younger locutor" field and no second person singular pronouns in the "intimate older locutor" field. This is how the system evolved. The "intimate younger locutor" second person pronouns are clearly related to kim 'young': they literally just mean "young one"- so the older generation doesn't say "you", but rather "littl'un".
The "intimate peer" row is in origin jocular or familiar substitutions: ɛsá is from *ejʰan 'boy', θokú is from *tugūn 'rooster', kon is from *gʰuni 'girl', ɔhlín is from *ablīma 'beauty' and so on. It's essentially as if teenagers referred to themselves as "ya boy" or "ya girl" and referred to their friends as "my pretty" and so on.
As to the non-intimate pronouns, Akangka makes the point that in languages with multiple levels of politeness, it is more likely that second person pronouns will actually be titles. This is exactly what is going on here, with the addition that for men the "non-intimate lower-status interlocutor" pronouns are actually insults: popúǝk is etymologically "piece of dung".
In announcements, prose and so on, the "intimate older interlocutor" pronouns are used. A town crier (θamánel, from θamá 'drum') will call the crowd liǝ and refer to himself as ne. The same convention is used by authors.
As to caste, I haven't really made it clear, but: caste is no longer really a thing in Imparin society. The Θíǝŋer have been disposessed and are now primarily itinerant entertainers. The Wohtár and the Súǝmar have very little dividing them from each other: one might be concerned about whether your daughter's potential husband is of a different caste, but otherwise there's precious little difference. Essentially, it would not be unfair to say that everyone has become "middle class" since the overthrow of the Θíǝŋer.
(Out of interest, have you worked out which natlang inspired this system?)
I get where you're coming from, but I do think that this needs to be nipped in the bud, as it were: Telpahké as a language and the Impar as a culture are not inspired by anything in Indonesia, or indeed the Malay archipelago as a whole. I've mentioned it in passing, and the native cultures of (for example) Borneo have been interesting if not instructive in creating all this. Agriculture and botany aside, my influences in creating the Impar have rather been from Mesoamerica and the Indian subcontinent.Akangka wrote: ↑Mon Nov 12, 2018 12:04 am Well, do Aldeia and Rascana also tend to be shirtless (I initially thought that two cultures can't possibly do that)? If one of them do, Telpahke could also follow.
On the other hand, I think your pronoun is too many. Japanese probably only use 5-6 pronouns normally in a single person-number category (Sure you can list 20+ for "I", but most of them is archaic). And, despite Javanese has a more complex system, Javanese only have 4-5 pronouns. Generally, languages with this many pronouns also lack formal/polite 2nd person pronoun. (A honorific title is used instead).
An idea: 2nd person broadcast pronoun. (Used when giving announcement, news, addressing reader on a written book, etc)
To explain, it might be worth elucidating the "creative process" that has produced the Impar and their language. About ten years or so ago, I came up with Tarì: at this time I was reading about Pāli and Japanese phonology at the same time and it occurred to me that the phonology of both would work pretty well together. Also, this was about the same time as my first encounter with Sumerian (a language I am still fascinated with: I don't think anyone noticed that my Tagorese was actually a Sumerian descendant). So Tarì ended up as a language with Sumerian-like grammar, Pāli-like phonemes and Japanese-like phonological processes. I decided to fit Tarì into Telmona as the "mysterious southern language where names for spices come".
Cut forward seven or so years, and I fall in love with the phoneme inventory of Proto-Algonquin. I wanted to do something like that, and the initial iterations of Telpahké were agglutinative monstrosities, and actually were based in the far north of Telmona. I didn't like that, and I was wondering where I could derive an Algonquin-like phonology from. Being a dyed in the wool Indo-Europeanist, I ended up coming up with a set of soundchanges that would work from a Sanskrit-like proto-language.
So, it already turned out that I had a Sanskrit-like (phonologically speaking) language: Tarì. I revisited that language and, to be honest, made it less Sumerian-like and more IE-like, because that's what I'm familiar with. I had been reading about the modern Indo-Aryan languages and how their verb systems work, and I wanted to play around with that. So, I sketched out the ancestral language for Tarì (basically by running the Sanskrit > Prakrit changes backwards and mucking about a bit), and then derived Telpahké forward from that. I was aware of how the past tense in Hindi (for example) is derived from a participle construction, giving the current split-ergative system. I decided to try to take that to its logical conclusion by doing the same with the present, and ended up with an alignment which is, by total accident, pretty damn close to the Austronesian alignment found in the Philippines (but without the locative or benefactive voices).
Given that I already had a world map, which had a chain of islands between Adeia (the main continent) and Rascana (where I had chucked Tarì as the "mysterious other"), it seemed obvious where to place this language. So there you go: I am not trying to create anything Indonesian-like. What Javanese, Bahasa Malayu etc do is interesting, but by no means persuasive or conclusive. Therefore, please don't say that my imaginings are "unrealistic" because they don't exactly match what happens in Indonesia.
In order:Risla wrote: ↑Sat Nov 17, 2018 11:26 pm I appreciate the level of detail you've put into this; it's done really well, and is inspiring me to continue working on my own worldbuilding!
Since you're on the topic of clothing, I have some very specific questions about textiles (a personal interest!) among the Impar, which you may feel free to ignore.
1. I expect these textiles are primarily woven, but are there other methods for creating textiles? (eg. nalbinding or knitting). If so, what sorts of garments or goods are
2. Do they have access to spinning wheel technology, or is all yarn and thread spun by hand? What kind of technology is used?
3. Spinning and weaving in significant quantities are quite labor-intensive for the amount of cloth produced, which means that in many historical societies, very large segments of the population have engaged in these activities (especially women, though not always). I assume the caste divide also plays a part in who does most textile manufacturing.
1) Knitting, nalbinding, felting and so on are all techniques known, as they exist in Adeia. Native fabrics, however, are exclusively produced on a loom.
2) Yes. The spinning wheel was first developed in Rascana about five centuries ago. The Tarì term is ṣakkhà, which was in turn borrowed as Telpahké sahká (the Tarì is cognate to Telpahké łahłɛ́ 'wheel' - both from Proto-Atzato-Tarian *ṣakṣak 'wheel'). Over the past five centuries, the spinning wheel has been developed to the degree that four bobbins can be spun at the same time, almost like a primitive spinning jenny. This hasn't seen the explosion of yarn production that one might think, as the preparation of cotton rovings has remained entirely by hand.
3) As I mention above, caste isn't really a thing anymore in Imparin society. Textile production is heavily gendered among the Impar: oddly, since the introduction of the spinning wheel it is men that spin but women that weave (and do the carding, to be honest). In particularly backward areas where drop-spinning is still the normal way of doing things, it's women that do the spinning.
Over the past century or so, primarily due to the increasing demand for cotton fabric in Adeia, urban areas have developed what might be termed incipient factories, where yarn is woven into cloth. These are almost entirely staffed by women. Unlike (say) 18th century Britain, there's no stigma attached to women working outside the home, but there is a massive stigma about men weaving.
One of the reasons why we see Imparin cloth factories rather than raw cotton being exported to Adeia (in contrast to raw Indian cotton being exported to Britain, spun and woven in Lancashire and then sold back to India) is because there is very little difference in the technological development between the Spice Islands and Adeia.
(Hope that makes sense and is consistent: I don't know huge amounts about textile production, but your questions certainly made me think and do some research!)
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Some questions answered
But I don't think pronoun can come from insult. Japanese 'temee' and 'kisama' was a honorific pronoun.dewrad wrote: ↑Sun Nov 18, 2018 4:52 pm As to the non-intimate pronouns, Akangka makes the point that in languages with multiple levels of politeness, it is more likely that second person pronouns will actually be titles. This is exactly what is going on here, with the addition that for men the "non-intimate lower-status interlocutor" pronouns are actually insults: popúǝk is etymologically "piece of dung".
Sorry, I wouldn't.dewrad wrote: ↑Sun Nov 18, 2018 4:52 pm Given that I already had a world map, which had a chain of islands between Adeia (the main continent) and Rascana (where I had chucked Tarì as the "mysterious other"), it seemed obvious where to place this language. So there you go: I am not trying to create anything Indonesian-like. What Javanese, Bahasa Malayu etc do is interesting, but by no means persuasive or conclusive. Therefore, please don't say that my imaginings are "unrealistic" because they don't exactly match what happens in Indonesia.
IPA of my name: [xʷtɛ̀k]
Favourite morphology: Polysynthetic, Ablaut
Favourite character archetype: Shounen hero
Favourite morphology: Polysynthetic, Ablaut
Favourite character archetype: Shounen hero
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Some questions answered
Thanks for taking the time to answer my questions! I was worried they were too specific and about a topic nobody really bothers with, but I do tend to think that textile production is often overlooked in worldbuilding despite its importance and the scale of work involved.dewrad wrote: ↑Sun Nov 18, 2018 4:52 pm 1) Knitting, nalbinding, felting and so on are all techniques known, as they exist in Adeia. Native fabrics, however, are exclusively produced on a loom.
2) Yes. The spinning wheel was first developed in Rascana about five centuries ago. The Tarì term is ṣakkhà, which was in turn borrowed as Telpahké sahká (the Tarì is cognate to Telpahké łahłɛ́ 'wheel' - both from Proto-Atzato-Tarian *ṣakṣak 'wheel'). Over the past five centuries, the spinning wheel has been developed to the degree that four bobbins can be spun at the same time, almost like a primitive spinning jenny. This hasn't seen the explosion of yarn production that one might think, as the preparation of cotton rovings has remained entirely by hand.
3) As I mention above, caste isn't really a thing anymore in Imparin society. Textile production is heavily gendered among the Impar: oddly, since the introduction of the spinning wheel it is men that spin but women that weave (and do the carding, to be honest). In particularly backward areas where drop-spinning is still the normal way of doing things, it's women that do the spinning.
Over the past century or so, primarily due to the increasing demand for cotton fabric in Adeia, urban areas have developed what might be termed incipient factories, where yarn is woven into cloth. These are almost entirely staffed by women. Unlike (say) 18th century Britain, there's no stigma attached to women working outside the home, but there is a massive stigma about men weaving.
One of the reasons why we see Imparin cloth factories rather than raw cotton being exported to Adeia (in contrast to raw Indian cotton being exported to Britain, spun and woven in Lancashire and then sold back to India) is because there is very little difference in the technological development between the Spice Islands and Adeia.
(Hope that makes sense and is consistent: I don't know huge amounts about textile production, but your questions certainly made me think and do some research!)
Your answers seem perfectly plausible and realistic. AIUI the "men spin, women weave" thing you mentioned is actually historically attested IRL in Turkey (and I think some other areas?) but I'm having trouble finding sources on that. (It's also, incidentally, the case in parts of my own conworld.)
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Clothing
From what I understood from researching the Mughal Empire, textiles could have easily been made in India for even cheaper than in Britain; it was the political pressure of British industry that led to the destruction of the native cloth-making export industry.
ìtsanso, God In The Mountain, may our names inspire the deepest feelings of fear in urkos and all his ilk, for we have saved another man from his lies! I welcome back to the feast hall kal, who will never gamble again! May the eleven gods bless him!
kårroť
kårroť
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Clothing
Perhaps not so much the industry as the government. The British government levied heavy taxes on cloth produced in India. There was an effort to boycott imported cloth, but it wasn't terribly effective. But yeah, Aurangzeb apparently promoted the textile industry for some reason despite having no appreciation for art.
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Clothing
They levied the taxes due to lobbying.
ìtsanso, God In The Mountain, may our names inspire the deepest feelings of fear in urkos and all his ilk, for we have saved another man from his lies! I welcome back to the feast hall kal, who will never gamble again! May the eleven gods bless him!
kårroť
kårroť
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Clothing
Bingo! You win the prize! It is indeed (to a degree) inspired by colloquial English.
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Verbs (Introduction)
Verbs
The Telpahké verb is, undoubtedly, the most complex part of the language's grammar. And, consequently, the most challenging to describe in a concise, lucid manner. I have almost certainly failed on at least one of those counts in what follows, so I can only apologise in advance.
Rather than trying to map out everything in a "waterfall" style, enumerating every component sequentially and building it up block by block, let's first have a look at some of the highlights:
Topicality: in English, as a straightforward accusative language, the verbal system is primarily focused on the agent: the less marked forms of the verb track who is doing the verb, not whom the verb affects. In an ergative language, we see the opposite situation: the least marked forms of the verb instead track the patient, the whom and not the who. In Telpahké, however, neither situation obtains. Instead, Telpahké is a topic-prominent language: here we are interested in tracking the topic of the discourse, without reference to whether it is agent or patient.
Mood and aspect: the lexical verb in Telpahké distinguishes two stems relating to aspect: perfective and imperfective. However, combined with eight or so auxiliary verbs, it is able to indicate some fairly subtle shades of tense/mood/aspect combinations. For example:
Komanɛ́ Ɔhsonɛ́ ka mɛr helɔká ohkíǝ ɛsá, θi falkó eyó ɛntú ahtá ahrɔná oŋúǝ ɛsá; lo helɔhtá mehsí ɛsá ɔθí kontá ehsí ɛsá.
Komanɛ́ Ɔhsonɛ́ ka mɛr helɔk-á ohkíǝ ɛsá, θi falkó eyó ɛntú ahk-tá ahrɔn-á oŋúǝ ɛsá; lo helɔk-tá m=ehsí ɛsá ɔθí kon-tá ehsí ɛsá.
Harvest Festival of front be_idle-IMP AUX 1SG, and page this finish do-PERF write-IMP AUX 1SG; but be_idle-PERF NEG=AUX 1SG thus want-PERF AUX 1SG
"I was going to have some time off before Christmas, so I would have been working on this post and finishing it, but I didn't get as much time off as I wanted."
(Komanɛ́ Ɔhsúǝ 'Harvest Festival' marks the harvest of the first rice crop, which happens around the winter solstice. In practice, the Impar don't take much notice of solstices and equinoxes as they're pretty much on the equator and the difference in the length of the day is fairly marginal.)
Serial verbs: in the example above, we see two lexical verbs ɛntú ahtá 'finish' and ahrɔná 'write' governed by only one auxiliary oŋúǝ. This kind of construction is fairly frequent in Telpahké, and is not at all dissimilar to serial verb constructions in other languages. What is particularly unusual about the Telpahké construction is that the two verbs are actually marked for two different aspects: 'finish' is perfective while 'write' is imperfective. This has some strange consequences later on.
Phrasal verbs: while we're at it, ɛntú ahtá is an example of a phrasal verb. Telpahké has an extremely productive method of deriving new verbs from other parts of speech by simply creating a loose compound with either the verb ahkál 'to do' (to form intransitives) or okál 'to give' (to form transitives). A number of these loose compounds have been lexicalised, including ɛntú ahkál. This is also one of the principal manners in which loaned verbs enter the modern language, such as mahrási okál 'to print', from the Tailancan macrāsi 'to print'.
A sketch of the next few posts:
The Telpahké verb is, undoubtedly, the most complex part of the language's grammar. And, consequently, the most challenging to describe in a concise, lucid manner. I have almost certainly failed on at least one of those counts in what follows, so I can only apologise in advance.
Rather than trying to map out everything in a "waterfall" style, enumerating every component sequentially and building it up block by block, let's first have a look at some of the highlights:
Topicality: in English, as a straightforward accusative language, the verbal system is primarily focused on the agent: the less marked forms of the verb track who is doing the verb, not whom the verb affects. In an ergative language, we see the opposite situation: the least marked forms of the verb instead track the patient, the whom and not the who. In Telpahké, however, neither situation obtains. Instead, Telpahké is a topic-prominent language: here we are interested in tracking the topic of the discourse, without reference to whether it is agent or patient.
Mood and aspect: the lexical verb in Telpahké distinguishes two stems relating to aspect: perfective and imperfective. However, combined with eight or so auxiliary verbs, it is able to indicate some fairly subtle shades of tense/mood/aspect combinations. For example:
Komanɛ́ Ɔhsonɛ́ ka mɛr helɔká ohkíǝ ɛsá, θi falkó eyó ɛntú ahtá ahrɔná oŋúǝ ɛsá; lo helɔhtá mehsí ɛsá ɔθí kontá ehsí ɛsá.
Komanɛ́ Ɔhsonɛ́ ka mɛr helɔk-á ohkíǝ ɛsá, θi falkó eyó ɛntú ahk-tá ahrɔn-á oŋúǝ ɛsá; lo helɔk-tá m=ehsí ɛsá ɔθí kon-tá ehsí ɛsá.
Harvest Festival of front be_idle-IMP AUX 1SG, and page this finish do-PERF write-IMP AUX 1SG; but be_idle-PERF NEG=AUX 1SG thus want-PERF AUX 1SG
"I was going to have some time off before Christmas, so I would have been working on this post and finishing it, but I didn't get as much time off as I wanted."
(Komanɛ́ Ɔhsúǝ 'Harvest Festival' marks the harvest of the first rice crop, which happens around the winter solstice. In practice, the Impar don't take much notice of solstices and equinoxes as they're pretty much on the equator and the difference in the length of the day is fairly marginal.)
Serial verbs: in the example above, we see two lexical verbs ɛntú ahtá 'finish' and ahrɔná 'write' governed by only one auxiliary oŋúǝ. This kind of construction is fairly frequent in Telpahké, and is not at all dissimilar to serial verb constructions in other languages. What is particularly unusual about the Telpahké construction is that the two verbs are actually marked for two different aspects: 'finish' is perfective while 'write' is imperfective. This has some strange consequences later on.
Phrasal verbs: while we're at it, ɛntú ahtá is an example of a phrasal verb. Telpahké has an extremely productive method of deriving new verbs from other parts of speech by simply creating a loose compound with either the verb ahkál 'to do' (to form intransitives) or okál 'to give' (to form transitives). A number of these loose compounds have been lexicalised, including ɛntú ahkál. This is also one of the principal manners in which loaned verbs enter the modern language, such as mahrási okál 'to print', from the Tailancan macrāsi 'to print'.
A sketch of the next few posts:
- A quick and dirty explanation of what precisely I mean when I say "topicality", and how this works with Telpahké's voice system.
- The morphology of the verb: the two aspectual stems and the eight auxiliaries.
- Serial verb weirdness
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Verbs: topicality part 1
Topic and comment
I haven't been looking forward to writing this post as, frankly, the concept of topic and comment seems to be one of those things that is intuitively easy to grasp, but a bit of a bitch to reduce to dry prose. I would suggest these two Wikipedia articles as a fair starting point.
As I stated in my previous post, Telpahké is a topic-prominent language. Morphosyntactically, this surfaces in a number of ways. For example, Telpahké defies easy categorisation as SVO or OVS: a more accurate description of basic constituent order is in fact comment-verb-topic. Verbs mark not active and passive voices, but rather two voices specifying whether the topic is functioning as an agent or a patient: neither is less marked than the other. Similarly, the syntactic pivot of a verb is not the agent or the patient, but rather the topic.
To illustrate the last, look at the following sentence:
Foɫíraθ θɛŋíl i sáral θi pɛ mehká i.
foɫír-aθ θɛŋ-íl i sáral-Ø θi pɛ-Ø mehk-á i
boy-ERG see-PV AUX dog-ABS and he-ACC bite-AV AUX.
"A boy saw the dog and bit him."
In English, the above sentence is unambiguous: a boy saw the dog and a boy bit the dog- in English the syntactic pivot is the subject of the verb, which means it can be omitted from the second clause. In Telpahké, however, the meaning is quite the opposite. It is the dog that is the topic, and therefore it is the dog who bites the boy in the second sentence. I have deliberately avoided using a passives in the English translation above, to emphasise that neither the agent-voice (AV) nor the patient-voice (PV) is more marked than the other in Telpahké. (However, I fully admit that an accurate and natural translation would be "A boy saw the dog and was bitten.")
So how do we know which argument is the topic? In normal conversation, it's fairly simple: effectively, it is the old information. It's the argument that has already been introduced to the discourse and is now going to be commented upon. Obviously, it is more tricky to illustrate this with stand-alone sample sentences in a grammar sketch, as these don't really occur "in the wild". Or, to put it another way, utterances in real-life have context: it is only in a pulp espionage novel that one is likely to sidle up to one's interlocutor and say "the dog sees the man" apropos of completely nothing.
Let's look at a sample discourse, tracking the topic as we go.
Túǝn ihtú.
túǝn-Ø ihtú
man-ABS lo!
"There's a man."
Here, arguably, there is no topic. We're introducing a referent to the discourse for the first time. Obviously, in real life, one would not normally start in this manner: a referent can be brought into the discourse solely by implicature. If you are standing with a friend and see a man beating a child, you wouldn't have to set the stage by saying "There's a man. He is beating a child." - you would of course say "That man is beating a child." Or, I dunno, go over and stop the man from beating the child. Your call.
Foɫirɛ́ pɔmá i túǝn.
foɫir-ɛ́ pɔm-á i túǝn-Ø
boy-ACC beat-AV AUX man-ABS
"The man is beating a boy."
Here, the old information is the man. We've introduced him, he's the topic, and now we're going to talk about (or comment upon) what he's doing.
Tonó kahsá i foɫír.
ton-ó kahs-á i foɫír-Ø
man-ACC hate-AV AUX boy-ABS
"The boy hates the man."
We introduced the boy in the last sentence, so he's already in the discourse. He's now the topic. We're commenting upon what he's doing.
Now we run into complications. Assuming that the participants in the next utterance are again the man and the boy, and given that both are now "old news", who gets to be the topic?
As it happens, the most likely outcome is that the boy remains the topic: once a topic has been "set", speakers tend to keep it that way until a new topic is introduced, particularly if both participants are equally "topic-worthy". Let's look at two possible next sentences, one where the boy is the agent, one where he is the patient:
Tonó yɔná i foɫír.
tuǝn-ó yɔn-á i folír-Ø
man-ACC flee-AV AUX boy-ABS
"The boy runs away from the man."
and
Túǝnoθ pɔmíl-pɔmíl i foɫír.
túǝn-oθ pɔm-íl=pɔm-íl i foɫír-Ø
man-ERG beat-PV=beat-PV AUX boy-ABS
"The man beats the boy harder."
What happens, however, if you've got two participants that are equally topic-worthy from the outset?
Kimó si Pal ihtú.
Kimó-Ø si Pál-Ø ihtú
Kimo-ABS and Pal-AND lo!
"It's Kimó and Pal!"
So, here we're introducing two participants to the discourse at the same time. Who gets to be the topic? We have two possible outcomes:
Pɔló wɔhká i Kimó
Pɔl-ó wohk-á i Kimó
Pɔl-ACC desire-AV AUX Kimó
"Kimó lusts after Pal."
Kimóθ wɔhkíl i Pal
Kimó-θ wɔhk-íl i Pal-Ø
Kimó-ERG desire-PV AUX Pal
"Kimó lusts after Pal."
Pal and Kimó have been introduced at the same time, so logically it doesn't really matter who becomes the topic in the next utterance. However, this is where we encounter the issue of sample sentences not being representative of real life. Generally, a speaker will have an idea of where he wants to go with his speech. If the next thing he's going to talk about is how Kimó has known Pal since they were at school together and how it's a tragedy of unrequited lust, then the first utterance is more likely, with Kimó as the topic. If, on the other hand, he's going to talk about how Pal finds Kimó utterly repulsive in every way, then the second utterance is more likely, with Pal as the subject.
The astute will have realised by now that Telpahké marks its verbs morphologically for whether the topic argument is agent or patient. They might also have considered the excellent point that arguments aside from the agent or patient can be topical. Noting that other languages that mark topic on their verbs might have a third voice (or more) to mark a topic that is not a core argument, one might therefore think that Telpahké has a similar array of differing voices for such a purpose. Unfortunately, it doesn't. The next post will deal with what does happen: I may even include some gratuitous syntax trees, given the fact that Zomp's SCK has reminded me of how much I hated X' theory.
I haven't been looking forward to writing this post as, frankly, the concept of topic and comment seems to be one of those things that is intuitively easy to grasp, but a bit of a bitch to reduce to dry prose. I would suggest these two Wikipedia articles as a fair starting point.
As I stated in my previous post, Telpahké is a topic-prominent language. Morphosyntactically, this surfaces in a number of ways. For example, Telpahké defies easy categorisation as SVO or OVS: a more accurate description of basic constituent order is in fact comment-verb-topic. Verbs mark not active and passive voices, but rather two voices specifying whether the topic is functioning as an agent or a patient: neither is less marked than the other. Similarly, the syntactic pivot of a verb is not the agent or the patient, but rather the topic.
To illustrate the last, look at the following sentence:
Foɫíraθ θɛŋíl i sáral θi pɛ mehká i.
foɫír-aθ θɛŋ-íl i sáral-Ø θi pɛ-Ø mehk-á i
boy-ERG see-PV AUX dog-ABS and he-ACC bite-AV AUX.
"A boy saw the dog and bit him."
In English, the above sentence is unambiguous: a boy saw the dog and a boy bit the dog- in English the syntactic pivot is the subject of the verb, which means it can be omitted from the second clause. In Telpahké, however, the meaning is quite the opposite. It is the dog that is the topic, and therefore it is the dog who bites the boy in the second sentence. I have deliberately avoided using a passives in the English translation above, to emphasise that neither the agent-voice (AV) nor the patient-voice (PV) is more marked than the other in Telpahké. (However, I fully admit that an accurate and natural translation would be "A boy saw the dog and was bitten.")
So how do we know which argument is the topic? In normal conversation, it's fairly simple: effectively, it is the old information. It's the argument that has already been introduced to the discourse and is now going to be commented upon. Obviously, it is more tricky to illustrate this with stand-alone sample sentences in a grammar sketch, as these don't really occur "in the wild". Or, to put it another way, utterances in real-life have context: it is only in a pulp espionage novel that one is likely to sidle up to one's interlocutor and say "the dog sees the man" apropos of completely nothing.
Let's look at a sample discourse, tracking the topic as we go.
Túǝn ihtú.
túǝn-Ø ihtú
man-ABS lo!
"There's a man."
Here, arguably, there is no topic. We're introducing a referent to the discourse for the first time. Obviously, in real life, one would not normally start in this manner: a referent can be brought into the discourse solely by implicature. If you are standing with a friend and see a man beating a child, you wouldn't have to set the stage by saying "There's a man. He is beating a child." - you would of course say "That man is beating a child." Or, I dunno, go over and stop the man from beating the child. Your call.
Foɫirɛ́ pɔmá i túǝn.
foɫir-ɛ́ pɔm-á i túǝn-Ø
boy-ACC beat-AV AUX man-ABS
"The man is beating a boy."
Here, the old information is the man. We've introduced him, he's the topic, and now we're going to talk about (or comment upon) what he's doing.
Tonó kahsá i foɫír.
ton-ó kahs-á i foɫír-Ø
man-ACC hate-AV AUX boy-ABS
"The boy hates the man."
We introduced the boy in the last sentence, so he's already in the discourse. He's now the topic. We're commenting upon what he's doing.
Now we run into complications. Assuming that the participants in the next utterance are again the man and the boy, and given that both are now "old news", who gets to be the topic?
As it happens, the most likely outcome is that the boy remains the topic: once a topic has been "set", speakers tend to keep it that way until a new topic is introduced, particularly if both participants are equally "topic-worthy". Let's look at two possible next sentences, one where the boy is the agent, one where he is the patient:
Tonó yɔná i foɫír.
tuǝn-ó yɔn-á i folír-Ø
man-ACC flee-AV AUX boy-ABS
"The boy runs away from the man."
and
Túǝnoθ pɔmíl-pɔmíl i foɫír.
túǝn-oθ pɔm-íl=pɔm-íl i foɫír-Ø
man-ERG beat-PV=beat-PV AUX boy-ABS
"The man beats the boy harder."
What happens, however, if you've got two participants that are equally topic-worthy from the outset?
Kimó si Pal ihtú.
Kimó-Ø si Pál-Ø ihtú
Kimo-ABS and Pal-AND lo!
"It's Kimó and Pal!"
So, here we're introducing two participants to the discourse at the same time. Who gets to be the topic? We have two possible outcomes:
Pɔló wɔhká i Kimó
Pɔl-ó wohk-á i Kimó
Pɔl-ACC desire-AV AUX Kimó
"Kimó lusts after Pal."
Kimóθ wɔhkíl i Pal
Kimó-θ wɔhk-íl i Pal-Ø
Kimó-ERG desire-PV AUX Pal
"Kimó lusts after Pal."
Pal and Kimó have been introduced at the same time, so logically it doesn't really matter who becomes the topic in the next utterance. However, this is where we encounter the issue of sample sentences not being representative of real life. Generally, a speaker will have an idea of where he wants to go with his speech. If the next thing he's going to talk about is how Kimó has known Pal since they were at school together and how it's a tragedy of unrequited lust, then the first utterance is more likely, with Kimó as the topic. If, on the other hand, he's going to talk about how Pal finds Kimó utterly repulsive in every way, then the second utterance is more likely, with Pal as the subject.
The astute will have realised by now that Telpahké marks its verbs morphologically for whether the topic argument is agent or patient. They might also have considered the excellent point that arguments aside from the agent or patient can be topical. Noting that other languages that mark topic on their verbs might have a third voice (or more) to mark a topic that is not a core argument, one might therefore think that Telpahké has a similar array of differing voices for such a purpose. Unfortunately, it doesn't. The next post will deal with what does happen: I may even include some gratuitous syntax trees, given the fact that Zomp's SCK has reminded me of how much I hated X' theory.
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akam chinjir
- Posts: 769
- Joined: Fri Jul 13, 2018 11:58 pm
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Topic and Comment, part 1
Very curious to see where this goes! I mostly know topic prominence from Chinese languages, and it looks like this will be very different. Just the idea of having topics at the end has my head spinning a bit, which presumably means I've got something to learn. And looking a bit at Austronesian systems, the fact that the distinguished argument's been called subject, topic, focus, pivot, trigger... It's a bit baffling (so far!).
Are you going to have anything analogous to this classic sort of sentence?
One possible quibble: when "comment" is contrasted with "topic," it usually refers to the whole rest of the sentence, so the expression "comment--verb--topic" is a bit weird.
Are you going to have anything analogous to this classic sort of sentence?
Code: Select all
那棵樹葉子很大
nà kē shù yèzǐ hěn dà
DIST CL tree leaf NC big
That tree, the leaves are big (= that tree's leaves are big)
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Transitivity and voice assignment
Quick excursus on transitivity and voice assignment
Before explaining how Telpahké marks non-core arguments of a clause as the topic, I need to briefly run through some details on voice assignment. All of our example sentences so far have featured transitive verbs - primarily because the only argument of an intransitive verb is, by default, the topic of that sentence (unless there are non-core arguments in the clause, which is what we're about to discuss. Be patient.)
Why are intransitive verbs now significant? Consider that I have stated that the two voices of Telpahké are equally "unmarked" - neither is more "basic" than the other. So, which voice do intransitive verbs take?
Unergative and unaccusative verbs
The answer here is either, although not in an interchangeable manner. At this point we need to introduce the terms unergative and unaccusative. Briefly put: the sole argument of an unergative verb is, broadly speaking, sematically more agent-like than patient-like; while the inverse is true of unaccusative verbs. Or, another way, an unergative verb has to be consciously done, while an unaccusative verb simply happens. Consider:
Tekíl i łɛ́hkar.
tek-íl i łɛ́hkar
die-PV AUX old.man
"The old man dies." (unaccusative)
Pahá i ɛsá.
pah-á i ɛsá
talk-AV AUX 1SG
"I talk." (unergative)
Ehsoríl i θáfan.
ehsor-íl i θáfan
dry.out-PV AUX loincloth
"The loincloth dries." (unaccusative)
Mesaθá i mehk.
mesaθ-á i mehk
dance-AV AUX child
"The child dances." (unergative)
From the above, we can see that unergative verbs occur in the agent voice, while unaccusative verbs occur in the patient voice.
It is worth noting that the boundary between unergative and unaccusative varies between languages. For example, senál 'to wake up' and wotál 'to sleep' in Telpahké are classified as unaccusative because to the Impar they "just happen". On the other hand, mihsál 'to dream' and ɔhsál 'to be ill' are classified as unergative verbs - the Impar see both of these as actions that one has control over:
Ɔhsá i fołír
ɔhs-á i fołír
be.ill-AV AUX boy
"The boy is sick." (unergative)
There is a detail here that is worth considering: English has a set of verbs which can be either transitive or unaccusative, such as "boil" or "break": "I boiled the water" vs "the water boiled". Telpahké could be said to work in a similar way:
Nɛrkó tohká i ɛsá.
nɛrk-ó tohk-á i ɛsá
soup-ACC boil-AV AUX 1SG
"I boil the soup."
Tohkíl i nɛrk.
tohk-íl i nɛrk
boil-PV AUX soup
"The soup boils."
However, is this zero-derivation of an unaccusative intransitive verb from a transitive original (or vice versa), or simply an instantiation of Telpahké happily being able to drop either patients or agents at will? Consider:
Foŋhɛ́ łohká i ɛsá.
fuǝŋa-ɛ́ łohk-á i ɛsá
book-ACC read-AV AUX 1SH
"I read the book."
Łohká i ɛsá.
łohk-á i ɛsá
read-AV AUX 1SH
"I read."
Łohkíl i fúǝŋa
łohk-íl i fúǝŋa
read-PV AUX book
"The book is read."
So, all straightforward so far? Good. Let's look at some weirdness:
Psych verbs
There is a reasonably large group of transitive verbs in Telpahké, typically denoting mental states or events, wherein the agent voice and the patient voice seem to be assigned the "wrong" way. Consider the following:
Áteθ lohłíl i ɛsá.
át-eθ lohł-íl i ɛsá
city-ERG think.about-PV AUX 1SG
"I think about the city."
Mónoθ sohtíl in ɛyɛsá.
món-oθ soht-íl in ɛyɛsá
bees-ERG fear-PV AUX 1PL
"We fear bees."[2]
Based on what we know already, "I" and "we" in those examples, as topics, should have triggered the agent voice, as they are the ones doing the thinking and the fearing. However, it's the other way around.
Broadly speaking, what has happened here is that the "experiencer" has been mapped to the "patient", and the "cause" has been mapped to the "agent". It's as if Telpahké says not "we fear bees" but rather "bees make us afraid".
Diachronically, that is exactly what has happened. Transitive verbs of this type generally have intransitive unergative counterparts: soθál 'to be afraid' and lokál 'to think'. The transitive verbs have been derived by adding a causative suffix to the unergative verbs, which has since been rather obscured by soundchange. This accounts for some otherwise strange derivations like pahál 'to speak' > pahsál 'to discuss', which can be used without an agent as normal to produce a sentence like the following:
Pahsíl in sɛhsíǝl.
pahs-íl in sɛhsíǝl
discuss-PV AUX women
"The women chat."
~Logically~, this should mean "the women are discussed", but rather the underlying sense here is "something makes the women talk".
While we're on the subject of this kind of verb: does anyone have any opinions on what to call them? They aren't limited to psych verbs, and nor do all psych verbs fall in this class. In my notes I refer to them as "inverse", but that somehow seems inapt.
Ditransitive and 'benefactive' verbs
Telpahké is a strictly indirective language when it comes to ditransitive verbs. The donor is mapped to the agent, the theme to the patient and the recipient is always an indirect object (marked with the directive postposition mɛ):
Selé mɛ kɛré oká i túǝn.
siǝl-é mɛ kɛr-é ok-á i túǝn
woman-ACC DIR flower-ACC give-AV AUX man
"The man gave a flower to a woman."
Here it is appropriate to speak about "benefactive" verbs. This is not a distinct mood, but rather it is the result of a piece of derivational morphology applied to transitive verbs:
Masrɛ́ pɔká i síǝl.
mɛsar-ɛ́ pɔk-á i síǝl
fish-ACC cook-AV AUX woman
"The woman cooks a fish."
Selé rɛ masrɛ́ pɔkahtá i túǝn.
siǝl-é rɛ mɛsar-ɛ́ pɔk-aht-á i túǝn
woman-ACC ABL fish-ACC cook-BEN-AV AUX man
"A woman cooks a fish for the man."
Note here that the woman, the original agent in the underived clause, has been demoted to an oblique argument, which is marked with the ablative postposition rɛ. The beneficiary of the action - the man - is now marked as the agent.
Where there is not an overt oblique argument, the pragmatic implication is that the argument marked as the agent is both beneficiary and the agent:
Masrɛ́ faŋopahtá in ɛyɛsá.
mɛsar-ɛ́ faŋop-aht-á in ɛyɛsá
fish-ACC catch-BEN-AV AUX 1PL
"We caught ourselves a fish."
The same suffix and structure can be used with unergative verbs to the same effect:
Pahá i ɛsá
pah-á i ɛsá
talk-AV AUX 1SG
"I talk"
Ɛsá rɛ pahahtá i Kimó.
ɛsá rɛ pah-aht-á i Kimó
1SG.ACC ABL talk-BEN-AV AUX Kimó
"I talk on Kimó's behalf."
Pahahtá i ɛsá
pah-aht-á i ɛsá
talk-BEN-AV AUX 1SG
"I talk on my own behalf."
In addition, it is with this kind of construction that Telpahké deals with reflexives:
Sɔsinahtá i ɛsá
sɔsin-aht-á i ɛsá
wash-BEN-AV AUX 1SH
"I wash myself."
Of course, "benefactive" can sometimes be misleading:
Ɛsá rɛ kahtahtíl i kɛ́ma.
ɛsá rɛ kaht-aht-íl i kɛ́ma
1SG ABL break-BEN-PV AUX leg
"I broke my leg"
Note here that there is no overtly marked agent (and thus the verb is in the patient voice): rather the recipient of the action is marked with the ablative postposition rɛ. The implication here is something like "something/somebody made me break my leg".
In this way, a "malefactive" construction occurs:
Ɛsá rɛ wehsahtíl in ɔrár.
ɛsá rɛ wehs-aht-íl in ɔrár
1SG ABL sell-BEN-PV AUX field.PL
"I sold the farm (against my will, and it impacts upon me badly)."
Diachronically, both the "benefactive" verbs and the "inverse" verbs above are derived from reanalysed synthetic causative constructions. Modern Telpahké no longer has a productive synthetic causative, but rather uses an analytic construction (which I am not going to talk about now, because there are limits...)
Before explaining how Telpahké marks non-core arguments of a clause as the topic, I need to briefly run through some details on voice assignment. All of our example sentences so far have featured transitive verbs - primarily because the only argument of an intransitive verb is, by default, the topic of that sentence (unless there are non-core arguments in the clause, which is what we're about to discuss. Be patient.)
Why are intransitive verbs now significant? Consider that I have stated that the two voices of Telpahké are equally "unmarked" - neither is more "basic" than the other. So, which voice do intransitive verbs take?
Unergative and unaccusative verbs
The answer here is either, although not in an interchangeable manner. At this point we need to introduce the terms unergative and unaccusative. Briefly put: the sole argument of an unergative verb is, broadly speaking, sematically more agent-like than patient-like; while the inverse is true of unaccusative verbs. Or, another way, an unergative verb has to be consciously done, while an unaccusative verb simply happens. Consider:
Tekíl i łɛ́hkar.
tek-íl i łɛ́hkar
die-PV AUX old.man
"The old man dies." (unaccusative)
Pahá i ɛsá.
pah-á i ɛsá
talk-AV AUX 1SG
"I talk." (unergative)
Ehsoríl i θáfan.
ehsor-íl i θáfan
dry.out-PV AUX loincloth
"The loincloth dries." (unaccusative)
Mesaθá i mehk.
mesaθ-á i mehk
dance-AV AUX child
"The child dances." (unergative)
From the above, we can see that unergative verbs occur in the agent voice, while unaccusative verbs occur in the patient voice.
It is worth noting that the boundary between unergative and unaccusative varies between languages. For example, senál 'to wake up' and wotál 'to sleep' in Telpahké are classified as unaccusative because to the Impar they "just happen". On the other hand, mihsál 'to dream' and ɔhsál 'to be ill' are classified as unergative verbs - the Impar see both of these as actions that one has control over:
Ɔhsá i fołír
ɔhs-á i fołír
be.ill-AV AUX boy
"The boy is sick." (unergative)
There is a detail here that is worth considering: English has a set of verbs which can be either transitive or unaccusative, such as "boil" or "break": "I boiled the water" vs "the water boiled". Telpahké could be said to work in a similar way:
Nɛrkó tohká i ɛsá.
nɛrk-ó tohk-á i ɛsá
soup-ACC boil-AV AUX 1SG
"I boil the soup."
Tohkíl i nɛrk.
tohk-íl i nɛrk
boil-PV AUX soup
"The soup boils."
However, is this zero-derivation of an unaccusative intransitive verb from a transitive original (or vice versa), or simply an instantiation of Telpahké happily being able to drop either patients or agents at will? Consider:
Foŋhɛ́ łohká i ɛsá.
fuǝŋa-ɛ́ łohk-á i ɛsá
book-ACC read-AV AUX 1SH
"I read the book."
Łohká i ɛsá.
łohk-á i ɛsá
read-AV AUX 1SH
"I read."
Łohkíl i fúǝŋa
łohk-íl i fúǝŋa
read-PV AUX book
"The book is read."
So, all straightforward so far? Good. Let's look at some weirdness:
Psych verbs
There is a reasonably large group of transitive verbs in Telpahké, typically denoting mental states or events, wherein the agent voice and the patient voice seem to be assigned the "wrong" way. Consider the following:
Áteθ lohłíl i ɛsá.
át-eθ lohł-íl i ɛsá
city-ERG think.about-PV AUX 1SG
"I think about the city."
Mónoθ sohtíl in ɛyɛsá.
món-oθ soht-íl in ɛyɛsá
bees-ERG fear-PV AUX 1PL
"We fear bees."[2]
Based on what we know already, "I" and "we" in those examples, as topics, should have triggered the agent voice, as they are the ones doing the thinking and the fearing. However, it's the other way around.
Broadly speaking, what has happened here is that the "experiencer" has been mapped to the "patient", and the "cause" has been mapped to the "agent". It's as if Telpahké says not "we fear bees" but rather "bees make us afraid".
Diachronically, that is exactly what has happened. Transitive verbs of this type generally have intransitive unergative counterparts: soθál 'to be afraid' and lokál 'to think'. The transitive verbs have been derived by adding a causative suffix to the unergative verbs, which has since been rather obscured by soundchange. This accounts for some otherwise strange derivations like pahál 'to speak' > pahsál 'to discuss', which can be used without an agent as normal to produce a sentence like the following:
Pahsíl in sɛhsíǝl.
pahs-íl in sɛhsíǝl
discuss-PV AUX women
"The women chat."
~Logically~, this should mean "the women are discussed", but rather the underlying sense here is "something makes the women talk".
While we're on the subject of this kind of verb: does anyone have any opinions on what to call them? They aren't limited to psych verbs, and nor do all psych verbs fall in this class. In my notes I refer to them as "inverse", but that somehow seems inapt.
Ditransitive and 'benefactive' verbs
Telpahké is a strictly indirective language when it comes to ditransitive verbs. The donor is mapped to the agent, the theme to the patient and the recipient is always an indirect object (marked with the directive postposition mɛ):
Selé mɛ kɛré oká i túǝn.
siǝl-é mɛ kɛr-é ok-á i túǝn
woman-ACC DIR flower-ACC give-AV AUX man
"The man gave a flower to a woman."
Here it is appropriate to speak about "benefactive" verbs. This is not a distinct mood, but rather it is the result of a piece of derivational morphology applied to transitive verbs:
Masrɛ́ pɔká i síǝl.
mɛsar-ɛ́ pɔk-á i síǝl
fish-ACC cook-AV AUX woman
"The woman cooks a fish."
Selé rɛ masrɛ́ pɔkahtá i túǝn.
siǝl-é rɛ mɛsar-ɛ́ pɔk-aht-á i túǝn
woman-ACC ABL fish-ACC cook-BEN-AV AUX man
"A woman cooks a fish for the man."
Note here that the woman, the original agent in the underived clause, has been demoted to an oblique argument, which is marked with the ablative postposition rɛ. The beneficiary of the action - the man - is now marked as the agent.
Where there is not an overt oblique argument, the pragmatic implication is that the argument marked as the agent is both beneficiary and the agent:
Masrɛ́ faŋopahtá in ɛyɛsá.
mɛsar-ɛ́ faŋop-aht-á in ɛyɛsá
fish-ACC catch-BEN-AV AUX 1PL
"We caught ourselves a fish."
The same suffix and structure can be used with unergative verbs to the same effect:
Pahá i ɛsá
pah-á i ɛsá
talk-AV AUX 1SG
"I talk"
Ɛsá rɛ pahahtá i Kimó.
ɛsá rɛ pah-aht-á i Kimó
1SG.ACC ABL talk-BEN-AV AUX Kimó
"I talk on Kimó's behalf."
Pahahtá i ɛsá
pah-aht-á i ɛsá
talk-BEN-AV AUX 1SG
"I talk on my own behalf."
In addition, it is with this kind of construction that Telpahké deals with reflexives:
Sɔsinahtá i ɛsá
sɔsin-aht-á i ɛsá
wash-BEN-AV AUX 1SH
"I wash myself."
Of course, "benefactive" can sometimes be misleading:
Ɛsá rɛ kahtahtíl i kɛ́ma.
ɛsá rɛ kaht-aht-íl i kɛ́ma
1SG ABL break-BEN-PV AUX leg
"I broke my leg"
Note here that there is no overtly marked agent (and thus the verb is in the patient voice): rather the recipient of the action is marked with the ablative postposition rɛ. The implication here is something like "something/somebody made me break my leg".
In this way, a "malefactive" construction occurs:
Ɛsá rɛ wehsahtíl in ɔrár.
ɛsá rɛ wehs-aht-íl in ɔrár
1SG ABL sell-BEN-PV AUX field.PL
"I sold the farm (against my will, and it impacts upon me badly)."
Diachronically, both the "benefactive" verbs and the "inverse" verbs above are derived from reanalysed synthetic causative constructions. Modern Telpahké no longer has a productive synthetic causative, but rather uses an analytic construction (which I am not going to talk about now, because there are limits...)
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Transitivity and voice assignment
What does i and in mean?
IPA of my name: [xʷtɛ̀k]
Favourite morphology: Polysynthetic, Ablaut
Favourite character archetype: Shounen hero
Favourite morphology: Polysynthetic, Ablaut
Favourite character archetype: Shounen hero
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Transitivity and voice assignment
I think I have this - just about, although since it's alien to every language I've ever learnt I'm not sure. I'm also not sure unergative and unaccusative help as terms. If it needs to be consciously done, surely it's ergative (work is being done, unergative suggests the opposite) but that is nabbed already for a nominal case name. I take it though that semantically an intransitive verb is classed as one or the other and presumably there is no patient voice for an unergative verb?
Further it seems that agent voice or patient voice is partly dependent on what the speaker wants to get across as the main topic.
Further it seems that agent voice or patient voice is partly dependent on what the speaker wants to get across as the main topic.
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Kuchigakatai
- Posts: 1307
- Joined: Mon Jul 09, 2018 4:19 pm
Re: Telpahké: the thread - Transitivity and voice assignment
They're auxiliaries. There are eight of them in total: so far we've just been seeing i/in because I'm deliberately trying not to make things too weird. They essentially express tense, aspect and mood, while the lexical verb just expresses voice.
I agree, "unergative" and "unaccusative" are singularly unhelpful terms. My notes call them "agentive" and "patientive" respectively, but I know they're non-standard usages.evmdbm wrote: ↑Tue Jan 15, 2019 8:12 am I think I have this - just about, although since it's alien to every language I've ever learnt I'm not sure. I'm also not sure unergative and unaccusative help as terms. If it needs to be consciously done, surely it's ergative (work is being done, unergative suggests the opposite) but that is nabbed already for a nominal case name. I take it though that semantically an intransitive verb is classed as one or the other and presumably there is no patient voice for an unergative verb?
Well noted.Further it seems that agent voice or patient voice is partly dependent on what the speaker wants to get across as the main topic.
Next post is about transformations and topicalisation of non-core arguments. After that I'll actually go into verbal morphology, which will cover the auxiliary system.
(I normally try to post once a week: on a Saturday or similar when I have a day off work. Unfortunately, this week I have had the flu and have consequently just spent the time reading
)