I Can Be With You, but Not in Armenian

When the Apostle Paul was in Corinth, says the Bible, one night the Lord appeared to him in a vision and said: “Do not be afraid, but speak and do not be silent; for I am with you (...)” (Acts 18:9-10). Because God implied that he was spiritually together with his apostle, the Western Armenian translation of “I am with you” has been rendered as follows: «Ես քեզի հետ եմ (...)» (Yes kezi hed em).

We all know that if you are physically together with your friend, you would probably say, “I’m with you,” e.g. “I go with you.” In this case, you can obviously say “Yes kezi hed em.”

We also know that if you are in agreement with your friend about something, you would probably say, “I’m with you,” e.g., “I agree with you.” To be with someone, at least in the Armenian language, always implies a relation of togetherness, either physical or spiritual. If you want to tell your friend in California that you agree with his views over the phone from New York, and you say “Yes kezi hed em,” your friend will probably look around to see where you are.

The puzzle is solved when you think in Armenian and say: «Ես համաձայն եմ քեզի հետ» (Yes hamatzayn em kezi hed), e.g. “I’m in agreement with you” or “I agree with you.”  By adding the crucial word hamatzayn (literally “agreeable”), you will have replaced Armenian “thought” in English by Armenian thought in Armenian. And your friend in California will not be looking around for you.

You Eat It, You Do Not Have It

Someone may approach you anywhere in the world and ask: «Կրնա՞մ սուրճ մը ունենալ» (Gurnam soorj muh oonenal?). Even if you do not recognize his or her accent, be sure that the person is bringing the English flavor to her Armenian speech: a literal translation of “May I have a coffee?”

Two words may have the same meaning in both Armenian and English. It does not mean that you can apply a given Armenian word (or vice versa) for all the meanings of the same word in English.

Oonenal is such a case. If Martin Luther King Jr. had spoken his famous “I Have a Dream” speech in Armenian, he would have started: «Երազ մը ունիմ» (Yeraz me oonim). The reason is that in both languages you can have a dream, a pen, a house, or a child when you own them.

When you intend to get something which is not yours, you ask: “May I have a pencil?” This is true, but only for the English language. You cannot be own (e.g. oonenal) something that it is not yours.  Since you need to get it first, the proper way to ask for a pencil in Armenian would be: “Կրնա՞մ մատիտ մը առնել» (Gurnam madid muh arnel?). The word arnel (“to take”) here means “to get.”

In the same way, you do not “have” coffee with someone: in Armenian, you “get” (arnel) it. The following example is from Antranig Dzarugian’s memoir, Ethereal Aleppo (Երազային Հալէպ), a source very fitting in these days of disarray for Syrian Armenians:

«Ամառուան արձակուրդն է, դպրոցները փակ։ Անակնկալօրէն Միհրան էֆէնտին մեր տունը կու գայ, Նոր Գիւղ, սուրճ մը առնելու» (Amarvan artzagoortn eh, tbrotsnereh pag. Anagngaloren Mihran efendeen mer doonuh goo kah, Nor Kugh, soorj me arneloo)։

“It is the summer vacation, the schools are closed. All of a sudden, Mihran Efendi comes to our home, in Nor Kugh, to have a coffee.”

If Mihran Efendi had gone to “have something to eat,” of course Dzarugian would not have said «կերակուր ունենալու» (geragoor oonenaloo), but, simply, «կերակուր ուտելու» (geragoor oodeloo). Because, when you are “having your meal”, you say: «Ես կերակուր կ՚ուտեմ» (Yes geragoor g’oodem), but never ever... «Ես կերակուր կ՚ունենամ» (Yes geragoor g’oonenam).

Sometimes, you just need to think differently.

The Armenian Squirrel

The Greek language has been a provider of Armenian words from very old times, although it may have been played a less remarkable role than the impact of French over the English language.

Squirrels are very cute when they run around parks and backyards, but they may become pesky if they turn to get refuge into someone’s home. In any case, that’s an issue for a specialized company. Our issue is to explain how Anglo-American and Armenian squirrels are related to each other.

The Armenian squirrel (սկիւռ skiour) got its name from the Greek language: skiouros, literally “shadow-tailed,” from skia “shadow” and oura “tail.” But the name does not appear in Classical Armenian literature, thus it must have been borrowed in later time. Linguist Hrachia Adjarian even suspected that the word may have actually come from Latin.

As a matter of fact, the Latin word is sciurus, which seems to have originated from the Vulgar Latin word *scurius and its diminutive *scuriolus. From this last word came the Old French escureuil (Modern French écureuil), which became the Anglo-French esquirel and then, after the fourteenth century, appeared in the English language as squirrel.

In conclusion, American and Armenian squirrels are distant cousins.

Don’t Crush the Computer!

When you are on a ship or sit on a chair, we all agree that you have something under your feet. The Armenian language agrees too. That’s why it is accurate to say «Ես նստած եմ աթոռի մը վրայ» (Yes nusdadz em atoree muh vra “I’m sitting on a chair”) or «Ես նաւուն վրան եմ» (Yes navoon vran em “I’m on the ship”).(*)

However, what happens when you are on the computer, you are on a committee, or the light is on? None of those phrases is related to something physical. The logic of grammar is stretched in these colloquial expressions. If you applied actual logic, a) you would crush the computer by being on it; b) you would be sitting on the heads of the committee members; and c) the light would be placed on something and not turned on.

Every language has its own way of thinking. You cannot translate literally from English into Armenian or vice versa. That’s why you can only use վրայ (vra) when you are literally or metaphorically on or over something physical. Otherwise, you come up with ridiculous results:

1. Wrong: «Ես համակարգիչին վրայ էի» (Yes hamagarkeecheen vra eyi), “I was on the computer.
   Right: «Ես համակարգիչին առջեւը նստեցայ» (Yes hamagarkeecheen archevuh nusdetsa), namely, “I sat before the computer”.
2. Wrong: «Լոյսը վրան է» (Looysuh vran eh), “The light is on.”
   Right: «Լոյսը վառած է» (Looysuh varadz eh), namely, “The light is turned on.
3. Wrong: «Ես յանձնախումբին վրան եմ (Yes hantznakhoompeen vran em), “I am on the committee.”
   Right: «Ես յանձնախումբին անդամ եմ» (Yes hantznakhoompeen antam mun em), namely, “I am a member of the committee.”

The most comic and interesting example is the mix of French, English, and Armenian in the following phrase, common among Armenians from the Middle East: «Ֆիշը վրան է» (Fishe vran eh). This is the equivalent of English “The plug is in.”

Here we have:

1. The French word fiche (English plug, Armenian խցակ/khutsag);
2. A contamination of the English concept of something on, replacing “in”;
3. The Armenian verb “to be” in the form eh.

Now, if you want us to believe that you are speaking proper Armenian, then you should say «Խցակը դրուած է» (Khutsagu turvadz eh) or «Խցակը միացած է» (Khutsagu miatsadz eh). It sounds more idiomatic for one simple reason: it is thought in Armenian, not in English. That is the first rule to follow when you speak any given language: to think in that language.
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(*) Vra is used when the following word starts with a consonant; it becomes vran when the following word is a vowel.

No Love Lost

In a previous entry (“Some Armenian Words That Sound (Almost) Like English... Or Not,” June 20, 2013), we spoke about some words, like English hair and Armenian her (հեր “hair”), which look very similar in their writing and synonymous in their meaning, but which actually have no direct relation.

Another interesting case is the couple formed by English hate and Armenian ad(el) (ատել “to hate,” from which adelootioon / ատելութիւն“hate, hatred”). It looks very enticing, especially when we recall that the letter տ sounded t in Classical Armenian (the same as in Eastern Armenian today).

Again, as the saying goes, one should not judge a book by its cover. Words most frequently change their appearance over time, even within the same language. They change even more when they pass from one language to another!

Thus, English hate comes from the reconstructed Proto-Germanic root *haton, from which cognates in various Germanic languages have derived. So far, everything is fine. But if you go further back, you will find that the initial h disappears when you find its ultimate origin:  another reconstructed root in the Proto-Indo-European language, *kad , which meant “sorrow, hatred” and originated similar words in several Indo-European historical languages, like Avestan (the language of the Iranian pre-Islamic sacred book), Greek, and Welsh.

Instead of a change in consonants, we find a change in vowels when we go to Armenian adel, whose present form in Classical Armenian was ateam (ատեամ “I hate”). It also has an Indo-European origin, but comes from another Proto-Indo-European root, *od, which meant “hate.”

In the end, then, both words have unrelated origins. But readers should be reminded that *od is actually the root of two English words: Old English atol (“dire, horrid”) and English odium (“hatred”). Granted, we do not use odium anymore, a word borrowed from Latin into English in the seventeenth century, but we still utilize odious (= Armenian adeli/ատելի), which had entered English from French a few centuries before.

As it should have been expected, there is no love lost between the odd couple hate and adel.

Write “Right” in the Right Way

You can say that something is right, accurate, or true in Armenian with the word ooghigh (ուղիղ).(*) You say ooghigh jampa (ուղիղ ճամբայ) “right road.” Note that when the word ooghigh becomes a compound word of any kind, the intermediate i is lost. This is why you have some words like:

ooghghagi (ուղղակի “direct”). Example: ooghghagi gab (ուղղակի կապ) “direct link."

ooghghel (ուղղել “to straighten; to direct”). Example: poghgabe ooghghel (փողկապը ուղղել) “to straighten the tie”; tebi harav ooghghel (դէպի հարաւ ուղղել) “to direct to the south.”

ooghghootioon (ուղղութիւն “direction”). Example: jisht ooghghootioon (ճիշդ ուղղութիւն) “accurate direction” (ooghigh ooghghootioon does not sound right...)

ooghghakrootioon (ուղղագրութիւն “orthography”). Example: hayereni ooghghakrootioon (հայերէնի ուղղագրութիւն) “Armenian orthography”

Now, there is a word that makes trouble, ooghi (ուղի) “road,” which is a synonym of jampa and janabarh. Many usual words are derived from ooghi and are all related to the notion of “road” or “travel,” such as:

ooghargel (ուղարկել “to send”)

hooghargavorootioon (յուղարկաւորութիւն “gravesite service,” when you send the soul of the deceased to its final rest)

ooghevorootioon (ուղեւորութիւն “travel”)

yergatooghi (երկաթուղի “railway”)

Many people tend to confuse ooghi with ooghigh, perhaps due to the closeness of meanings between “direction” and “travel,” and to write, for instance, ooghargel with two gh (ուղղարկել), which is plainly wrong. How do you avoid common spelling mistakes of this kind?

Memo to yourself: if you write any Armenian word related to the English concept of right, whether the root is Anglo-Saxon (“straight”), Latin (“direct”) or Greek (“ortho”), you are dealing with ooghigh (ուղիղ). If you remember that, you will always be using two gh-s and you will always be... right.

(*) Ooghigh, of unknown origin, entered the Armenian language in the fifth century. Its synonym shidag (շիտակ), of equally unknown origin, appeared in the Low Middle Ages. Although both are utilized interchangeably, shidag has a more colloquial use and cannot be always used as a full synonym of ooghigh.

Barons Are Not What They Used to Be

Barons are not very fashionable these days, except when someone with this title has a mention in the press for good or bad reasons. (Their title is still used to remind us of the “robber barons” of the 19th century in American economic history.) However, they are alive and well in the Armenian language, even if on a lower ranking.

The origin of the word baron (պարոն) is common for both English and Armenian: Old French baron, which comes from Latin. It entered the Armenian language in the early period of the state of Cilicia (11th-12th century), with the meaning of “ruler, prince.” The form պարոն seems to show that the transcription of the sound b as բ in Classical Armenian was not working properly any more.

It appears that the word followed the French model, where monsieur first meant “ruler, prince,” and became the equivalent of “mister” or “sir” in modern times. We say:

Baron Kevork Boghosian (Պարոն Գէորգ Պօղոսեան, “Mister Kevork Boghosian”)

Harkeli baron (Յարգելի պարոն, “Dear Sir”)

The word is also used to say “gentleman,” as in:

Barone ov e? (Պարոնը ո՞վ է, “Who is the gentleman?”)

However, when you need to say “Mr. and Mrs.,” you cannot use baron. You have to say Der yev Diguin (Տէր եւ Տիկին). As we see, the well-known word Der (“Lord”) has some use among ordinary people, besides being the title utilized to address God, high-ranking and low-ranking ecclesiastics, and, in other times, noblemen of all sorts.

In the nineteenth century, diar (տիար, plural deark/տեարք) appeared in Western Armenian as a purely native equivalent of baron. Perhaps its creators had either French monsieur or English milord somewhere in their mind. It was born from the combination of the words di (տի “great”) and ayr (այր “male”), and followed the model of digin (տիկին, “Mrs.,” “Madam,” “lady”). This same combination had also originated the word der. The genitive singular of der in Classical Armenian is dearn (տեառն “of the Lord”); Dearnentarach (Տեառնընդառաջ) literally means “Meeting of the Lord.”

Diar may be considered a fancier word than baron and for this reason it seems to confer an aura of elegance. Sometimes it is used to address personalities. In any given case, you can say Harkeli diar nakhakah (Յարգելի տիար նախագահ, “Dear Mr. President”) or simply Diar Boghos Kevorkian (Տիար Պօղոս Գէորգեան, “Mr. Boghos Kevorkian”). However, you cannot use diar to say “gentleman” or “Mr. and Mrs.”

As a side note, the use of baron in Armenia was restricted to name “capitalists” during Soviet times; Soviet citizens had to address each other as enger (ընկեր “comrade”). After the collapse of the Soviet Union, baron was restored and, with it, the word diar also entered Eastern Armenian.