When Speakers Invent New Words

People apparently tend to think that the diphthongs yoo (իւ) and ioo (իու) are pronounced in the same way, and that the fact that their spelling is different is nothing more than a quirky twist of the language (think of the English words cheese, please, sleaze, and freeze). Therefore, the two diphthongs in the word miootyoon (միութիւն “union”) are pronounced in the same way. But they should not be. The failure to understand this difference has led to common twists in pronunciation.

You have the case of diphthongs being inverted, as if the speakers were affected by dyslexia:

1.       haryoor (հարիւր “hundred”) => hayroor (հայրուր)
2.       aryoon (արիւն “blood”) => ayroon (այրուն).

Then we have some diphthongs where the sound yoo is turned by the magic wand into ooy:

1.       myoos (միւս “other”) => mooys (մույս)
2.       tzyoon (ձիւն “snow”) => tzooyn (ձույն)
3.       kyood (գիւտ “invention, discovery”) Ü kooyd (գույտ)
4.       pyoor (բիւր “many”) => pooyr (բույր)

(Note: the word pooyr (correctly spelled բոյր means “fragrance”)

And vice versa:

• voghchooyn (ողջոյն “greetings”) => voghchyoon (ողջիւն)

To close the gallery, it is worth mentioning a case where the uncomplicated sound oo becomes yoo:

•  pedoor (փետուր “feather) => pedyoor (փետիւր)

Those speakers of the English language who are of Spanish or Italian origin always have difficulty to properly pronounce, for instance, ship and sheep. If you go and check the writing of the above mentioned Armenian words, you will notice that there is no such problem: you pronounce what you read. If you can’t, then you may need... to get glasses.

How Do You Say Basturma in Armenian?

For more than a century, pastrami has become as ubiquitous in a deli as salami. Its name was probably modeled over salami, because it was first spelled in English as pastrama. This points out to the actual source, since this dried beef was introduced by Jewish Romanians in the late nineteenth century: the Romanian word pastramă.

The Romanian word, at its turn, came from Greek pastramas / pastourmas (παστραμάς/παστουρμάς), which was a borrowing from the Turkish word pastırma (pastırma et “pressed meat” in Old Turkish). As we all know, Western Armenians usually call it basturma (պասթըրմա), while Eastern Armenians used the form bastoorma (բաստուրմա). Thus, here we have the connection between pastrami and the well-known seasoned meat that many people enjoy with eggs for breakfast.

However, the fact that the word is Turkish does not mean that the food is indeed Turkish. Actually, historians of the ancient and medieval world were well aware that cured meat had been made in Asia Minor for centuries, at least since the Byzantine period, and called apokti.

Here is the clue to find the actual Armenian term for basturma, long before the Turks came from Central Asia to Asia Minor and the Armenian Highland in the eleventh century.

The word abookhd (Classical Armenian apukht) was already used in the Armenian translation of the Bible, in the fifth century A.D., meaning “salted and dried meat.” The word apokti was an equivalent of abookhd, and both came from one of the Iranian dialects, Pahlavi, where the word apuxt meant “uncooked” (a “un” and puxta “cooked”). Later, the Armenian word went into Georgian abokhti or abukhti, and, via the dialect of the Armenians of Poland, into Polish abucht.

The choice is yours, whether you prefer an Armenian word of no less than seventeen hundred years of antiquity, whose borrowing from Iranian is no longer remembered, and a loanword that everyone knows where it comes from. Meanwhile, you may also want to know that, in modern times, abookhd also gave birth to an interesting compound word, khozabookhd, which designates an item that you may find every day at your local deli too: ham.

You Put Gloves On, But Not Pants

The reader is probably acquainted with the old English proverb: “A cat in gloves catches no mice.” The oldest written reference is from the sixteenth century (A gloued catte can catche no myse), but perhaps it was an adaptation from French, where the proverb was already around in the fourteenth century, with the literal translation “A gloved cat will never mouse well.”

The proverb exists, of course, in other languages, as well as in Armenian. However, there is a difference between the English and the Armenian version. The latter says:

Ձեռնոց դնող կատուն մուկ չի բռներ

(Tsernots tnogh gadoon moog chi purner)

The glove wearing cat catches no mice

Remember that while you put a piece of clothing on you in English, you do not do that in Armenian. “He puts pants on” = An dapad guh hakni (Ան տաբատ կը հագնի). It is wrong to say An dapad guh tuneh, a literal translation from English.

However, in the case of accessories, both languages work in the same way:
I put my gloves on = Ես ձեռնոցներս դրի (Yes tsernotsnerus tuhri)
He is putting her hat on = Ան իր գլխարկը կը դնէ (An ir kulkharguh guh tuhneh)
She will put the ring on = Ան մատանին պիտի դնէ (An madanin bidi tuhneh)

Nevertheless, while in English you wear an accessory (gloves, hat, ring...), you carry it in Armenian. For instance, we say madani guhrel (մատանի կրել / “to carry (a) ring”) or kulkharg guhrel (գլխարկ կրել / “to carry (a) hat) and not madani haknil or kulkharg haknil. Be careful, fashion lovers!

When Singing, Keep Thinking

The patriotic song popularly known by its first two words, “Harach Nahadag,” is one of the most popular among us, perhaps the equivalent to “America the Beautiful.” Its martial sounds have turned it into the official anthem of Homenetmen, but the song is also interpreted in many other occasions, and it has also been used as official song in various Armenian schools of the Diaspora.

The story of the song remains to be researched. We do not know when the lyrics and the music were written. The lyrics, entitled “Gamavoragan kaylerk” (Կամաւորական քայլերգ / March of the Volunteers) belong to poet Kevork Garvarentz (1892-1946), who was the father of composer Georges Garvarentz (1932-1993), Charles Aznavour’s brother-in-law and author of the music for a hundred of his songs. The music is from one of Gomidas Vartabed’s “five disciples,” Parsegh Ganachian (1885-1967), who also arranged the music for the Armenian national anthem “Mer Hairenik” and wrote the music of the Lebanese national anthem.

When songs are learned by heart and few care to think about the meaning of what they sing, little but significant distortions happen. This is the case of “Harach Nahadag,” for instance. Whoever knows Armenian will agree that the lyrics are not your standard share of “kitchen Armenian,” but they are written with a deep sense of language and poetical technique. Some of those distortions may go unnoticed, because the outcome still has a reasonable meaning, but others may border on the ridiculous. Here are the cases:

1) Vets taroo anmorr vrezhi zurahner (Վեց դարու անմոռ վրէժի զրահներ “Armors of six centuries of unforgettable revenge”)

People sing anmar (անմար), which means “unquenchable.” It is true that revenge may be both unforgettable and unquenchable, but you should ask yourself whether both words mean the same. Can you change Nat King Cole’s song “Unforgettable” and turn it into... “Unquenchable”? (Imagine the first lines: “Unquenchable, / that’s what you are,/ unquenchable, though near or far.”)

2) Gadarn hayreni lerants herrakooyn / Yertank gotoghel troshagn yerrakooyn (Կատարն հայրենի լերանց հեռագոյն / Երթանք կոթողել դրօշակն եռագոյն “Let’s go and plant the tricolor flag / On the peak of the farthest homeland mountains”)

Under the influence of yerrakooyn (եռագոյն “tricolor”) in the second line, people also sing yerrakooyn in the first. The actual word is herrakooyn, from herroo (հեռու “far”), meaning “farthest” (kooyn here has nothing to do with kooyn “color”). If you use mistakenly yerrakooyn, the result is the meaningless line “On the peak of the tricolor homeland mountains.” Can you tell which Armenian mountain has three colors and which colors are those?

3) Vadin sev arioon mer hoghn vorrokets / Darakir hayn ir gyankuh norokets (Վատին սեւ արիւն մեր հողն ոռոգեց / Տարագիր հայն իր կեանքը նորոգեց “The black blood of the evil watered our soil / The exiled Armenian renewed his life”)

This is similar to case 2. Under the influence of norokets (նորոգեց “renewed”) in the second line, people also sing norokets in the first. (Of course, the different spelling of r in vorrokets/ոռոգեց and norokets/նորոգեց remains unnoticed.) Can you seriously imagine that the “black blood of the evil” (meaning: the enemy) could renew the Armenian land? Yes, you can, if you are not thinking about the actual meaning of what you sing.

“A Cup of Black Water, Please!”

They say that Ethiopia was the homeland of native wild coffee, and the first reference to coffee drinking or the coffee tree came from Yemen. The origin of the word coffee, therefore, is Arabic. The word qahwah, on its turn, has several etymologies.

It appears that when the Arabic Peninsula fell under Ottoman domination, the Arabic word and the beverage entered the Turkish language, which recorded it as kahve. The Dutch loaned the word as koffie, which probably become the path for the appearance of coffee in the English language at the end of the sixteenth century. The Italians loaned kahve as caffe, which became the root for French café. While the French word means “coffeehouse,” the English language has borrowed café with the meaning of “a small restaurant selling light meals and drinks.”

But the Armenian word for “coffee,” soorj (սուրճ), is completely at odds either with the Arabic and the Turkish words. Its first written references to the word are from 1787-1788.

Soorj constitutes a little mystery for linguists, who have been forced to conclude that perhaps it is an original development. Some scholars have suggested that may be an onomatopoeic word, the kind derived from a natural sound (for instance, the English word crow comes from Old English crawe, imitative of a bird’s cry). Our word soorj would have imitated the sound we do when we drink hot coffee. Another explanation suggests that it was invented by a member of the Mekhitarist Congregation (founded in 1701) on the basis of the words sev choor (սեւ ջուր “black water”). As linguist Hrachia Ajarian remarked in his etymological dictionary, sev choor meant “coffee” in the secret language used of Constantinople, where he was born.

Enjoy your “black water,” but don’t drink it too hot!

Pronouns Are Not Always Necessary

Imagine that you come across the following paragraph: “A young man gets hurt. He goes to the hospital. He is cured by a doctor. He comes out from the hospital. He stops a taxi and goes home. After taking a painkiller, he goes to sleep. The next day, he feels better and goes to work.”

As you may notice, the narration required the use of six pronouns (“he”), one for each sentence. (Of course, we can use connectives like “and” to avoid repetition, but we are not discussing the accurate style of the English sentences here.) This is something common and unavoidable in English. However, it is not the common rule for the Armenian language. Unlike English or French, if you are talking in the first person, for instance, you do not need to say “I” in every single sentence. Armenian, like Spanish or Arabic, is what linguists call a null-subject language, where the subject may be just implicit. Therefore, instead of using an (ան “he”) in every single sentence of the above mentioned paragraph, you can say it in the following way:

“Yeridasart muh guh viravorvi. Hivantanots g’erta. Pujishgi me goghmeh guh poozhvi. Hivantanotsen g’elle. Taxi me guh getsneh yev doon g’erta. Tegh arneleh yedk, g’erta bargeloo. Hachort oruh, aveli lav guh uzka yev kordzi g’erta.”

(Երիտասարդ մը կը վիրաւորուի։ Հիւանդանոց կ՚երթայ։ Բժիշկի մը կողմէ կը բուժուի։ Հիւանդանոցէն կ՚ելլէ։ Թաքսի մը կը կեցնէ եւ տուն կ՚երթայ։ Դեղ առնելէ ետք, կ՚երթայ պառկելու։ Յաջորդ օրը, աւելի լաւ կը զգայ եւ գործի կ՚երթայ)։

As you see, there was not a single pronoun in the paragraph. Of course, you may include one or two, if you feel it necessary. But that is up to you and your personal stylistic preferences. 

This does not mean, of course, that you can suppress the use of pronouns. You should use them when you want to emphasize something or you want to avoid any kind of confusion. For instance, if you needed to translate Leonardo DiCaprio’s famous sentence from Titanic, “I am the king of the world!”, then it would be better to translate it Yes ashkharhi takavorn em (Ես աշխարհի թագաւորն եմ) and not Ashkarhi takavorn em (Աշխարհի թագաւորն եմ), because he wanted to emphasized the “I” first and then the fact of being... “the king of the world.”

As we have said many other times, if Armenian is not your native language and you are learning it, then you need to get the “feeling” of the language, which is different from the “feeling” of the language you learned first, in this case, English. Otherwise, you may risk talking... translated English.

How “Salt” and Agh Are the Same Word?

The custom of offering bread and salt to guests is common to many Eastern European, but also Middle Eastern people, as well as to Armenians (աղ ու հաց agh oo hats “salt and bread”), although its meaning may have variations from country to country. It is also a figure of speech, since you share bread and salt every time you sit to have a meal with a guest.

You also share something more: the common origin of “salt” in both English and Armenian. The word salt comes from Old English sealt, derived from Proto-Germanic *saltom (German salz comes from here, hence the name of  the hometown of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Salzburg). This word common to Germanic languages, at its turn, comes from the common Proto-Indo-European language, where it has been reconstructed as *sal- . This is why we have, for instance, Latin sal, from which we are familiar with Spanish sal and French sel.

Armenian is an Indo-European language, but what does agh have to do with *sal-?

Unlike their Indo-European sister languages, Armenian agh and Greek ἅλς (‘als, pronounced hals) also come from *sal, but did not keep the initial *s, which fell on the way and was replaced either by an aspiration, in the case of Greek, or just by nothing, in the case of Armenian.

The letter ghad (ղատ), that is, gh (ղ), was derived from the Proto-Indo-European sound *l. You may remember that this letter was not pronounced gh in the fifth century, but as a variant of the sound l (լ); for this reason, աղ sounded close, but not exactly the same, to al (the exact scientific transliteration is ał). The letter ghad was the counterpart to the Greek letter lambda (l / λ). We have, for instance, the Biblical name Ghugas (Ղուկաս), which is the Greek Λουκάς (Loukas) or the English Luke.

The result of this inquiry is that:

Proto-Indo-European *sal ð Armenian agh

Proto-Indo-European *sal ð Latin sal ð Spanish sal

Proto Indo-European *sal ð Proto-Germanic *saltom ð English salt

Interestingly, salt-y and its Armenian translation agh­-i (աղի) also share the same sound i to create the adjective. Therefore, look over your health: don’t eat too salty! Or, if you want to say it in Armenian, shad aghi mi oodek (շատ աղի մի՛ ուտէք).