Sometimes It Is Not a Line

You traced a line.

You have a call on the first line.

You read between the lines.

You are waiting on a line.

You happen to know a little Armenian word that means “line”: գիծ (keedz). If you have enough vocabulary, you may also know that the verb “to line,” գծել (kudzel), comes from the same source.

Your issue is solved (or so you think):

1. “I traced a line”: Գիծ մը քաշեցի (Keedz muh kashetsee)
2. “I have a call on the first line”: Զանգ մը ունիմ առաջին գիծէն (Zank muh oonim aracheen keedzen)
3. “I read between the lines”: Գիծերու միջեւ կը կարդամ/կարդացի (Keedzeroo michev guh gartam/gartatsee)
4. “I am waiting on a line”: Գիծի կը սպասեմ (Keedzee guh usbasem)

The first two are correct, because keedz in Armenian is used both with the meaning of “a succession of points” and “telephone line.”

The last two are wrong. You may use “line” with all those meanings, but it does not mean that other languages, Armenian included, only use one word for all those meanings. (In the same way, other languages, Armenian included, use one word for several meanings, and English has several words instead.)

If you bother to open a dictionary, you will find that “line” does not only mean keedz. If you are talking about the lines in a notebook, or the lines in a poem, or the figurative expression “to read between the lines,” then you should be thinking of տող (dogh).

Equally important: when you go to wait on a line, you are not waiting on a keedz. You are actually lined up on a row. Therefore, that is a շարք (shark).

If you do not want to look like you translate when you talk, then remember:

1. “I read between the lines”: Տողերու միջեւ կը կարդամ/կարդացի (Dogheroo michev guh gartam/gartatsee)
2. “I am waiting on a line”: Շարքի կը սպասեմ (Sharki guh sbasem)

From Bombs to Soccer

You can probably figure out, without being an expert linguist, that the word “bomb” is related to the sound of “boom” that an explosive makes. Yes, that’s the way it is. The word came from French (what else) bombe, which derived from the Italian bomba. The Italian word, at its turn, probably came from the Latin bombus (“a deep, hollow noise,”), derived from Greek bombos (“deep and hollow sound”).

What about the Armenian word? The word ռումբ (roomp) should not be confused with the English rump , and even if you think that it is related to “boom,” you would be on the wrong track. Worse: it had nothing to do with an explosion.

The origin of roomp is unknown. It has been suggested a relation with Arabic rumH (ramaha ) “spear,” but it does not look promising for phonetic reasons.

What has a bomb to do with a spear? Apparently, nothing. However, this was one of the original meanings of roomp in Armenian ancient literature. In the fifth century, it meant “spear; sling-bullet, lead or iron ball.” In the thirteenth century, the Law Code of Mekhitar Gosh stated: “They have a spear, which is a roomp.” On the other hand, there was the word ռմբաքար (rumpakar) to designate the stone thrown with a catapult, a war machine used during sieges.

Therefore, since the spears and the stones are thrown, the word roomp designated in our days a bomb, which is also a projectile.

Of course, you also have the whole gallery of related words, such as ռմբակոծել (rumpagodzel “to bomb”) or ռմբահարել (rumpaharel “to explode a bomb”), but also ռմբակոծիչ (rumpagodzeech), which designates a “bombardier” (the type of airplane that bombs the enemy positions). However, do not think that all are just military words. The word ռմբարկու (rumpargoo), which means “bomber,” is also used in soccer, in a figurative sense of course, to designate… the goal scorer of a given team.  

Who will be the maximum rumpargoo (“goal scorer”) at the World Cup 2018? We will know very soon.

Children Soldiers?

The Armenian word մանկապարտէզ (mangabardez) is what linguists call a “calque translation” of the concept, first introduced in Germany, of a pre-school class or institution. While English simply copied the German word and adopted kindergarten, Armenian took the pains of translating it.

The translation of German kinder is մանուկ (manoog) in Armenian, indeed (the oo “disappears” when used in compound words). The Armenian word, which is also a proper name, derives from the Indo-European root *menu [the e should be read as a schwa], meaning “small, little,” with the addition of the diminutive suffix – ուկ (oog). Besides the meaning of “child,” manoog also means “small, of early age.”

That much we know. But how to make sense of the following passage in the ending part of the Holy Mass, which we hear every Sunday:

« Զխաղաղութիւն պարգեւեա (…) հայրապետութեան եւ հանրապետութեան ազգիս Հայոց, եւ հանրապետութեան Միացեալ նահանգացն Ամերիկայի, եւ զինուորեալ մանկանց նոցա (...)»

“Uzkhaghaghootyoon barkevya (...) hayrabedootyan yev hanrabedootyan azkis Hayots, yev hanrabedootyan Miyatsyal Nahankatsn Amerigayi, yev zinvoryal mangants notsa (…)”

For those who do not know Classical Armenian, zinvoryal mangants notsa is rendered into Modern Armenian as անոնց զինեալ մանուկներուն (anonts zinyal manoogneroon). Now, zinyal means “armed,” and if manoog is “children,” does it mean that the Holy Mass talks about the infamous practice of … “children soldiers”?

That would be ridiculous, because the sentence actually asks God: “Grant peace (…) to the Patriarchate and the Republic of the Armenian nation, and to the Republic of the United States of America, and…”

The issue is that manoog does not mean “children” here. The word had another meaning in Classical Armenian that has not been kept in Modern Armenian, namely, “young person, servant, soldier.” Therefore, zinvoryal mangants notsa refers to the “armed young people” of Armenia and the United States.

Interestingly, the prayer asks to grant peace to them. Therefore, to avoid wars as much as possible. 

Two Cousin Cows

The reconstruction of a prehistoric vocabulary, at the same time, reflects upon the culture that those ancient speakers had. When linguists found out that there was a common family of languages that included many European and a few Asian languages, the Indo-European family, they also theorized that there had been a proto-language from which the modern Indo-European languages descended. For the past two centuries, they have worked on the vocabulary of Proto-Indo-European (P.I.E.). Since the vocabulary of this proto-language is the product of a reconstruction and does not appear in any written source, its words are preceded by an asterisk.

P.I.E. had many words related to animal husbandry. One of those words with an asterisk is *gwou. The reader would hardly have any trouble to realize that *gwou is related to the familiar English word “cow.” Indeed it is.

The P.I.E. word *gwou meant “ox, bull, cow” and was inherited by many Indo-European languages. For instance, Sanskrit go, Persian gav, Proto-Germanic *kwon, and even Greek boûs and Latin bōs (the latter originated the English word “bovine”). It was also the source for the Armenian word կով (kov in Classical/Eastern Armenian; gov in Western Armenian). From the Proto-Germanic source came Old English cu, Middle English cu, qu, kowh, and our current “cow.”

Thus, we understand that, in this case, English and Armenian cows are cousins.

However, the old Armenian cows had an advantage over their English cousins. They also produced a word of Indo-European origin together with one of the sub-products of their milk. The Armenian word կոգի (kogi in Classical/Eastern Armenian; goki in Western Armenian) was used in Classical Armenian with the meaning “butter.” It derived from the Proto-Indo-European adjective *gwow-yo, like its cognates in Sanskrit (gavya, “coming from or belonging to a cow; milk”) and Avestan (the language of the Persian holy book, gaoiia, “coming from cattle, consisting of cattle”).

However, as it happens many times in language some Persian source provided another word, which became the one used in Modern Armenian: կարագ (karag in Classical/Eastern Armenian; garak in Western Armenian). And goki became a relic of the past.

Long Live the Dead Language

In the best case scenario, when a king or queen passed away, his or her successor was usually ready to go. Hence the criers went around with the phrase “The king (queen) is dead! Long live the king (queen)!” Wherever a monarchy is still around, they probably still do this.

This is probably how the expression “long live” entered the vocabulary to express a preference for a person or a place. Somehow, it displaced a possible competitor like the Middle English word hail “healthy,” which we use nowadays only in the expressions “Hail Mary” and “Hail to the Chief.”

Most English speakers are familiar with the Spanish word viva (also in Italian and Portuguese), which is the subjunctive form of the verb “to live” (vivir) and the word that Spanish vassals used to greet their kings: ¡ Viva el rey ! (“Long live the king!”). In this regard, it seems the Romance languages are more “economic” than English.

The Armenian language uses the future tense (third person) of the verb “to live,” namely, the word կեցցէ ( getseh ). For example, we say Կեցցէ՛   Հայաստան   (Getseh Hayastan “Long live Armenia”).

Wait a moment. Isn’t ապրիլ / abreel the Armenian word for “to live”? 

 

Indeed it is, but that is the Modern Armenian word. The root of getseh is the Classical Armenian verb կեալ ( geal ), which means exactly the same. Generally speaking, we do not use the word ապրի /abree to cheer kings or singers, or to simply cheer Armenia, even though we use ապրիս /abrees to address our cheer to someone (Ապրի՛ս , տղաս / Abrees, dughas “Bravo, my boy”) along with կեցցե՛ս / getsehs .

The same happens with the opposite of “long live,” that is, “down with.” While the expression is similar in Romance languages (e.g. Spanish Abajo el rey “Down with the king”), it is not the same for Armenian, where we use անկցի ( angtsee ), the third person of the future tense of the verb անկանիլ (anganeel) “to fall” in Classical Armenian. Thus, we would say Անկցի՛ թագաւորը (Angutsee takavoruh “Down with the king”).

The Modern Armenian verb derived from anganeel is the familiar verb իյնալ (eenal “to fall”), and the root ang continues to exist in a batch of words like անկում (angoom “fall”), անկարգել (angarkel “parachute”), անկելանոց (angelanots “asylum”), and others. 

Therefore, when you say that Classical Armenian is a dead language, don’t be so sure. You will be surprised to find so many words from the “dead” language that live everyday in our vocabulary. Getseh and angutsee are just two of them. 

(R)evolution

There are people who are in favor of evolutionary change, while others are prone to revolutionary change. After years of waiting for an “evolutionary” change that never arrived, the citizens of Armenia spoke up and the recent political upheaval became the “Velvet Revolution,” an exemplary series of peaceful demonstrations that led to the change of government and a new atmosphere of freedom and hope.

In English, the difference of one letter in the pair “revolution”-“evolution” indicates their common source, as well as their common meaning. The former originates from Latin revolutio, meaning “the act of revolving, rolling” and the latter, from Latin evolutio “unrolling.” 

Their Armenian counterparts, curiously, are also separated by one letter. We have two different pairs:

Revolution                                                          Evolution

յեղափոխութիւն (heghapokhootioon)         եղափոխութիւն (yeghapokhootioon)

յեղաշրջում (heghashurchoom)                     եղաշրջում (yeghashurchoom)

(Additionally, we have a third word for “evolution”: բնաշրջում / punashurchoom)

The Armenian pair, however, is a compound word: hegh + pokh + ootioon (suffix) and yegh + pokh + ootioon. It should be noted that the letter յ sounded “y” in Classical Armenian, and ե sound “e”; then, it was originally yeghapokhootioon and eghapokhootioon.

Interestingly, enough, while the English pair revolves (pun intended) around the concept of rolling, the Armenian pair derives from a Proto-Indo-European root, *g’el, meaning “to turn.” However, they modified their meaning over time, which became “change,” exactly the concept behind both revolution and evolution. Both hegh and yegh are primary and secondary forms of the same root, and, thus, the words are formed by a duplication of the same meaning, since pokh is the root of the verb փոխել (pokhel) “change.”

To sum up, people in Armenia were not simply asking to turn around the same tune, but… to change the tune.

Don’t Build an Appointment

It is anyone’s guess: the word “appointment” must be related to “point,” right?

Indeed. As it would be expected, it comes from French. The original French verb appointer comes from a point (“to the point”).

How do you say “appointment” in Armenian?

It depends on the meaning, since there is not a single word.

If you are going with the original meaning of “assigning a position to someone,” then you have the word նշանակում (nushanagoom), whose root is the noun նշանակ (nushanag “sign; signal”), and has a structure similar to the French word désignation (dé-sign-ation “appointment”) and the English word “assignment” (as-sign-ment, which used to mean “appointment to office” starting in the fifteenth century).

If you are having a scheduled visit to a doctor’s office or some kind of official business, then you cannot say Ես նշանակում մը ունիմ (Yes nushanagoom muh oonim (“I have a …”), because that would be a clumsy attempt at translating the word with a dictionary without thinking about the meaning. The Armenian language has created a different word for that, combining the concepts of “time” and “fixing,” which is what an appointment is. The result is ժամադրութիւն (jamatrootioon), and then you may say Ես ժամադրութիւն մը ունիմ ատամնաբոյժին հետ (Yes jamatrootioon muh oonim adamnapoojin hed “I have an appointment with the dentist”), and everything will be all right, both your appointment and your command of the language.

Talking about clumsy attempts, if you want to make an appointment, please use your common sense. You cannot build an appointment in English (one of the meanings of “make”), right? Then, do not think that you are entitled to do it in Armenian and then you can happily say: Ես ժամադրութիւն մը շինեցի (Yes jamatrootioon muh sheenetsee). That does not mean “I made an appointment,” but “I built an appointment”! Unless an appointment is a Lego toy, rest assured that you have simply killed the language with a single shot…