A few days ago I introduced the intricacies of the Mood Category of Uyghur grammar and how the grammatical fixation on how information was obtained lead to some really mystifying sentence structures. Today, drawing from Hamit Zakir’s Introduction to Modern Uighur, I share a few more mind-bending examples.
Two things of note:
First, I invite readers to observe the increasing ridiculousness of the verbs, which will in all these examples by the last word in the Uyghur sentence. Even those not studying Uyghur will appreciate the goofiness of a verb with 5+ syllables. Perhaps learners of German or Finnish can emit a comradely groan or two.
Second, notice how Zakir must increasingly resort to parenthetical additions in his English translations to capture the full meaning of the Uyghur sentence. This is illustrative and useful in showing how much *junk* is embedded in the verb. Enjoy!
Apamning éytishiche, men küzning béshida tughuluptimen.
According to what my mother said, I was born in early autumn.
Since the subject doesn’t remember being born, he has to go by what his mother tells him and so prudently uses the indirect statement mood.
Chüshümde, men qoylirimni tapalmaywétiptimen.
I dreamed that I was not able to find my sheep.
I absolutely love that when describing what happened in a dream, you use the indirect statement mood. Even though you were you in your dream, it’s still as if “the dream” told you what you were doing. Here, the abilitative mood (indicating one is or is not able to do something) and the continuous state (meaning an action is on going) is also crammed into this 7-syllable monster.
Qoyumning putini shu ikki déhqan sunduruptiken.
(As I found out later) these two peasants have broken the leg of my sheep.
Ikki déhqan méning paxlinimni soyuwetiptiken.
(As I see) the two peasants were slaughtering my lamb.
Ikki déhqan méning paxlinimni soyghiliwétiptiken.
(I found that) the two peasants were about to slaughter my lamb.
The suffix -dek and the copula -mish join the fun to cloud up things further.
Qoyumning putini özüm sunduruptimenmish.
(I am told that) I broke the leg of my sheep. (How can it be possible?)
Qoylirimni shu ikki déhqan béqiwétiptimish.
(I am told that) the two peasants were looking after my sheep. (Impossible!)
Men ulargha ikki paxlan bergiliwétiptimishmen.
(I am told that) I was going to give two of the lambs to them. (Would I?)
Qoyumning putini özüm sunduruptidekmen.
(I am told that) I broke my sheep’s leg myself. (Isn’t it ridiculous?)
Men ularning her birige birdin qoy bergüdekmishmen.
(I am asked that) I give each one of them a sheep. (Nonsense!)
Ular méning qoylirimni körmeptidekmish.
(They said that) they have not seen my sheep. (How is that possible?)
Two things to learn here: number one, Uyghurs love to pack all sorts of extra nuance, mood, and contextual information straight into the verb, a single word. It’s awesome. Two, if you go to Xinjiang, never let two peasants anywhere near your sheep.
—
Zakir, H. (2007). Introduction to Modern Uighur. Urumqi: Xinjiang University Press.
Comments 4
My life doesn’t have anyway near enough sheep-related drama. (How is that possible?)
Posted 17 Apr 2010 at 11:32 pm ¶Great post. I just found this blog and I’m really enjoying it. I’ve always been fascinated with Xinjiang and the Uighur culture. The language sounds like it’s a real trip!
Posted 20 Apr 2010 at 1:27 pm ¶Great post. I’ve never studied Uyghur, but from my knowledge of Uzbek and Kazakh, I begin to understand the idea that all of this is really one language with regional variations. At least grammatically they seem so similar – I didn’t need the provided translations to parse out the sentences – very cool!
Posted 22 Apr 2010 at 2:24 am ¶Especially if you’ve studied Uzbek. I’ve had some experience with Uzbek and my honest opinion is that Uzbek is just Uyghur with a silly accent. Whenever I speak Uzbek it’s the same feeling when in English I use an overblown (and extremely poorly done) Cockney accent. But I’m sure Uzbeks probably think of Uyghur the same way.
Posted 22 Apr 2010 at 2:57 am ¶