mirative musings

Thoughts of an (alleged)wordpriest

Hey all, I’ve written a little bit about genderlects in Ekavathian, one of my first conlangs that I’ve fleshed out (kind of a lie, it’s still very barebones in terms of lexicon). I’ve submitted it to Segments (r/conlangs’ journal) but since that won’t come out until around June I might as well just publish an early version of it on my blog.

You can find the preprint version of Men, Women, and Priests: On gender-governed registers in (Koiné) Ekavathian here:

https://files.catbox.moe/3zd0ly.pdf

N/S.

Okay, I didn’t think that this would be interesting but I was talking about scanning today at my job and I was kinda surprised about the weird gap between loaned verbs.

I’ve talked on my bluesky account that the phonology of loan verbs in Indonesian can be quite confusing, but I didn’t think that there would be more to it than this. One of the case studies was “klaim” where it can exhibit weird features in the spoken language where “mengklaim” is licit (where /ŋk/ clusters are disallowed stem-externally) though I’m not sure whether there’s a constraint that ranks loaned verbs with higher IDENT-IO in Indonesian than native words, where menglaim is expected (again, not an OT-ist).

But I have discovered something more interesting: a split between the rendering of sC- clusters from English. sC clusters are—to my knowledge—very IE-coded and not seen much else, and it’s not in the native cluster list either. Probably due to the fact that it’s pretty awkward in the sonority hierarchy (I’ve heard my grandma say /sətik/ for “steak” once or twice before).

Butttt… there comes a case where sC- clusters are loaned, especially in techy terms like scan or skip. In English, these are pretty much unambiguously monosyllabic words, but in Indonesian, scan can be either [səken] or [sken] (introducing a weird morphological dimension that I’ll discuss later).

Usually, the orthography’s not changed for these recent loans in Indonesian so I’ll just stick with those unadapted terms for the rest of the blog post.

Soooo… I’ve drawn two diagrams to show this.

Where syllable count is important is with the actor voice meŋ- (it’s actually meŋ- but let’s stick to traditions) where there is an allomorph of məŋə- in monosyllabic position. Though, monosyllabic verbs are usually loaned anyway, like pel “to mop” from Dutch vel or gas “to accelerate” from English gas.

(This is kind of like English more/-er splits—I think there’s a Bert Vaux paper on this)

That is, in formal Indonesian, that is. More colloquial Indonesian has reduced it down to the single nasal N- (perhaps through Javanese influence, since Javanese has a single N-); with, of course, a ŋə- allomorph where a verb is monosyllabic.

Below is a tree that I’ve prepped for this blog post specifically.

Soooo… what is weird about this distribution? First off, I was talking to a friend of mine that I’ve scanned a document, but when typing it, I’ve realized that nycan looks odd, and that I had to change it to ngescan—which, at that time, lit up a weird lamp in my head (not quite a lightbulb, like, a cursed chandelier at best).

Right, so I realized that I’ve been saying /ɲəken/ for a while but I’ve asked my friends to produce the actor voice for me (ok a bit of an informal choice and probably not quite the best methodology) and they variably produced what I’ve been saying (weird, orthographically), or the monosyllabic equivalent /ŋəsken/.

For the record, /s/ in Indonesian is dropped before the actor voice in lieu of the palatal nasal; so sapu “sweep, broom” becomes meny-apu “AV-sweep”. This process is the same with other voiceless stops, /p t k/ with the expected Points of Articulation. (Except tʃ, which behaves weirdly, like the prescribed pronunciation—and the most is men-curi “Av-steal” instead of menuri/menyuri?).

So yeah thanks for reading my ramblings again.

Hello! I’m kinda new to blogging so this is going to be a new experience for me. I’ve been holding off for most of the year to have my first blog post be a bang but whatever. I’m gonna ramble about weird/questionable glosses.

Linguists are known for making questionable sentences, especially about hitting children or dogs. The cause of this is mostly practical, though, since the word for “hit”, “punch”, or “kill” are invariably transitive in many languages (I have not yet read up on a language where a is strictly intransitive—in opposition to transitive verbs, so don’t count Lushootseed in this)

But, I would like to have a weekly thing where I will write about weird/questionable glosses that I stumble around. I will try to be consistent with this, but I’m not a very

This, would be in part inspired by the blog readingglosses.com where it’s not explicitly about weird glosses, but sentences like these would be up my alley of what I will post for this blog series.

Anyway, without much rambling, here’s the first sentence, taken from Pharris, Nicholas. 2006. Winuunsi Tm Talapaas: A Grammar of the Molalla Language.

Again, out of context this is hilarious (Though, do keep in mind that public indecency is a crime!), but you’d expect that it would be less weird when you learn about it in context.

But no, Molalla has shape classifiers that highlight the shape of the absolutive argument of the clause that it’s in. There are a couple of expected classifiers such as soft/long objects, but an interesting thing is that the shape classifiers do include “shaman” and “penis”. These overly-specific classifiers seem to be shared with some Pomoan languages, which do have a classifier for action done by gambling(!) cf. Mithun (2014) about it, it’s a good paper on linguistic genders and society.

Molalla shape classifiers

Best, N.

This is a test post

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