The toad and eagle-owl have been talking

Latest at the new blog: https://www.adventures-in-esperanto.com/have-been-talking/

What stresses a grammarian?

Time for another saturdayly post at the new location: https://www.adventures-in-esperanto.com/what-stresses-a-grammarian

Verse 33

In a little supplementary post, the new blog revisits a translation I did a decade ago, to spruce with imagery, audio and a few new comments: https://www.adventures-in-esperanto.com/verse-33/

Worth a gander

There’s another new post over at the new blog! Might be worth unsubscribing here if you’re already subscribed over at the new location – I’ll continue to update here for a while until I see the traffic balance out!

Head over to the new post here here: https://www.adventures-in-esperanto.com/worth-a-gander/

Passing into the beyond

You’ll find a new post over at the new blog! https://www.adventures-in-esperanto.com/passing-by/

Finally moving on

This has been a draft post for a while now…

I think it might be time to go…

… To somewhere other than this rusty ole wordpress!!!

I’m moving over to a snazzy new platform at my own little domain: adventures-in-esperanto.com

There you’ll even find a little AI app for practicing Esperanto that I’ve built. It’s for roleplaying random scenarios with generated characters, solving mysteries, going on adventures and more. Though you’ll need to get a pay-as-you-go Open AI key to use it, since it’s built on Open AI’s GPT chat model.

I’ll transfer and spruce up my old posts as I get time and amuse myself by generating appropriately weird / weirdly appropriate AI images for each post that I port over – so hopefully even old posts have a new life to them!

I’d love for you to subscribe over there, so you’ll catch when I post more content there. Thanks for all those who’ve commented & liked over the years – it warms my heart!

^{Image generated by a prompt to DALL·E 3}

A whiffle of chatter

Generated using a prompt to DALL·E 3

Apparently, you might consider “whiffle” and “chatter” to be frequentatives of “whiff” and “chat” respectively!

A frequentative is a form of word used to express repeated or habitual action. So “chatter” is repeated/habitual/ongoing “chat”.

In English, they are most usually formed with an “-le” or “-er” suffix, and you can see a bunch of examples on wikipedia. But the suffixes are not productive, i.e. slapping one of them onto the end of a word doesn’t necessarily generate a frequentative or even a term that anyone will understand. Sometimes, the relation between the two forms is even a bit lost to time.

Though I feel there is something pleasingly quaint about the English frequentatives. Crumble, whiffle, clamber, nuzzle, sniffle. Why do they all sound so tremulous… so wobbly?

Frequaintatives?

The closest I can think of in Esperanto is the “-ad” suffix, which denotes repeated, lasting, or habitual action:

Babili, babilado

To chat, chatter

But that doesn’t sound very wobbly – more like business as usual. It’s got the advantage that everyone’s going to be able to get your meaning, pretty much no matter what word you stick the suffix on, but it’s definitely got me wondering about how to introduce some delicate wobbliness.

Is it sufficient to use a diminutive? The suffix “-et” reduces a thing to its small or diminutive form.

pluvi, pluveti

To rain, to drizzle

“To rain” already implies duration so I don’t think we need “-ad” above… but perhaps a combined “-adet” or “- etad” suffix (depending on whether the original word must be diminufied or made continual first) would make sense? Perhaps the slight unusualness of the construction would be enough to feel wobbly?

frapi, frapeti, frapetadi

To hit, to pat, to patter?

Or perhaps:

Fuzi, fuzado, fuzadeto

To fizz, fizzing, fizzle?

Well it makes sense to me.

Inedibilification

^{Photo generated by DALL·E 3}

An Esperanto article gave me an idea for an English word: “inedibilify” = to make (something) inedible. And its corresponding noun form “inedibilification”. I suspect you might have even been able to parse out that meaning before I suggested it, because that “-ify” suffix in English is pretty neat for word-building and often acts pretty much like the Esperanto “-ig” (see posts about “ig”):

Manĝi, manĝebla, nemanĝebla, nemanĝebligi

To eat, edible, inedible, to make inedible (inedibilify!)

Vi nemanĝebligis mian kukon

You inedibilified my cake! (made my cake inedible)

But I’ve been sitting on telling you about this, because vexingly, I couldn’t think of an English term for the actual original Esperanto inspiration: nemanĝebliĝi = to become inedible

Post tago en la suno, la sciuro nemanĝebliĝis.

After a day in the sun, the squirrel became inedible.

Is there some kind of English suffix for “to become <something>” like our useful Esperanto “-iĝ”? Or is Esperanto just far too cool for English? (see posts about “-iĝ”)

And just because I always have to take things too far, using the tool suffix “-il” (which when attached to X makes something which makes/does X) – see posts about -il):

Ĉiu scias ke brokolo estas nur nemanĝebligilo.

Everyone knows that broccoli is just an inedibilifier.

The result of that which is done

Photo by Hannah Domsic on Unsplash

I’ve already covered ya basic participle shenanigans at length in the “partying with participles” series, but I did spot a nice little extra recently.

Participles are a big topic, but once the system is in your brain, it’s pretty neat. To briefly recap, we basically have a bunch of suffixes that we can apply to a verbal rootword in order to build a new word to describe something, where that new word encodes:

1. Whether the action is completed, ongoing, or yet to occur, and
2. Whether the thing being described is doing the action or having the action done to it

	Doing the action	Receiver of the action
Action completed	-int	-it
Action ongoing	-ant	-at
Action yet to occur	-ont	-ot

Then once you’ve added the necessary ending, you make it a noun, adjective or adverb according to taste with the -o, -a, or -e endings respectively:

La falantaj folioj estas ruĝaj.

The falling leaves are red.
The action is ongoing, and is an adjective describing the noun ‘leaves’. The leaves are doing the falling.

La manĝota pomo mortigos lin.

The apple about to be eaten will kill him.
The action is yet to occur, and is an adjective describing the noun ‘apple’. The apple is on the receiving end of the eating action.

La kantonto estas mia amiko.

The one/person about to sing is my friend.
The action is yet to occur, and is an noun. The person is doing the singing.

Notice the key quirk here: that the noun forms are always someone, not just any thing or any property – a person. Which brings me to a neat little trick that hadn’t yet occurred to me, and then I saw it whilst perusing the dictionary (I do actually have friends).

Esperanto actually has suffixes for deriving a “thing” from a root word, or deriving a “quality/property” from a root word – and you can of course freely smash them onto the end of participles too.

La rompitaĵo refariĝos.

Literally: The thing that was broken shall be remade.
Less clumsily: That which was broken shall be remade

The “aĵ” suffix makes a concrete thing from a root. So the action described by “rompit-” (the breaking is complete, so -i-, and the thing described was on the receiving end of the breaking so -t not -nt) is made into a concrete broken thing by the suffix.

And how about the “quality of <root>” suffix “-ec“?

Tiun rompitecon ni ĉiuj konas.

We are all familiar with that brokenness.
Literally “that quality of having been broken” (romp-it-ec-o).

Pretty flippin’ neat I thought. Very concise expression. I wonder if you’d agree that the following is sufficient to tersely express the spirit of a famous quote:

Asertitaĵo senpruva, tiel forigita senpruve

That which is asserted without proof can be dismissed without proof (literally: a thing asserted without proof, so dismissed without proof)

And as a little bonus, I noticed a neat word used in the dictionary definition of “-itaĵo”:

ĝisrezulte

until completion

What a nice word-build using “ĝis” (until/up to). A nice simple adverb to tag next to an action that you want to make clear was continued until completion. E.g.

Li ĝisrezulte farbis la murojn

He painted the walls until they were done

Annnnnd the coolest usage of “-aĵo” for a participle I can think of so far……

La okazontaĵo

That which will come to pass (or: “will occur” if you’re dull inside)

The Afterput Also

Photo by Cederic Vandenberghe on Unsplash

Afterput:

la postmetita “ankaŭ”

the “also” which is put after [something]
[from “post” (after) + the verb “meti” (to put) in its past participle “ita” form]

Aside from the delicious conciseness of “postmetita” (after-put), there’s a nice point in this section of the PMEG (which everyone by now should know is practically my Esperanto holy book).

Usually the word “ankaǔ” (“also” / “too”) is used immediately before the term it’s related to:

sciuroj (kaj ankaǔ meloj) ĉeestas la feston

squirrels (and also badgers) attended the party

But there are circumstances where that’s not the case – where it can appear after. And that’s usually after pronouns (I, she, they, etc.).

ili ankaǔ jam faris ruzajn planojn

they too had made cunning plans

Then the PMEG goes on to say that this is worth avoiding if there’s any chance of misunderstanding. And that got me wondering what structures could lead to misunderstanding, given that this seems like such a natural structure in English.

And I think the answer is when there’s a different possible meaning if the “also” were to apply to the following word instead – which doesn’t happen so much in English, no doubt because we’d use “also” instead of “too”. Let’s use an example…

mi ankaǔ amas ŝin

I too love her

Or is that “I also love her”? Does that mean 1. “I love her” in addition to someone else loving her? Or 2. is it that “I love her” in addition to some other emotion I feel toward her? In other words, does “ankaǔ” apply to “mi” (1) or does it apply to “amas” (2)- there’s the ambiguity.

Therefore, if we mean 1, we could say “ankaǔ mi amas ŝin” to eliminate the other possible interpretation.

If you’re curious, the other common place for an afterput also is with the “ki-” words:

la melestro alvenis, kaj nun ĉiuj atendas la sciureston, kiu ankaǔ estis malfrua

The leader of the badgers arrived, and now everyone is waiting for the leader of the squirrels who too was late

Unless the “also” is related to the entire sub-phrase or a multiword phrase (rather than just the “ki-” word):

la melo estis perforta kiam li estis kolera, kaj ankaǔ kiam li estis feliĉa

The badger was violent when he was angry and also when he was happy

To me, it often seemed to come down to “kiu” having the “also” afterput, and the other “ki-” words having it beforeput, but maybe that’s just my limited imagination!

Enjoying the Moment

Photo by Kalen Emsley on Unsplash

Here’s a few musings that occurred to me as I read a particularly neat term recently:

antaŭĝoji = to look forward to

(an-tou-JO-yee, “ou” as in “ouch”)

I do love a ŭ followed by a circumflexed letter; it really does make a pleasant squiggle, which here is then also complemented nicely by the double dots that follow across the i and j.

la meloj antaŭĝojis la kvietan nokton

the badgers looked forward to the quiet night

Our term’s main component is “ĝoji”, which means “to rejoice” or “to be glad/happy”, from the same origin as English “joy”. It appears here with the term “antaŭ” as a prefix, which otherwise when appearing alone and friendless, means simply “before” or “in front of”. It is often used as a prefix with a similar meaning to the English prefix “pre-“:

antaŭjuĝi = to prejudge | antaŭjuĝo = prejudice

from “juĝi” = “to judge”

So you might think of “antaŭ-ĝoji” as “pre-enjoying” (pre-joying, pre-happying). And that immediately gets me wondering what other prefixing mischief I can substitute in there for a giggle. How about:

postĝoji

to enjoy something having happened? post-enjoying? post-happying?

“Post” is the opposite of “antaŭ” – it means “after” (or “behind”). So the gladness is on the other side of the nice event – we’re no longer looking forward it, we’re looking backward to it.

mi lacege postĝojis la grandan manĝon

I exhaustedly enjoyed the large meal [already in my belly]

Perhaps like a kind of nostalgia or afterglow?

ili kune enlite postĝojis

Together in bed, they enjoyed the afterglow

Though that’s its verb form, which I quite like, so it sounds cooler – more like “they afterglowed together”. We could use the noun form to render the English sentence more exactly, but then we’d have to use a verb like “enjoyed” or “felt” to convey the idea via the noun:

ili kune enlite ĝuis/ĝojis/sentis la postĝojon

Change the verbal ending to an “o” for the noun form, and don’t forget the “n” since it’s the direct object of the verb!

But we’ve skipped over the actual enjoyable bit, so how about we go back with:

nunĝoji = to enjoy the moment (enjoy the now)

from “nun” = “now”, literally, “to enjoy now”

Slap it in a sentence:

Ĉesu tropensi kaj simple nunĝoju!

Stop overthinking and just enjoy the moment (the -u ending makes a verb into a command)

Well I think that’s pretty neat, ĉu ne?

And here’s a few bonus “antaŭ”-prefixed terms. When building words using antaŭ, if “pre-” doesn’t work as a translation in your mind, you could think of “fore-” or “beforehand” as alternatives:

antaŭscii

to know beforehand, pronounced: an-toust-SEE-ee

antaŭdiri

to foretell

antaŭafikso

prefix

Now learn the difference, at your proper cost, / Betwixt true valour and an empty boast.

Kneller, Godfrey; John Dryden (1631-1700), Playwright, Poet Laureate and Critic; Trinity College, University of Cambridge; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/john-dryden-16311700-playwright-poet-laureate-and-critic-134745

I’ve been thinking about the neatness of the Esperanto “propra” = “own”.

ĉiu propran saĝon posedas

everyone possesses their own wisdom

Notice how the English translation requires us to restate the possessive adjective (“their”) to complete the phrase – but if you’re truly honest with yourself, you know that the word “own” should be sufficient alone to get that meaning across – just like “propra” is sufficient in the Esperanto. So the English method just leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

Esperanto’s “propra” is very useful for talking in generalities:

per propra volo

by one’s own will

Interestingly, though it sounds weird to my ear now, I learnt that English’s “proper” was used like “own” too. Makes sense – they’ll both have descended (like some other languages) from Latin’s “proprius”. Wiktionary has quotations ranging from 1596 to 1946. Including my post title and this:

Each animal has its proper pleasure, and the proper pleasure of man is connected with reason.

Bertrand Russell, A History of Western Philosophy

My title usage, and the first usage of “proper” in the above quote actually both seem to correspond more to Esperanto’s “mem” rather than “propra” – a way of emphasising the ownership introduced, i.e. “the animal’s pleasure and no other’s“.

However, the second usage “the proper pleasure of man” is almost looking like Esperanto’s “propra” without even having to restate the possessive – right?

But I suppose, because of how else English uses proper, it’s a bit too ambiguous to start working this in to everything:

everyone possesses proper wisdom

their own wisdom? or the correct wisdom?

Shame! But surely, at the very least, if English cared a jot about anybody’s feelings it would at least allow “everyone possesses own wisdom”. Alas not.

Thank goodness we have Esperanto 🙂

p.s. I never really thought about the use of “proper” in “proper noun”. It’s not in contrast to “improper/incorrect” but instead “common” nouns. So it’s more like that older meaning of proper – it’s the “own” name of a specific thing – it belongs specifically to the thing being named. Which, as I think about it, seems a natural extension of one of the Latin “proprius” definitions: “special” or “particular”.

Nuances of Repetition

Image by Shabinh from Pixabay

I stumbled across a little nuance in how we talk about repeated actions. I stumbled across a little nuance… ok, too obvious.

When we use a noun (Esperanto O-word) that names an action, we usually talk about a single instance of that action, and we can talk about several using the plural form.

Let’s roll with eĥo (echo), because ĥ is an under-appreciated letter (pronounced like the ch in Scottish loch).

Eĥo

A single echo

Eĥoj

Echoes – more than one echo

But in Esperanto, we also have access to the suffix “ad” (click to see related posts), which implies that an action is repeated or continual:

Eĥado

A long echoing, or several echoes together at a time.

What if we went full-on and pluralised that too? What then?

Eĥadoj

Several long echoes, or several times when echoes were repeated.

What happens is that we talk then of several long echoings or several points when echoes were repeated! Makes sense. I’d never really thought about comparing plurality with repeatedness, so I thought that was interesting! (check out the inspiration source at PMEG).

And I hope you’re enjoying as much as me the fact that an “echo” in itself is also a repeated sound, so we’ve got repeats inside repeats…

Whenever I talk about a word I tend to do a dictionary dive, and I wanted to also share something I found when reading up on eĥo:

Seneĥe

Echolessly

An example usage might be:

La krio seneĥe velkis

The cry echolessly faded

It’s just a joy to pronounce 🙂

In favour of numberable

Photo by Igor Ovsyannykov from Pexels

If you’re anything like me, you often sit pondering the nature of countable nouns. The countability, or enumerability, of things is an important consideration – despite my spellchecker refusing to acknowledge it.

This is the idea that some nouns name individual things that one could count, and yet others name things whereby the quantity is unspecified or arbitrary, a non-individual thing or substance. And we use these nouns slightly differently. For example, with countable nouns like “squirrel”, “house”, and “tree”, we can talk about them like this:

There are two squirrels in a house.

But that would sound mega weird with uncountable nouns like “water”, “sand”, or “milk”:

There are two sands in a milk.

Because those are not countable; talking about one or more of them is a bit strange. There are some uncountable nouns, like “metal”, where we do sometimes use the plural to refer to many types of that noun (rather than individual instances). For example:

She held in her grasp two metals.

This does not mean two bits of metal, this means two types of metal.

This is all largely the same in Esperanto, with the same words you’d expect. But there is an interesting word-building quirk to be aware of!

When we make words with the aĵ suffix, we make a concrete thing to do with the root word. For example: “utila” means “useful”, and “utilaĵo” is a “useful thing”.

And the quirk to be aware of is that words produced in this manner can frequently make sense as either countable or non-countable nouns, and you’ll find them in both uses. One example that PMEG discusses is “produktaĵo”. The verb “produkti” means “to produce” so “produktaĵo” is a thing which is produced, and can be countable or non-countable depending on context. It is like the difference between English “product” and “produce”, where “product” names individual countable things, but we talk about “produce” as we would “water”:

Kiam vi kolektos la produktaĵon de la tero…

When you have gathered the produce of the land…

Sciuroj importas 75% de siaj produktaĵoj

Squirrels import 75% of their products.

Most of the time, context is gonna show you which you’d want to translate it as. And obviously the plural “j” is often a dead giveaway that we’re being countable. But sometimes, the sentence might be short enough that the meaning could go either way, the PMEG gives:

Li lavis tolaĵon

Countable: He washed a linen (e.g. item of clothing made of linen)
Uncountable: He washed linen

Pretty neat!

By the way, the Esperanto for “to count” is “nombri” from “nombro” (number). So “countable” is “nombrebla”, which is pretty delicious in my books. It’s inspired me to prefer “numberable” in English over all the other pretenders: countable, numerable, enumerable…

One Neat Trick

To -i or to -ado

Photo by Emre Öztürk on Unsplash

What’s the difference between tricking and tricking? Or “trompi” and “trompado”?

For those unfamiliar with the suffixes, “i” is the base form of a verb, the dictionary form, the infinitive. So trompi means “to trick” – no sense of time/tense. Notice how when we want to put it in e.g. present tense in English we lose the “to”, and even sometimes add an “s”: “he tricks the squirrel” (present tense in Esperanto: trompas). But we use this base form under some circumstances, e.g. “he loves to trick squirrels” (“loves” is doing our tense work).

The “-ado” suffix has a few purposes, but the one I’m interested in here is using it to create the noun (or name) of an action from the action verb. So for example “trompi” is a verb meaning “to trick”, but “trompado” is a noun, so we can talk about “the tricking” of something, in a nouny way. E.g. “the tricking of squirrels is no simple matter”. If you want to learn a bit about Esperanto root words, and making them nouns/verbs/adjectives here’s an old blog post.

So lets compare this the usage of “trompi” and “trompado” below as closely as we can:

1.

la ruzaj meloj amas trompi sciurojn

the cunning badgers love tricking (to trick) squirrels

2.

la ruzaj meloj amas trompadon de sciuroj

the cunning badgers love the tricking of squirrels

In both cases, we’ve got the revelation that this particular clan of badgers enjoy squirrels getting tricked. But you may see the difference between these two sentences even from the English: in example 1, we’re suggesting that what the badgers enjoy is doing the tricking themselves, but in 2, we make no such implication; we’re suggesting that the badgers find enjoyment regardless of who is performing the tricking. And that’s exactly the difference in the use of -i and -ado here! The -i form always implies a subject doing the action, and it’s usually the same subject as the verb it’s working with (here “amas”), but -ado is independent of subject. Neat huh.

This post was inspired by this PMEG page, where you’ll also find the following quote, which demonstrates fluidly the flexible neatness of Esperanto participles.

Aga O-vorto nomas agon sen konsideri eventualan faranton

An action O-word names an action without considering a potential do-er (i.e. one who might do the action)

To me, “sen konsideri eventualan faranton” is a construction that flows so neatly in Esperanto, but always feels like a stumble in English. As you can see in my translation, I either resort to the informal “do-er”), or I have to spell out the exact meaning laboriously “one who does the action”. I could perhaps strain and use other terms like “actor”, but it feels clunky, and it’s nice to be able to derive my meaning from the base word that’s already appropriate: “do” (fari).

Learn more about Esperanto participles from my old series on them: https://adventuresinesperanto.wordpress.com/category/esperanto-quirks/partying-with-participles/.

“Screwing” is fun in Esperanto

I just had quite the enjoyable eight or so minutes; I discovered the word for “screw” in Esperanto, and it is gorgeous and supremely fun to pronounce over and over:

ŝraŭbi

The first bit might take some effort if you’re not used to the combo, because we’ve got ŝ sounding like “sh” in “show”, immediately followed by a rolled r! Then that satisfying ending with aŭ (like “ow” in “how”) followed by bi  (like the word “bee”).

As Esperanto regulars will see, the “i” ending makes this the verb form, so it means “to screw”, from the base noun form “ŝraŭbo” which is just “a screw”.

And it only gets better with some of the combos you can build off of this guy. Let me show you a couple of my faves.

ŝraŭbaĵilo = screw threading tool

Now that’s fun to say, and I think, quite a neat construction. Here we’ve got two suffixes:

• aĵ : the ĵ is like the “s” in “pleasure”. This suffix when applied to a root which is at base a noun, produces that concrete thing/object which is most related to the original thing. So applying it to “wood” makes “something made from wood” applying it to spider makes “spider web”. Typically context will make this most clear. Here, “ŝraŭbaĵo” would be “screw threading”. See my other posts referring to aĵ. The PMEG has a super useful page for better understanding this powerful suffix here.
• il: applying this suffix (pronounced like “eel”) to a root we get a “tool for [root] “.  Here, we get a “tool for producing screw threading”! Of course, followed by the “o” noun ending. Other posts mentioning il here.

ŝraŭbingo = nut

This also quite neatly produces a related word, by quite simple means. We’ve got the suffix: ing which means “holder for [root]”!

But crucially, the important bit is that these words are delightful to wrap the tongue around!

If you’d like to stick to the beauty of Esperanto’s one sound per letter, then remember to pronounce the ending as “bin” followed by “go” (as “go” in “got”), instead of how the “ng” merges in English “bingo”. But you won’t be hassled if you don’t care about such things!

Now, my wife caught me talking about using nuts on screws (not bolts), and gave me a informative lecture! So for anyone who knows the differences: if we go by the dictionary at vortaro.net , “ŝraŭbo” in Esperanto is a very general term for a cylindrical threaded object that one turns to fix!

Esperanto missed its chance

I’m not certain whether Esperanto can recover from such a horrendous and unforgivable oversight. I feel like it might be possible, but it’d take some work. Let me explain.

I’m talking about a dilemma that many Esperantistas will have encountered: the actual Esperanto word for dilemma “dilemo”.

Well now, the term “dilemma” and its many incarnations in other languages (dilema, dilemma, dilemme, Дилемма, dilema), originate from the greek for “double proposition”. Surviving separately in both English and Esperanto are the terms “lemma” and “lemo” respectively for just “proposition”. This separation means that “trilemma” is also used in English, for when you’ve got three alternatives to consider instead of two!

I thought that was pretty neat. But this is only possible because English is numerically promiscuous, caring not whether the number 2 is represented using prefixes like “bi”, “two”, or “di”.

To make this relationship more clear, I reckon that Esperanto should have gone for “dulemo” since our fair “two” is “du”. This would be the perfect hint that tri-lemo, dek-lemo and sescent-sesdek-ses-lemo are perfectly reasonable 😀

Now, of course I’m just playing with you, Esperanto; I love you to bits. But you gotta admit, dulemo is way more fun even by itself. For one, it looks like it could also mean “the tendency to be a ‘d-person'”, whatever that might be…  😀 (d(o) – ul – emo).

Turn around – de temp’ al temp’ mi disrompiĝas!

It’s all about word versatility this evenin’. We turn a simple word into whole bag of tricks. So don’t turn back, nor avert your eyes. The word of interest is:

Turni : To Turn (pronounced TOOR-nee)

This word specifically means that the subject is turning something. As in “I turned the hands of the clock”, or even “I turned the clock into a watch”. But never “I turned around” or “I turned into a badger”. The difference with those last ones, is that they are implying that the turning is happening to the subject of the verb, the thing doing the action. But Esperanto has a different word for that.

Therefore, if I said the broken phrase “Mi turnis en melon” for “I turned into a badger”, an Esperantist would ask you “You turned what into a badger?” Your sentence is incomplete!

First, lets take the dictionary dive:

Turnilo: winch / crank / tool for turning

Using the suffix “-il” for specifying a tool for performing an action, we can arrive at “a tool for turning”, which is quite versatile in itself; we can tack any noun at the front to get “a tool for turning [noun]”:

• ŝraŭbturnilo: screwdriver
• diskturnilo: disk unit / drive / turn table

Deturni: to turn away / to avert

Deturnu viajn okulojn! = Avert your eyes! Here we use the word for “from”. So instead of just turning a thing, we’re turning it from something else. Whenever you get a nice strong action word like this, you can make fun use of “sen” = “without” to describe things that proceed without that action. Here the “a” ending makes an adjective, for describing nouns:

• sendeturna: without turning away / unflinchingly.  “la sendeturna okulo” = “The unaverting / unflinching eye”.

Returni: to turn back

The “re” prefix means repetition, or going back. So putting the “re” infront of “turni” will usually mean turning something back the other way, or in the opposite direction.

Turniĝi: to turn (around) / rotate / gyrate / revolve (toor-NEE-jee)

Here’s that sneaky “iĝ” suffix again. It means literally “to become [turned]”. Our root here is “turn”. So this is like putting the turning action back on the subject. Remember how we couldn’t use “turni” to have the subject talk about itself turning, it must always be turning something else? Well we can with the suffix: I turned into a badger = Mi turniĝis en melon. While it might be hard at first to deal with Esperanto’s strict nature about who is the subject of a verb, it actually means the sense of words very easy to interpret and reason over for word building when you get the hang of it.

Elturniĝi: to manoeuvre / wangle / contrive

Woah. How did we get that? Looks like a flippin’ Elvish name! So we start with the basic “turniĝi” and add to it the ever useful “el” meaning “out of”. So it’s literally like turning yourself out of a difficult situation! And whenever you’ve got yourself a cool verb like that, you can always make a word to describe someone with that quality:

Elturniĝema: elusive, resourceful, slippery, wily

The “em” suffix (and the adjective “a” ending here) describes something that has the tendency, inclination, or disposition for a given action. So something/someone that is “elturniĝema” is one who tends to be able to wangle and manoeuvre!

A lot of the above can be mix ‘n’ matched, many things that work for “turni” (turning something) work for “turniĝi” (being turned)!

Kapturno: dizziness, giddiness, swimming (in head), vertigo

Using the noun ending “o”, a “turno” is just “a turn(ing)”. When we combine with “kapo” = “head”, we have a head-turning. Which is used to refer to when it feels like your head keeps turning you strangely when you’re a bit dizzy!

And now for some extra fun outside of the safety of a dictionary:

Diskturnisto: DJ

Using the “ist” suffix, which is like English “er” in “Shoemaker”, “Writer”, “Runner”, or “ist” in “Novelist”, “Florist”, “Tourist”, we can define someone who is professionally occupied with turning disks 😀

Neturnita: Unturned / Yet to turn

One might used this to describe someone bitten by a zombie but not yet dead… 😛

Apply squirrels where needed – Apliku laŭbezone sciurojn

I recently realised that one of the little enjoyments of my day is when I discover words that demonstrate neat uses of word building. And so this marks the start of a new sub-type of blog post category!

In “productive words”, I’ll introduce a root word which I think has one or more interesting, convenient, or useful constructions that are also found in an Esperanto dictionary (safety reasons). Then, we’ll completely throw caution to the wind and posit some more constructions that aren’t in the dictionary for the sheer heck of it.

Feel free to ask about any words used, or methods of construction; I won’t go into all of them here to start.

Bezoni : To Need

Dictionary examples:

1. laŭbezone: where needed / as need be / as needed
2. bezonaĵo: requisite / a thing that is necessary
3. senbezona: needless

“Laŭ” (“according to” / “following” / “along”) is a frequent culprit for producing interesting constructed words. It works so nicely with so many things. Number 1 is definitely my favourite! So succinct, and avoids those different English variations in favour of a single logical version. But I do also like how simply we get to “requisite” using the “aĵ” suffix!

My thoughts:

1. Bezonema: needy
2. Bezonaĉo: base/nasty urge/need

Vortaro.net also has “necesbezono” as “manko de ĉio, kion postulas la fizika vivo”. What would you say that translates to? Basic needs?

Why not… Combine the power of -ig & -iĝ?!

… It’s sheer madness,  that’s why. But it’s fun, and that’s what we’re here for.

I was trawling through the latest updates to the PMEG (because I know how to party), and found that it’s not entirely unheard of to combine the suffixes -ig & -iĝ in a word. But -ig & -iĝ are sorta like opposites, why don’t they just cancel out?

These suffixes are really useful word-building tools, so if you’re not familiar with how they work, then you can see some examples in my previous post here. Otherwise, here’s quick recap (skip if you’re familiar with -ig & -iĝ):

“g” is pronounced like “g” in “goat”, and “ĝ” is pronounced like “g” in “gem”.

[word]+ig = cause / make happen [word]

For example :

• “morti” = “to die”
• “mortigi” = “to kill” (literally: cause to die)

[word]+iĝ = become [word]

For example:

• “rompi” = “to break (something)”
• “rompiĝi” = “to become broken”  (In English we tend to just keep using “break”, basically something breaking).

So the reason one might expect the suffixes to cancel out is: you’ve got “rompiĝi” = “to become broken”, so when adding -ig (rompiĝigi) you might expect to have made: “to cause something to become broken” which seems just the same as “rompi” (to break something)!

Note that the “i” ending after the suffixes is what makes the final constructed words into verbs.

An example of both -ig & -iĝ being used in the PMEG is: formoviĝigi

What a beautiful beast of a word, eh? Break it down:

1. movi: to move (something)
2. formovi: to move (something) away
3. formoviĝi: to be moved away / to become moved away
4. formoviĝigi: to cause to be moved away / to make (something) moved away

There’s a nuanced difference of meaning between your standard formovi and formoviĝigi.

“Formovi” alone implies a direct causation: we actually moved something away. Whereas there’s room for indirect methods in “formoviĝigi”, because we’re just causing something to end up being moved, to become moved. So the addition of “ig” doesn’t quite return us to the original meaning of “formovi”.

In the PMEG’s example, the moving is accomplished through intimidation, not actual physical movement:

• Rajdmilicanoj formoviĝigis la publikon = Yeomen made the public move away.

Well, we’ve had our fun. But, of course, we must be sensible when talking to new people. It’s usually more clear to just separate off the -ig:

• Rajdmilicanoj igis la publikon formoviĝi

But where’s the excitement there!? I say just talk more slowly and more loudly 😀 ĥeĥe

Esperantic Quest

“Esperantic”! Such a tasty word. I wish we had something like “Englic” as the adjectival form of English. A missed opportunity.

Long ago, I blitzed through the first version of the Esperanto course on Duolingo, and actually found it very useful for cementing vocabulary in my head in a way that helped my understanding and generation of sentences, right from the basics.

It has come to my attention in recent days that the course seems to have undergone a large update, with plenty new and higher level material! So the time has come to undertake some more Duolingo learning, since my vocabulary sucks compared to my grammar understanding.

Is there anyone who would care join the Esperanta Serĉado? A little competition always makes things more fun. Follow me at duolingo.com/AndehR !

Vintro Venas…

Frothing at the Mouth

In the past weeks, a number of perfectly pleasant interactions with completely competent individuals out in the world made me feel very… animated, shall we say. And after regaling friends with my tales of these… Interactions… A lovely little Esperanto word formed in my brain:

• ŝaŭmbuŝa

Besides being gorgeous and bouncy with them lil’ accents and an almost balanced feeling (ŝaŭ … uŝa), it’s just plain fun to say aloud:

• sh + ow (as in “cow”) + m + BOO + sha
• showm-BOO-sha

And I think it’s a neat way of expressing the sentiment of this post’s title idiom:

• ŝaŭmo = froth/foam
• buŝo = mouth
• ŝaŭmbuŝo = a frothing/foaming mouth
• li estis ŝaŭmbuŝa = He was frothing at the mouth (literally: he was froth-mouthed, via the adjectival -a ending)
• ili trasuferis lian ŝaŭmbuŝan rakonton = They suffered through his frothing-mouthed story.

We could even go full adverb here (with the magic adverb-making -e ending) should we need to describe a verb instead of a noun/pronoun:

• ŝaŭmbuŝe = froth-mouthedly / with a frothing mouth / while foaming at the mouth / etc.
• ŝi laŭte kriis ŝaŭmbuŝe = She shouted loudly, foaming at the mouth

This word is an example usage of a word-building formula I discussed on the blog in the distant past, but instead here we’re using an “object root” (ŝaŭmo) as the property “P”. Why not take a trip into my past and see: https://adventuresinesperanto.wordpress.com/2012/02/24/word-building-formula/

Cut the red and blue wires!

Which wires did you cut?

Maybe this would’ve been clearer if I’d chosen one of these for the title:

1. Tranĉu la ruĝan kaj bluan dratojn!
2. Tranĉu la ruĝajn kaj bluajn dratojn!

I noticed an interesting post (link) on the lernu.net forums concerning a similar ambiguity concerning beach flags. So of course I ambled on over to the PMEG (link) for some advice.

I had never thought of using the “a(n)” and “aj(n)” (singular and plural adjective endings) as tools to reduce ambiguity in this way; I thought it was pretty damn cool! In particular, I hadn’t considered using singular adjectives to refer to plural nouns like that.

As I understand it, the singular endings in example 1 imply that we are talking about a blue wire and a red wire. But the plural endings in example 2 imply that we’re probably talking about several red ‘n’ blue wires (because each of the red and blue adjectives apply to all wires)!

Though I do wonder whether 2 could potentially refer to all of them technically…

To Word-thingy

As you know, the PMEG is a pretty awesome resource. And a great model for clear and concise language. Whilst having a read the other day, it used a word that particularly tickled me. Check out this sentence:

• En la komencaj tempoj la principoj por fari A-vortojn el ne-ecaj radikoj ne estis klare vortumitaj = In the early days [of Esperanto], the principles for making A-words from non-quality roots were not clearly vortumitaj.

Now, I may be reading into this a bit much, but this struck me as a particularly inticing use of the suffix “-um”.

The suffix “-um” has an indefinite meaning. It really has to be used sparingly for when nothing else will do, otherwise we’d be awash with ambiguity. It’s often used on a root when there’s a common thing done with the root, that the normal form of the root does not really cover, but that everyone will guess when you’re talking about it.

I once read someone describe its use on an action root as “to do the X thing” where X is the root. So “brakumi” is “to do the arm thing”, and context or common usage would tell us this is “to hug”. In fact, I think I saw this on the “Amikumu” website, which describes the meaning of “amikumu” as “do the friend thing” (pass time with friends).

Vortaro.net equates “vortumi” with “vortigi” (to express with words / to phrase). By itself this is quite a neat word. But why might PMEG have chosen “vortumi” instead of “vortigi”?

The PMEG sentence is not trying to say that no one ever tried to talk about the word building principles, but that no one set them out like the PMEG is doing in a more clear, official-like manner for others to follow. So I think “vortumi” is actually quite like the English idiom “to put into words”, which also implies “put into speech or writing”!

Let’s be Sensible

In a very old post of mine (https://adventuresinesperanto.wordpress.com/2011/07/20/adjective-antics/), I started talking about what comes out when we start sticking “a” on the end of word roots. And at the time of writing, it was very much in line with the PMEG’s recommendation. But the world moves on, guys. One day, you wake up and decide, hey, we need a spring clean. There’s a dusty old corner of Esperanto, and in it lies a filthy web of unclarity (one day un- will have the power in English of Esperanto’s mal- even if it kills me).

I’m looking at korekta. And its ilk.

Notice at the end of that post that I suggest that some words, and perhaps action-roots in general, can take on the –ata or -ita participle meanings when adding the “a”. The PMEG now advises against such vile practice, and for good reason.

For a little refresher, what normally happens when you add “a” to an action-root is something like this:

• Helpi = to help
• Helpa hundo = helpful dog / dog that is helping (like helpanta)

That is, the thing being described by the new a-word is characterised by the given action, or performing the action. So for a word like korekta, here’s the good and consistent usage:

• Korekti = to correct
• Korektaj okulvitroj = corrective glasses / (vision) correcting glasses (like korektanta)

But you, me, and a little of even Ole Zammy, have used it like this:

• Korekta respondo = correct answer (like korektita)

And there are a few other words that this phenomenon regularly presents itself with (e.g. kompliki & konfuzi).

Aside from just being plain inconsistent (since this usage seems to be in a minority of examples that are influenced by native language happenstance (e.g. the existence of “correct” in English)), using “a” in this manner can give the impression that the originally action root is actually a quality root. This could lead people to erroneously employ “korektigi” for “make correct” instead of “korekti”, where such –ig words already have specialised meaning.

So let’s be sensible and clean up our act!

And here’s what happens when you launch into explaining this to an unsuspecting fiancée that hasn’t started learning Esperanto (YET :D):

Unsuspecting:

Hmm, quite interesting, but I sense an Esperanto rant approaching:

Oh yeah, here it comes:

That’s a lot of details you’re going into… I don’t think you’re gonna stop, are you?

The Ambiguous Lock

A curiosity-led ambling through the pathways of the internet one night revealed something to me that I’d never previously noticed about the English word “unlockable”. A quirk whereby it may mean either of:

1. impossible to lock
2. capable of being unlocked

In first case, we have “un + lockable”, where the “un” acts like “not”, and says that we mean “not lockable”. And for the second meaning, we have “unlock + able”, which says that we mean “possible to unlock”.

Pretty wildly different meanings! And seemingly all because the “un” prefix is permitted to mean either negation (not lock) or reverse/opposite action (unlock). Despicable! And Zamenhof knew it; thankfully he blessed us with both “ne” and “mal”, so that we didn’t have to tolerate such flagrant ambiguity in Esperanto:

• ŝlosi = to lock
• malŝlosi = to unlock
• ŝlosebla = lockable
• neŝlosebla = impossible to lock
• malŝlosebla = capable of being unlocked

Neat !

Incredibly Concerning Cafe

My fianĉino and I were minding our own business, finding safe places for pancakes covered in syrup. When, to my shock and great despair, I discovered something truly sinister about the cafe hosting us.

Just a reminder to remain vigilant:

 

How must we must?

Got something weird for you today, which came up on the Lernu.net forums a little while back. Have you ever tried telling someone that they don’t have to do something, or that they have to not do something?

Well if you do in Esperanto, you could be in for some head scratching and confused grunting, or be the cause of said scratching/grunting in another.

Let’s start with an easier example: telling someone they cannot do something and telling someone they can not do something if they like.

1. You cannot feed her = Vi ne povas manĝigi ŝin
2. You can not feed her (if you like) = Vi povas ne manĝigi ŝin (se vi volas)

See how 1 is just a simple negation of the verb. Without the “ne” (vi povas manĝigi…), this would mean, “you can feed her / you are able to feed her”; you have the ability to feed her. With the “ne” in front of the verb, like negating any verb,  this is reversed: you don’t have the ability to feed her; you cannot feed her, you are not able to feed her. In other words, the ability (to feed) is missing.

But in 2, the verb is not negated at all! Since in order to negate a verb, you must place the “ne” before it. So here, you most definitely do have an ability, you are able to do something. And what is that something? To not feed her.

This shows how the “ne” derives different meaning very logically from its placement. I’m happy with this!

But the reason for this post is that the behaviour of the verb “devi” (to have to / to must) leaves something to be desired. It has acquired a meaning in negation which is quite unruly. I can understand why, but I don’t like it, and have a suggestion for how to get people out of the habit, without breaking any rules, so that eventually tradition may change.

Well, let’s get started:

a. You don’t have to feed her
b. You have to not feed her / You must not feed her

How would we anticipate that the above are translated into Esperanto?

In the previous discussion “povi” was talking about “ability”. 1 was the lack of an ability to feed her, and 2 was an ability to not feed her.

We’ve got exactly the same problem here, except that instead of “ability” we have “duty”. In example a, we have the lack of a duty; you don’t have the duty to feed her. And in example b, you do have a duty, and the duty is to not feed her. So, logically, a negates the verb of interest (says that there is no duty, no “devi”) and b negates the feeding that follows (not the duty). Thus we’d expect:

a. Vi ne devas manĝigi ŝin = You don’t have to feed her
b. Vi devas ne manĝigi ŝin = You have to not feed her

But chances are, most readers would read both of those examples as “you must not feed her”!

What the jam!?

Now, I dunno about other languages, but I can certainly see at least one reason why English speakers might naturally keep falling into this behaviour. And that’s the fact that “devas” can translate as “must”. If “devas” could only mean “have to”, then a would clearly be “you don’t have to…” and b would be “you have to not…” because of the “ne” placement, and thus the distinction is made easily.

HOWEVER

When “must” craftily creeps in, as it often does, we’ve got a problem, since we don’t say “you don’t must feed her”. We always switch to “don’t have to”. But if the reader is translating “devas” as “must”, then both a and b legitimately seem to say “you must not feed her”, since a is negating “must”, and b is following the more usual English word order of “must” usage.

Interestingly, as the PMEG reveals, Zamenhof himself confused these usages often, using both with the “you must not feed her” meaning (the “devas ne” meaning), so the issue is certainly widespread. The PMEG suggests this might be due to this being the most common meaning required, and that “ne” before verb is the most common style of negating.

When Zamenhof wanted the “you don’t have to feed her” meaning (the logical “ne devas” meaning), he used a completely different verb: “bezoni” = “to need”:

• Vi ne bezonas manĝigi ŝin = You don’t need to feed her (You don’t have to feed her).

Buuuut bitter-sweetly, Esperantists are apparently beginning to see the logic and use the “ne” placement logically. But this means we’re in a situation where we have to decide whether the writer/speaker is aware of this problem or not, because if he/she is, then we’d interpret “ne devas” one way, and if not, the other!

Of course, if you have the luxury of speaking instead of writing, you could try to use intonation to get across which meaning you’re after. But would everyone interpret you the same way?

What to do? Especially if you want to encourage the newer logical usage without making unwelcome sweeping changes that aren’t understandable to traditional speakers?

My idea is the following:

I will never use “ne devi” in that order until the new logical usage is standard. Simply because, in Zamenhofian usage, it means one thing, and in the growing more logical usage, it means another.

Instead I will use “devi ne” since in both usages it means “must not / have to not”. And I will use “ne bezoni” to mean “don’t need to / don’t have to”. Since again, in both usages, this is unambiguous.

So with this tactic, not only am I following Zamehofian tradition, but my works will also be understandable to those with knowledge of this nuance. If we all did this for long enough, perhaps “ne devi” would fall out of use in the old way, and eventually make a return in its logical usage? One can hope 🙂

---

The inspiration for the discussion in this post (especially the usage of the words “missing” and “lacking” to explain the logic) is the PMEG post on this matter. See http://bertilow.com/pmeg/gramatiko/gravaj_verboj/povi_devi_voli/neado.html

Meloy: ilùi estoit nosay maystroy

Remember how last time I got utterly nerdy on yo asses? Well it’s only gonn’ get worse.

I think I’ve already mentioned that I’m ever so slowly writing a little Esperanto novella, a fantasy parody. In this book, there are ridiculous sorcerers, and exceedingly ridiculous spells, and I wanted magic to be associated with archaic language and full of mystery, as often one does.

Non-artificial languages are steeped in history, it’s easy to pick an ancestor, like Latin, and make such use of it for this goal. But what about Esperanto?

Well, we do have over 120 years of history, but we have the Fundamento, and we make a considerable effort to make sure the core of Esperanto stays the same, so everyone can always understand each other. Have you ever read Esperanto text by the creator of Esperanto himself? Not only was he incredibly eloquent with the language, but he’s also perfectly understandable from all that time ago. If you’re interested in how he responded to people’s questions about the language’s grammar, like I was, read the “Lingvaj Respondoj“. Esperanto has indeed changed over time (take a peek here for more info), but nothing like the difference between Spanish and Latin.

So what can be done? Well, of course someone way smarter than me has already thought such a thing would be bloody cool. Have you ever heard of Arcaicam Esperatom? Archaic Esperanto (AEo)? It’s like an Esperanto code, designed to make Esperanto like the difference between Middle English and Modern English or somethin’.

The best easy-access description of it I’ve found is the Esperanto-language wiki-page on the topic. It purposely adds complexity to the language, like more noun cases and verb conjugations, and gives it a slightly Latinesque feel. The title of this post is the Archaic Esperanto for the following:

Badgers: they will be our masters

Meloj: ili estos niaj majstroj

Sooo, all my sorcerers’ spells will be some lump of archaic obfuscation 😀 I’m thinking I’ll try to make spells be AEo tongue-twisters, or poems. Or perhaps in the realm of the more silly: food recipes, or instructions for electrical appliances, always spoken with great seriousness, because no sorcerer now knows the true meaning of the words!

See if you can translate the sentence below to archaic Esperanto!

The courageous fish, whom the badger had quietly killed, had been travelling from Paris to Shanghai.

La kuraĝa fiŝo, kiun la melo mallaŭte mortigis, antaŭe vojaĝadis de Parizo al Ŝanĥajo.

Boisterous Bajoran Buffoonery: badger disguised in costume crashes sci-fi convention

I’m a trifle nerdy, and that’s setting off my understatement-o-meter. But whether or not you are too, you’ve probably heard this quote before:

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.

Your brain may even have read it in a commanding captain’s voice. Then a massive wind up, and POW; we’re in warp. Daa, dadada, dadada BOM BOM, dadadada da daa daa daaaa dadada daaa, –

Ahem. *lays down trumpet*

Anyway, I’ve always remarked, as I’m sure many before me have, that the ending line is so punchy.

To boldly go….

Some of you may remember certain school teachers of English language endlessly chastising you for splitting infinitives: this process of instead of keeping the “to” with its “go”, you split it with a word describing the action.

To ceaselessly battle.

To tirelessly study.

Many seem to consider it bad style. And often it can look clumsy. But I think there’s a place for it. It certainly feels at home in that Star Trek quote. And it’s that quote that fuelled me to ignore my English teacher! What if it were “to go boldly”?! Doesn’t that sound lame? Generally, the real way of getting around a split infinitive involves rephrasing completely. But dat ain’t needed nor wanted here, son.

ANYWAY. Why did I bring this up? You’ve probably realised that in many languages, you simply cannot split the infinitive, because it is only one word!

Take Esperanto: infinitives are the i-forms of verbs:

• danci = to dance
• ami = to love
• iri = to go
• tedanci = to do the tea dance (makes tea rain from the sky!).

I certainly can’t put “boldly” in the middle of “iri”.

So this got me thinking. How do we translate this? And is it as punchy? And is there anything we can do if it ain’t so punchy?

So the most naive translation I can come up with for that bit is this:

• iri aŭdace kien neniu iris antaŭe (literally: to go boldly where no one has gone before)

Now, you gotta admit, that iri aŭdace — iris antaŭe combo really does give it a nice rhythm. BUT, you may disagree, but it really does read like “to go boldly” to me; it makes sense, but the punchiness is gone. It’s like a normal utterance. The power of the boldness word is lost.

What are our options? Well, in Esperanto, given the slightly freer word-order, a common technique for applying emphasis is to bring the word requiring emphasis to the beginning of the phrase, if this is permitted:

• aŭdace iri kien neniu iris antaŭe (literally: boldly (to) go where no one has gone before)

Despite the unfortunate consequence that pronouncing “-ce” then “iri”  is a little less pretty, this really does bring back some umph, don’t you think? You get right to main point in the first word – BOOM, not even having to say a pesky “to”! (The thing that stops this starting to translate like “boldly going where…”, is how the paragraph begins: “it’s continuing mission: to X, to Y, to Z.” i.e. not “Xing, Ying, Zing”.)

There is another tool on Esperanto’s belt of course VORTFARADO!!! (or word-building…).

• aŭdaciri kien neniu antaŭe iris (literally: boldy-go where no one before has gone)

Notice I change the order of “antaŭe” and “iris” to maintain the rhythm (aŭdaciri — antaŭe iris), purely poetic and unnecessary 😛

Now, what’s going on ‘ere then. “Aŭdaciri”? can I just go and do that? This is actually more than just just boldly going (as you may know if you’re familiar with this section of the PMEG). This is like a special kind of going, a kind of going that is by its very nature, daring and bold. Exploring the dangerous bits, inviting new trouble, poking your nose into the fresh-universe-snow. The going is defined by the daring.

Why? I’ll explain with the PMEG example. You can’t just go around sticking on adjectives and adverbs (a-words and e-words) to things and expect them to mean the same plain old thing:

• dika = thick
• fingro = finger
• dikfingro = thumb
• dika fingro = thick finger

Get my drift? If you join those words together, you are saying that its very nature is highly influenced by the attached property; we’re not talking about just a slightly thicker finger here; this finger is something else, it’s set apart, and one of its defining apartnesses is its thickness compared to a normal finger.

We’re not just being bold while we go through the universe; we’re bloody well pioneering for our species, our whole movement through the universe is about audacity and facing the new, the strange, the tough, and the scary head-on. THAT is how we are going through the universe.

How’s that for punchy?

(Note: an acceptable translation for “boldly” might have been “kuraĝe”, with more connotations of courageousness. But that is like boldness against fear. When what I think we really want here, is boldness in the face of trials of our morality, understanding, strength, etc. I.e. not necessarily things that make us afraid, but things that make us confront our own darkness and thought, and struggle to find the right path. A pretty lofty goal, hence audacity, intrepidity).