Category Archives: Turkic

Close in the Common Turkic vowel system

Here I present a translation of pp. 18–23 of the Фонетика volume of the Сравительно-историческая грамматика тюркских языков ed. E. R. Tenišev (Moscow: Nauka, 1984). This is a work which I appreciate more and more as time goes by, and I hope to bring further portions of it into English in future.

Close in the Common Turkic vowel system

This problem arises in the reconstruction of Proto-Turkic vocalism, and its solution depends on solving the question of how many cardinal vowels there were in Proto-Turkic: 8 or 9. Theoretically the following hypotheses are possible:

  1. the Proto-Turkic system had ä (wide) and (narrow);

  2. there was a qualitative and quantitative opposition of these vowels, i.e. ä versus ẹː (wide short versus narrow long);

  3. there was ä (short) and äː (long): this variation of the reconstruction is actually very similar to the second if one takes into account that phonetically a long vowel is usually more close than the corresponding short one;

  4. there were äː and (wide long and narrow short);

  5. there were ä, äː, and ẹː;

  6. at an early stage Proto-Turkic had ä̂, äː, ä and ệ, ẹː, , but in Common Turkic (with the exception of Chuvash) ä̂ and ệ fell together into ä̂, while ä and fell together into ä (cf. variant 5).

All of these variants have been discussed in specialist literature.[1]

First of all, one must observe that in the modern Turkic languages there are not two (open and close) but several phonetic variants of phonemes which can be presented in transcription as æ, ä, ɛ, e. Furthermore, in each specific system or type of system they have their own particular origin and status.

Thus in languages of the Kipchak type (Kazakh, Karakalpak and Nogay), where a comparatively regular raising of mid vowels occurred, the variant e was established, which could have originated in ɛ or . In Tatar and Bashkir, this e (< ä, ) shifted to i, but in the affixal subsystem it is represented by ä (a front variant of a).[2] Tatar and Bashkir also developed a secondary ä from a in the environment of dorsal j, z, , ž, š, ǯ, č, ž and both ä fell together:

ä/ä in suffixes } ä
ä (vowel harmony variant of a)

In Turkish (taking its dialects into account) there resulted ɛ and e and even ä, e, , though in the literary language ɛ and e did not develop into independent phonemes.

In Turkmen a new opposition between ɛ and äː arose, whereas earlier , apparently through a stage ei, gave . The stage e was preserved in the Khorezm dialects of Uzbek: eːr ‘early’ (~ Turkmen iːr), and in Turkmen dialects (eːr ‘early’, eːl ‘country’, beːl ‘small of the back’, geːč ‘late’).

The opposition of long and short e (ɛ vs. ) can be found in Azeri, but now it is not quantitative (ä vs. ) but qualitative (äl ‘hand’ vs. el ‘country’; Azeri er ‘early’, bel ‘small of the back’, geǯ ‘late’ ~ Turkmen iːr ‘country’, biːl ‘small of the back’, giːč ‘late’).

Apart from this, in Azeri (and Turkmen) a shift ä > e took place in the environment of j, attested already in ancient languages, and also in rare instances of assimilation before a following i (ä > e): Azeri jet‑ ‘arrive, reach’, jer ‘earth’, cf. Old Turkic jetirü ‘until’ and jer ‘earth’ in the Brahmi texts, Azeri ešik ‘door’, Turkmen iːšik ‘door’[3], but Azeri dämir ‘iron’ (Turkish demir), gämi ‘boat’, where there is no influence from i.

In Yakut the quantitative and qualitative opposition between ɛ and changed into an opposition between ɛ and i͜e[4], i.e. between a relatively short vowel and a diphthong: än ‘you’ versus i͜en ‘width’. Furthermore, there is also a dialectal variation i ~ e (is‑ ~ es‑ ‘wade’, ilt‑ ~ elt‑ ‘lead’, iliː ~ eliː ‘hand’) and ä, e > i under the influence of j (> ǯ > č > s): sir‑ ‘reject’, sit‑ ‘reach, attain’, and also i of a following syllable: tirit‑ ‘sweat’ (< tär ‘sweat’), tiriː ‘leather, hide, skin’ (< *täriɣ), diriŋ ‘deep’ (< *däriŋ), timir ‘iron’ (< *tämir).

In Chuvash ɛ is of recent origin. It is a substitution for Tatar ä in loanwords and the front variant of the wide vowel in suffixes.

In Chuvash a and i correspond to the Common Turkic phoneme e (ɛ and ). Thus since a can be found instead of the mid variant of the vowel, i.e. ɛ > ä > a[5], and i is usually found instead of high (ẹː) or a diphthong, one could imagine that Chuvash reflects more accurately the ancient qualitative opposition between ä (äː) and e (ëː ?). For every case of a in Chuvash, at an earlier stage of Common Turkic there must have been ä (or äː), and wherever Chuvash has i earlier Common Turkic had e ().

In the remaining Turkic languages one must consider the qualitative opposition between ä and e to be lost and explain the various reflexes of these vowels as traces of a quantitative opposition, i.e.:

Azeri ä < ä, e; e in many cases < äː,
Turkmen e < ä, e; < äː,
Yakut ä < ä, e; i͜e < äː, , etc.

Analysing Chuvash examples, we find that Chuvash a reflects ä from Common Turkic and ä, and also from ä in some loanwords.

  1. Turkmen giːč ‘late’ (gẹːč), Turkish geč, Azeri g’eǯ, Yakut ki͜ehä ~ Chuvash kas’; Turkmen ber‑ ‘give’, Turkish dial. beːr‑, Yakut bi͜er‑ ~ Chuvash par‑; Turkmen ‘width’, Yakut i͜en, Azeri en ~ Chuvash an; Turkmen iːn‑ ‘go down’, Azeri en‑ ~ Chuvash an‑[6];

  2. Turkmen ek‑ ‘sow’, Azeri äk‑ ~ Chuvash ak‑ (cf. Hungarian eke ‘plow’ < Bulgarian); Turkmen θeθ ‘voice’, Azeri säs ~ Chuvash sas̬ə;

  3. Turkish eš‑ ‘trot’ ~ Chuvash aš‑ (i.e. the shift e‑ > ä‑ > a‑ took place even in relatively late loans).

The reflex i in single-syllable roots in Chuvash is found instead of Common Turkic e, but also e < ä, including early and late loans:

  1. Turkmen eẟ‑, Azeri äz‑, Tatar iz‑ ~ Chuvash ir‑ ‘crush’; Azeri jet‑ ‘arrive’, Turkmen jet‑, Tuvan čeʰt‑, Tatar ǯ́it‑, Bashkir jët‑ ~ Chuvash s’it‑; Azeri g’äl‑ ‘come’, Turkmen gel‑, Tuvan, Yakut kel‑, Tatar kil‑ ~ Chuvash kil‑;

  2. Azeri sez‑ ‘feel’, Tatar siz‑, Bashkir hiẟ‑ ~ sis (< Tat.); Turkmen em ‘medicine’, Tat., Bashkir, Khakas im ~ Chuvash im (< Tat.); Kyrgyz, Altay, Tuvan er ‘use’, Bashkir ir (Tat. irlə̈) ~ Chuvash ir ‘use, gain’ (< Tat.).

One finds instances where Common Turkic e < ä (next to j) gives ə̈ in Chuvash (as in Bashkir): Turkmen, Turkish, Azeri jer ‘earth’, Kyrgyz ǯer, Tuvan čer, Tat. ǯ́ir, Yakut sir, Bashkir jə̈r ~ s’ə̈r ‘earth’; Turkish jen‑, Turkmen jeŋ‑, Kyrgyz ǯeŋ‑, Tat. ǯ́iŋ‑, Khakas čiŋ‑, Bashkir jə̈ŋ‑ ‘defeat’ ~ s’ə̈n‑.

In a number of Chuvash words the vowel i corresponds to Common Turkic (~ Turkmen , Yakut i͜e): Turkmen bäːš ‘5’, Yakut bi͜es, Turkish, Azeri beš, Tat., Bashkir biš ~ Chuvash pilə̈k; Turkmen, Yakut biːl ‘small of the back’, Azeri, Kyrgyz bel, Tat. bil, Khakas pil ~ Chuvash pilə̈k; Turkmen ir ‘early’, Azeri er ~ Chuvash ir.

According to Doerfer, the last example illustrates the assumption that Chuvash i goes back to Common Turkic e, as in Mari we find the word er ‘morning, early’ which was borrowed from Chuvash. Mari e represents an earlier stage of development (in Hill Mari e > i).

Turkic borrowings in Mari like el ‘country’ (~ ? Chuvash jal), en ‘most’, ertäš ‘go past’, pelčän ‘sow thistle (genus Sonchus)’, teŋə̈z ‘sea’, terə̈s ‘manure, fertilizer’, terke ‘plate’, keremet ‘evil spirit’, seŋäš ‘defeat’, s’erə̈p ‘heavy’ show that the raising of e > i involved words not from Ancient Chuvash but rather representing a general Turkic stock in the Middle Volga that goes back to a single source.

In iranianized Uzbek dialects we find e (narrow) and æ (a very wide variant of the vowel e).

In Uyghur, which has the so-called i-umlaut, we find wide ä and e (e and ë) secondary in origin, originating from ä and under the influence of a following i.

Close and open variants of e ( and ɛ) are apparently found in the language of the Yenesei runic inscriptions, as e is depicted by a special grapheme. A distinction was made between these two variants also in the texts in the Brahmi script. Worth noting are the Brahmi-Azeri parallels ket‑ ‘leave, go away’ ~ g’et‑ (Turkmen gider ‘he goes out’), keŋ ‘wide’ ~ g’en (Turkmen giːŋ), ber‑ ‘give’ ~ ver‑ (Yakut bi͜er‑), beš ‘5’ ~ beš (Yakut bi͜es), el ‘tribe’ ~ el (Turkmen iːl), which confirm that in a portion of words Azeri e reflects the quantity of the Proto-Turkic vowel.

E (as a variant of ä) before and after j is found in Turkish dialects, Azeri, the Brahmi texts, Yakut, etc. Cf. e.g. Brahmi jel ‘wind’ ~ Azeri jel; Brahmi jer ‘earth’ ~ Azeri jer ~ Yakut sir; Azeri jet‑ ‘arrive’ ~ Yakut sit‑; Azeri jerik ‘cravings of a pregnant woman’ ~ Yakut sir‑ ‘reject’, etc.

In Yakut this (short) narrowed to i (sir, sit‑).

Because combinatory and positional variation of the type ä ~ ɛ ~ e and e ~ i, and thus ä ~ ɛ ~ ~ i is typical of many modern-day Turkic languages and dialects, one can assume it also for earlier stages of their development. Nonetheless one cannot neglect the rich attestations of dialect mixing, reflected in many (if not all) Turkic vowel systems, cf. e.g. the systems of Chuvash, Khakas and West Siberian Tatar dialects. Both of these factors have led (including in the literary standards) to irregular correspondences: Turkmen lit. bäːš ‘5’, dial. beš, Azeri beš (< beːš) ~ Chuvash pilə̈k; Turkmen äːr ‘man’, Azeri är, Tat., Bashkir, Khakas ir ~ Chuvash ar (on the basis of the Chuvash and Azeri forms one can reconstruct *är); Turkmen mäːẟ ‘gland’, Turkish, Kyrgyz, Kumyk bez ~ Chuvash par (Azeri väz) (on the basis of the Chuvash form one can reconstruct *bär); Turkmen gäːt‑ ‘break off, away’, Turkish get‑ (gedik), Kyrgyz ket‑, Tat. kit‑ ~ Chuvash kat‑ (on the basis of the Turkish and Chuvash forms one can reconstruct *kaːt‑). Thus Turkmen äː corresponds to Common Turkic ä and ẹ̈ː.

Also noteworthy are correspondences between Chuvash and Common Turkic: Chuvash alək ‘gate, door’ (< *äːlik), cf. Turkish, Azeri ešik (where ä > e under the influence of a following i?), Tat., Bashkir išə̈k, Khakas dial. izə̈k, Khakas ə̈zə̈k; but Turkmen iːšik (< *eːšik); Chuvash at‑ ‘do’ (< *ät‑) (cf. Turkmen eder ‘he does’), where d < t after an initial long vowel), but Azeri et‑ points to a protoform *eːt‑; Chuvash ilt‑ ‘hear’ (< *elit‑), Turkmen, Azeri ešit‑, Turkish išit‑ (e > i under the influence of i), Tat., Bashkir išə̈t‑, Yakut ihit‑; Chuvash i, Azeri e point to Common Turkic *e.

Thus an ancient qualitative opposition of ä and e is reflected in the Chuvash system, where we have a < ä and i < e. Only traces remain of a quantitative opposition ẹː > i, cf. pilə̈k ‘5’. Significantly more frequently long and short ä are reflected as a: kas’ ‘evening’ (< *käːč < *kẹːč); ak‑ ‘sow’ (< äk‑).

The whole Common Turkic map is tainted with subsequent dialect mixing and positional-combinatorial variation of the vowels ä, e, i.

For showing the ancient quantitative opposition of e sounds, the Turkmen and Yakut data are the most reliable: in Turkmen < ẹː, as a rule, corresponds to the Yakut diphthong i͜e, for example: Turkmen giːč ‘late’ ~ Yakut ki͜ehä ‘evening’, giːŋ ‘wide’ ~ ki͜eŋ (but käŋä‑ ‘widen’), iːn ‘width’ ~ i͜en (but ? äŋäj‑ ‘spread out’), iːt ‘lead’ ~ si͜et‑ ‘take by the hand, by a leash or rope’ (but sätiː ~ si͜etiː ‘leading a blind person’).

The regular nature of these correspondences is undermined by such examples as Turkmen biːl ‘small of the back’ ~ Yakut biːl (and not i͜e), bäːš (and not biːš) ‘5’ ~ bi͜es (but bähis ‘fifth’).

The alternation of i͜e ~ possibly arose within Yakut, cf. also Yakut iːt ‘load a rifle’ ~ ? Turkmen et‑ ‘do’ (< *eːt‑, indicated also by the d in eder ‘he does’); Yakut tiːl ‘calf or colt nursing from an unrelated female’ ~ Kyrgyz tel.

As far as the correspondence bäːš ~ Yakut bi͜es is concerned, it is well known that numerals are often characterized by phonetic peculiarities due to their function in speech, such as emphatic gemination of consonants. It is also well known that in Turkmen dialects one also encounters the phonetic variants beːš, beš. Chuvash pilə̈k and Volga Bulgarian *bielim may also attest to the length and close character of in beːl ~ beš.

Thus the materials we have examined allow us to speak with a high level of probability of the existence in Proto-Turkic of short ä and long ẹː and of the combinatorial variation of ä (ɛ, e) in different phonetic environments at a late stage of the protolanguage and at various points in the history of the modern Turkic languages all the way to the present day.

[1] See e.g. Scherbak 1970, 28–33, which contains a detailed analysis of almost every proposed hypothesis, and Doerfer 1971, 240–247.

[2] If the shift ɛ > e > i had occurred in suffixes, then the variations of some affixes, e.g. ‑di and ‑də̈, could merge, as i in open final syllables tends to be lowered. Indeed, in the Kasimov dialect ä > i even in affixes: bir8in ‘he gave’, bə̈zdi ‘on us’.

[3] Azeri ešik possibly goes back to *eːšik, and not *äšik, though the latter reconstruction is suggested by Chuvash alək ‘door’.

[4] As pointed out by D’jakovskij (1971, 98–99), the second part of the i͜e diphthong is more close than short ɛ.

[5] The shift ä > a occurred after the shift of Common Turkic a > ao > o. Note that in the period of Permian-Bulgarian contacts (8th–9th centuries) Chuvash still retained ä in opposition with e: ban, bam ‘cheek’, but s’i̮l ‘storm’.

[6] Cf. Turkmen äːr ‘man’, Azeri är ~ Chuvash ar, where the long vowel in the Turkmen word points to äː in the protolanguage, see e.g. the reconstructions of Poppe (eːr) and Doerfer (ä̂r or är).

Tatar and Finno-Ugrian separatism real or supposed

The Mari news site MariUver has reposted an interesting article originally published at PolitRUS about a recent political conference in Russia, which I’ve translated from Russian below. There’s an element of conspiracy ravings here; the “expert in Islamic studies” Suleymanov has drawn criticism for his claims of Tatar extremism. The last paragraph reveals something of opinions held within Russia on the Mari, Mordvin and Udmurt emigrants who have been of such help to Finno-Ugrists at European universities.

The West is Evaluating the Possibility of Supporting Islamic Separatists in the Volga Region

The issue of drawing NATO countries’ attention to outbreaks of national separatism and Islamic terrorism in the Volga Region was one of the main themes of the Sixth All-Russian Conference of Applied Studies “Наука молодых” (Study of Youth) which was held on December 18 in Arzamas (Nizhny Novgorod oblast). The conference was organized by the A. P. Gajdar Arzamas State Pedagogical Institute and drew participation from scholars and experts from neighbouring oblasts and republics. Attendees were especially interested in talks by researchers from Tatarstan, where over the last year the situation of religious extremism and national separatism has been sharpened.

As Rais Suleymanov, the director of the Volga Centre for Regional and Ethnoreligious Research РИСИ explained, starting with the “Nurlat episode” (a special forces operation to liquidate a group of armed militants in the Nurlat region of Tatarstan on November 25, 2010), as of December 2012 Tatarstan has been visited by journalists and political analysts from France, the United States, Great Britain, Holland, Poland and other countries. There have even been visitors from Australia and Brazil.

In the opinion of Suleymanov, such visits are not coincidental: Arriving under the pretext of being reporters, scholars and analysts, our Western guests often come not because of an interest in journalism or research, but in order to gather information about how serious the problem of the Volga Region becoming a hotspot is.

At the same time, in the words of this specialist in Islamic studies, the Western experts that he has met with personally use a special “methodology of communication”. Besides, the very existence of greater interest in this subject and the overwhelming desire to meet with separatists and fundamentalists speaks to the fact that the West is evaluating the possibility of financing and providing informational support to the Islamist underground and nationalists in Tatarstan, Suleymanov stated. He added that in this context one should look to the activities of journalists from the Qatar television network Al Jazeera, which has a branch in Kazan.

In addition to Suleymanov’s talk, his colleague Vasily Ivanov noted that the international terrorist organization Muslim Brotherhood through its agents in Russia has also shown an interest in Finno-Ugrian nationalist movements.

Ivanov gave his own talk titled “Finno-Ugrian separatism in the Volga Region: its ideology, the extent of its spread and foreign influences”. Analysing outbreaks of Finno-Ugrian separatism in Russia at the turn of the 20th and 21st centuries, the researcher pointed to the support that Mari, Mordvin and Udmurt nationalists receive today from Finland, Hungary and Estonia.

The situation is becoming more serious because anti-Russian propaganda is published on the internet by people studying in institutes of higher education in those countries — undergraduates, graduate students and PhD candidates from the Volga republics at universities in the European Union, Ivanov underlined.

A Polish introduction to Chuvash

Adding to the list of Chuvash resources for foreigners, in a Warsaw bookshop I came across Język czuwaski by Anna Parzymies (Warszawa: Dialog, 2000) ISBN 8388238604. Cover of Anna Parzymies’ Polish-language introduction to Chuvash

This is not a textbook really, but essentially a 30-page introduction followed by a grammar that drily lists paradigms, word-formation tendencies, etc. Still, I’m happy I bought it, because there’s a rich bibliography that mentions some scholarship on Chuvash that I wasn’t aware of before.

North Kipchak loans in South Kipchak

When I began studying the interaction of Uralic and Turkic languages in the Volga-Kama area, I assumed that existence of a feature in both Tatar and Kazakh was sufficient to prove that Tatar inherited it from Common Turkic and did not borrow it one of the languages of the Volga-Kama area. However, it turns out that contact between the Kipchak languages persisted long enough for North Kipchak to contribute some loanwords to South Kipchak.

The first example is Kazakh moncha ‘sauna’. According to Klára Agyagási in Ранние русские заимствования тюркских языков волго-камского ареала Ⅰ (Debrecen, 2005) p. 58, this ultimately derives from Russian баня, borrowed into Ancient Chuvash with the rounding of a typical for early Chuvash and the shift of b > m before nasals typical for Turkic in general, and finally taken up by the South Kipchaks sometime before the North Kipchak vowel shift (cf. Tatar munča).

The second example comes from a paper by András Róna-Tas, “Three Volga Kipchak Etymologies” in Studies in Chuvash Etymology I. (Szeged: Szeged University Press, 1982). He traces Tatar and Bashkir izge ‘holy, good’ back to a Volga Bulgarian form that produced modern Chuvash ïră. Kazakh izgi ‘kindly’ must therefore be a loanword from the Volga Kipchak languages.

Language death and revitalization in Russia

There’s an article at Souciant, an online magazine of politics and culture, discussing the state of Russia’s minority languages. Most attention is given to the Volga region. I must credit the authors for addressing something I’ve often felt, namely that active speakers of these languages are often unwilling to admit that prospects for the future are utterly dire:

Some, however, are dismissive of such concern. Leysan Khasanova, owner of a Tatar music shop in Tatarstan’s capital of Kazan, is confident that Tatar will always be spoken on the streets of Kazan, before pointing out that many young Tatars prefer to speak in Russian amongst each other, and that her own children are not proficient in the language.

I could have done without the pointlesss exoticizing, however (Kabardian – a language that is truly a testament to the dynamism of the human oesophagus). Also, the author makes the dubious claim: The Komi Permian language, for example, has some eighteen noun cases – a kind of grammatical suicide given that no amount of emotional feeling for the language as that of one’s ancestors can provide the linguistic aptitude necessary to learn such a language without any prior knowledge. Since some of these cases are marginal, and people growing up with Russian are already accustomed to noun inflection, I do not believe that Komi’s declension would present that much of an obstacle.

The beauty of mid-century German linguistics books

Opening a Harrassowitz (Wiesbaden) or Winter (Heidelberg) publication from the 1950s and 1960s is to discover a wealth of linguistic information organized just the way it should be. Even if the author’s prose is abysmal and his pedagogical method suspect, I just find it so easy to absorb information out of these books on the basis of their perfectly proportioned typesetting. By way of example, though imperfectly representing the paper quality, impression, etc., here are two scans from the first edition of An Introduction to Classical (Literary) Mongolian by Kaare Grønbech & John R. Krueger, which Harrassowitz published in 1955 and credited Hubert & Co. of Göttingen for the printing and typesetting.

Pages 20–21 from Grønbech & Krueger (1955)Pages 34–35 of Grønbech & Krueger (1955)

Sadly, this aesthetic was lost when computer typesetting made it easy to forego the use of expert typesetters. It is illustrative to compare this book with Peter B. Golden’s An Introduction to the History of the Turkic Peoples (Turcologica 9) which Harrassowitz published in 1992. Hubert & Co. is still credited as the printer, but it appears that the author was obliged to typeset the book himself and the result is not so soothing to read. Besides some specific errors (the lack of en dashes in ranges, the use of straight quotation marks instead of left and right ones, and line breaks where there should have been a non-breaking space), there’s just a jumbled appearance that is hard on the eye:

Pages 54–55 of Golden (1992)

Nearly all smaller academic presses look like this now. Cost savings are usually cited as the reason, but even when there is the money to spend, there doesn’t seem much interest in the aesthetic anymore. If native English speakers can successfuly charge authors a hell of a lot of money for correcting the language of a book prior to publication (10€/page is the standard rate in Finland), you’d think that the author wouldn’t mind paying another 100€ to a hungry student to iron out the bulk of typesetting infelicities.

A Karakalpak epic

I’ve written here in the past about editions of the Kyrgyz epic Manas for the English-speaking world, but I’ve recently encountered a friendly presentation of an epic from the Karakalpaks of northwest Uzbekistan. In Edige: A Karakalpak Oral Epic (Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum Fennica, 2007) Karl Reichl has edited and translated an epic performed by Jumabay Bazarov (1927–2006), the last Karakalpak bard to inherit a purely oral tradition. The book comes with a CD-ROM on which you’ll find MP3s of Jumabay Bazarov reciting, as well as some video footage.

Edige was a historical personage. He lived during the time of Timurlane, at the turn of the 14th and 15th centuries, and he’s considered the founding father of the Nogay Horde. However, there’s a significant admixture of mythology into the tale. The first episode after Jumabay Bazarov introduces the epic starts like this:

Äne usï däwirde, ädatlï jurttïñ, qalïñ Noġaydïn waqtïnda Qubïrïl degen awliyada jürgen Baba Tükli Shashlï Äziz degen bir bnde bolatuġïn edi. Beden(i)ne tük shïqqan.

Arqalï adam bolmasa, böten adamġa körinbeytuġïn hal(ï) edi. Söytip yürgen halïna, oqïp yürgen kitabïn qolïna ushlap qarasa: Härki ümmet insana dünyaġa gelse, bashïna bir neka tüshmese, aunïñ namazï bolmas, der edi.

Usï xabadï esitip, hawlïġïp özinen-özi. Ämma, Altïnxan patshanïñ hawïz oydïrġan, hawïzïnïñ jaġasïn sïrlap altïn menen jalatqan, biraq täbarik ushïn jïl on eki ayïnda sol hawïzġa üsh kepter kelip shomïlatuġïn edi.

Baba Tükli Shashlï Äziz üsh kepterdiñ peri ekenligin biletuġïn edi. Buġan öziniñ bar uqïbïn salïp, kepterler jïl on eki ayïnda bir märtebe gelip shomïlïp otïrġan jerinde, lipasïn jasïrïp, armanïraq shïġïp buġïp otïrdï. Kepterler oynap, shomïliyp bolġan soñ, maydanġa shïġayïn dese, lipasï yoq: Äy, adam-insaniyatï, lipamïzdï ber! dedi. Yoq bermespen, dedi. Ber! dedi. Bermespen, dedi.

Bereyin lipañdï, birewiñdi hayallïqqa berseñ, dedi. Üshewi mäslähätke kirdi, üshewi mäslähättiñ ishinde ekewiniñ eri bar, basïnda nekasï bar, üshinshiniñ eri joq, basï bos, eñ kishkentay siñlis(i) edi. Lipasï ushïn qayïl boldï. Baba Tükli Shashlï Äziz de sonï bermekshi bolardïñ aldïnda: Bizlerde tört shärt bar, dedi.

Now, in this period in the time when the tribe was enjoying justice, when the Nogay were numerous, there lived a man by the name of Baba Tükli Shashlï Äziz in a sacred place that was called Qubïrïl. His body was covered with hair.

This was invisible to an outsider, unless he was clairvoyant. Living in this way, Baba Tükli one day took a book in his hand to read and saw that there was written: Any Muslim alive who does not marry says his prayers in vain..

When he became aware of this, he was seized by fear. However, there was an artifical pond which Altïnkhan had dug out, with borders embellished with enamel and gold: to this pond three doves used to come once every twelve months of the year to take a wholesome bath.

Baba Tükli Shashlï Äziz knew that the three doves were peris. He mustered up his courage, and once when the doves came within the twelve months of the year, he hid their clothes where they bathed and lay a bit further back in ambush. After the doves had amused themselves and taken their bath, as they were about to come out of the water, they had no clothes. Äy, son of man, give us our clothes! they said. No, I won’t give them, he said. Give them! they said. I won’t give them, he said.

I will give you your clothes if one of you will be my wife, he said. The three took counsel. It emerged that two of them had a husband, that they were married, but that the third one had no husband, was unmarried, the youngest of the sisters. In order to get their clothes they were in agreement. Before they left her to Baba Tükli Shashlï Äziz, they said: We have four conditions.

These conditions to keep the peri as his wife are of the “don’t look at me while I’m doing activity X, Y or Z, otherwise calamity will befall” type. Naturally Baba Tükli Shashlï Äziz breaks the promise he makes not to look.

Altaic studies: you’re in it for life

It’s nice to always be learning new languages over an academic career and continually expanding one’s knowledge, But had I come across de Rachewiltz & Rybatzki’s Introduction to Altaic Philology (Leiden: Brill, 2010) as an undergraduate, I think I would have found the following passage intimidating and slightly foreboding. After mentioning the extant ancient Turkic literature and presenting some of the personalities in the field, the authors tell their unsuspecting young readers:

Thus, not only is there an abundance of original material, there are also reference works and, indeed, interesting research projects. For someone venturing into Turkic studies there is only one problem. If he/she wants to undertake these studies seriously, it is not sufficient to obtain the literature we have cited, the grammars, dictionaries, texts and critical investigations: it is necessary first to acquire a basic working knowledge of several languages, i.e. English, French, German, Russian and Turkish. To progress further, it will also be necessary to learn some Japanese and Chinese. This means, of course, a total commitment to the discipline – for life.

What’s the attrition rate for courses assigning this book, I wonder?

The Chuvash have no epics

The Kyrgyz have their Manas and the Tatars a variety of ambitious poetic forms, but the following bit from László Vikár and Gabor Bereczki’s book Chuvash Folksongs (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó, 1979) underscores just how thematically limited Chuvash (and Mari) traditional music is.

As with the Cheremis, the short lyrical song is the characteristic genre of Chuvash folk-poetry. There are, however, Chuvash scholars who state that the great peasant-movements of the seventeen century were associated with the production of historical epic also, but that these became extinct as a result of reprisals on the part of state authorities. (М. Я. Сироткин, Чувашский фольклор, Чебоксары. 1965. стр. 91.)

Certain songs survive that tell of Chuvash peasants migrating towards the East, of the death of Pugachov, of the Napoleonic war of 1812, and of the Russo-Turkish war of 1877 (cf. ibid., pp. 92–99). Nevertheless, such songs must have been isolated phenomena in the past, as they are in the present. Collecting has been undertaken by H. Paasonen and Mészáros in those Chuvash regions where pagan beliefs remain intact, and it might be expected that they would have met there with an epic tradition, or at least with traces thereof. Neighbouring peoples, Russian, Mordvinian, and Tatar, possess considerable amounts of epic poetry. Why should similar traditions have perished among Chuvash living under identical conditions? It seems to be more plausible that what little they have has been borrowed from the Russians or Tatars.

[...]

As with epic songs, the ballad-genre is also missing in Chuvash folklore. In the category of lyrical songs, we found no traces either of cradle songs or children’s songs. Older collections, however, include specimens of the latter.

The lyrical songs can be divided into two classes that embrace (with scarcely any exceptions) the entire field of the genre: 1. songs performed on festive days; 2. those connected with family events, customs, and tradition. Frequently enough, the words of a song do not refer to a particular feast; only the singer reveals the implicit connection.

New Chuvash resources in Cheboksary

I used to be unhappy with the limited range of Chuvash publications available in the bookshops on Leninsky prospekt, but on my most recent trip I discovered a shop with a fantastic selection. Located on Egerskij bul’var near the intersection with prospekt 9-j Pjatiletki (just across the street from the Šupaškar shopping mall and McDonalds), this bookshop offers seemingly every recent publication from the Chuvash state publishing house. Chuvash books for sale in a fine Cheboksary bookshop

I saw that I. A. Andreev’s Chuvash textbook Чувашский язык has been re-released in a third edition – though I’ve never seen a second – and is now subtitled ‘практический курс’ instead of ‘началный курс’. That’s a bit of a misnomer, as Andreev still has students starting off with translating complicated poetry instead of actually learning how to use Chuvash in daily life, but there’s still enough useful material in the book to recommend it.

Gennady Aigi’s complete poems have recently been issued in a two-volume set. I was able to purchase the second volume, which collects his poems in Russian: Собрание сочинение (Чебоксары: Чувашкое Книжное Издательство, 2009) ISBN 9785767016648. However, the first volume, which collects his poems in Chuvash, is sold out. I heard a rumour from a trusted source that almost the entire print run of that volume went to Chuvash politicians and is gathering dust on their shelves.