I would like to share a particular peculiarity from own my personal set of glossopoetics: the creation of allegorical languages. This is something which I have developed throughout my glossopoeic career and something which I did not intentionally set out to do. It just happened that that’s what I concluded I must be doing, and from there I have just been rolling with it. I do believe also that it is a type of glossopoetic which has, as of yet, been left unexplored, and one which can only be done having a less linguistic or material focus on language, and a greater emphasis on symbolism. Perhaps in revealing it, someone could do it much better!
An allegory in literature is a symbolic device which is representational of an idea or character. Perhaps one of the best examples of allegory in literature is C.S. Lewis’ use of symbolism to explain basic Christian morals to children. Aslan the Lion being representational of God, Christ and the Holy Spirit throughout the Chronicles of Narnia is an example of allegory. Another famous example is, of course, George Orwell’s Animal Farm, depicting the inevitable fate of the 1917 Russian Revolution and the ensuing totalitarian evil of Communism in the form and shape of animals. Ingenious, but however can allegory be applied in a glossopoeic context?
The answer lies in using linguistic devices and realities derived from our world and applying them within the structure of a glossopoeic creation. It can be applied within a language itself, that is to say, little linguistic intricacies which are representational of an idea or flavour, or with a whole language taken as the allegory; the most mature forms of this style is to try and combine the two. The secret seems to me to be to try and implement the allegory in such a way that it does not upset the aesthetics of the language.
The allegory used in glossopoeia is not the same as in literature. It would be difficult to represent the idea of happiness through the subjunctive for instance, so that is not way glossopoeic allegory can be achieved. However, it is perfectly possible to represent, for example, majesty or historical development or a people. By allegory, I do not mean the imitation of a language in the form of another family, for instance, the so-called “romlangs” which is where the grammar of another language family has been put into the context of a romance language’s phonetics. Of course, allegorical glossopoeia might include the creation of new, fictional language as part of another existing branch, but as long as the allegorical intentions are there and apparent. I have done this with my Romance language Isparian which is set an allegory. However, I don’t know, this is the first piece I have written on this, I could well be wrong. Anyway, what I want to do now is show some examples of where I have applied allegory in my languages.
Hopyratian was the first language I ever created when I started, aged eleven, designing it as a code. However, as I got older and my linguistic abilities started to adapt and develop, I found I could make the language more complicated. Through having studied Esperanto, I decided to have a regular, agglutinative way of verbs, all with the infinitive -ki and with six tenses. Noun cases, which I discovered a little later on, were added as soon as I could figure out how they worked. The language became more complex, with more words and more refined grammar. The phonology of Hopyratian is raw, that is to say, purely my instinctual preferences from when I was younger, and so look and feel almost a little mismatched or jumbled. There are hidden attempts at reform, subtle details that pertain to my developing knowledge of linguistics, and of course, especially in the Romanised orthography, a degree of childish inexperience. For example, final -i realised as [aj] or the vastly complicated participle system. By accident it seems however, Hopyratian is an allegory of my creative process, not just in glossopoeia but in everything. It is full of jumping in at the deep end and wild attempts to achieve things about which I had only the faintest idea, which is what I tend to do in my approach to life in general. I have made no more attempts at reforming the language, and have decided on purpose to keep it as an allegory of my creative process; I purposely it use it for testing our new glossopoetics such as writing my first epic poem. My Eldich languages, however, were somewhat more refined. True, High Eldich has also been part of my creative process, but much less representational of it. Rather than kept, those infantile elements were abolished long ago! High Eldich, in particular, was an attempt to create something elegant, but maintain the majesty of what is connoted with ancient languages. To represent this majesty, I used a detailed case system:
An allegory in literature is a symbolic device which is representational of an idea or character. Perhaps one of the best examples of allegory in literature is C.S. Lewis’ use of symbolism to explain basic Christian morals to children. Aslan the Lion being representational of God, Christ and the Holy Spirit throughout the Chronicles of Narnia is an example of allegory. Another famous example is, of course, George Orwell’s Animal Farm, depicting the inevitable fate of the 1917 Russian Revolution and the ensuing totalitarian evil of Communism in the form and shape of animals. Ingenious, but however can allegory be applied in a glossopoeic context?
The answer lies in using linguistic devices and realities derived from our world and applying them within the structure of a glossopoeic creation. It can be applied within a language itself, that is to say, little linguistic intricacies which are representational of an idea or flavour, or with a whole language taken as the allegory; the most mature forms of this style is to try and combine the two. The secret seems to me to be to try and implement the allegory in such a way that it does not upset the aesthetics of the language.
The allegory used in glossopoeia is not the same as in literature. It would be difficult to represent the idea of happiness through the subjunctive for instance, so that is not way glossopoeic allegory can be achieved. However, it is perfectly possible to represent, for example, majesty or historical development or a people. By allegory, I do not mean the imitation of a language in the form of another family, for instance, the so-called “romlangs” which is where the grammar of another language family has been put into the context of a romance language’s phonetics. Of course, allegorical glossopoeia might include the creation of new, fictional language as part of another existing branch, but as long as the allegorical intentions are there and apparent. I have done this with my Romance language Isparian which is set an allegory. However, I don’t know, this is the first piece I have written on this, I could well be wrong. Anyway, what I want to do now is show some examples of where I have applied allegory in my languages.
Hopyratian was the first language I ever created when I started, aged eleven, designing it as a code. However, as I got older and my linguistic abilities started to adapt and develop, I found I could make the language more complicated. Through having studied Esperanto, I decided to have a regular, agglutinative way of verbs, all with the infinitive -ki and with six tenses. Noun cases, which I discovered a little later on, were added as soon as I could figure out how they worked. The language became more complex, with more words and more refined grammar. The phonology of Hopyratian is raw, that is to say, purely my instinctual preferences from when I was younger, and so look and feel almost a little mismatched or jumbled. There are hidden attempts at reform, subtle details that pertain to my developing knowledge of linguistics, and of course, especially in the Romanised orthography, a degree of childish inexperience. For example, final -i realised as [aj] or the vastly complicated participle system. By accident it seems however, Hopyratian is an allegory of my creative process, not just in glossopoeia but in everything. It is full of jumping in at the deep end and wild attempts to achieve things about which I had only the faintest idea, which is what I tend to do in my approach to life in general. I have made no more attempts at reforming the language, and have decided on purpose to keep it as an allegory of my creative process; I purposely it use it for testing our new glossopoetics such as writing my first epic poem. My Eldich languages, however, were somewhat more refined. True, High Eldich has also been part of my creative process, but much less representational of it. Rather than kept, those infantile elements were abolished long ago! High Eldich, in particular, was an attempt to create something elegant, but maintain the majesty of what is connoted with ancient languages. To represent this majesty, I used a detailed case system:
To continue with this overall motif of majesty, I have also a system of apophony and mutation, along with bipersonal verbal conjugation. The attempt here was to be representative of ancient languages. The majestic case system of Latin and the beautiful yet slow elegance of Ancient Greek were meant to be represented in both my choice of grammatical structure and the phonetics.
But the allegory of Eldich goes even further, since this epic language was set to become a series of daughter languages. These languages (as are the people who speak them) and their development are meant to serve as an allegory to the Romance languages. Here is a representation of the evolution of the High Eldich word denethas “different” into the daughter languages:
But the allegory of Eldich goes even further, since this epic language was set to become a series of daughter languages. These languages (as are the people who speak them) and their development are meant to serve as an allegory to the Romance languages. Here is a representation of the evolution of the High Eldich word denethas “different” into the daughter languages:
On an individualistic level too, the languages have been shaped deliberately in a direction to make them sound and appear more like individual Romance languages. For example, Vasorian is meant to serve an allegory of Portuguese and therefore similarly uses nasalisation and the adoption of the -te to be pronounced as [ts] was a push in this direction as well. Inside the verbal paradigms, the Romance flavour is also present.
The construction of the Eldich languages was my first conscious use of allegory in a glossopoetic way. The idea was to also demonstrate my development of knowledge in the field of historical linguistic to apply sound change rules and to produce these final results.
My most conscious effort to create a truly allegorical language was the invention of a language which I called Mermish, purely for the context sake. It was intended for a friend from the Philippines and who enjoys “mermaiding”. I decided that the creation of this Mermish language was going to be an exercise in my allegorical and representational style. I chose sounds and phonetics which were based on Tagalog and also with the idea of representing the sound of waves and gushes from the sea. Gemination, postalveolar fricatives and voiceless sounds were all adopted to help give off this sound. I remember being inspired by an example of Ancient North Martian. The prosody was made to be pitch, the pattern of which would depend on the mood of the speaker. Anger adopted a pattern of pitch which crashed, to represent a choppy sea. The grammar was built along the lines of Tagalog naturally including an Austronesian alignment utilising a trigger system. The orthography I wanted to be like the ebbs and flow of ocean waves. I made it an abjad in which each word is written as a continuous stream and the vowels were written as if shell patterns:
My most conscious effort to create a truly allegorical language was the invention of a language which I called Mermish, purely for the context sake. It was intended for a friend from the Philippines and who enjoys “mermaiding”. I decided that the creation of this Mermish language was going to be an exercise in my allegorical and representational style. I chose sounds and phonetics which were based on Tagalog and also with the idea of representing the sound of waves and gushes from the sea. Gemination, postalveolar fricatives and voiceless sounds were all adopted to help give off this sound. I remember being inspired by an example of Ancient North Martian. The prosody was made to be pitch, the pattern of which would depend on the mood of the speaker. Anger adopted a pattern of pitch which crashed, to represent a choppy sea. The grammar was built along the lines of Tagalog naturally including an Austronesian alignment utilising a trigger system. The orthography I wanted to be like the ebbs and flow of ocean waves. I made it an abjad in which each word is written as a continuous stream and the vowels were written as if shell patterns:
Chachawa o imoja,
Te chamiwa na’a awattema.
Penkawa ni tanissa,
Tolwawa tolwa sorema.
Mi sanopim am keke,
Attema wentopim am faso.
I essajawa se’am kara
Jotastottewisim na’i essas
Mi pereniwa ni meñi kan kara;
Ketin ni, ketawim i.
Sena renkopim i kore sim...
Mi pereño sim o imoja.
Rujama sarawa ni weri sim,
Kos marisen fi’a misore.
Makiji om a maki sim mi
Chachali o pa’am kara
O lo tesalam i chela
Mi wa nalimom o...
My latest attempt to explore allegory through language has come from my interest in both the Jewish and the Roma peoples. Reasons for this interest can be – and in fact are – discussed elsewhere, however, my most recent glossopoeic has included the development of language which is allegorical of both the Jews and the Romani, and the people who speak it are meant to be an allegory of them both. Indeed, as I have already discussed, the creation of a language is the simultaneous creation of a people.
My Gobladian language, or to them known as en-Ilitze “the Holy speech” was constructed with the idea of both peoples in mind. The inspiration of the first triroot j-l-m “travel” was inspired by the first lines of the Romani International Anthem Djelem Djelem. The language was also spring-boarded by many ideas which I had cobbled together in a bid to create it before. The phonology was more or less derived from Romani, aspirated consonants and especially the lovely [d͡ʒ]. I decided to leave the retroflex consonants aside since I felt like it would clutter the language too much, and I opted for an alveolar trill [r] despite both Romani (some dialects) and Hebrew possessing the uvular [ʀ]. The Romanised orthography was designed to be similar to that of both, representing the aspirate consonants as ph [ph], th [th] and kh [kh] and I always loved the particular Hebrew transliteration of [x] as ch rather than kh. Also, I thought tz for [t͡s] was much more exciting than ts. The vowels are six, the five pure vowels along with front rounded vowel [y] because it adds something unique. The orthography is written very much like Hebrew, but since the Romani lack their own script other than in Latin or Cyrillic, I took influence from the Devanagari as Romani is a member of the Indo-Aryan family of languages.
The grammar is meant to be representative of Hebrew in most cases, but also is individual in others. The basis of all words is a triliteral root, from which are derived words. For example, from kh- d-r “read” we can derive akhadra “book” and lekhdir “library”, or even more subtly from the root v-k “flow” we derive vaki “water”, ivok “breath” and even lavkena “freedom”. There is the use of state: definite and indefinite forms for nouns within their classes, and, common to both Hebrew and Romani, masculine and feminine genders. Following the flavour of both the language phonologically, I derived words such as elesh “behold” and gitana “song”. The whole experience of creating this language has been about the pleasure of the aesthetics, but also producing something allegorical and representational since that is what I aim for.
My Gobladian language, or to them known as en-Ilitze “the Holy speech” was constructed with the idea of both peoples in mind. The inspiration of the first triroot j-l-m “travel” was inspired by the first lines of the Romani International Anthem Djelem Djelem. The language was also spring-boarded by many ideas which I had cobbled together in a bid to create it before. The phonology was more or less derived from Romani, aspirated consonants and especially the lovely [d͡ʒ]. I decided to leave the retroflex consonants aside since I felt like it would clutter the language too much, and I opted for an alveolar trill [r] despite both Romani (some dialects) and Hebrew possessing the uvular [ʀ]. The Romanised orthography was designed to be similar to that of both, representing the aspirate consonants as ph [ph], th [th] and kh [kh] and I always loved the particular Hebrew transliteration of [x] as ch rather than kh. Also, I thought tz for [t͡s] was much more exciting than ts. The vowels are six, the five pure vowels along with front rounded vowel [y] because it adds something unique. The orthography is written very much like Hebrew, but since the Romani lack their own script other than in Latin or Cyrillic, I took influence from the Devanagari as Romani is a member of the Indo-Aryan family of languages.
The grammar is meant to be representative of Hebrew in most cases, but also is individual in others. The basis of all words is a triliteral root, from which are derived words. For example, from kh- d-r “read” we can derive akhadra “book” and lekhdir “library”, or even more subtly from the root v-k “flow” we derive vaki “water”, ivok “breath” and even lavkena “freedom”. There is the use of state: definite and indefinite forms for nouns within their classes, and, common to both Hebrew and Romani, masculine and feminine genders. Following the flavour of both the language phonologically, I derived words such as elesh “behold” and gitana “song”. The whole experience of creating this language has been about the pleasure of the aesthetics, but also producing something allegorical and representational since that is what I aim for.
En-Julumen A Maltzanit! Elesh in-Letzeni! Avad mat kolofit esh lakvit! Ezyn chartantem Urtudun! A Letzenem! Eleshem! Eleshem! Od jalamza tzote pen-dromena In-maltzani sabeli esh ha-lakvena Zajarza tishyat kolofet pen-elshentz Kon lamadzet azan en-afessentz, En-lijalmen Letzen hozeli talaze, Elesh en-zoma maltzanes kalaze! A Maltzanit! Elesh in-Letzeni! Avad mat kolofit esh lakvit! Ezyn chartantem Urtudun! A Letzenem! Eleshem! Eleshem! En-jefom padeno les rathaza En-Izmanam maltzane les lagaza. Vaky hetlenys bach lofeshyat, Ipelmmy olgunys zen mittat. In-maltzanin mindas en-erezjaras En-julumen lekoni les barachas. A Maltzanit! Elesh in-Letzeni! Avad mat kolofit esh lakvit! Ezyn chartantem Urtudun! A Letzenem! Eleshem! Eleshem! |
I wish to continue exploring the application of allegorical glossopoetics. I think there’s great potential for not just a personal exploration of creativity, but also a way in which we can explore language differently. There is so much denied to us through the linguistic, pragmatic focus of glossopoeia which we are unable to investigate for the sake of it being unscientific. More glossopoetics like allegory and representation can give us greater insight into the nature of language. One thing I would like to pursue and develop is harnessing the ideas of Element Theory and phonetic symbolism. For instance, utilising the |I| element, which in the theory denotes a high vowel or a palatal. Why could this not serve also to denote either something to do with diminutives or something cold? Is it our notion of Slavic people that their languages sound cold? Or could be it be the use of palatals which give them their icy edge? It is these questions I wish to further explore, not through linguistics, but through glossopoeia, which allows us to do so.