Tag Archives: mansi

Ob-Ugric 9: Mansi (Tavda, cont.)

Our final Mansi sessions were spent studying a folktale in Tavda, a southern dialect which, before it died out in the 1920s, was probably the closest to Hungarian. Reflecting on his visit to the lower Tavda river area in 1894, Munkácsi initially assumed that Tavda was a separate language:

A Tavda folyó alvidékén csekély számban fönmaradt vogulok nyelve a vogul nyelvterület lenönállóbb s legsajátosabb része, mely első tekintetre olyan benyomással hat a figyelőre, mintha benne nem is egy tájbeszédnek, hanem az uráli ugor nyelvek egyik külön tagjának őriződött volna meg végső maradványa.

Bernát Munkácsi, A vogul nyelvjárások szóragozásukban ismertetve, Budapest, MTA, 1894, p. 244.

A mere forty pages of Tavda exist: texts collected by Munkácsi from the late 1880s onwards and, later, by Artturi Kannisto in the early 1900s (see Kannisto, ed. Matti Liimola, Wogulische Volksdichtung, 6 vols., Helsinki, 1951-63), which are collated (and treated as one dialect) by László Honti in System der paradigmatischen Suffixmorpheme des Wogulischen Dialektes an der Tawda, Budapest, 1975.

Although stress nearly always fell on the second syllable, Tavda had an accusative marker (-mee/-mii), and vowel harmony where front and back vowels largely corresponded with those in Hungarian:

Tavda N. Vogul Hungarian English
äämp āmp eb dog
käät kāt kéz/keze- hand


Its other cases are: lative, locative, ablative, instrumental, comitative, and translative. Tavda is paratactic, which means that there is no subordination in sentence formation, where words can be placed in any order. Some relics of parataxis (in other words, where there is no accusativity) still exist in Hungarian, such as háztűznézni, könyvolvasás, kézmosás. In terms of the text we studied, the verb system has a passive marker inserted before the durative or the past marker; an indicative and imperative mood (the latter only in the second person); and momentaneous and durative present tenses and one past tense. Like Hungarian, there is no definite/indefinite disctinction in the past tense. There are no definite forms in the passive, or in intransitive verb forms. Personal possessive suffixes may be familiar to speakers of Hungarian:

s1 -(ə)m/-aam p1 -(ə)w
s2 -(ə)n p2 -((ə))n)ää/-((ə)n)aa
s3 -iit’ii/-eet’ii p3 -ään/-aan


Some examples, in which the sequence of morphemes is the same in Tavda and Hungarian include: niim (HU: nőm); käätəmən (kezembe); torəm (torkom). Of course, Hungarian has long since developed European features on top of the Uralic characteristics, such as the definite article, and agreement between definite noun phrases and verb forms.

The text is the story of a hunter who, having killed and skinned a reindeer and put it in the pot, is astonished when a wind blows up, the pot tips over and the reindeer jumps out and flees. He goes to the nearest village and tells a man there he has seen a miracle, and recounts the tale. The listener, a ploughman, invites him to stand with him on the plough, while he relates an even more fantastic story: he once came home to find his wife in bed with another man, and when the woman hit him and commanded him to turn into a black dog, he turned into a black dog. The dog came across some ploughmen who, believing Torem had sent them a guard dog, gave him food while he guarded their dwellings for a week. The dog then guarded the dwelling of the landowner, whose wife bore him a son. The baby was stolen. She had another son, who was also stolen. When the third son was born, the dog stopped the thief by biting his leg, and was rewarded with bread and sugar, even a ribbon around his neck. One day, he set off hunting for rabbits with the landowner, but instead returned home to find his wife in bed with another man. She beat him, and commanded him to turn into a sparrow, which he did. He flew off and started eating oats with horses in a field, where he was caught by two children and taken to their home. Their father, the baby thief, whips him and commands him to become a man. He becomes a man. They feed him and, when he leaves, the old man presses a whip into his hand and tells him to go home, whip his wife and turn her into a mare, and to whip her lover and turn him into a stallion. He does just this. The narrator harnesses the mare and stallion to his plough, on which narrator and hunter are standing. The hunter says, now that is a miracle!

Lexical items of interest: the words for black dog (śarnəšk), sugar (sääkäär), bed (krawāť) and miracle (t’iwa) are from Russian (чорнышка, сахр, кровать, диво), while Tatar borrowings include tüs (hunting), pajtəl (mare), and sol (oats).

Although it would be misleading to say that Tavda is ‘easy’ or even remotely intelligible for Hungarian speakers, the text provided numerous ‘whoah!’ moments. Having studied Mansi now for a few months, this was plain sailing. The Hungarian morpheme-by-morpheme crib sheet provided was immediately understandable. The following original and Hungarian crib, in which the ploughman begins his story, will illustrate the beauties of Tavda (transcription simplified in the interest of legibility).

tü kom länt: “tiťi ńokor ťiwa?! äm ťiwa wāsəm. āləs äm niim,” länt. “äšnäl jisəm, niim māt kom jōrtəl krawāť ašt šänəwtäktiim koji. nii noƞläkətəs, ńärəmtəs tupiinək, šäwräpəwsəm päntä, läws: ālsən näw kom, iń sown šiiməl ämp!” äm sowsəm šiiməl ämpəw, künpāšəwsəm. äm kajtsəm.

Ez ember mond: “Emez milyen csoda?! ÉN csoda láttam. Volt én nőm,” mond, “munkából haza jöttem, nőm más férfival együtt ágyon ölelkezve fekszik. Nő felugrott, vett dorong, vágott féjjen, mondott: “Voltál most(ig) férfi, most válj fekete eb!” Én váltam fekete ebbé, kiűzettem. én futkároztam.

Ob-Ugric 8: Bears (cont.)

The Mūnkēsiŋ uj-ēriɣ (‘Song of the Creature of the Village of Munkes’), collected by Munkácsi in 1889, recounts the foraging activities, capture and death of a bear, followed by a bear feast. The narrator is the bear, who frequently refers to himself in the third person, Vojle-ōnle, ‘animal-majestic’. During summer, he gathers pine cones and berries in the forest, eating as he goes, to make fat for his back and belly so he can sleep through the winter. Noting that his Heavenly Father has descended (in other words, autumn has arrived), he finds a large mound of earth at the banks of the noble river, where he decides he will hibernate. He scoops out the earth with both paws (see below), lines the earthen house with moss, and enters, where he rests his plaited and beautiful head. His sleep is disturbed by men with dogs. The men hold axes and ice-breaking poles, and make an arrowslit in the roof of his lair. When the bear pokes his head out, his head is ‘run through’, he is bound with rope and dragged out. His five buttons are undone (he is skinned), the fat of his back and belly is placed on a sledge and taken to the village, where the hunting party is greeted by men and women whooping and throwing snow. The bear is placed on a dais inside the house, and sits in his splendid nest while fish is brought to eat. The men disguise themselves and performs songs and plays for five nights, then a blood sacrifice of reindeer is placed before the bear. His head and paws are cut off, cooked in a pot and shared out; the bear then gets up and, in the form of a mole, slips away with the blood sacrifice. He looks up (prays) to his Heavenly Father, who lets down the iron ladder from heaven, which the bear ascends with his blood sacrifice. He attaches the blood sacrifices to the iron pillar, enters the gold roofbeamed house where his Heavenly Father sits, and asks “whither will you direct me?” Numi-Torem replies he should hurry to the berry-laden, cone-laden grove, whereupon the bear, in his joy, jumps forward with a three-jump jump and a four-swing bound.

Archaica, Russians, animals in folklore

Bear narrators frequently recount their deaths by knife, lance or bow and arrow, while heroic songs feature warriors in armour using swords, despite the fact that automatic weapons had already been commonplace in the region for centuries. It seems that rifles have some taboo attached to them, described perhaps as a firing ‘noisy, loud-noised thing’, but in any case the animal’s death will be quickly passed over, and only referred to in an exceedingly circumlocutory way.

I say that the animal’s death is glossed over using ornate language because the bear describes ‘losing consciousness’ or falling into a deep sleep, and goes on to narrate the ensuing bear feast and performances, the ‘hand-turning, leg-turning’ plays. A bear feast for a male bear lasts five days, corresponding to the number of buttons the animals is said to have, four for a female bear, and three for a bear cub. The technology (tools) with which the bear was killed is sometimes blamed on the Russians, who provided tips for the spears and suchlike, but at any rate, the hunters go to great lengths to absolve themselves of guilt, for killing a bear is not something taken lightly. The supernatural abilities of the bear include an imputed ability to conceal its scent from men and dogs; performers of the plays often disguise their faces, bodies and voices so that the dead bear being entertained will not recognise them. Taboo words are discussed further in Marianne Bakró-Nagy, Die Sprache des Bärenkultes im Obugrischen, Budapest, Akadémiai, 1979.

Furred animals provided a form of currency, as well as a unit of measurement. G. F. Cushing’s article on the bear in Ob-Ugrian folklore cites a poem in which squirrel furs represent kopecks: the cunning Vogul offers to repay the Russian his 100-squirrel-fur debt with ‘hidden treasure’, a buried corpse. As they dig, the corpse moves and the Russian collapses in terror. The narrator declares to the corpse, ‘whether you come to life or not, it’s all the same to me’. (See G. F. Cushing, ‘The Bear in Ob-Ugrian Folklore’, Folklore, 88, 1977, 2, pp. 146-59.)

In the Mūnkēsiŋ uj-ēriɣ the bear, while preparing his hibernation place, fills five pine marten skins with soil with his right paw, and then six with his left (here, in Munkácsi’s transcription):

jḁmes-pāl ḁlnė kātläp-pālėm


at ńoɣs ḁsmäń ɣuri’

kwon ti patilāli;

vorti-pāl ḁlnė kātläp-pālėm


ɣḁt ḁsmäń ɣuri’

kwon ti patilāli.

Gyula Illyés translates this as:

Jobb felőli fél kezecském


öt nyusztbőrből varrt cihába

férő föld omol ki,

bal oldali fél kezecském


hat nyusztbőrből varrt cihába

férő föld bomol ki.

Illyés, ‘Medveének’, in Péter Domokos (ed.), Medveének. A keleti finnugor népek irodalmának kistükre, Budapest, Európa, 1975, pp. 39-46 (41).

One of the tasks of the translator is to render the repetition and parallelism (R&P) of the original. To the Western reader, R&P may seem cumbersome: no new information is given, but synonyms are employed to vary the repetition (see above, lines 1 & 5, and 2 & 6). It is crucial that the reader recognise the forms and role of R&P, not least because repetition aids reading. Illyés makes full use of his skills as a poet, and exploits the resources of Hungarian, balancing the literal with the creative. He recreates participial phrases (which participate in both noun and verb systems) immediately recognisable to the reader, thus kinsəlėnėm xaltə, during the course of my search, lit. ‘in my seeking’, becomes keresgéltemben, while ūnlėnėm xaltə, while sitting, ‘in my sitting’, is rendered ültömben.

Last, but not least, the raw materials for comparative Finno-Ugric morphology are contained within the poem: āmp/eb (dog); at/öt (five); ɣḁt/hat (six); xōs/húgy (star, here taboo for the bear’s eyes); xåsä/hosszú (long); ūləm/álom (dream); jåməs/jó (good); ńēlm/nyelv (tongue); lowint/(meg)olvas (to read), an instance of metathesis where, here, consonant and vowel exchange places. The past marker here is -m- (Cf. HU -t-). Such correspondences are central to the comparative method in historical linguistics, evidence-based internal reconstruction of language(s).

Ob-Ugric 7: Mansi (Sygva) numbers, bears and bear poems

In the last class, we took a look at the noun system in the northern Sygva dialect of Mansi, and started reading a bear poem.

The order of noun suffixes works as follows: plural + possession + case. As I’ve already mentioned, Sygva Mansi is elaborate in marking number: it has separate sets of endings for dual, and for three or more subjects and objects. Case endings may be instrumental (e.g. I hit him with an axe) or comitative (e.g. I hit him together with my friend, i.e. my friend and I hit him); ablative; locative; lative; or translative (without plural or possessive endings). Where two full vowels (but NOT ə) appear next to each other, a -j- is inserted between them.

For instance, where sāli is reindeer, sālijanəl (sāli-j-anəl: reindeer-1-their (3 or more possessors)) means 1 reindeer belonging to 3 or more people; while sālijaɣamēn (sāli-j-aɣ-amēn: reindeer-2-our (2 possessors)) means 2 reindeer owned by two people.

Or, where kol is house:

kol-əm-t in my house

kol-aɣ-ən-t in your (1 possessor) two houses

kol-an-ə-t in their (3-or-more possessors) houses

kol-ət-t in 3-or-more houses

Further examples can be found in Béla Kálmán, Wogulische Texte mit einem Glossar, Budapest, Akadémiai, 1976.

Now onto bears.

The bear song, Mūnkēsiŋ uj-ēriɣ (‘Song of the Creature of the Village of Munkes’, HU: ‘Múnkeszfalvi állat-ének’), was collected by Munkácsi on 8 March 1889 in Berjozovo, and was first printed in his Vogul Népköltési Gyűjtemény, III/2, pp. 260-5. This song was translated by Gyula Illyés (1902-83) as ‘Medveének’, a masterful translation that exploits those elements of rhythm, syntax and word formation shared by Hungarian and Vogul. Illyés created a verbal art form that is unmistakably modern Hungarian, but which transcends the strictures of that language’s verse conventions to have the reader hear an echo of the Mansi language and pre-modern oral culture, transforming the basic structure of Uralic folk poetry, that of repetition and parallelism, into an exceptionally skillful translation. His translation is available in: Péter Domokos (ed.), Medveének. A keleti finnugor népek irodalmának kistükre, Budapest, Európa, 1975, pp. 39-46; and Béla Kálmán (ed.), Leszállt a medve az égből. Vogul népköltészet, Budapest, Európa, 1980, pp. 224-31.

Before a discussion of the poem and its translation, some notes on bear mythology.

In Ob-Ugric mythology, the bear is the most sacred and the most feared creature. Tales of the bear’s origin are perhaps reminiscent of the fall of Adam: the bear’s father is Numi-Torem, Mansi God of the heavens. She (for it is usually a she) disobeys the Heavenly Father’s commands to stay in his house of gold and silver, and descends to Earth, where her life becomes full of difficulty. She must gather enough berries and sustenance to last the winter hibernation.

[The bear] is the guardian of justice and takes note of the most solemn oaths. It appears as a higher power who may take revenge for broken promises and as such plays a central role in the thought-world of the Ob-Ugrians.

G. F. Cushing, ‘The Bear in Ob-Ugrian Folklore’, Folklore, 88, 1977, 2, pp. 146-59 (p. 147)

Taboo words are used to refer to the bear: a male is the one with five buttons, a female bear has four, while a bearcub has three buttons. Bears may also be referred to as ‘the old one of the forest’, ‘the little idol’, ‘the holy beast’ and ‘the strong beast’. Its eyes are ‘stars’ (xōs) or ‘currants’, while its front paws are ‘hands’ (kāt), its back paws ‘boots’, and it skin a ‘cloak’. When a bear is killed and skinned, the skinning process is referred to as āŋxwəlawət: ‘undressing’, removal of the cloak (HU: kibont, levetkőztet). Words for the bear’s stomach include xurəɣ (sack), såut (birch-bark basket, a word of Tatar origin), and pajp (birch-bark butt, HU: puttony), while its back is pūtjiw, the two struts from which a cooking pot is suspended over the fire. The name for the sledge on which the bear’s corpse is transported, ťāťä, also comes from Tatar. It is not so important where the word for an object comes from, then, what is important is that we should not say what it is.

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Ob-Ugric 6: Mansi, Munkácsi, Nagy and sleep

I mentioned that Munkácsi’s collections of Mansi song and verse (Bernát Munkácsi, Vogul Népköltési Gyűjtemény, 4 vols., Budapest, MTA, 1892-1963) had inspired a number of twentieth-century poets, and referred to the imagery of a particular kind of deep sleep, the sort so deep that the sleeper would not wake up, even if their head/torso were cut off.

This motif of the deep sleep might, for instance, refer to the shaman’s loss of consciousness after performing his rites.

Here’s an example of the Mansi neck-/head-/trunk-cut, firm/rooted sleep image:

slot 1 slot 2 slot 3 slot 4
puŋkä jäktim tāriŋ ūləm
its head cuts/chops rooted sleep

Slot 4 is always occupied by the same word for ‘sleep’, ūləm, which will be familiar to Hungarian speakers as álom, dream. The preceding slots may be filled as follows:

1. puŋk-ä (head-3rd person possessive), sip-ä (neck-3rd person possessive), or porx-ä (shoulder/trunk-3rd person possessive);

2. Slot 2 might contain jäktim (cuts/chops) or ńawlənə (pursues/chases);

3. Slot 3 might contain tār-iŋ (root-ed), vaɣ-in (strong, lit: strength-ed), porx-iŋ (shoulder-ed/ trunk-ed), sari (true/genuine), ńaŋrä (powerful/firm/hard), xosä (long, C.f. HU hosszú), or usi (powerful/strong)

Such forms were explicated by Munkácsi (nyaklevágott álom, neck-cut-off dream), and read by, amongst others, the poets László Nagy (1925-78, below left) and Ferenc Juhász (b. 1928).

Nagy transforms the nyaklevágott álom in his poem ‘Medvezsoltár’ (Bear-psalm) into a fejlevágható, szív-kiszakítható álom, in which the dream becomes rather ‘head-cut-off-able’, and the new attribute is ‘heart-tear-out-able’ (szív-kiszakítható). Note that the -ható is not there in the original. Translated into English as ‘Bear Psalm’ in Tony Connor and Kenneth McRobbie (trans.), Love of the Scorching Wind: Selected Poems 1953-1971, Budapest, Corvina, 1973, pp. 61-3, this line is translated as ‘the dream can be beheaded, my sleeping heart torn out’.

See László Nagy, ‘Medvezsoltár’ in Versek és versfordítások, Vol. I, Budapest, Magvető, 1975, pp. 444-6, or at the Digitális Irodalmi Akadémia.

Further reading: Robert Austerlitz, Ob-Ugric Metrics: the metrical structure of Ostyak and Vogul folk poetry, Helsinki, Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 1958; and Peter Sherwood, ‘Ob-Ugrian Sleep’, in L. Jakab, L. Keresztes, A. Kiss and S. Maticsák (eds), Congressus Septimus Internationalis Fenno-Ugristarum. Sessiones Sectionum. Dissertationes Linguistica, Debrecen, Debrecen University Press, 1990, pp. 308-13.

Ob-Ugric 5: Mansi (Sygva) grammar

Last session we looked at a table summarising the main features of Sygva Mansi verbs, including the order of various inflectional suffixes.

In Sygva, the order of these suffixes is not as fixed as in Hungarian, where mood and tense markers always precede personal suffixes. While Hungarian has an entirely different paradigm of personal suffixes to indicate that the verb has a definite direct object, in Sygva we find a set of inflectional morphemes, inserted between the mood/tense/passive voice markers and the personal suffixes, to indicate the definite direct object.

The order of passive voice and mood/tense markers also varies. Sygva Vogul is more elaborate in marking number: it has a separate set of verb endings for singular, double, and for three or more subjects and objects. This is even more interesting if we take into account the fact that the Vogul noun system lacks an accusative case marker. As a result, definite direct objects are indicated only by means of a set of inflectional morphemes. As is often the case with languages lacking an accusative case marker, Vogul has a passive voice marker which can precede or follow the tense/mood markers.

In the second part of the session we discussed methods of internal reconstruction and systematic correspondences, the ‘sound laws’ of the Ugric languages. Peter drew our attention to the misunderstanding that gives rise to the popular belief that ‘Hungarian doesn’t like consonant clusters’. This statement might come as surprise if we consider that the Hungarian noun system abounds in derived or root words such as boncnok, stráfkocsi, krumplistészta, etc. The Hungarian verb system is more archaic than the noun system, which is why the above belief holds only in the case of verbs, which preserved more archaic elements of the Ugric phonotactic system. Nouns must be able to take any kind of ending, among them suffixes starting with a consonant without a linking vowel–unlike verbs, which do not allow a suffix added to the stem without vowel insertion if the verb ends in a consonant cluster and the first sound of the suffix is a consonant as well (e.g. parasztnak (NOUN: sz + t +n), akasztanak (VERB: sz + t + a + n).

We discussed changes affecting the sounds β and γ, which are the two extreme ends of the vocal tract, hence, they are more likely to disappear or to be replaced by a vowel if the extra syllable is needed.

After that we turned to the Zyrian and Tatar loanwords in Vogul and Ostyak dialects, and looked at charts showing the distribution of loans of various origin among the various dialects. We also looked at etymological relations between the Hungarian, Ostyak and Vogul lexicon and explored arguments for and against the existence of a Ugric language branch within the Uralic languages.

The next couple of sessions will be spent looking at a bear poem, and a translation by Gyula Illyés.

Ob-Ugric 4: Mansi vocabulary, Song of Conversion (cont.)

At around the same time as Europeans were colonising the Americas and decimating the native populations there, Russians were pushing eastward. Siberia was colonised during the reign of Ivan IV (Ivan the Terrible, 1530-84) and, by the end of the sixteenth century, the Mansi had been pushed from ‘European Russia’ to the other side of the Urals. Incidentally, the word ‘Ural’ itself comes from Mansi: ur (mountain) + ala (roof).

While the Mansi religion is polytheistic and shamanistic, images of worldly deities (tsars, Lenin) were gradually added to sacred places in Mansi dwellings over the centuries. Leonid Trauberg and Grigori Kozintsev’s 1931 film Одна (Alone), for which Shostakovich wrote the score, was filmed in the Altai mountains. Although shamans were to be liquidated together with the kulaks under collectivisation, the film includes footage of a surviving shaman, and the entire crew were reportedly terrified of him. Their awe is almost tangible, if not contagious, in the scene in which he dances and sings by a fire.

A few notes on borrowed words in the northern (Sygva) dialect of Mansi we’ve been studying. Some words for ‘modern’ things come from Russian: ārkeri (архиереи, bishop), aťēl (отдел, carriage), xōsax (казак, Cossack), konkrēs (конгресс, congress), rūt (род, kin), sāprańi (собрание, meeting), tēsis (тезис, thesis), and also pil(i), the word for car, which comes from автомобиль.

Others come from Komi (also known as Zyrian), another Uralic language, but one spoken on the western side of the Urals: nēpak (nipik – paper, letter, book, writing), and tujt (tūjt – horsedrawn sledge). The Sygva Mansi words for Russian, cross (as in crucifix), and bread (as in naan bread) also come from Komi. We can see how Russian, and other more western-ly items are imported via other Uralic languages that exist in closer proximity to Russian(s).

Oddly enough, however, the Sygva word for silk (japak), comes from Tatar, which means that it must have travelled a great distance. The word for cow, too, comes from the south, where livelihoods depend on herds, rather than on reindeer and fish.

Mansi is, as one would expect, particularly rich in river vocabulary. So far, we’ve come across words for the flat piece of land next to the riverbank (pōx), downriver (lui), and the part of a river between two bends (wōľ). There’s also reindeer vocabulary, such as kot, the skin on a reindeer’s leg; mańśək, a reindeer’s tail; and xār-ōjka, a reindeer bull, where xār is reindeer, and ōjka is the same as the Hungarian bácsi, uncle or older man.

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Ob-Ugric 3: Mansi (Tavda), Song of Conversion

Before languages die out, they go mad. This means that agreements fail, phonologic differences may fade away, there is syntactic loss: the language’s systems fall apart. We need to bear in mind this kind of craziness when looking at dialects of Mansi that have died out, because samples collected from Tavda in the late 1800s, for instance, a southern dialect that was probably the closest to Hungarian, may well contradict each other.

Mansi belongs to the Ob-Ugrian sub-group of the Finno-Ugric branch of the Uralic languages, and its speakers mostly live along tributaries of the river Ob, while a few live along the river Konda. There are, or were, three distinct Mansi branches. The Northern Mansi speakers live(d) along the banks of the rivers Sosva, Sygva and Upper Lozva. Speakers of Eastern Mansi lived along the Konda valley, while Southern (including Tavda) and Western Mansi no longer speak Mansi.

Tavda had vowel harmony, and displayed some fascinating Ugric ideas that speakers of Hungarian will be familiar with. In Hungarian, definiteness might be expressed in one of four ways. Here are the ways in which distinctions between conjugations are made:

1. látok / látom – I see something, vs. I see it. Here, the difference is in the consonant used.

2. -unk, -ünk / -juk, -jük: these are first person plural endings, in which the sequence of letters is jumbled up, the ‘n’ disappears and a ‘j’ appears at the beginning.

3. -t-ak / -t-ák: here, the vowel is lengthened to denote definiteness in the third person plural.

4. néz-tek / néz-i-tek where something (here, ‘i’) is inserted for the second conjugation (you [informal plural] look vs. you look at it).

Tavda used the fourth principle, in which a slot for a definite marker appears before personal endings. However, all pronouns are definite in Mansi and Khanty, not just the 3rd person.

Tavda had an accusative marker, and two sorts of instrumental, for when an instrument is used (e.g. I hit him with an axe) and a comitative (I hit him [together] with my friend), as well as an equivalent to the Hungarian translative -vá/-vé, which denotes something becoming something else, e.g. vérré vált ez a sör (I’ve just drunk this beer and it has become blood in my body).

Tavda died out in the 1920s, at around the same time written forms of Mansi and Khanty were introduced, using the Cyrillic alphabet.

After looking at the grammar, we moved on to a poem collected by Bernát Munkácsi (1860-1937) in 1888, but which dates from the early 1700s, when the Russians decided to convert the ‘heathens’ of Siberia to Christianity. Munkácsi’s original family name was Munk, and his family were so poor he grew up in a cave in Nagyvárad (today Oradea in Romania). He travelled to the Urals in the 1880s, and his collections of Ugric song and verse, first published by the Hungarian Academy of Sciences in 1892, delighted and inspired a number of twentieth-century poets. Ferenc Juhász and László Nagy both borrowed imagery from Khanty and Mansi verbal art forms and motifs, such as the ‘nyaklevágható álom’, literally, neck-cut-off-able dream, a sleep so deep your head could be severed and you wouldn’t wake up, rendered as ‘fejlevágható álom’ in László Nagy’s poem Medvezsoltár (Bear psalm).

The poem we read has been translated as the Song of Conversion, and is one of the most powerful, sparse poems I have ever read.

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Ob-Ugric 2: Mansi (Sygva), the mouse tale

In the second class, we read a folk tale in the northern dialect of Mansi (also called Vogul), Sygva, about a mouse. Here are the first few lines of the text, and I’m using the Latin script for ease of recognisability (Cyrillic was introduced in the late 1930s). There’s no upper case:

mātāpriś ōli. χottaľ minuŋk noməlmātas. āmpńēlum tūpsup wārəs, ponalťēr χāpsup wārəs, χāpťēte nāluw(*) nariɣtaste, tūpťēte wis(**), tāləs. ta towi, te ērɣi: āmpńēlum tūpsuptem, pol, pol, pol, ponalťēr χāpsuptem, χaľ, χaľ, χaľ … χosa minas, wāti minas, ēlaľ sunsi: ak pāweln nēɣləs …

The above can be translated into Hungarian with ease (source: Béla Kálmán, Wogulische Texte mit einem Glossar, Budapest, 1976, pp. 180-2):

Egér van. Valahová menni gondolt. Ebnyelv evezőcskét csinált, kendermaghej hajócskát csinált, hajócskáját vízre(*) taszította, evezőcskéjét vette(**), beszállt. Evezett, énekelt: ebnyelv evezőcském, pól, pól, pól, kendermaghej hajócskám, sáv, sáv, sáv … Hosszú ment, rövid ment, előre lát: egy falutól látszott.

It’s really tricky in English. Here’s my best shot:

There is a mouse. He thought of going somewhere. He made dog-tongue oars, he made a hemp-husk boat, led his boat to the river bank, took his oars, sat down in the boat. He rowed, he sang: my little dog-tongue oars, pol, pol, pol, my little hemp-husk boat, shav, shav, shav … He went a long time, he went a short time, he looked ahead: the mouse appeared to a village.

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Ob-Ugric 1: Mansi (Sygva)

Hungarian belongs to the Uralic family of languages, which is split between Finno-Ugric and Samoyedic subfamilies. A detailed map of the Uralic languages is available here.

The major languages of the Finno-Ugric are Finnish, Estonian (Balto-Finnic) and Hungarian (Ugric). The closest living relatives to Hungarian are Khanty (also known as Ostyak) and Mansi (also known as Vogul), both of which are indigenous languages of Russia that have many dialects. According to the Russian Federation census of 1990, Khanty has around 15,000 native speakers, while Mansi has only 3,000.

We began the Ob-Ugric classes with Peter Sherwood in 2007, and the first text we studied was in the northern (Sygva) dialect of Mansi, in which a Mansi woman, Evdokija I. Rombandeeva (b. 1928), recounted her trip to Helsinki to attend a conference in 1965.

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