Preliminary Reflections on Ideophones in Caquinte: Polysemy, Aspect, and Idioms

At AMAZONICAS IX earlier this month, I was inspired by two presentations on ideophones, one by Patience Epps and Karolin Obert, the other by Spike Gildea. My FieldWorks Language Explorer (FLEx) database of Caquinte currently has some 400 headwords for distinct ideophones, approximately 11% of total headwords. Caquinte ideophones are frequent in traditional narratives, relatively specific in their meanings, and common across speakers. Last summer, for the first time, I conducted elicitation related to ideophones, with Emilia Sergio; we reviewed the meanings of ideophones that had arisen in Emilia's own narratives, and especially those of her mother, Antonina Salazar. My earliest information about the meanings of these ideophones had arisen in conversation with Emilia's brother Miguel, with whom I have done the most translation work; what ideophones meant for Emilia were, expectedly, largely consistent with her own usage, with Miguel's intuitions, and with Antonina's usage.

Ideophones in Caquinte exhibit a number of properties that distinguish them from other word classes. They take no morphology. They are often "malformed" given the phonotactics of the remainder of the lexicon. They are often colorfully expressive in a way that gets people laughing. There are, crudely speaking, short ideophones (e.g., jak, depicting a counter-expectation) and long ones (sookirerere 'wide-eyed'). There are ones that occur once (again, jak) and ones that are reduplicated: reduplicated ones can be short (e.g., chaiii chaiii chaiii, the call of oichaichai, the female Blue-throated piping guan; cf. koyokoyo, the male), or consist of the final syllables of longer ones (again, sookirerere; cf. /sooki/ 'see'). (My orthographic conventions are to write root-internal long vowels as two graphemes, root-final ones as three, and for final reduplicated syllables to be written three times, even though they're often reduplicated more than three times. Final stress, not attested elsewhere in the language, is written with an acute accent.) Some ideophones are onomatopoeic (again, chaiii, after the guan's call), others demonstrably not so, as with ideophones that depict inaudible eventualities, as with chomi chomi chomi, the movements of masses of earthworms.

Some ideophones are morphologically simplex, others seemingly derived. For example, most verb roots that end in /h/ or /g/ have an ideophonic counterpart in which these segments are replaced by /k/ (e.g., /metoh/ 'die, kill' yields metok; /katig/ 'stand' yields katik, not to be confused with the verb root /katik/ 'squeeze,' said of soft objects). Yet others are related to nouns: the inalienable noun root chanchakiji (cf. kiji 'stick'), referring to the thin legs of certain birds (and humans, like mine), yields chanchakijik. When might you use this ideophone, you might ask? Here's an example, from Antonina's story of Spix's Guan, which includes many other ideophones as well. The ideophones are admittedly difficult to translate in a way that remains faithful to the aesthetic of the original text. But Miguel had very crisp judgments about what each ideophone depicted in the translation of the story. These conversations often lead to broader ones about what else these ideophones might depict, very worthwhile conversations to have.

Arikea ikatsimatanake jagitya, yagatikitaro paamaripokiki tibare tibare, ijakiti chanchakijik shíkokok shíkokok, marok jeaaa jeaaa jámon jámon.

Then Spix's Guan got angry, he stepped on the fire log tibare tibare (kicking against something), he went chanchakijik (the motion of this thin legs in kicking) shíkokok shíkokok (the bounce of bird wings) marok (wings bent out and downward, as before flight) jeeaaa jeeaaa jámon jámon (Spix's Guan's cry).

In this post, as I return to analyzing Caquinte ideophones after nearly a year, I want to home in on three recurrent issues in describing them, namely polysemy, aspect, and idioms. Polysemies provide insights (potentially) into the ways that seemingly different eventualities are conceptualized as similar; aspectual contrasts reveal ways in which ideophones retain certain iconic properties; and idiomatic uses of ideophones unveil unique, culturally particular knowledge and practices, and assist in locating idioms in the language, which largely lacks the more obvious phrasal idioms we might be used to from other languages.

For polysemy, we can inspect jiririri, which can depict the sound of crackling fire, as in the following methodically detailed passage by Antonina. Here we see the verbs /tsenki/ 'light on fire,' /morek/ 'be aflame,' and /atsik/ 'rise,' said of flames (homophonous with 'bite'). We observe that the ideophonic counterpart to /morek/ is the identical morek, and that jiririri, as it were, goes with /atsik/. (Relatedly, it may also depict the crackling sound from garden burning.)

Ari naatimpa notsenkitsita paamari, omorekanake morek atsikanake jiririri.

Then I lit the fire, it went aflame morek, and the flames rose jiririri.

The ideophone jiririri can also depict torrential rain (Emilia described it as otejamajatakegeti 'when it really rains'), as in Antonina's Flood story, where we similarly encounter additional ideophones. Here we also observe that ideophones don't always accompany lexical verbs, as in the preceding example, but may instead be introduced by the light verb /kaN/ (also 'say'), not unlike the English expression It went X, where "X" is some "sound effect."

Ari otejanake, okantanake tsintyakiririri inirojenkani inkani jiririri. Okantakobaekiti tsijerek taan areti ojokabaetakita oyapiki.

Then it began to rain, it went tsintyakiririri (raindrops on a surface), a big rain jiririri. Then the lightning went tsijerek (lightning crack) taan (thunderclap), it reached the headwaters.

Elicitation additionally revealed that jiririri depicts the vocalizations of White-lipped peccaries (santabiri), as Emilia explains in the following audio clip (transcription preceding). The interaction goes as follows, with me first mishearing her and thinking she was describing Collared peccaries (imoroiroki).

ESS: Chooka itsipa, santabiri, yobetsataka jiririri jiririri. Irashi iriatimpa, yobetsatakageti.

There's another one, the white-lipped peccary, he speaks jiririri jiririri. His [way], when he speaks.

ZJO: Imoroiroki.

ESS: Santabiri.

ZJO: Santabiri.

ESS: Jeeje, tee irio imoroiroki. Yobetsataka ikantashitatiaka. Ankemapojakeri otsempiki jiririri. Aisati otaakageti paamari, pinkemisantero jiririri [inaudible], otaakeri.

Yes, it's not a collared peccary. He speaks and it's different. We'll arrive at a mountain and hear jiririri. Also when a fire is burning, you'll listen to it jiririri [inaudible], she burns it.

User 743636647 · Emilia Sergio describing Caquinte ideophone jiririri

Moving on to aspect, it is common for durative eventualities to involve combinations of long vowels, open syllables, and reduplication, and for punctual eventualities to involve short vowels and closed syllables. One example is the above-mentioned tsijerek, depicting a lightning crack; the related ideophone tsijererere depicts singeing the skin of an animal (Miguel translated it as chamuscar), as a Natojite cannibal does to Brown Capuchin after he's caught stealing her plantains in the land of female cannibals where various animals end up after the Flood. Alternations like these are fairly widespread. Emilia made the associated contrast gesturally very apparent to me in our elicitation sessions. In what follows, I want to illustrate this contrast with two video clips.

There is a verb root /heok/ (n.b., jeok, in the orthography used here), which denotes pulling up out of an aereal descent. Birds diving towards bodies of water and pulling up near the surface do this, as do planes managing to correct course out of a nose dive. There is also a shamanic helper spirit named a jeokarijite (nominalizer -ri + perspectival plural -jite), which live in the sky, dress in pure white cushmas, and are celibate; rumbling thunder is a manifestation of their ire. They also have a particular kind of evanescence that is also practiced by shamans going to visit them. Antonina writes about one such moment in her story of the transcendent shaman Amamani, after he's taken ayahuasca. Here we see the verb /heok/ (with the "immaterial" classifier -jenka; the corresponding inalienable noun refers to voices, smells, gases, etc.) in addition to its ideophonic counterpart jeok.

Opitsekanakegeti ari yoanake yoakitigeti chapinki. Imaika mana ijeokajenkatanake jeok, yojokabaeta ontaniki ichookajiakegeti jeokarijite. Ari ikatiapoja katik tirok yamenajiapojiri jeokarijite ooo irigentibioni oshekini, kejegeka kakinte shirontajiaka.

When night fell, [Amamani] went to where he'd gone recently. Then he just vanished jeok, and after a while he reached over there where the jeokarijite spirits live. Then he came to a stop katik tirok and saw that ooo there were many jeokarijite in a group, they were like people and were laughing.

There is a related ideophone jeeooo, which first arose in Antonina's biographical story of her great-grandfather, the famed warrior Taatakini. In the following brief passage, the soul (ishire) of the powerful shaman Kamotsontoparini returns, but because Oshatyakini has burned the former's shaman's ladder, he's unable to reinhabit his body. (There's a lot of wonderful shamanic complexity in this story, which I won't delve further into here.) The point is that the return of Kamotsontoparini's soul is depicted as sooo jeeooo. The ideophone sooo has a number of meanings (perhaps the most unmarked ideophonic depiction of wind, but also globular expansions, as with balloons, decreases in water level, and long falls); jeeooo, in slight contrast, depicts rushes of air, as when fanning a fire, or with spinning helicopter blades.

Irompakea osamanijenkatapojigeti ikorakebetapoja sooo jeeooo, mana ikatiajenkapoja intati.

But then after a while he came sooo jeeooo, but he just came to a stop.

In the following video, Emilia describes gesturally what jeeooo looks like, as it were. At the end of this clip (listen for the jeeooo there), she leans over, extends her left arm, and, with the backside of her hand, makes a low sweeping motion away from her body, dipping down and rising back up. This is the motion of the jeokarijite spirits of her mother's stories as they go along. The transcription is this. (Note that the syncing of audio and video got ever so slightly off in converting from the original, high-res video.)

Kejetaka chobiga. Kotankitsi ontaniki otsabetankerigeti jeokarijite, ijeokake jenoki. Tee iragijiteji kepatsiki. Ikenanake jeeooo.

It's like the wind. But over there when she [Antonina] tells about the jeokarijite spirits, they go jeok high up. They don't come down to the ground. They go along jeeooo.

Later in the same session, I asked Emilia to contrast jeeooo with jeok, as seen in the next video. The contrast was immediate. She makes the same drawn-out gesture with her left hand, to describe jeeooo, but then jerks the same hand back toward her body, cutting through the air. (I'm not a student of gesture studies; pardon the rudimentary paraphrases.) She then repeats a similar gesture with her right hand in the same shape in the same direction, now away from her body. The transcription of this clip precedes it, and, in it, we observe that Emilia's first response regarding the jeeooo-jeok contrast is to say that, with the latter, Inejabakeri 'He saw him go by,' that is --- as I interpret her words and gestures --- he saw him vanish. Jeok does not depict the somewhat parabolic, durative motion of the jeokarijite spirit, but rather the punctual moment of his vanishing. Further evidence for the punctual interpretation comes from what Emilia voluntarily adds, namely making reference again to the wind. But this time, instead of a continuous breeze (or the rushes of air from fanning fires or spinning helicopter blades), she brings her right hand repeatedly to the right side of her head, suggesting multiple bursts of air. (We go on to talk about airplanes, as mentioned above. Note that the role of the additional ideophone jak seen in parts of this excerpt remains unclear.)

ZJO: Chooka mabite, okejetabakaaka, abetsatakotakaka jeeooo, otsipa jeok, jeok.

There are two, they're like each other, jeeooo the one we talked about, and another jeok, jeok.

ESS: Inejabakeri. Jeeooo imaika kameetsa. Ora inejabakeri jeok, irogenti yamenabakeri jeok jak [inaudible]. Jeok. Okejetaka chobiga. Koraketake jeok jeok jeok jeok chobiga, iro, koraketapoji.

He saw him go by. Jeeooo is gentle. He saw him go by jeok, he just saw him go by jeok jak. Jeok. It's like the wind. It's coming jeok jeok jeok jeok, it's that, he's coming towards.

ZJO: Ora, aisa ashi oaporo, ora jeok.

Um, also about airplanes, jeok.

ESS: Jmmjmm chooka oaporo. Okenanake jenoki jeok jak.

Mhmmm there are airplanes. They go high jeok jak.

I conclude this post with a shorter example about idiomatic uses of ideophones. The ideophone in question is tsarankaaa, which depicts the small motions of birds' wings in balancing during flight. In addition, it depicts Turkey Vulture's flying in general, since he is not a good flyer. In traditional stories, Turkey Vulture is also often sad, because he is spurned by Shimashiri. (Shimashiri is a striking tree with yellow flowers that bloom in April, and also its personification as a beautiful, long-haired woman. She is the daughter of Osprey, and the similar yellow-flowering Korinto, which blooms slightly earlier.) In the following audio clip, after Emilia explains Turkey Vulture's particularities, she adds that Caquintes also use tsarankaaa to depict humans in a sad emotional state. (Again, the transcription precedes the clip, which illustrates the laughter I mentioned at the beginning of this post.) I analyze this usage as an idiom because the connection to the motions of bird wings is only apparent if one knows something culturally particular about the emotional state that Turkey Vulture regularly finds him. It's Caquinte humor related to humans that makes reference to animals and others in traditional stories, a vast genre that I feel I've only begun to learn about.

ZJO: Otsipa, tsarankaaa.

Another one, tsarankaaa.

ESS: Kejetaka shetyaonkani. Tee ishinemajatempaji, tsarankaaa ikenanake.

It's like Turkey Vulture. He wasn't very happy, he went along tsarankaaa.

ZJO: Ora, tee iraramajateji.

Uh, he didn't fly very well.

ESS: Jeeje, tee iraramajateji, iro tsarankaaa. Ishimampojankaka osheki. Iro tsarankaaa. Arigeti...nogonoro, inkante, "Ari pishimampojankaka, taa oakempi? Tsarankaaa? Tee pishinemajatempaji."

Yes, he didn't fly very well, that's tsarankaaa. He was very sad. That's tsarankaaa. If...my people, they'll say, "You seem sad, what's wrong with you? Tsarankaaa? You're not very happy."

User 743636647 · Emilia Sergio describing Caquinte ideophone tsarankaaa

From a linguistic perspective, Emilia's final example (after "they'll say") is especially intriguing since it seems to be an example of an ideophone to which a rising polar question intonation has been applied. Morphosyntactic properties such as the derivation described above and this question intonation --- coupled with the conventionalization of these ideophones and their relatively high functional load (there are often no non-ideophonic paraphrases for them) --- make me wonder whether ideophones at least in some languages should not be considered a more central word class, on a par with adverbs, of which there are exceedingly few in Caquinte.

Finally, yesterday the Washington Post published an article that characterized language shift and loss in this way: "As these ways of speaking disappear, some linguists say, so, too, do ways of thinking. At risk are vital clues to unlock mysteries of human evolution, neurology, even medical science." Harder to convey to the public are the ways in which language relates to culture relates to the environment. (People write, as the Post reporter did, of "this frequently onomatopoeic tongue.") Crackling flames are torrential rain is the vocalizations of White-lipped peccaries. Someone with "chicken legs" (root chanchakiji) can "chicken-leg it" (chanchakijik); someone who gets their ass scorched has, in essence, gotten "lightning-cracked." Shamanic helper spirits are like the air; sad people are vultures! These associations don't necessarily teach us something profound about the biological language faculty, and languages can persist as communicative systems even with the extreme cultural shifts that would do away with these associations. But they structure a world that a particular group of people know how to navigate, that allows them to make jokes, to laugh, to be artful in a familiar way. There are undoubtedly questions about evolution, neurology, and medicine to be answered, but the "race," as the Post headlined it, is also to prevent worlds from being taken away from groups of people. How many generations does it take to redo? How many generations are wrenched apart from each other in the process?