For some time now I’ve been making up a language. I know that sounds pretty immature like I’m ten or something, but it’s actually working out quite well. It means that if I want to write something that I don’t want anyone else to read, it works spectacularly. And if I want a sort of clique-y conversation with someone it makes it far harder for someone else to listen in. I had also made it more “poetic”, although calling that rather cheapens the idea. Essentially, I can use one word for certain things that would otherwise take about six in English.It wasn’t, however, until yesterday, that I really went about looking at it objectively, because (like most languages really) it had evolved fairly organically without any “rules” as such. At least, being that I sort of understand how grammar works, I was able to give it a hint of coherency and consistency, but otherwise it just “was”. It’s not like Klingon, or Elvish (I certainly don’t want to be tarred with the same brush). That was geeky, based upon something that was already a cult hit, surrounded by the kind of weird mysticism and “talk to fellow fans at conventions” style of thing. No, I’m using it as a tool. It is interesting to note that Samuel Beckett wrote ‘Waiting for Godot’ in French, originally, because it had none of the vagueness of English. The reverse is entirely true with my language. I like using it for its vagueness; more do to with suggestion rather than indication. Also, as an experiment, it has rather turned out to be a verbal driven language, rather than noun. For the lay man, it simplifies as this: English is a noun language; I do this to something, etc; whereas certain languages (which grow rarer by the day) are driven chiefly by verbs. It’s hard to explain in English or any western language how exactly it works, but instead of I do this to something, you get DO (and something and I are involved in the process somewhere). This may make it confusing, but once you get the hang of it it is relatively easy to use. This inability to translate directly worked well in the Second World War, where US military messages were written in a particular verb driven Native American language (the name of which I forget). This made it impossible for the Japanese to decode, because they thought it was just a load of nonsense.Looking at it now, it seems quite a pretty language. When I say pretty, it is an idea rather difficult to explain why. It looks…aesthetically pleasing (and I’m fairly sure that isn’t just fatherly pride) and, recently recording some snippets in my best BBC voice it sounded all soft and lovely. To an English speaker’s ear, German sounds harsh and guttural, whilst languages such as Italian and Spanish are soft and gentle. It was interesting to note that, after spending some time immersed entirely in Spanish and speaking it 90% of the time, English sounded coarse and hideous. The sounds, I noticed, were from rather a broad range of places, including double L from four different places (English, Icelandic, Welsh and Spanish), TZ from Mandarin Chinese and a sort of SCH noise that sounds, well, to be fair, Polish (I’m hazarding this, because to say my Polish is nonexistent is pretty near the mark). The letters are the usual Arabic derived Western alphabet, i.e. the one I’m using here, but using accents (English is the only European language that doesn’t use accents, which is why it is the second hardest in the world). These are, chiefly the ^ and / on top of vowels (to indicate stress, such as in Spanish).I’m not one for writing poetry and neither for watching manga films, but there was a particularly good piece attached to a film called ‘No Surface Moon’ or something (I only ever saw the marketing material). I later realised that this was a (ahem) magic spell in order to create havoc of a (ahem) kinky kind. I never watched the film. But the poem was pretty good, so, putting the new language into use I tried to write something along the same lines. It worked remarkably well, whereas No Surface Moon had about three or four words per line (it was a really skinny poem) I managed to get one or two, yet with the same resolution of meaning. To this day I don’t know what the heck I wrote that poem about, it was just random fragmented images, but, as a test of artistic merit, in my eyes, it worked quite well.At the moment the language is spread on small bits of paper across my life and the last few weeks have been spent collating it all. The big language dictionary is coming soon, with four genders (Yá, Dá, Lá and Já), verb trains (I’m not going to write one out here) and ridiculously narrow meanings. I never expect to create a whole language, at the moment I just build a new word as I need it, I never expect it to get massive (like Tolkien’s Elvish) but it would be nice if it was, becoming an internet all-speak or something (unlike the ill-fated standard European Language), but, if it lasted, becoming a useful language to use from time to time, or a postmodernist poet wants a lingual tool, then, please ask, and I’ll send you a recent copy of the dictionary. p.s. The way I “invent” words. Basically, a word isn’t created by just scribbling down letters and trying to say them. I spend a bit of time on onomatopoeia, that is, what does it sound like, does it sound like the thing I’m trying to describe, or the sound something would make if it made one. It is thought that everyone has a bit of that condition where you see flavours or smell colours, and that was the starting point of language; what does it sound like in your head. Then it’s a case of writing it down, finding where it fits into grammar, verb tenses, that kind of thing. Then it gets a trial, does it sound nice, is it fully pronouncable, does it look “good”? Does it work? If it does, then it finds a place in the ‘Red and Black’ address ledger on my desk.
