by Aya Katz

(To the tune of `Jorel of Joiry' by Leslie Fish.)

Once a fieldworker hiked into unknown terrain,
Seeking someone to question he came.
When he asked of the natives what language they spoke,
There was one who was glad to explain.

Behind lay a linguist -- as well as a saint --
Who would translate the Bible for them,
Would decipher the code of this language so quaint,
And secure for himself lasting fame.


"Our tongue," said the tribesman,"'s marvelous grand thing,
"As I'm sure, when you've heard, you'll agree.
"We haven't a word that means `misunderstanding',
"For our speech is in fact context free."

"Our fricatives randomly vary with stops,
"All sibilants freely exchange.
"We have seventeen vowels, yes, I know that's alot,
"But the thing is, they all sound the same."

"Our word order's fixed; it's at base OVS,
"But the surface form's more OSV,

"But no noun can be used as a verb,
"Yet our adjectives serve as both verb and noun,
"A feature you may have observed."

"We have tenses galore, for our verb system's vast,
"But the trick is to keep them all straight,
"And we haven't a sense of the present or past,
"But each tense marks the hour and date."

"The genders we use, they must not be confused:
"We mark living, unborn and deceased.
"But a stone is considered both living and born,
"While a boy might as well rest in peace."

"Our semantics is quite ismorphic with form,
"What we say we invariably mean,
"And we mean just exactly the thing that we say,
"Nothing more nothing less or a jot in between."

Feeling very content, the young fieldworker went,
Of his savage informant took leave,
And to his employer the data he sent,
While the tribesman laughed into his sleeve.

The linguist then thought: "These data are strange
"That we got from a tribesman unknown,
"But lest all my colleagues should think me deranged,
"I had best leave this language alone."

Selected Literary Works