{"id":3930,"date":"2015-01-21T19:50:35","date_gmt":"2015-01-21T19:50:35","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/?p=3930"},"modified":"2015-04-28T13:56:02","modified_gmt":"2015-04-28T13:56:02","slug":"when-the-dead-wash-buses","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/2015\/01\/21\/when-the-dead-wash-buses\/","title":{"rendered":"When the dead wash buses."},"content":{"rendered":"
\"80558500_2c68cac608_b\"<\/a>

Zombie Apocalypse by Stephen Dann at Flickr.com.<\/p><\/div>\n

The funniest traps that the declensions of Icelandic create are the\u00a0words with different meanings that have a few identical forms. You’ll no doubt see this when you use the B\u00cdN because often when you look up a word you’ll get a long list of different options\u00a0that all apply, only they\u00a0rarely mean the same. It’s then that figuring out which one’s the right one become crucial.<\/p>\n

It’s not always so easy for Icelanders either, especially when it comes to article titles. Let’s look at a few amusing ones that were meant to mean one thing but actually\u00a0ended up\u00a0sounding like something else.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

R\u00e9ttindalaus ma\u00f0ur l\u00e6rbraut konu.<\/strong><\/em> (= A man without a driver’s licence broke a woman’s leg.)<\/p>\n

(Licence-less \u00a0 \u00a0 man \u00a0 \u00a0 breaks the\u00a0thigh\u00a0of \u00a0 \u00a0 a woman)<\/p>\n

R\u00e9ttindalaus<\/em>\u00a0typically hints that someone is lacking a driver’s licence, \u00f6kuskirteini<\/em>. However, it can also mean mannr\u00e9ttindi<\/em>, human rights, therefore the meaning of the sentence can easily turn into “a man with no rights broke a woman’s leg”.<\/p>\n

B\u00e6ndur leita a\u00f0 kindum \u00e1 fj\u00f3rhj\u00f3lum<\/em><\/strong> (= Farmers use\u00a0four-wheelers\u00a0to look for sheep.)<\/p>\n

(Farmers \u00a0 \u00a0 look \u00a0 \u00a0 for \u00a0 \u00a0 sheep \u00a0 \u00a0 on \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0four-wheelers)<\/p>\n

Sounds good and logical, but with the sentence structure here it’s too easy to make “kindur \u00e1 fj\u00f3rhj\u00f3lum<\/em>” a thing on its own, therefore you suddenly have\u00a0farmers looking for sheep on four-wheelers\u00a0– in both meanings of the sentence (I love it when one of these can actually be translated exactly to English by the way!).<\/p>\n

\"5951107797_0982fc34e2_b\"<\/a>

Rustic Privy by Jim Stauffer at Flick.com.<\/p><\/div>\n

Salerni umhverfisdeildar milli tanna b\u00e6jarfulltr\u00faa.<\/strong><\/em> ( = The toilet of the office of the environment criticized by town council.)<\/p>\n

(Toilet \u00a0 of the office of the environment \u00a0 \u00a0 between \u00a0 \u00a0 teeth \u00a0 \u00a0 town council)<\/p>\n

The toilet of the office on the environment apparently got in between the teeth of the town council. Possibly literally.<\/p>\n

Leoncie rei\u00f0 bla\u00f0am\u00f6nnum V\u00edkurfr\u00e9tta.<\/em><\/strong> (= Leoncie mad\u00a0at the reporters of V\u00edkurfr\u00e9ttir.)<\/p>\n

(Leoncie \u00a0 \u00a0 angry \u00a0 \u00a0 the reporters \u00a0 \u00a0 of V\u00edkurfr\u00e9tt)<\/p>\n

Rei\u00f0\/ur<\/em> means angry, but another declension form is in\u00a0the verb r\u00ed\u00f0a<\/em> which means “to ride”. That alone would be funny enough but sadly that particular verb\u00a0also has a third meaning in spoken language: to have sex. As for Leoncie… she’s an artist, known for her campy style and recently – sadly – also for her very offensive views on LGBT people.<\/p>\n

Vilja vana kynfer\u00f0isbrotarmenn.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

(Wanting \u00a0 \u00a0 to castrate \u00a0 \u00a0 sex offenders)<\/p>\n

Oh dear, this one. Vana<\/em> is a verb and means to castrate, but vanur<\/em> is an adjective and means experienced. Coupled with the verb vilja<\/em>\u00a0(= to want) the sentence can easily become “experienced sex offenders wanted”.<\/p>\n

Selur \u00ed g\u00f6ngug\u00f6tunni.<\/strong><\/em> (= Selling on the pedestrian walkway.)<\/p>\n

(Sells \u00a0 \u00a0 on \u00a0 \u00a0 pedestrian walkway)<\/p>\n

…or if the selur<\/em> is a noun and not a verb there’s actually a seal on the pedestrian walkway. \ud83d\ude00<\/p>\n

\"228635023_731131277e_b\"<\/a>

Har\u00f0fiskur: Dried fish by Ingunn Nielsen at Flickr.com.<\/p><\/div>\n

Skrei\u00f0 til N\u00edger\u00edu.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

(Dry fish \u00a0 \u00a0 to \u00a0 \u00a0 Nigeria)<\/p>\n

Skrei\u00f0<\/em> is dry fish, as long as we’re talking about the noun. However, if we’re talking about the\u00a0verb skr\u00ed\u00f0a<\/em> (= to crawl) we’re suddenly looking at a piece of news where someone crawled to Nigeria.<\/p>\n

L\u00e1tnir \u00fevo str\u00e6t\u00f3 \u00e1 n\u00f3ttunni.<\/em><\/strong> (= The buses are being washed during the nights.)<\/p>\n

(To let \u00a0 \u00a0 wash \u00a0 \u00a0 buses \u00a0 \u00a0 at \u00a0 \u00a0 nights)<\/p>\n

The word l\u00e1tnir<\/em> is a form of the verb l\u00e1ta<\/em>, to let; someone has the buses washed.\u00a0The danger is that if the word is an adjective instead of a verb it becomes l\u00e1tinn<\/em>, a dead person. Therefore the undead arise to, er, help clean the public transport? But that’s not the worst that could happen with the pesky undead, because –<\/p>\n

Fj\u00f3rir l\u00e1tnir lausir a\u00f0 lokinni krufningu.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

(Four \u00a0 \u00a0 let \u00a0 \u00a0 loose \u00a0 \u00a0 at \u00a0 \u00a0 the end \u00a0 \u00a0 autopsy)<\/p>\n

I’m almost sure the original writer meant “four are let go after the autopsy” but let’s not make that 100% certain. It could after all mean “four dead loose after the autopsy” and since we already know that the Icelandic undead are seriously bad news<\/a> it might be good to pay attention to your surroundings…!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\"\"

The funniest traps that the declensions of Icelandic create are the\u00a0words with different meanings that have a few identical forms. You’ll no doubt see this when you use the B\u00cdN because often when you look up a word you’ll get a long list of different options\u00a0that all apply, only they\u00a0rarely mean the same. It’s then…<\/p>\n

Continue Reading<\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"author":91,"featured_media":3935,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"content-type":""},"categories":[91175],"tags":[91405,6,10341,91396],"class_list":["post-3930","post","type-post","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-icelandic-grammar","tag-advanced","tag-grammar","tag-intermediate","tag-so-icelandic"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3930","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/91"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3930"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3930\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4158,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3930\/revisions\/4158"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3935"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3930"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3930"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.transparent.com\/icelandic\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3930"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}