Russian Word of the Day

Every once in a while it's simply a great joy to know an incredibly obscure piece of Russian vocabulary. The wife of one professor of Russian I know prides herself on knowing the Russian phrase for werewolf. (There are quite a few shape-shifters in Russian folklore.) So imagine my geekoid linguistic pleasure when the other day I ran across the phrase that means the circle of bricks or rocks that lie on the ground encircling the trunk of a tree. Such a circle is called приствольный круг. Heck, I don't even know what that is called in English.

I wish I could say that the phrase was connected with some exotic folk tale where Баба Яга the boney-legged witch captured a streamful of русалки mermaids and forced them to dance around a tree until they turned into stone, but in fact it is much more straight-forward than that. The root ствол means the trunk of a tree or bush. The prefix при- means nearby. Круг simply means circle. Thus пристволный круг means “a circle near a trunk.”

When talking about emotional life, there are differences in how Russians and Americans express emotions. Upon arrival into the US, it was striking just how often people used the phrase “I love you”, even in a casual phone conversation. I thought, "Wow, people here are capable of experiencing such intense emotional lives; we say it seldom in our country, so, we lag emotionally behind".
After living a while in the US though, it became obvious that saying this phrase so often does not imply wider (or deeper) range of emotions that people actually experience. I was told by native English speakers that they use "I love you" phrase as a part of cultural traditional politeness rituals rather then in a sense describing their trully experienced emotions. Well, that makes sense.

In Russia, on the contrary, we don't talk much about deep emotions; when we feel them, we let it come forward through actions rather than through words (показать любовь на делах, а не на словах). I think in our culture there is an unspoken consensus about the power of silence (or silent action), sort of like “Silence (or actions) speaks louder than words”.

That seems to capture the national sentiment about pouring into words our deep emotions.
So, in the light of said above (в свете вышесказанного), one can sum it up like this: if you fall in love in the US, say "I love you" to your beloved, the more often the better! However, if you fall in love with a Russian, that would not be so necessary. Instead, be ready to act in a loving fashion and to demonstrate your love not with words but with deeds! Like, get her the moon from the sky if she asks for it, instead of just saying "Я люблю тебя"!!

Каша means any type of boiled grain. No ethnic group eats more boiled grain than the Russians. And we're not talkin’ just plain old cream of wheat. We're talkin’ oatmeal, buckwheat, rice, barley... you name it.

Probably the most popular version is манная каша cream of wheat, which is also called манка. In the States we like to think that grain products are healthy for us, but манка is usually boiled up in sugar water, sweet as can be, and then served in a bowl... and then you slice off, oh, say, a quarter kilo of butter and set it on top of the steaming cream of wheat. It then melts into a magnificent golden puddle that covers the манка. It's gloriously delicious. My carotid clogs at the very thought.

Овсяная каша is oatmeal; it is also called овсянка. Гречневая каша is porridge made from buckwheat (not related to wheat); it is also called гречка. Everyone who serves in the Russian army eats copious quantities of гречка, and once they are out of the service, they never want to see the stuff again.

Каша is not always sweet, and it's not just for breakfast. Any of the каши can be boiled up with meat or other main dish ingredients, thrown into a casserole dish with mushrooms, and then baked in the oven for supper, like the рисовая каша с овощами, rice kasha with vegetables, pictured to the left (recipe | mirror). Каша is also used as stuffing in пирожки.

Some Russian last names end in -ович. That's right: every once in a while you come across a last name that looks like an отчество patronymic. For such names the general rule is that if the bearer is a man, the last name declines, but if the bearer is a woman, the last name doesn't decline. One person who has such a last name is the well-known composer Дмитрий Шостакович. His own name declines like this:

His wife's name declines like this:

One of the ways that Russian orthography differs from English is in its use of capital and lowercase letters. The phrases «прописная буква» and «заглавная буква» mean ‘capital letter,’ and «строчная буква» means ‘lowercase letter.’

Notice that in Russian we say that a word is written "from" a capital letter (с + genitive) not "with" a capital letter.

Rules for Russian capitalization (all in Russian) are available here. One of the curious things to note is that during the Soviet period the names of holidays associated with the revolution were written with a capital letter on the first word (not the others, if any), thus: Первое мая May First, Международный женский день International Women's Day, Новый год New Year's, Девятое января January Ninth. (Why the heck they thought New Year's was a revolutionary holiday is beyond me.) Religious holidays, in keeping with the Communist Party's general denigration of religion, were supposed to be written with a lowercase letter: рождество Christmas, троицын день Trinity Day (which is usually called Pentecost in the West), святки Yuletide. That bit is changing nowadays, and the first letter of the first word of religious holidays is often capitalized. The Soviet period rules are still reflected in some places, including the link just given.

Last but not least, first names, patronymics, Western middle names, and surnames (last names) are always capitalized:

Picky detail: the «II» of Obama's name is said «второй» out loud.

The words анекдот and шутка can both be translated into English as joke, but they don't mean the same thing. A joke that you say out loud that has a punchline is анекдот. When you replace the salt in the salt shaker with sugar, that's шутка.

Russians have a wealth of jokes, and one type of joke that used to be very common is "Armenian Radio" jokes. These jokes play off of old radio shows where listeners used to call in and ask questions, and then the experts on the radio would respond with sage advice. The joke usually begins with «Армянское радио спрашивают» “Armenian Radio was asked” or «Армянское радио сообщает» “Armenian radio reports”. Here's a classic example:

The word пока can also be used as an adverb that means “in the meantime, for the moment, for now.”

Another meaning of пока is "see you later":

If you count the syllables of that dialog, you see that Russian only takes 10 syllables to say what English says in 15 syllables. See how much more efficient Russian is than the decaying languages of the West? Aren't you glad you are studying Russian? Other examples:

¹ Бабки and братан are slang. Don't use them in front of your Russian teachers unless you want them to think you are a complete hoodlum.

Yesterday we discussed one of the uses of пока in sentences where it means “while.” Sometimes you may encounter a clause that contains both пока and the negative particle не. The first time you see such a thing, you might produce a first-guess translation like this:

What the devil? Let's see. If she slept while something didn't happen, that means she stopped sleeping when it did happen... in other words, she slept until the alarmclock started rining! That's right: often the proper translation for пока in combination with не is “until”:

This use of «пока…не» to mean “until” can happen in any tense: past, present, or future. The clause in which «пока…не» occurs is called a subjoined clause. For the most part you find the perfective past or perfective future in subjoined пока clauses:

It is also possible for an imperfective verb to appear in the “until” clause if you have to habitually wait for it:

Notice that in the first example, both clauses had an imperfective past tense; in the second — an imperfective present tense. It would be logical to assume that you could also put together a sentence like this with both clauses in the imperfective future. In other words something like:

But when Russians hear such sentences, they tend not to like the imperfective future in the subjoined clause. Instead the perfective future sounds better to them:

This is one of those instances where aspect doesn't work quite like we would expect from our beginning textbooks. Frankly, aspect is one of the most consistently tricky parts of the Russian language.

I wish I could say that пока in composition with не should always be translated “until,” but that is simply not the case. Crud. That means I may have to write about two more meanings of пока.

The word пока is a conjunction that means “while.” It can be used with verbs in the past, present, or future:

When пока means “while,” it is essentially synonomous with когда followed by an imperfective verb, although sometimes the пока version sounds a bit better than the когда version, and sometimes it's the other way around. But on the whole all three of the sentences we just saw can be rewritten with когда and mean essentially the same thing:

• Папа готовил ужин, когда мама убирала в гостиной.
• Каждое утро, когда я одеваюсь, брат принимает душ.
• Когда я буду в Москве, я буду ходить на занятия йоги два-три раза в неделю.

In grammatical terms the clause that contains пока is called a subjoined clause. The other clause is called a main clause. A subjoined clause that begins with пока in the “while” meaning must always contain an imperfective verb as its primary verb. The main clause can have either a perfective verb or an imperfective verb.

The verb in the main clause simply follows the standard rules for the imperfective/perfective distinction.

What we've written here probably seems way too basic to warrant a blog entry. So why bother? There's a method to this madness. Tomorrow's entry discuss the word пока when it combines with the negative particle не, and that combination often throws people for a loop. You may want to refer back to this entry once you've read the next one to see the contrast.

Качок is gym slang for a guy who is trying to put on a ton of muscle:

For a neat reference of body-building terminology and gym slang, see this forum.

There are many, many Russian last names that end in -ский and its variations. Good students will note that it looks like an adjectival ending, and in fact such names decline exactly like the adjective русский. The first name, of course, still declines just like an ordinary noun. Examples:

Although the last names in -ский are the most common adjectival last names, there are other last names that also decline like adjectives: Толстой declines like молодой; the last name Гладкий declines just like the uncapitalized adjective гладкий; and the last name Поперечный declines just like the uncapitalized adjective поперечный. There aren't very many of these adjectival names that don't end in -ский.

The fun really sets in, though, when you encounter last names that end in -ых or -их in the nominative case, which descended from old genitive plural forms. In these cases the last name itself does not decline, although the first name (and patronymic, if present) does. Examples:

Because such last names can be interpreted as masculine, feminine, or plural, not to mention they can be used in any case without a change of ending, interpreting the name in context can tricky. Thus «Я послал телеграмму Седых» could theoretically be interpreted to mean:

• I sent a telegram to [Mr.] Sedykh; or
• I sent a telegram to [Ms.] Sedykh; or
• I sent a telegram to the Sedykhs; or
• I sent [Mr.] Sedykh's telegram; or
• I sent [Ms.] Sedykh's telegram; or
• I sent the Sedykhs' telegram.

In such cases it is wisest to add either a first name and patronymic or some other more specific noun before the last name to clarify the situation: «Я послал телеграмму Константину Седых» or «Я послал телеграмму Наталье Седых» or «Я послал телеграмму семье Седых».

The Russian phrase for а hеаdstand is стойка на голове. Examples:

Headstand can be a bit scary if you don't have some good instructions. Here's a set I adapted from the personal website of a Russian businessman-yogi

Here's a video of some anonymous geekoid doing a headstand:

And here's a nice graphic of the stages:

The verb pair покупать/купить means “to buy, purchase”. Notice that the imperfective has the prefix по- and the perfective does not.

The thing purchased goes in the accusative case. In English the person for whom something is purchased can be either an indirect object or the object of the preposition “for”:

Likewise in Russian the person for whom something is purchased can either an indirect object (dative case) or the object of the preposition для, which governs the genitive case:

Some sample sentences:

You will recall that one of the differences between imperfective and perfective verbs is that perfective verbs are used when the result of the action is in focus, and you use the imperfective when the result is not in focus. Thus the following dialogs are both possible:

«Я джинсы покупал» is best translated “I shopped for jeans” because the speaker is not specifying whether there was actually a result to his shopping, whereas «Я джинсы купил» means the speaker actually made the purchase, so “I bought jeans” is the best translation.

Food prices have actually risen quite a bit recently in Russia (source|mirror). The BBC has been tracking the crisis in world food prices since July of 2008, and Moscow is one of the cities they are tracking. You can follow their coverage here.

* In English we usually discuss potatoes in the plural. Russians usually use the singular word картошка which can mean either "a potato" or "potatoes" generically.

Фамилия means last name or surname. It does not mean family. Native Russian last names often end in -ов, -ёв, -ин or -ын for men; the feminine forms add -а. Thus when a husband and wife share a last name, the husband could say his last name is Смирнов and his wife will say her last name is Смирнова, and they are not lying, even though the names actually are a bit different. When Russians come to the US, the masculine form of the last name is usually made the official one, so the name Анна Смирнова might be transliterated as “Anna Smirnov.” That's not an error; it's just standard administrative practice.

To my observation, Russian women take their husbands last names rather less often than American women do, so it's not at all uncommon to find husbands and wives whose last names don't match. When children are born, however, they are always assigned a last name that matches the father's last name if the husband and wife are married.

Russian last names -ов, -ёв, -ин or -ын are not declined like standard nouns. They are declined like short-form adjectives. In the following table you will see a complete declension. Notice the endings with the light yellow background differ from standard first- and second-declension noun endings:

Here are some example sentences where you can see how the endings of the first name and last name sometimes match and sometimes don't. First some masculine examples:

And now some feminine examples:

And now some plural examples:

Today let's think about the verb pair смотреть/посмотреть, which is conjugated like this:

The first meaning of this verb is “to watch.” The thing watched goes in the accusative case:

When you watch someone do something, like watching someone enter a room, the person and the activity are expressed in a completely separate clause introduced by как:

The verb is also used to mean “to look at,” in which case it is used with the preposition на followed by the accusative case:

When you look in a mirror or into/out of a window or into someone's eyes, you use the preposition в followed by the accusative case:

The verb can also be used to mean “to keep an eye on,” in which case it is used with the preposition за followed by the instrumental case:

That last sentence is amusingly amibiguous since the word свеча means either candle or suppository, resulting in a viable translation of “The nurses kept a sharp eye on the suppositories since there was a shortage of them.”

When talking about food, it is important to mention the concept of огород, the individual plot of land, typically small, where people grow their own vegetables. Sometimes they also plant a few fruit trees, providing them­­selves with fruit: pears, apples, cherries, etc. The importance of огород can not be underestimated. If not for the огороды, during the Soviet era and post-Soviet collapse millions of people would not have made it: literally, they would probably have starved to death. Statistics show that, for example, in Soviet times, the individual plots of land made up around 30% of arable land, whereas колхозная земля (factory farm land) was over 70% of the arable land, and yet «колхозные земли производили меньше, чем пятьдесят процентов овощей» “factory farm lands produced less than 50% of [the country's] vegetables!” The difference is startling, no?!

Many wonder how such a difference in crop yield could be explained?? There are some theories on that account that circulate. The one I like the most is the theory of “love energy.” It states that all is energy, and where we put loving energy, there life flourishes, in all its manifestations and forms, because love is the only energy that sustains life. Plants also feel it, and respond to this energy accordingly. So, on individual plots of land people tend to their plants with love, and so they respond with magnificent yields. Whereas on factory farm land all is обезличено depersonalized. Machines are in charge of everything, and so the plants are not used to their full potential. In J. Redfield's "The Celestine Prophecy" it talks a lot about it. Recently, I also discovered the long-time Russian best-seller "Anastasia: Ringing Cedars of Russia" series, where they also talk extensively on the subject. I learned about this series from an interview with L. Sharashkin, which is amazing in its content; when I listened to it, it was eye-opening in a lot of ways to me: after that interview I wanted so much to read the "Anastasia..." books. I found them on-line, and, amazingly, it also talked a lot about the "plant issue"!

Anyway, to finish off my contribution, I would say that up to this day Russians are very fond of their land plots, and grow (with love!) a significant share of their food supply on their private plots, огород. BTW, those огород vegetables are millions times more delicious than vegetables we sometimes eat from factory farms!

Every once in a while Russian throws you something so absurd that you just can't believe it, and today we'll see it in the slang phrase бум-бум which means "don't/doesn't understand":

Notice that in this phrase we write ни and not не. That's because ни бум-бум is really the equivalent of ничего, not the equivalent of a verb.

If you're in the mood for a pop song that contains the phrase бум-бум in this meaning, take a look at this video and translation of the song «Бум, бум, бум» by the group Любовные истории.

The Russian word for roller blades is ролики. A few months ago, my friend became very interested in learning how to rollerblade. She was determined to become good at rollerblading by the end of the month so that she could impress her boyfriend who was coming into town. She called me and said «Я хочу научиться кататься на роликах. Ты можешь помочь мне научиться?» “I want to learn to rollerblade. Can you help me learn?” I wanted to support my friend so I agreed and we went to Kiwanis Park that afternoon. I told her to be careful but she insured me that it was not a big deal and that rollerblading was “easy.”

I watched nervously as she began rollerblading on the sidewalk. She was doing very well and my nervousness finally began to ease. Unexpectedly, she turned towards me and said «Я хочу съехать с этой горы» “I want to ride down this hill.” Before I had time to answer, she was off, and I again watched nervously as she began her ride down the hill. I noticed that she was rollerblading down the hill very fast and with a terrified look on her face she yelled «Я не могу остановиться! Как мне остановиться?» “I can’t stop! How can I stop?” I watched in horror as she fell on the concrete. Luckily for my friend, she was wearing protective gear so her injuries were very minor. Now, she pays more attention when I tell her to be more careful.

Don's additional comments: A slightly more formal way to say the same thing is «роликовые коньки» “roller skates” as opposed to «ледовые коньки» “ice skates.” Ролики and роликовые коньки can mean both in-line skates and the old fashion skates with a "four corners" wheel arrangement.

Though this will sound very odd to English speakers, Russian has no single word that means "to spell." Russian spelling reflects pronunciation much more closely than English spelling. For the most part Russians don't need other Russians to spell a word letter by letter when they have heard an unfamiliar word.

But of course Russian spelling doesn't reflect pronunciation perfectly, so they do have ways to clarify the unclear. The most common phrase is «Как пишется это слово?» “How is this word written?” In response the other party will not name the letters of the word, but rather pronounce the word syllable by syllable, with all the unstressed vowels pronounced stressed. For instance, the word хорошо is pronounced [хəрашо], and to clarify the spelling we might have the following conversation:

Theoretically one could tell a Russian «Скажите это слово по буквам» “Tell me that word letter by letter,” but Russians will never say that to each other, and they will never tell each other how to spell a word letter by letter. (Well, maybe if they have a terrible phone connection, but never face to face. And even if the phone line is bad, they won't use the names of letters, but rather words that start with those letters.)

So for the most part Russians tell each other how a word is spelled «по слогам» “syllable by syllable.” Another phrase that nowadays means “syllable by syllable” is «по складам». That phrase actually has a bit of history. In olden days people were taught to read each letter out loud, naming the letter, and then combining each group of letters into a syllable. The names of the letters reflected the old names of the letters, not the current names. For instance, if someone wanted for some reason to spell «бабо», they would say:

буки азъ - ба, буки онъ - бо

where буки, азъ, and онъ were the old fashioned names of those letters.

For a discussion of чтение по складам see this article at gramota.ru.