Goethe binom ed obinom lemasel poeda deutik. You grok?

Volapük is one of the most entertaining relics of an age long gone - in this case, the late 19th century. Concieved in 1879 by German Catholic priest Johann Martin Schleyer, Volapük was intended to become an international auxillary language. Despite its complex grammar and peculiar vocabulary, Volapük experienced a meteoric rise during the 1880's, only to dash back into complete obscurity during the next decade, due to internal schisms and the rise of a more competent challenger, Esperanto. People started making jokes at Volapük's expense, such as this little limerick: "A charming young student of Grük / Once tried to acquire Volapük / But it sounded so bad /That her friends called her mad, /And she quit it in less than a wük." Indeed, in several European countries, Volapük is a synonym for "gibberish", including Russia. None other than Lenin uses the name of the unfortunate language in this sense when snubbing some political opponents in his classic "Left Wing Communism: An Infantile Disorder"!

And then there's the language itself... I can't say I actually read all of "Volapük: An Easy Method of Acquiring the Universal Language Constructed by Johann Martin Schleyer", but the world language is so beautifully weird that I'm frankly surprised that anyone ever took it seriously. Perhaps they didn't - perhaps people latched unto Volapük since it was the only game in town (universal language town, that is). This would explain the constant conflicts within the Volapükist movement, and it subsequent demise at the hands of Dr Zamenhof's Esperanto.

Most words in the Volapük vocabulary seem to be based on Germanic originals, but heavily garbled. Thus, hunter (jäger in German) becomes "yagel", kitchen becomes "kuk" (compare English cook or Swedish kök), knife is "neif" and dog, somewhat unimaginatively, is "dog" even in Volapük. The names of various countries are almost comically garbled, thus Russia becomes "Lusän", while "Flent" is France. "Jveiz" is Switzerland (Schweiz).

Unfortunately, new words are formed by endless lists of prefixes and suffixes - thus, we get "jimalädikel" (a sick woman), derived from "läd" (lady) but otherwise incomprehensible except maybe to Martians. Another example: "igödelo" means three mornings ago, "ägodelo" is yesterday morning while "ugodelö" means day after tomorrow morning. Logical, perhaps, but virtually impossible to memorize! Or how about the miniscule differences between "palöfob" (I am loved), "pälofob" (I was loved) and "peloföb" (I have been loved). Not a language for people with speech or hearing impediments, I'm afraid. Some words sound downright kookish, such as "zülsezül" (ninety-nine), "lapinanim" (predator) or "nolümelopik" (North American).

Yes, North American.

This little book is actually a workbook, so the budding Volapükist (who will undoubtedly end up a "jimalädikel" within "ugodelö") is expected to translate zany phrases like this one into Queen's English: "Kiöp lemon hatis e luhätis gudikün in zif isik?". Or how about this one: "Blod olik li-emilagom glügabumis lejönik in Flent, Deut i Lusän, ven ätävom us?". Here's an easy one, with Goethe making an unexpected guest appearence: "Goethe binom ed obinom lemasel poeda deutik". I haven't checked, but I think it means that Goethe is and will remain the grand master of German poets!

In a way, it's perhaps a pity that Johann Martin Schleyer is considered, not a grand master, but something of a petty jester. His project may have been stillborn, premature and even somewhat kookish, but without its unexpected success, who knows what would have become of more serious contenders to the role of "universal language" such as Esperanto or Interlingua?

Not sure how to rate this book in a "cult language" (in more ways than one!), but in the end, I give it three stars.

You grok?