Via Riding Sun, I learn that the Onion has made what seem to be its entire archives freely accessible to all.

This is the most momentous news since the Wad Alliance Treaty.

There are two poems in the Hyakunin Isshu that mention deer, numbers 5 and 83, and they are as follows:

奥山に紅葉踏み分け鳴く鹿の声きくときぞ秋はかなしき
"Deep in the mountains, I hear the deer's cry as he walks through crimson leaves: at these times I feel autumn's sadness."
世の中よ道こそなけれ思ひ入る山の奥にも鹿ぞ鳴くなる
"O world! There is no escape! Though deep in thought and in the mountains, I hear even the deer crying."

Now I've read both of these a few times, not to mention many other Japanese poems that reference the cry of the deer, but it only occurred to me today (yes! I do have a lot of free time, thanks for asking!) that I don't actually know what noise these poems are talking about.

Which is not to say they don't evoke a sound in my imagination. They do. But it's a shakuhachi playing Shika no Toone -- a deep, woody (OK, bambooey) sound which probably isn't much like an actual deer's voice.

So, to remedy this deficiency in my understanding, I decided to seek out some deer calls, and found this neat page. Go halfway down and you'll see a big color diagram indicating which kind of deer makes which call at whom -- you can click on the arrows the calls are written in, or use the menu below if you're browsing with Lynx.

I believe that numbers 1 ("fiiyoo, fiiyoo, fiiyoo" or "fyuun, fyuun, fyuun"), 3 ("myuun") and 4 ("miifuun") are the calls that these poems are specifically referring to, and man, are they freaky. They don't make me melancholy. They make me want to invent stories about terrifying squealing goblins out in the woods.

To summarise, idle, artsy-fartsy nobles who drooped about the place one thousand years ago quaking at the thought of taboo compass directions and literally dying of broken hearts, were manlier than me.

MP3s like this one ("Bubble Bobble (Live!)" at the bottom of the page) make me glad to be alive.

This guy rapping over the "Paperboy" tune is also very nice.

Being unemployed, I'm legally required to watch Tru Calling. This is the show about a kind of limited-psychic woman named Tru who works at a morgue and periodically gets requests for help, from corpses. These requests are always delivered creepily: the corpse's eyes will fly open and stare at her, it grabs her arm, then it whispers "help me!" or something like that. If I were a corpse I like to think I'd be more polite. You'd sort of wave, maybe make eye contact first, instead of suddenly seizing her in your icy grip. An "excuse me, miss" wouldn't hurt either. Anyway, when this happens, Tru is hurled back in time, and must relive the day repeatedly until she prevents their death.

But it's not so bad -- Jason "Brandon" Priestley is in the cast too. His character also works at the morgue, but he's more mysterious. He follows other characters around, inciting them to gamble and waxing lyrical about how once you conquer the fear of death, you're totally free. The greatest thing, though, is that he acts exactly like Brandon doing an Agent Smith impression. Same haircut, same forehead thing, just talks slower.

Are you happy now, Will?

I know it's not healthy to relate everything back to Japan, but I couldn't help noticing that "Betty Boop in Blunderland" is surprisingly in line with today's Akihabaraic moe aesthetic. She wears a maid-like outfit*, she shows her panties repeatedly... she, uh, almost but not quite gets rescued by a seal catapaulting lobsters at the Jabberwocky with its tail... OK, that last one doesn't really show up in much modern anime.

* Sure, that's a riff on Alice, but IMHO the modern Akiba conception of a maid's outfit owes something to the whole Elegant Gothic Lolita thing, and those EGLs certainly drew some inspiration from the kinds of clothes Alice is traditionally depicted in, if not Alice herself.

The Tanaka Auto Door. Maker's site here.

Hey, I found an ROTC PDF with a bunch of military hand signals. And we all know that juxtaposing incongruous text with stiff technical diagrams never gets old!

	"EXCELLENT! Sir."
	"Roof insufficiently raised; request additional crunk." (In some contexts, may also indicate that it is the signaller's birthday.)
	"O kami! To think that I, the loveliest courtesan in the Yoshiwara, should be deflowered by that oafish Bunzaemon -- but hush! His ox-cart approacheth!"

At least a quarter of the posters within the train I ride, when I ride the train, are currently advertisements for the new(ly available in Japan) Pringles flavour, "French Consomme". Since PringlesWorld totally disses Japan I can't show you the actual images, but as we all know, talking about pictures is almost as interesting as seeing them! (Also, maybe someone will comment me up something nice.)

The campaign targets its Japanese audience by pretending to target the French people who live among them. Most of them are some variation on "Hey, François! You can now buy the real taste of French consomme in a pringle, in Japan!", superimposed over a picture of an aggressively blue-eyed, high-contrast, French-looking person looking shocked. (Few of them look particularly happy to me, but maybe I just can't read pretend French nonverbal cues.)

Of course few Japanese people will be naiive enough to think that a potato chip can capture the taste of French consomme so well that French people would have been jonesing for it all this time, but white folks are still eye-catching and Pringles is a well-known brand, so I suppose the campaign will work out okay.

Meanwhile, Nova has a new campaign based on two wooden puppets. You can see them at the top left of that page. The short one is a Japanese character named Kiku-chan (kiku as in "Chrysanthemum" is an element in names, and a different kiku is a verb meaning "to listen"), and the tall one is a foreigner named Shabeeru. I think maybe this is supposed to be "Chabert"? Or "Xavier"? Anyway, it's close to the verb shaberu, to talk.

I guess dualities make sense from a character-creation perspective, but if I were a Nova teacher I'd be a little annoyed by my parent company reinforcing, yet again, the idea that students of English are supposed to "listen". If you want to learn to talk, you have to talk.

More importantly, Shabeeru's face is a horrifying elongated dead-eyed skull, and he has a small t-shaped mat of chest hair -- blonde, of course. I did not need to see this puppet on my television screen so early in the morning.

Via TorgoX: The Turkmen Book of the Spirit! (And also here, so all of your "uncertainty over how to render certain 'guttural' sounds in English" bases are covered!)

Sometimes, I wonder whether I feel too proud of my nation, or whether my eyes are dazzled by the light of the word "Ttirkmen," or whether I am enchanted by the magic of the word "Türkmen." However, so far human beings have never been damaged by affection. Nobody has ever been injured by his or her love of the nation. Be afraid of those who do not love their nation. If everybody likes their own nation, then the nations will like each othel Those who do not like their own nations cannot like other nations. The word "Türkmen," lies in my bosom like a beloved baby warmed by the heat of my heart.

As Thoreau said, "distrust any enterprise that requires incubating an infant in your thoracic cavity".

And lemme tell you, this diagram of the Heian capital sure is coming in handy. Thank God for planned cities. (Wait, I mean thank Man.)

Extracts from Orbis Sensualium Pictus, a picture book in, and designed to teach, Latin. (Arguably the first picture book for children ever.) I also found a German translation, also of extracts but overlapping in many places, for simple triangulation of what the passages would be in our beloved bastard tongue English.

MONKEY LIZARDS OF THE FREAKIN' TRIASSIC, PEOPLE!

(via this week's Tangled Bank)

Wyatt has a screenshot-filled review/recap of Pulgasari, the legendary North Korean monster movie helmed by a South Korean director that Kim Jong-Il had kidnapped. No, really.

Here's some more information about mudang (English below the Korean). The Chinese characters were 巫堂, the first character of which is the same one used (as ateji) in Japanese words of similar thrust, like miko and kannagi.

Comics: I guess they were just for kids any more after all. Shorter me: I agree entirely with his assessment of Blankets, but I think that his criticisms of Jimmy Corrigan are tied a little too closely to fetishism of the word "novel" and what it has come to imply in a literary sense. "Graphic novel" was, originally, just a marketing term. (More specific counter-argument: JC's design and graphic language is rendered poignant and marvellous by the spareness of the traditional "plot" it shares the book with.)

Fond memories of AD&D.

I had a bit of trouble with undead infestations in the hall of mirrors up there on the top right, but otherwise, I've got very fond memories of the place. At least it kind of hung together - don't forget, I was used to dealing with omnipotent dungeon masters who thought it highly witty if the dungeon corridors, when mapped correctly, spelt the word 'arse'.

And that DM... was me!

John Scalzi on Amazon's new short story e-book thing. You can tell which commenters are real writers -- they're the ones obsessively calculating, down to the last cent, how much they could expect to get paid in various hypothetical situations, and therefore which brand of cup noodle they could afford next year.

I read somewhere recently that Fujiko in the 1980 Lupin III arcade game was the first specifically female character to appear in any video game, ever. Can anyone confirm/deny? There's a female character in Donkey Kong, too, released in the same year...

I guess Ms Pac-Man (1981) still beats both in terms of female player characters.

Oh, Boris Akunin! You so crazy!

"Have you ever seen a Russian matyrushka doll? Most people have no idea there are other dolls hidden inside."

Come on! Everyone knows that there are other dolls hidden inside. "Dolls with other dolls inside them":Russia::sushi:Japan.

Did you know that the cartoonist who illustrates Savage Love (at the Onion, at least) is Japanese? Well, she is.

Also, did you know that noisemakers of this nature are called "American Crackers" in Japanese? Well, they are. (Snicker.) Come to think of it, what are they called in English?

The relatively new beverage whose name can be rendered hierarchically as (Coca-Cola (Aquarius (active diet))) has a relatively new commercial that I kind of like. To see it, click on "AD Gallery", then "TV CM", then the one on the far right where it says "「歩く人々」篇". I challenge you to find another 15 seconds of movie in which the same woman plays both a stewardess and a gorilla. Not to mention the special bonus towards the end which warmed the cockles of my technophilic heart.

And, in conclusion, imagine a world in which fighting did solve anything. Mathematics and certain branches of chemistry would instantly become the manliest academic pursuits.

Here:

The philosopher K'ung Fu-tzu, known in the West as Confucius, distilled his vision in six written works: The Book of Poetry, The Book of Rituals, The Book of History, The Book of Changes, The Spring and Autumn Annals, and The Book of Music. This last is lost.

Shorter correction: it is, but he didn't.

Longer correction: What you have there is the Five Classics, plus the "Sixth Classic", which left the Classics to marry its high school sweetheart back when they were still playing dives in Hamburg. But modern scholars agree that Confucius didn't write those classics. (For one thing, most of them predate him in some form or another considerably.) He certainly referred to and commented on them, and his ideas influenced the way they were transmitted and understood afterwards, and last I heard the theory that he did the final edit on the Book of Songs hasn't been completely discredited... but this is a far cry from "distill[ing] his vision in ... written works".

The ironic thing is that the article completely ignores the one written work that is, in a sense, a distillation of Confucius's vision: the Analects. Of course, these were compiled by followers and disciples rather than written down by the C-note himself, but they happen to include this relevant sentence:

子曰：“述而不作，信而好古，窃比于我老彭。”
The Master said, "A transmitter and not a maker, believing in and loving the ancients, I venture to compare myself with our old P'ang."

(Apparently "old P'ang" is P'eng Tsu, who allegedly lived for 2000 years and also got a shout-out from Chuang-tzu. It makes sense that P'*ng would have loved and believed in the ancients, since, you know, he was one.)

Via Pinyin News: Remarks on the slogan for the 2008 Olympics by Victor H. Mair. Very interesting, although I don't think that the question "which is more economical?" is a fair one. I don't speak or read Mandarin, but I sensed something that Mair himself points out: "the Mandarin version of the slogan is unnecessarily wordy." (Predictably, it seems to have been a translation-related issue.)

Further on:

In the end, I'm happy that the powers-that-be decided to write the Olympic slogan in vernacular Mandarin rather than in Literary Sinitic (Classical Chinese). They could, after all, have written yī shì yī mèng (4 syllables, 4 "words," 21 strokes [traditional] / 18 strokes [simplified]), but nobody talks like that, and few would understand it when spoken aloud.

But this is a slogan: nobody says things like "one world, one dream" in English either. 一世一夢 might be misunderstood the first time it was spoken aloud, but having lived through my share of Olympics hype campaigns, I am sure that it would be understood perfectly on repetitions 5 through 5,000.

Also, maybe this is just my Japanese bias showing, but it strikes me that 一世一夢 would probably be more readily understood and appreciated by people in countries where there is some limited knowledge of Chinese characters, either because they are still used in the writing system (like in Japan) or were until recently (like Korea). Maybe even some people in countries with more distant links, like Vietnam, would dig it -- the characters aren't exactly obscure.

(On the other hand, I can sympathise with a hypothetical desire to use the language of modern China, rather than the same old Classical Chinese thing. Oh, so torn!)

If there were an alternate universe where Earth was populated by skeletons with flaming skulls riding gnarly motorcycles at midnight, I bet they'd all have tattoos (or maybe bone carvings) of regular, skin-clad humans just walking through a park.

Spotted in the bookstore the other day: a bilingual, facing-pages edition of William N. Porter's early 20th-century translation of the Tosa Nikki (『土佐日記』, or "Diary of [a person from] Tosa [Province]").

There can't be many people who know enough or are interested enough in classical Japanese to benefit from this book yet don't know enough modern Japanese to benefit more from a regular edition aimed at the Japanese-speaking market.

Still, more bilingual editions (of anything) in circulation can only be good for the aliens who will have to sift through the rubble of the Earthling civilisations and learn our languages through comparative hyperphilology. (They will probably already speak Japanese, having been drawn here in the first place by the desire to buy Inu-Yasha merchandise.)

One notable fact about the Tosa Nikki is that although it was probably written by a man (the governer of Tosa himself, in fact), he claims to be a woman. This is doubly funny when you consider that the work starts:

をとこもすなる日記といふものを、をむなもしてみんとてするなり。
"[I], a woman, have decided to try my hand at one of those 'diary' things that men write."

When I first read this, I thought I'd misunderstood -- one thousand years later, the Japanese "diary-like book" canon is practically a female-only zone. Of course there are some exceptions, but...

Also, did you notice the womuna there? Part of the onna (女, woman) family tree, which also includes wouna and began, I believe, with the eerily-similar-to-English womina. If I were a 19th-Century crank, I'd be proposing links between Indo-European and Japanese right about now. (Although I'd probably get shot down by another crank smugly informing me that "woman" was just a shortened form of "woe-to-man".)

Finally, not to undercut Tuttle or anything, but if you weren't married to the whole "book" thing, you could also read G. W. Sargent's translation of the work here, crossreferencing it with one or both of the two editions of the Japanese text available at UVa. Or perhaps you'd prefer a CJ-MJ edition.

As far as I can ascertain, there are no poems in the Kokin Wakashuu or Hyakunin Isshu that mention Buddha, and only one in the Manyoushuu. Specifically, 3841, by OHOMIWA no Okimori (大神奥守)

佛造 真朱不足者 水渟 池田乃阿曽我 鼻上乎穿礼
佛作る　真朱足らずは　水渟まる　池田の朝臣が　鼻の上を掘れ
hotoke tsukuru / masoho tarazu ha / midu tamaru / ikeda no aso ga / hana no uhe wo hore
"If there isn't enough cinnabar to make a [statue of a] Buddha, dig some extra redness from the nose of the gentleman of Ikeda [plus an extra pun on "Ikeda"]."

DIS! And apparently in direct response to poem number 3840, which was by the gentleman of Ikeda:

寺々之 女餓鬼申久 大神乃 男餓鬼被給而 其子将播
寺々の　女餓鬼申さく　大神の　男餓鬼賜りて　その子産まはむ
teratera no / megaki mawosaku / Ohomiwa no / wogaki tabarite / sono ko umahamu
"At temples all over the place, the girl hungry ghosts say they want to marry the boy hungry ghost, Ohomiwa, and have his babies."

I know -- it's as though Nas and 50 Cent had travelled back in time and continued their beef there.
Anyway, Buddhism was clearly not a popular topic for Japanese tanka poets -- Shinto themes were much more common -- but I just recently learned that there was a whole separate genre, called wasan (和讃, "Japanese hymns"), which weren't tanka but were Buddhist and Japanese, right down to the 7/5 "line" structure.
Shinran wrote several books' worth of well-regarded wasan. Here's an example from 『浄土和讃』, "Pure Land Japanese Hymns", with modernised pronunciation:

誓願不思議をうたがひて
御名を称する往生は
宮殿のうちに五百歳
むなしくすぐとぞときたまふ
seigan fushigi wo / utagaite
mina wo shou suru / oushou wa
kuden no uchi ni / gohyakusai
munashiku sugu tozo / tokitamau
"Those who doubt the Mystery of the Holy Vow [of Amitabha]
as they speak his holy name -- after death, they will be reborn
in a palace [on the outskirts of the Pure Land], where they pass
five hundred meaningless years, it is explained."

Must... not... trivialise hymns... by... relating to own situation...

Shinranworks.com has a whole lot more of Shinran's hymns online, if you want more, although they don't include the original Japanese.

The Akutagawa and Naoki prizes have been awarded to writers named, respectively, NAKAMURA Fuminori (中村文則) and SHUKAWA Minato (朱川湊人). Nakamura's novel is called 『土の中の子供』 (Tsuchi no naka no kodomo, "Child in the ground"), and is about an abused child. Always with the unhappiness. Shukawa won the Naoki for a collection of short stories (interlocking or something, I presume) called 『花まんま』 (Hana manma, "Flower [something]" [I need more context to translate that]), about "children in Osaka in the late 1960s and the early 1970s."

If you click on the link at the bottom of the English story to read the Japanese equivalent (a feature which I am 1000% in favor of for all non-monolingual news sites), there's a little more information, including the fact that Hana manma includes some horror-y elements like obake and mysterious coffins.

In other news, I am currently in a manga/internet cafe. These places are surprisingly pleasant to be in at night. Well, usually. The double-wide booth next to me is currently occupied by a girl giggling and repeating variations on "cut it out, someone will hear" and a guy parrying with "it's OK, baby, no-one can hear us". (I don't have the heart to tell them.)

Here's an article about a soft drink for kids, which

started out as Guarana, a cola beverage that used to be sold at the Shitamachi-ya restaurant in Fukuoka, run by 39-year-old Yuichi Asaba.
Asaba renamed the sweet carbonated drink Kidsbeer, a move that made it an instant hit.

Except he didn't rename it "Kidsbeer". He renamed it "こどもびいる", kodomobiiru, which, yes, is made of the words kodomo ("kid/s") and biiru ("beer"), but... oh, never mind.

Note that the name is written all in hiragana, for deliberately childlike effect. Actually, hyperchildlike: the first character in kodomo, written by a grown-up, is 子, which is also one of the very first kanji children in Japan learn. (It's easy, it's common, and it's directly representational (of a baby).) I doubt that there are many children old enough to drink a carbonated beverage who do not know the character 子. Whether this represents a kind of super-infantilising market strategy or just a stylistic decision (all hiragana looks neater) is left as an exercise for Karel Van W.

The obvious reaction to this is how terrible, this will lead children to real beer, won't somebody think of the children, but (a) children already want to drink real beer since it's so popular and heavily advertised, and (b) if anything, the shock of going from a sugary, high-inducing lookalike to the bitter depressant that is the real thing will probably be so great that kids will just stick with the substitute.

I got an extremely dorky high the other day when I realised that I could, with very little difficulty, understand virtually all* of my trusty Iwanami Bunko edition of the Kojiki. Admittedly, I'm reading the yomikudashi-ed text**, and without the copious footnotes it contains (and the Kojien dictionary), I'd be completely lost, but it's a pretty decent progression from the days when I didn't recognise the old-style character for kami.

Then, like a hubristic character in Sex and the City, I was brought sharply down to earth by a friend who asked if I could please stop pronouncing it kojiki as in 乞食, "begging". O cruel twist of pitch accent!

* At least in terms of surface meaning.
** E.g., in my book, the post-introduction opening sentence, yomikudashi (読み下し) style, is: "天地初めて發し時、高天の原に成れる神の名は、天之御中主神". The original text (原文) is: "天地初發之時、於高天原成神名、天之御中主神". (Give or take some modernised kanji.)

First up, we have DOI/TSUCHII Bansui (土井晩翠), with "Woman of Japan" (日本の女性):

Chastity like the smiling scent of plums
That bloom amid the falling snows of harsh winter;
Honor like the perfume of the thoroughwart
That grows in valleys secret, deep and dark,
Achievements shining like a pure white gem
In pools embraced by waves of ocean blue.
Ah, you, your deeds supreme and yet unseen,
Ah, you, your honor great and yet untold,
Ah, you, your chastity, complete, unknown,
Our very nation has its source in you,
In tears and sadness and chastity and love,
Ah, you, your strength, o gentle womankind.

Ahem. To rebut, we have ISHIKAWA Takuboku (石川啄木) with "Afternoon in my Study" (書斎の午後):

I do not like this country's women.
On the pages, rough to the touch,
of a half-read book from overseas,
I slip and spill some wine, but
it never quite sinks in: this sadness.
I do not like this country's women.

Enigmatic, and entirely unfriendly. Which poet has the stronger case? Only you can decide, while preventing forest fires.

(Personally I think women suffered enough during the Meiji restoration without having poems like this written about them, but then again, I'm not a poet.)

Hello, tidal wave of guests from Mr Den Beste's site. You caught me at a boring time, sorry. Perhaps this gallery of old pictures of bicycles in Japan, courtesy of the Japanese Bicycle History Research Club, will interest you. Should you thirst for more knowledge, I can also recommend their detailed history on the topic.

I got an Iwanami Bunko collection of drawings and cartoons by Charles "Japan Punch" Wirgman for 105 yen at Book Off, and let me tell you, that was a good investment. If nothing else, it was worth 105 yen to see this marvellously bad translation of a certain Shakespeare speech, here transcribed as best as I can understand the words written beneath his sketch of the soliliquatulating actor.

Arimas, arimasen, are wa nan deska:--
Moshi motto daijobu atama naka, itai arimas
Nawa mono to ha ichiban warui takusan ichiban;
Arui ude torimasu muko mendo koto umi
Soshte, bobbery [??] itashimas o shimai? Shindanji, neru
Mada; sorekara, nerve de hanashi mo yoroshi
Kokori itai to issen mainichi bonkotz
Ushi ototsan arimas. Sore wa dekimashta mono
Takusan shimashta, shindanji;-- neru; --
Neru! Okata nise haikin, sayo achira skoshi serampan;
Kara ano shindanji no neru, nani nise haikin dekimas
Kono nangai shindanji mono piggy [??] shimashita,
Skoshi mate sinjo:

It seems that this might be the earliest (surviving) translation of Shakespeare into Japanese, although obviously it wasn't done by a person who had any great facility with the language. ("It's there, it's not, what is that?" would not be a bad back-translation of the first line.)

At this site here I found a list of a few others, from the extremely wordy 1880s version "ながらふべきか但し又、ながらふべきに非ざるか、ここが思案のしどころぞ" to the punchy just-before-1900 "生か、死か、それが疑問だ".

Could nise haikin ("dream") really be 偽拝見? I have no idea why shindanji means "death", though.

The more free time I have, the less blogworthy my life becomes. Not that it was especially blogworthy in the first place, but now I pass my time by noticing that 私のハートは (watashi no haato wa, "My heart (TOPIC)") has the same length in Japanese as ストップモーション (sutoppu mooshon, "stop motion (COMMENT)", but not the Harryhausen type -- I think it just means "stops" in this case), in this awesome song from 1979:

ああ、私のハートは、ストップ・モーション
あなたに出逢った、まぶしさに
ああ、私のハートは、ストップ・モーション
通りすぎるなんて、できないわ
ノックもなしに、飛びこんできた恋
私、あなたを、はなさいわ
Ah, my heart was stop-motiony
At the dazzlingness of meeting you [for the first time]
Ah, my heart was stop-motiony
I can't just walk on by
Without even knocking, love burst in
I'm not going to let you go

I especially like the "heart stops"/"without knocking" thing, which kind of makes two cliched ideas fresh. Kudos to you, RYUU Machiko.

I have also decided to read all the way through NATSUME Souseki's 『我輩は猫である』 (usually translated "I Am A Cat", but closer to something more pompous like "I, gentlemen, am a cat"). Souseki originally intended it to only be a once-off thing, so I read chapter 1 and called it a day last year, but I've got plenty of free time now.

I've noticed that -kutte was apparently used quite a lot by classy lady cats in the early 1900s. Mikeko says things like:

• 「あら御師匠さんが呼んでいらっしゃるから、私し帰るわ、よくって？」
  "Oh, my master [a music teacher] is calling me. I'll be off -- if you don't mind?" [politeness, not sarcasm or genuine permission-seeking]

  Here the よくって seems to be something like modern よかったら.

• 「あなた大変色が悪くってよ。どうかしやしなくって」
  "You look terrible. You must do something [for your health]."

  There are two kuttes here. The first one is a form which has, I think, survived into modern times, although I see just plain -kute yo more often, and I actually associate it more with tough-guy male talk -- so maybe it's a different form after all. The second one is attached to a verb instead of an adjective and is apparently equivalent to modern -[na]kute wa ikenai or (abbreviated) -[na]ku[c]cha