I am not an English speaker but...how can you regret something that someone else did or didn´t do?

I would try -dik as a subordinator in a pişman sentence. Something like

                    Birşey söylemediğime pişmanım

                    Birşey söylemediğim için pişmanım

                    Birşey söylemediğimden pişmanım

but let´s ask natives.

It wasn´t that easy. Maybe next time.

Some people talk about Turkish gerunds and I can´t see they commit a sin by doing so if they explain what they mean. I´m sure you don´t accept the concept of Turkish auxiliaries either (we have discussed it) but the term is used and it is ok as long as it is well defined.

Come on, certainly you understand what I mean by speaking in a certain language and speaking about the system of a certain language. The latter is very much a question of agreement.

You are just trying to trip me up.

When you put it this way I agree.

But you can use other definitions of gerund in other languages if you like. Even if you speak about them in English. In any academic dissertation pages and pages are used for defining the terms used in that particular work.

Don´t get me wrong, si++. All the way I have understood what you mean. And I have learned some things from this thread.

No.

It is in English but it is not about English.

It is impossible to create a grammar terminology which applies to every language in the world. For instance, we talk about Swedish or German auxiliaries, even Turkish auxiliaries even though we very well know they have very little in common with English auxiliaries. Grammar consists of continuums rather than strictly bordered units.

I believe transporting grammar terminology from one language to another has done damage to our understanding. Anyway, this is the way linguists at all times have struggled their way to more accurate definitions.

For some reason some grammarians have begun to use the term gerund in Turkish grammar denoting to the diverse group of adverb-like verb forms. And not only in Turkish as we saw in the Russian examples. I must admit I can’t quite understand why this happened. Probably for practical reasons. Practical reasons are as good as any. Words are agreements after all.

I have a habit of keeping a book diary, writing a few words about every novel that I have read. This time I could maybe write here.

Masumiyet müzesi has been translated into Finnish by Tuula Kojo who is one of the trusted translators of Orhan Pamuk. The novel has been on my as-soon-as-possible list for a long time but the news in April actually made me open the 700-page book: Pamuk had opened Museum of Innocence in Istanbul. What kind of a novel needs a museum?

Orhan Pamuk was not a new acquaintance for me but with Mazumiyet müzesi he stepped into the area of literature that touches me the most: psychological realism which doesn’t ignore our social dimension. On the surface Mazumiyet müzesi is a story of an obsessed love but it also lightens the connection between our inner life and real world objects. (I never really understood collectors until I read this novel.) At the same time it is a description of Istanbul and an era when Turkey was looking for its future direction.

You seldom find such sensitivity in a novel. Pamuk opens his leading character’s mind like a surgeon, yet respecting his uniqueness, his right to feel like he feels. His descriptions of a man’s mind are so sharp and painful the reader finds herself examining her own mind the same way. In this he reminds me of the British Ian McEwan who has been on my favourites’ list for a long time.

The story is actually simple: Kemal, a rich heir and a businessman, falls in love with his distant relative, the 18-year-old Füsun. Even though he can’t make decisions when they are due this love devastates his life so that he abandons his fiancée and dedicates his life on seeking Füsun’s proximity, admiring everything that she has touched, no matter if it was a cigarette end or a china dog over her television set. Kemal collects everything that has to do with his sweetheart and finally ends up with an apartment full of consolation and memories, the museum of innocence.

Istanbul Museum of Innocence has a beautiful website:

http://www.masumiyetmuzesi.org/W3/Default.htm?sRefresh=True

If I had a chance to visit the museum I would look for the spirit of the novel, the atmosphere of Füsun’s modest home, the memory of one lost youth. Museum of Innocence has gained a lot of attention all over the world. It is an act of culture, a great attempt to bring the acchievement of literary art into another level of human experience.

I will never learn how to say "I´m hungry" in Turkish. If I try I end up with something between being open and being in pain.

I often use daha da for both ´still´ (AFF) and ´yet´ (NEG) but I´m not sure if it is correct.

After taking a closer look at the concept of gerund I feel like it is another forced exportation of Latin grammar into many languages. Whether its use brings anything useful to a language like Turkish I don’t know.

si++ brought up the definition of English gerund. It’s puzzling. The closest colleague of English gerunds seems to be the verbal noun –mA.

Russian gerunds can be used instead of subclauses. Interestingly, all the examples in my grammar book would be translated into Turkish with the structures tunci introduced in post 1, for example:

Интересуясь русским языком Джон решил изучить его. ’John decided to study Russian language because he was interested in it.’

Написав письмо, я пойду гулять. ’After writing the letter I will go for a walk.’

About Turkish gerunds I would say:

1. They are verb forms or postposition expressions of (often) time. They have various morphological forms.

2. They function as an adverbial in the clause. Maybe this is the most suited definition.

3. Their meaning equals with meanings of gerunds of some languages.

4. What Turkish and English “gerunds” maybe have in common is the ability of the verb form to take further modifiers. Otherwise their connection remains a mystery.