Críos
na catharach fé’ m bhráid.Of
the Cathair on my chest
Nár
dheargaid mo charaid ná mo namhaid,wound
Ach
fé’mchorporacht soillse geala.Body? Power?
Aingeal
dilís Dé go dur’thacht,durachtach
Sabháil
sprid m’anam
Ar
an-chomhachta ‘n Diabhail.Evil
powers
Pádraig
‘a a bhacaill,
Mártan
‘as a chochall,
Muire
‘s a mac,
Brighde
‘s a brat.
Ag
gabháil tre Choill Muire dom,
Hat’
iarrainn ar mo cheann,
Lutarach
iarrainn fé’m chom,breastplate
around
Bróg
iarrainn fé’m bhonn.under
Ceó
Muire, ceó Críost,
Ceó
ceó ceathair Críost,
Ceó
sonais agus ceó séimh
I(n)’s
gach áit dá ngeobhfar linn,that
we happen in
I(n)’s
gach cluais dá n-éistfidh linn
Ar
dhíon agus ar thearmaid(tearmainn)
Na
Tríonóide Naomtha, Amen.
“Ó’m
mathair do chuala é, agus aon duine déarfadh é, níor bhaoghal do aon chinneamhaint
(cinniúnt) I rith a’ lae, deireadh sí.
Sin mar a chloisinn-se í á reá, ach go háraithe. Deireadh sí féin gach lá é –
na’h (gach) aom mhaidean dá n-éirigheadh sí. Deirim féin é ga’h aom mhaidean.
(Timpeall 1834 a rugadh í.) Níor fhág sí Lios Deargáin riamh: is ann a
saoghluigheadh (rugadh)í agus phós sí. Ní eolach dom an phaidir sin ag aon
duine eile anois...”
Domhnall Ó Ruairc (aois 58 in 1934), Lios
Deargáin d’innis.
Béalodeas, uimhir ??,d 342
Bhí an saghas seo paidir coitianta i measc
na ndaoine, tráth dá raibh. Tuilleadh eolais in Orthaí Cosanta sa Chráifeacht
Cheiltreach, le Seán Ó Duinn, an Sagart, 1990.
(Níl aon Ghaoluinn i Lios Deargáin le fada
an lá anois. I bparoiste Lios Póil atá, ó’n Daingean soir.)
Deirtear uaireannta ná raibh tuiscint do
rudaí “deasa” nó “maithe” ag an dream a tháinig romhainn-se, a’s gur Heloise
a’s Abelard a bhúnaigh “romantic love”, a’s sinne a bhúnaigh nach mór gach aon
rud fiúntach eile.
Seo blúirín ó Ireland’s Welcome to the
Stranger le Asanath Nicholson, ban-Mheiriceánacha’s Quaker a shiúil Ėire in 1844-45. (The
Lilliput Press, 2002). Laistiar do’n Daingean a bhí an lá so... (D 276)
“When returning, we met a peasant girl,
with her dress turned over her head (Baisteach a bhí ann) who in the most
earnest manner spoke in Irish and beckoned us to go further. We declined, and
she changed her laughing look for one of pitifulendearing disappointment, which prevailed
with me, and I said “We will go.” She exultingly bounded away, leading us
forward, looking back to encourage us for the way was precipitous and somewhat
difficultly, until she placed us upon an awfully grand precipice. Here she stopped, and in the most animated
manner pointed us down, then to a mountain acrossthe channel, then to the golden stripes of
the sun upon the water, then to the seagulls , then to the eastern sky which
was extremely beautiful ; and when she saw we understood and were pleased, she
was delighted. ...She was pretty in look and graceful in manner, and when we
parted and saw her entering a mud-walled cabin...”
Sian a chuir Moire air (a) Mac ort: ("Charm")
Sian Ro(imh) marbhadh, sian ro(imh) lot ort: (as protection against)
Sian eadar a' chioch 's' a ghlun;
Sian eadar a' ghlun s' a broit; (Breast)
Sian nan Tri ann an aon ort (san aon)
O mhullach do chinn go bonn do chois ort:
Sian seachd paidir a h-aon ort:
Sian seachd paidor a dha ort:
Sian seachd paidir a tri ort:
Sean seachd paidir a cheithis ort:
Sean seachd paidir a coig ort:
Sian seachd paidir a sia ort.
Sian seachd paidir nan seachd paidir dol deisil ri (le) deagh uarach (uair) ort
da do ghleidheadh (coimead) bho (o) bheud 's bho mhi-thapadh (accident).
Clogaid na slainte mu'd cheann, (timpeall do)
Cearcall a' chumhnaint mu'd amhaich (covenant: muineal)
Uchd-eididh an tsagairt mu'd bhroilleach:
Ma's ruaig bho'n taobh-chuil,
Brogan na h-Oigh ga'd ghiulan go luath (do do)
Sian nan Tri an aon ort
Bho mhullach do chinn gu bonn do shail,
Agus sian paidir nan seachd paidir
Dol tuatheal is deiseil is tuathail,
Gu'd ghleidheadh bho'd chul (do do)
Bho luaidh 's bho chlaidheamh,
Bho lot 's bho mharbhadh,
Gu uair is am do bhais.
Gaelic Incantations, William MacKenzie, Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, Volume VII, 1890-91
Why
would someone take an interest in Irish and Scots Gaelic?
Well,
as I wrote some time ago, "Irish literature is uniquely interesting, the oldest surviving European literature after Greek and Latin. It is very different from them--a voice from ancient Europe, a voice from beyond the town walls, vessel of at least 2500 years of human experience in the island of Ireland (and in the Highlands)."
"Yeah, there are a lot of translations these days, but even the best are chloroformed butterflies. Much of the ‘meaning’ of a piece of literature is embedded in language itself and its patterns. English can’t ‘do’ some of the things Irish does, so what you get in translations from Irish is English language literature inspired by Irish. Some butterflies look impressive in a glass case, but a live one flying past in the garden is a different experience."
"Irish is a complex, apparently unnecessary language. It’s a language in which there are deep groves of silent trees still, places into which explorers from Google and Apple Corp will never come. It’s a language formed by seasons and weather, by the human mind in face-to-face community, by the necessities of physical existence. It is part of the Wild."
There
is quite a bit of wooden leg Irish in the world today, though, It’s not always
easy to find the good shit. I thought I’d mention a few books that might help.
Early Irish Lyrics, Eighth to Twelfth
Century,
edited and translated by Gerard Murphy, Oxford, 1956 (315 pages) is wonderful. Why? It provides texts of 58
poems, 33 of them religious, the rest not. The secular poems are lyrics drawn
from miscellaneous sources and they are great. When the contemporary scene is
just too unbelievably insane, they are an oasis.
Murphy’s
translations are very very good, not only in themselves, but in bringing out
aspects of the Irish that, I expect would have been obvious to contemporary
Irish people, but are not obvious at all to us. There are good textual notes
and discussions of the sources. There is a full vocabulary that is in itself a
lesson in Old and Middle Irish language.
Nua-Dhuanaire, Cuid I, ed. De Brún, P,
Breanndán Ó Buachalla and Tomás Ó Concheanainn, (Institiúd Ardléinn Bhaile Atha
Cliath, 1975,) is good too, though I would choose Murphy if I was stuck on a
desert island. It gives 66 poems of the 17th century and then 20
probably later folk songs. There’s a full vocabulary and some linguistic notes,
though no translations.
The
choice of 17th century poetry is good, reflecting two of the editors
knowledgeable eclectic tastes, though there is no Ó Rathaille. It’s important
to note that the syntax of Bardic and 17th century poetry does not
plod along according to the instruction manuals, and a variety of forms and
spellings are admitted. This means it can be a puzzle initially, if one is used
to contemporary language, but there is a particular peculiar exhilaration in
the poetry and in exploring its wave length.
Cuid
II and III were respectively, folksongs of Ulster, and Connacht/Munster, and
are good, though maybe without the 17th century fireworks
An Duanaire 1600-1900: Poems of the
Dispossessed, ed. Seán Ó Tuama, translations by Thomas Kinsella, Dolmen Press (and
later University of Pennsylvania?) 1981 is a good complement to An Duanaire. It
gives lots of Ó Rathaille (Ó Tuama wrote a study of his poetry) and other
interesting poems, and a good selection of folk songs and prayers. The
translations are solid (Kinsella was a very important Anglo-Irish poet of the
1960s and 1970s), and though, as he himself says, they don’t even try to carry
over the word music etc of the original, they find a good middle way between
literalism and good English poetry.
(It
is not easy to translate Irish, for this reason. Micheal Hartnett did a book of
translations of Haicéad that despite his own love of the poetry and his own
great English and Irish poetry is literal but horrible. Partly this is because Kinsella was a literate urbane man, a middle class Dubliner, and Hartnett was a west Limerick farm boy who took as his model here the Anglo-Irish folk songs he knew growing up.
An
Duanaire was intended as a “modern” presentation of Irish poetry and was a big
deal in it’s day.
Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the
British Library, Vol I, ed. Standish Hayes O’ Grady, 1926 and 1995, 707 pages: Vol II,
ed Robin Flower, 1926 and 1995 (634 pages)
There
are many catalogs of Irish manuscripts, ranging from the absolutely
execrable (Trinity)to the good (some
of the Royal Irish academy depending on the editor: some National Library: Cambridge: Oxford) to the non-existant (University College, Dublin: Belfast: Galway), These two volumes are splendid, unique treasures. No one has even tried to do what they did here.
O’Grady
was a fascinating man: son of an old noble family in far east Limerick who
learned Irish with the last traditional country poets of that area in the 1830s
and 1840s, went to Rugby School, became a civil engineer, ran a coastal steamer
in California, and then in the 1880s, reappeared as an Irish scholar. His work
(like Eugene O’Curry’s of Clare and John O'Daly of Waterford) is an indispensable link between traditional
Irish learning and modern scholarship. His knowledge of Irish was, as they say,
unrivaled and ran rings around the big gun pedantic scholars of the day. He knew traditional Irish culture in his bones, had common sense and a sense of humor.
(He is not Standish James O'Grady, his cousin, who though he wrote on Irish topics, knew no Irish and almost nothing about Irish tradition.)
His
volume is great because he gives long extracts and translations of a lot of the
poems in the manuscripts he did, and provides remarkable insight into them. It
is, as someone said, a master class in Bardic poetry. Unfortunately, O’Grady’s
portion of the Catalog was mostly Law and Bardic poetry manuscripts, so the range is limited. He does also give long extracts from relevant 16th and 17th century
English historical documents, explaining people and events mentioned in the
manuscripts.
A
bit at random:
Mòr
còir cháich ar chríoch Laighen...
“Great
are the charges that all others have against the land of Leinster: precinct
fair that was never reduced to straits: Never do any indulge expectations (to
have aught) of her, though every man have a charge to bring against her. Charges
against her all Ireland’s nobles have : that beneath the salmon-abounding
Leinster country’s soil –region of foamy rivers foamy-waved – there is many a
grave of their kings and their heirs apparent.(ie because other provinces attacked Leinster and lost battles there.)
(From
a poem to Fiacha Mac Aodha Ó Broin, taken from his own duanaire (poem book).
Well,
this is actually a very boring extract – please take my word for it – but there
is an enormous jade plant sitting in the window between me and the light of the
sun and I have things to do outside and I don’t want to delete this above and go back and choose an more interesting extract not
at random.
Volume
II is great for another reason. Flower was an Englishman who spent long periods
on the Great Blasket and learned Irish there. He was originally a scholar of
Medieval Latin and English, and his enormous learning in Irish literature comes
through wonderfully here. He puts the tales and poetry he is cataloging in
context, discusses sources and variants and gives information on authors. He
writes well and clearly, and his direct enthusiasm (dare I say love?) for the
material comes through in a way that is unfortunately rare since. His portion
of the Catalog is generally later poetry and tales.For myself, I love this stuff, but the book
is an education in later Irish literature, even if you don’t.He does not do extracts.
I
should also mention Silva Gadelica, two volumes of texts and translations of
medieval Irish tales that O’Grady did around 1900 – 1910. The selection is
specific (mostly from the Book of Lismore/Mac Carthaigh Riach's Book) so it
is not a cross section, but they are great.
(It appears to be available as a pdf on Internet Archive.)
His translations are uniquely
“Irish” and entertaining, and are the closest thing to traditional Irish in
English. I suspect James Stephens modeled his later versions and much of his writing on O’Grady's English, and Ó
Cadhainlater commented that Stephens’
writings (in English) are “more Irish than the Irish language itself.”
As is the song below.
Dazzled by the sun through the jade plant, I forgot to mention some others such as Watson's edition of Mac na Michomhairle (An Clochomhair, 1979) (Irish only): J.L Campbell's volumes of Hebridean Folksongs (Oxford, 1977 etc): Ris a' Bhruthaich: The Criticism and Prose Writings of Sorley MacLean, Acair, 1985: and the volumes of Carmicheal's Carmina Gadelica (Scottish Academic Press), if you keep in mind that the prose is probably mostly composed by him and the longer poems also are partly his own.
There was a specific Irish (Gaelic) voice characteristic of
the older society, and it was dominant in the literature produced both by the
traditional learned families and in the monasteries. It characterizes “folk”
song as well. The voice is clear-eyed, precise, and lyrical, and though totally unsentimental, often communicates
great passion.
Sounds very serious, doesn’t it? At least dry and
uninteresting. Tedious.
Depends on one’s perspective, I suppose.
The voice is not as easily
accessible as all the things in print and online today designed to draw in anyone
who wanders by with a Euro/dollar to spend, but then very few worthwhile things are immediately accessible. Worthwhile things require you pay attention. They require you to be quiet enough in yourself to be able to actually hear/see/feel. They require that you care about things outside yourself.
This literature makes demands on readers/listeners, but even greater demands on its practitioners.No one simply finds a set of
uillean pipes or a viola, picks it up and starts to play. They need to learn
the instrument in order to be able to express themselves through its voice, and
learning takes passion, time and discipline…But what a voice! The people who composed this literature often put in a long apprenticeship mastering technical skills and traditional learning: learning the instrument, as it were.
They also absorbing an understanding of the world that still speaks to some of us.
What I'm on about today is another of the group who received something of a traditional "bardic" education, but were never bards. Ceitinn, O Bruadair, O Raithile, and Haicead are best known examples. They produced poetry with all the compressed tensile strength and depth of the tradition of traditional "bardic" poetry, but since Irish society was being torn to pieces in the 17th century, their poems deal with new issues more accessible to us today...Though not accessible if you are moving at contemporary speeds and accustomed to immediate gratification.
Tadhg Rua Ớ Conchobhair is a not-very-well known
Irish poet who was probably related to the old royal family of north Ciarraí. It’s thought he died in the 1690s or maybe in
the 1670, The first possibility is based on something in an O Longáin
manuscript (I think), and their information about place and time is often
inaccurate. “1670s” is based on the fact
that a Cork poet who answered one of Tadhg’s poems was alive in 1675. So no one really knows anything.
Tadhg Rua may have lived near Castleisland.
The index to the manuscripts
in the Royal Irish Academy (often a good rough guide to the extent of the literature)
lists about ten poems attributed to him known. Only two of them have ever been printed, as
far as I know.
The (I think) O Longáin manuscript says Tadhg was dancing
once, noticed that the harper was making fun of him, and composed a poem in
response. Whether that’s true or not, he really didn’t think much of the
musician, who was an Ulsterman, by the way.
Saoi le searbhas Eóin mac Eóin,Eoin mac Eoin is a
master of sour discord
Daoi le’r dearbhadh cóir ‘na locht:a clod whose cloddishness is
well proved
Mar chráin ag crónán dá cluinnlike a sow grunting
to her brood
Fuinn a lámh, dordán a dhocht.The tunes from his
hands, the hum of his ornamentation
Is mó do-gheibhtear i nguaillibh EóinYou’ll find more musical pleasure
in Eoin’s
Do shult ceóil ná i luas a lámh:shoulders
than in his hands’ agility
Alpa a dhá amhchrobh ina bhfeidhmHis two hunks of
paws produce sounds
Mar chreim dá chlamchon ar chnámh.Like
a mangy dog chewing on a bone.
Mar bhíos céis ag coin ar chluais Like a young pig whose
ear a dog’s got hold of,
I nguais ag ceisneamh a cáis,in
terror and outrage broadcasting his situation,
Ó n-a chlos is céasta cluas,Hearing
(Eoin), the ear is tormented:
Crobh gan luas ag pléasgadhpráis.A
turgid claw bursting brass (strings)
Ní aithneann aon a phort féin,No
one recognizes the tune he composed
An tan théid i gcaschrobh Eóin;after
Eoin’scrooked hands get hold of it
Tuar tuirse tafann a lámh.A
foreboding of sorrow, the outcry of his hands:
Blas na gcrann gafann ‘na ngeóin…the musical
equivalent of the taste of henbane.
(There are five more verses.)
Well, reading the translation, it sounds like a man well gone in drink being tossed out of a late night session.
There are three reasons this is not so:
1) My translation was done in two minutes at work and doesn't even try to be good. It is intended merely as a crib.
2) My translation does not attempt to communicate the form or style of the original. Someone once said the unfailing sign of a great soul is a sense of style. Not "sense of fashion", but an unfailing sense for the appropriate/right way to do (in this case, say) things that, in itself, expresses depth of understanding. Tadhg Rua has it, but you really do have to read Irish to get three-quarters of what's going on in these poems.
3) The poem, in word choice, metre, imagery etc refers out to other things in the literature and draws power and resonance from these references and echoes that are, for one who knows the literature, almost unconscious. Such things cannot make it through into English. (And neither can they from Flemish, Urdu or what have you.)
Or so it seems to me. In Irish, at any rate, it is a very funny, pleasing piece.
Muiris Mac Dáibhí Dubh Mac Gearailt, a slightly earlier poet (died
1630s??) from the same (Mac Gearailt) cultural area (Dingle to be specific) composed a poem, Mór idir
na haimsearaibh, that’s fairly common in later manuscripts. In it, he calls out
the Irish as gullible idiots for borrowing money for festivities and all from
the newly arrived English merchants and landowners who somehow always seemed to
end up owning the Irishmen’s land when the Irish couldn’t repay the loan. (In
the new post-Conquest society, you needed money a lot more than you used to…)
Mór idir na haimseraraibh,The
times have changed greatly
Más fíor dá dtáinig romhainn:according
to those who came before us.
Barr óilc agus aimhgliocais A crop of evil and stupidity
Ag fás gach aonlá orainn.Growing
up among us stronger every day.
Tadhg Rua also suffered from the destruction of Irish society, and
found out that a man without money is invisible. (It’s worth mentioning that traditionally,
kin were kin, in sickness and in health and all that, even if they’re poor.)
‘S do chleasaibh an tsaoghail tslimFrom the tricks of this fair world
D’fhear saibhir nách baoghal táirthe
rich man need fear no insult
Más doibhir, atá gan chéill,--but
the poor man is but a fool
Fáth nách téid an ceart ‘na chair.And
so justice never approaches him(or he is never right)
Damhsa do fíoradh an sgéal:My
own case proves the tale true
An tan do b’aoibhinn mo sheól,When
things were going great for me
Ba mhór mo chairdeas ‘as mo ghaol:Everyone
was my friend or relative
Ós bocht, ní thig aon do’m choir.Now
I am poor, no one comes near me
Cé chím iad, ní fhacaid mé,Though
they see me, they don’t see me
‘s má chíd mé, ní fhaicid mé:And
if they do see me, they don’t.
Saoilid said, ar ndul dom spréidh,They
think, now my goods are gone
Ciodh mise mé, nach mé mé.Though
I am me, this “Me” is not “me.”
…
Isé meas an tsaoghail mhóirRespectable
people think
Ó bhraithis mo stór go gann, now that they see my goods are scarce
Dá dtagrainn an ceart ‘s an choir,that
though I was to speak what is right and true
Nách fuil acht glóir amaide ann.It’s
nothing but an idiot speaking.
(Four more verses)
(I took these from O’Rahilly’s Measgra Dánta, Cuid 1, Cork
University Press, 1927/Longman’s. Browne ands Nolan, 1969). The second poem is
also in Nua-Dhuainare, Cuid 1, eag P. De Brún, 1975. “Is Mór” is from Dánta Mhuiris Mhic Dháibhí
Dhuibh Mhic Gearailt, eag N. Williams, 1979.
Why bother with any of this when there's TikTok?
An open question, I suppose, though one I think we all need to consider as we continue our slide into dystopia.
Scriosadh
coras sibhíaltachta na nGael in Éirinn
idir, abair, 1580 agus 1610, rud a d’fhag a dtaobh le daoine a bhíodh ag brath
ar shlí bheatha eile, saothrú na litríochta.
(Irish (Gaelic) society was destroyed between about 1580 - 1610, which meant that Irish literature depended on people who had to make a living some other way.)
Micheál
Ó Donnobháin, 1729 (G 546: Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the National
Library of Ireland, Fasciculus XI, P. Ó Macháin, 1990. Litriú faoi mar a
fuaireas...
Idir
ré lucht leinn aitheanta, agus ré na nua-fhilí a'b ea an Donnobhánach. (O'Donvan lived in the period between the period of recognized professional learned men, and the new poets and writers.)
“Do fuair me romham an scriobhuin (scribhínn) so (seo)
fe (faoi) am bunn. Ataim dearbhtha nach fuaras reomham (romham) an dara rann
deighionach sa re (ré?) a scriobhadh go ceart: uime sin (mar gheall air sin),
gabhthar mo leithscéal, oir ní me do
loit í, na (toisc gurb é) scriobhnoir na hoibre so (seo) is patarún damh: agus
is truagh leam nach fuil aon oide air faighail an (in) m’eolas do (a)
bhear(f)adh solus damh uirre, agus ar mhórán do (de) nithibh (nithe) eila ata
ina dhiamhair orm: agus fós nach faghaim poinn(puinn) de (de) radharc a (i)
leabhair, agus ar mhuintear aga bhfuilid (a bhfuil siad acu), gan aithni na
eolus ionta.”
"I came across this piece here (??). I'm sure I didn't set down the second to last verse correctly (or I didn't find a correct version), and please accept my apologies: it 's not me who ruined it, for I am being guided by the one who wrote it before me.. It's a shame that there's no teacher I know of who might clarify the matter for me, and clarify a lot of other things that are unclear to me: a shame that I do not have access to books or to those who possess them: those who know."
Bluire eile ó
láimhscribhinn:
‘Lá Lúnasa .i. August 1st 1791,
bead (beidh mé) 25 bliana d’aois, oir do rugadh mé August 1st 1766 i
mBéal Átha Maghair (Glenmire in aice le Corcaigh) i bparóiste Dhúna Bolg. D’éag
mh’athair (scríobhaí notáltha) iar (tar eis) mbeith 4 bliana d’aois dom agus mo mhaithar
81/2 bliana dom. Iar sin, dob éigean dom imeacht le’m ábhar féin gan choir gan
chothrom, gan chuid gan charaid. Do chuir an tAthair Dónall Ó Cearúaill fios
orm agus bhíos (bhí mé) ina fharraid dhá bhliain i bparóiste Chatharach i
gCairbreacha Thiar. Thánag (tháinig mé) abhaile iar sin aguas chuas (chuaidh
mé) ar scoil (im scoláire bocht mar bhíos). Ghluaiseas iar mbeith dom sealad
mar sin, agus mar ná raibh comhairle athar ná mháthar orm, agus téim in aimsir
ag aoireacht bhó agus ag dul re (le) bainne, gur leanas de sin gur ghlac náire
mé iar sin .i. bheith ag dul re meadracha—ní chuala ag aon dá dtáinig romham dá
dhéanamh—agus gluaisim arís ar scoil agus mé in aois mo 18 mbliana, ag foghlaim
Arithemetic. Téim an bhliain ba neasa dom ag foghlaim Laidinne, gur chaitheas
dhá bhliain mar sin...’
"August 1st 1791, I will be 25 years old, as I was born on August 1st 1766 in Glenmire in Dunbolluge parish. My father died when I was four, and my mother when I was eight and a half. After that, I had to take care of myself without any support, resources or kin. Father Donal O C summoned me and I was two years with him in Caharagh parish in west Cork. I came home then and went to school as a charity student. After a while, since I lacked parents' advice, I went into service herding cows, and I kept on doing that until I became ashamed to be spending my time with milk vessels: something I never heard that any of my people ever did before (They were a traditional learned family in west Limerick) and I went to school at age 18, learning arithmetic. The year after, I learned Latin, and so spent two yearts so...")
(ó láimhscribhinn G 99, d. 29, Leabharlann
Naisiúnta na hÉireann. Luaite ag Breandá n Ó Conchúir, d 101, Scríobhaithe
Chorcaí 1700-1850, An Chlóchomhar Tta, 1982. (Ana-leabhar do deo!) Ag tagairt
do Micheál Óg Ó Longáin, file maith, fear láimhscribhinni a scríobh (isteach
a’s amach le 149 acu), agus United Irishman, atá.
G654, Fasc. XII: Daibhidh Do Bharradh (De Barra) atá ag
cainnt:
Ag so an chéad leabhar do scríbh Dáibhi as a riocht
fein agus é ina bhrasgharsúin tar éis beagán Ghaodhilge d’fholuim (Gailge a
scríobh, atá sé a rá.) Agus do ghaibh sé i measc iomad droch-lámh ionnas gur
cáochadh agus gur sracadh eé, go (chun) nach féadfadh neach lámh (a) dhéanamh
dá léagheadh. Agus cé gur críobadh mic-leabhair as, níl ceann air faghil sa
dútha dhíobh. Agus o náchar bhurasa (furasta) lámh (a) dhéanamh de, do
ghabhadar a chlann (air Dháibh) dochum (chun) a a athscríobh. Agus ba dhoilg
(doiligh) leis a shamhuil do ráflóir leabhair do scríobh annois a (i) ndeire
aoise, ach adúbhradh ris (leis) go mba dhoilge a dhéanabh ar dtuis, gona uime
sin (gur mar gheall ar am méid sin) do thug sé an iarracht so (seo) arís faoi.”
("This is the first book I wrote on my own/of my own volition when I was an adolescent after I learned something about writing Irish. The book went then among many careless hands so that it was blurred and torn, until nobody was able to read it. And although copies had been made, there were none of them in the area. And since it wasn't easy to make heads or tails of it, my children urged me to write another copy. And thought I thought it pointless to write again such a flippant book now that I am old, they told him it had been harder to write it the first time, until, because of that, I made the effort again."
(Ag tagairt do “Corra-Ghliocas na mBan léir mhínithe”, leabhar
mór a chun sé féin atá sé. Cuireadh i gcló mar leabhar ann féin é in 1991, eag.
Breandán Ó Conchúir, an Clóchomhar Tta, agus b’fhiú a léamh!)
Thíos
Faoi
mar a fuair mé romham in Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the Royal Irish
Academy, d 2787: Lamhscribhinn #971 (23 A 44) atá i gcéist. Sé Eoghan Caomhánach, fear ó Osbidéal Mháire in aice
le Loch Gur in oirthear Luimní, a scríobh in 1817 in aice le Fethard. Tá idir
litriú stáiriúil na Gaeilge Chlaiseach agus litriú a cheap sé féin ann.
Seo mar
aghaibh sé leithsgéal lena chuid leitheóiri i dtaobh lochtanna a chuid oibre.
An Scríobhnoir cum an leaghthora:
Tuig, a leaghthoir, gur do ró-dhioghrais
dlighe Dé (thar láimhcribhinn beathaí
naomh atá sé ag teacht anseo)agus
na teangan duchais-se ar naisiúin do tionsgnas (thiongsnaigh mé ) an leabhar so do (ie. a) scríobh san líonmhaireas ina bhfuil: agus nach diomhaoinus,
deise, na caothamhlacht, d’fhurail na na d’fhogair damh a dheunamh, ach ba
deifreach, ocaidioch mé gach lá, ag tabhairt aire do gnothaibh saoghalta de
bhríogh laighead mo costais agus mo substainte sa mbeatha mbreugaig-se agauin
airna caithiomh, ar chor nach raibh d’aga na d’aimsir agam labhalta chuige, ach
maidionn no trathnona nó tamall do lá saoire, no fós Domhnach no oidhche fhada
fhuar Geimhre (mar is follus do reir data na hoibre-se), agus sin fein do (ie.
a) tabhairt go dithchiollach doith-ionsach le luas laimhe agus nairiuonna
fadhnacha fada o chéile: ach ceana ata ‘d’adhbhar an fhocail-se, 1. Cruinighion
triopall beart, go dtainig liom a fóirlionadh go hamhusach, agus da mbeadh ar
chumas dhamhsa an sean-fhocal beag so do (a) chóimhliona (.i Honor alit artes)
le cion agus le honoir oiltear ealadhna, do bheadh an saothar beag so
sgéimheamhuil snoighti so-fhaicsiona mar nach bhfuil. Is chuige, a leaghthoir
ionmhuin, thugas na briathra so fa do shuillibh (dative plural), d’iarradh (ag
iarraidh) do choimirce...agus do thuigim nach bhfuil cumas a smachtaighti
(smachtú) na a cheartaighthi agam de lather. De bhriogh gur da heis do (a)
chidhtear (feictear) gach beart, agus
gurab ainbhfiosach aineolach me ar tosanugh dhamh, (air) son nár cuirios (chuir mé) le húghdarrás aimhghlic ni ar
bith ann, ach leanmhion (leanúint) ar lorg na sean-leabhar (sean-leabhar) do
chonarc (chonnaic mé) ina raibh an
diosgán diolama so, agus le muinghin mo leithsgeil do (a) iongabhtha,
criochnuighim leis an rann seo.
(Understand, o reader, that it was devotion to the ways of God and to the language of our nation that made me write such a large volume. And it wasn't idleness, appropriate occasions or abilty made me write, because I was in a hurry every day applying myself to making a living in this false world, since I possessed very little of worldly substance, so I had no time to devote to the book but a few minutes morning or evening, or holidays or Sundays or long winter nights, as is clear from the dates, and those rushed and ignorant, with a a sore hand, at times far from each other. But even so, there's sense in the proverb that a handful will lead to a bundle, and I finally finished. And if I was able to enact the old saying that with care and honor that art is learned, this work (of mine) would be attractive, well-constructed and fine to look at in a way it is not. It 's for this reason, dear reader, that I submit these words to you, asking your pardon...And I know that I am now not able to pull (the writing) together or correct it. And because it's always only afterwards that one sees what one should have done, and though I was ignorant and unpracticed as I began..."
Blúirín as dán le Cormac an Chúil mac
Mathabhain Ṓ Luinín do Sir Richard Cox (1650-1733).
Cladhaire ceart ab ea Cox a dhishealbhaigh mórán daoine le cealg, agus a
chruinnigh saibhreas dó féin. Chabhraigh sé, mar Lord Chancellor, le Penal Laws
an-docht a chuir i bhfeidhm.
Tosnaíonn an dán faoi mar ba dhán mólta do Cox
é, ach masla gach cheann de na guí dó.
Thogas so as ‘A Courtly Poem for Sir Richard
Cox’, a chuireadh i gcló in Eigse. (Níl tagairt agam don uimhir anseo.) Shíl
an t-eagarthóir (Donal O’ Sullivan) gur ghnáth-dhán é, nó gur chuir O Cuív ar a
shuile dó nach é.
Ní foláir nó gur fear léinn as Fear Manach an
Luinníneach.
An litriú faoi mar atá sa láimhscribhínn, ach
amháin gur scríobhas ‘i’ (Béarla ‘in’) in ionad ‘a.’
1)A Risteárd mhuirnidh na gcreach
Go maire tú fá oineach;
Nár
théidh tú go hifrion na gceall,
‘s
go raibh tú beó again tamull.
7)Ná raibh tú ‘do shuidhe air an lair
bháin
Is neasgóid cháoch ar do
leath-mhás;
‘s má bhainionn chaoíche dhuit a
dul amach
Go seachnaidh Críost ort an
spíoralach.
8)Ná raibh gearbóg nimhneach ad chúl
Is tú dul a bhoxáil le
saighdúir:
Nár thuitidh do bhrisde dhíot
(i) gcath
‘s gan cnaipe nó poll ‘na
bhásta,
‘s retréut ort go sgártha
sganlach.
10)Ná raibh tú et (agus) cailleach an
hata
Ag crois margaidh lá geimhríota,
Is
caim-béul ort go suighe do chlúis,
A’
bollscaireacht Báiléd go crith-fhuar. (ie. Street singer)
Agus sinne
ag druidim le deireadh an domhain, is dócha, nárbh fhearr duinn tamall a chaitheamh i gcuideachta na ngabhar?
“On May 3,
1746, after the return of the Clanranald men from Culloden, a navel engagement
took place beteen two French and three English frigates at the entrance to Loch
Ailort, which separates the districts of Moidart and Arisaig. Father Charles
MacDonald, priest of Moidart in the 1880s, hear how
“The
natives on each side of the loch stationed themselves on knolls and on the slopes
of hills, whence they had a complete view of what was going on before them.
During the hottest part of the fight, one of them, an old man belonging to
Gaotal (on the Arisaig side) was heard to offer up the most fervent supplications
to Heaven for the preservation, not of the French, less so of the English, but
of some goats belonging to himself, and which were grazing on an island within
close range of the combatants’ guns.” (MacDonald, 1889:184) (Ag tagairt do “Moideart:
Among the Clanranalds atá seo, is dócha, ach ní féidir liom an teacs a aimsiú in eagrán 1997 Birlinn)
(Goat-Keeping in the
Old Highland Economy, le ??, a foilsíodh
san irisleabhar eile d’fhoilsigh The School of Scottish Studies seachas Tochar. Scottish Studies? Ní chuimhin liom an teidil…)
Níl ach ceathrar no
cuigear fós ar an saol go bhfuil Gaidhlig Moideart acu, ach luíonn Gaidhlig
Inverness County, Cape Breton, go mór le Gaidhlig Moideart, Arisaig, Glen Coe,
et.
Bluirín ó Choir in
aghaidh an Chaim agus Cam in Aghaidh an Choir, drama le Piaras de Hindeberg
(Henebry), circa 1910.Tá an Gobán Saor
ag moladh bean dá mhac sara n-imíonnsiad ag tógaint caisleán do rí Shasana. Nílid sásta imeacht agus tá an
mac ag an tine.
G. S.: “Nach iontach
an dúil atá agat sa tine?
Mac: Cad atá sa tine?
Dada. Leis an
sean-chat a bhí mè.
Mac: An caitín bocht. N’fheadar
cadè an seachráin bheas uirthi nuair a bheimid thall.
GS: Maiste, geallaim-se
dhuit go mbainfeadh sí sin a maireachtain amach, pè acu thall nó abhus duit-se.
Mac: Ni fheadar. Is
baol liom gur bás le hocras a bhearfaidh í.
GS: Adeirim-se bás le
hocras leat agus ocht mbua na caitreacha aici.
Mac: Cè rud iad sin,
ar son Dia?
GS: Tá: goid, broid
agus èigean: Ciúineas cos agus bèice: radharc san oíche, suim I suiste, agus
dearmad bean an tighe aici.
Mac: Ia, nach lèir í,
an creatúirín bocht. M’anam í sin. Agus cad a dheanfaimid leis asal sin agus
an gabhairín odhar gleoite? Ar dhinnis í a chru fós?.......
....Mac: ach coigrim è seo
leat: nach dream botháin agus gabhair iad sin, agus ní lucht bó ná capall? (Ag
tagairt do bhean a mhol an G S dhó í atá an mac anseo.)
GS: Thit, a bhreall. Ná
bíodh do mhuinín go deo a muintir macha bó agus muc ná a lucht na loinnide. An
iomarca den bhia agus è ro-bhog isea dèanann síobhraithe agus snámhaidhte desna
páistí(bh). Na ceathanna bláthaighe, a dhuine: cnuic agus cruacha leitean, agus
robhartaidhe bainne raimair…Líonadh thar sáith iad agus an tocht a mhúchadh
..Ach an coileán caol-deas a fuair gorta i mbruinn agus a tógadh le lótaidhe
min bhuí agus cosmairt phrataí, caol-deoch glaise um nóin nó anglaise le linn
cuigean a dheanamh ag lucht íme…Tá deallramh agus dath air, tá righne cait ann,
tá sláinte bric ann, agus dhíolfadh sè scata deichniúr agus dathad de chlainn
feirmeoirí ar aonach Choill mhic Thomáisín…”
Bluirín de scèal De
Hindeberg as suíomh Ainm.ie:
Is deimhnitheach go raibh sé ildánach. Bhí ar a chumas obair dheaslámhach a dhéanamh: ráillí altóra do shéipéal uair, cruit uair eile. Bhí sé in ann an veidhlín a sheinm. Óráidí greannmhar bríomhar ba ea é. Bhí teangacha ar eolas aige. Ach ní dhearna sé dearmad riamh ar an gceird ler tógadh é: “D’fhéadfadh sé féar do bhaint agus claí do thógáil, branar do romhar agus bán do bhriseadh” (‘Poverello’ in An tIrisleabhar, 1930–31). Ach is ar na nósanna aisteacha is mó a chuimhnítear. Amuigh sna páirceanna a théadh sé a luí go minic cibé fliuch fuar an uain. Chóirítí leaba dó i bpuball beag go minic. Oíche amháin fuarthas péire gadhar istigh sa leaba leis. Bhí na créatúirí scanraithe ag stoirm thoirní agus ní raibh sé sách cruachroích chun iad a chur ó dhoras.
B’fhuath leis hata a chaitheamh san am ar pheaca marfach ag sagairt i go leor deoisí dul amach ina maoil. Agus maidir le bróga shíl sé iad a bheith in aghaidh nádúir.
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