Pronunciation Follow-up to the “Cúig Fhocal gan Mhaith” Series

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Jan 17 2012

(le Róislín)

The last few blogs have dealt pretty intensely with meaning and slight differences among comhainmneacha (synonyms).  Here we’ll look at a much more down-to-earth aspect of some of the same words – how to say them.  We’ll look at a few of the longer and more complex ones (tláithíneacht, neamhghontacht, m. sh.) but we’ll also look at some shorter, more basic words that illustrate some major points of Irish pronunciation, some from the blogs and others from general vocabulary.  Some samples will involve the widespread Irish phenomena of lenition (séimhiú) and eclipsis (urú), but we’ll also look such specific issues as lenited sounds in the middle or at the end of words and also some vowel sounds.  Like most blog-length approaches to this topic, though, this is just barr an chnoic oighir (or rinn an oighearchnoic, or the “bior” thereof, if you prefer).

I. Lenition (séimhiú, lit. softening)

Lenition of initial consonants occurs for over a dozen reasons in Irish, so I’ll just focus on a few here.  Lenition is generally marked by the insertion of the letter “h” after the initial consonant (cat becoming chat, m.sh.)

a. After the numbers 2 through 6, except for, well, na heisceachtaí (the exceptions)

Ceithre fhocal [KyEH-ruh OK-ul], four words

Cúig fhrása [KOO-ig RAW-suh], five phrases

Exceptions include some (but not all) units of measurement: ceithre bliana, sé seachtainí

b. Directly after some (but not all) prepositions, some, but not all of the time (a chapters’s worth of issues there!)

Gan mhaith [gahn wah], useless, lit. without good, but “gan tús gan deireadh” (the d and t resistance)

Compare: ó Bhéal Feirste (from Belfast; lenition) but “go Béal Feirste” (to Belfast; no lenition)

Nóta: I say “directly” here because the entire set-up changes if words like “an” or “mo” are present.  Blag eile!

c. Marking nouns that are “possessed,” either literally (Jimmy’s coat) or more abstractly (often involving compound prepositions like “de réir” or “os cionn”)

Let’s start with some real workhorse examples, not from the recent blog series: cóta Shéamais, seomra Shiobhán, iníon Mháire, madra Chaitlín.  Some basic examples of the compound preposition “os cionn” are os cionn an bhoird (above the table, normally “bord“) and os cionn an gharáiste (above the garage, normally “garáiste“)

Looking at our recent blogs, we don’t have to go any farther than the title of the series for “de réir“:

de réir Fhionntán Uí Thuathail [… IN-tawn ee HOO-uh-hil, note that the “f” of “Fhionntán” is silent, as are the “t’s” of “Thuathail”]

Note that if we didn’t include the surname, the spelling and pronunciation of “Fintan” would change  slightly: de réir Fhionntáin [… IN-taw-in, with the “taw” and “in” running together very smoothly], this means “according to Fintan.”  Likewise: de réir Mharcais [WAR-kish], de réir Mhatha [WAH-huh] (according to Mark/Matthew)

Lenition also occurs after “Uí” in surnames, which is also an aspect of possession, albeit very abstract:

carr Uí Thuathail [… ee HOO-uh-hil, as above], O’Toole’s car, the car of Ó Tuathail

Sráid Uí Chonaill [srawdj ee KHON-ill], O’Connell St.

Bean Uí Mhurchú [ban ee WUR-uh-khoo], Mrs. Murphy, lit. the wife/woman of Ó Murchú

There are many more situations in which lenition occurs, but that’s a sample, for now.

2. Eclipsis (urú, lit. eclipsing): adding a new initial consonant and obscuring the pronunciation of the original one

a. After the preposition “i” (in)

i gcrobhaing [ig-ROW-ing, the syllables more or less run together], in a cluster.  In this transcription, “row” is as in “row-boat,” not as in “a row” (the latter being the “row” often paired with “ruction,” thanks to Tim Finnegan)

i mbannaí [im-AHN-ee], bail, as in “ag dul i mbannaí air” (to go bail for him)

This also occurs, of course, with many place names, like

i mBaile Átha Cliath [im AHL-yuh KLEE-uh], in Dublin, with the middle word “Átha” basically swallowed into oblivion

i mBostún [im OST-oon], in Boston

b. With plural nouns in the genitive case, following the definite article “na”

tráth na gcomhainmneacha [traw nuh GOH-AN-yim-nyukh-uh], the time of the synonyms (“Synonym Time,” structured like “Tráth na gCeist” [… nuh gesht], which some of you may recognize from the popular quiz name)

This structure also occurs in many widely used phrases like “leabhair na gcailíní” and in a lot of place names like “Dún na nGall” [doon ung awl], Donegal, and “Baile na mBacach” [… nuh MAHK-ukh], Ballynamockagh (Co. Galway).  In the latter, the anglicized version reflects what has happened to the initial “b” of “bacach” – it has been eclipsed and only the “m” sound is pronounced.

III. Lenited sounds in the middle of a word

One good thing about this feature of Irish pronunciation is that it rarely changes.  Once a word has such a sound medially, it will usually remain intact no matter what other changes may happen at the beginning or the end of the word.  Here are some examples from the recent blogs:

diabhal [DJEE-uh-wul OR djowl], devil, with the “bh” approximating a “w” sound

le haghaidh [leh hai], for.  The “-gh-“ in the middle is silent, serving simply to give us an /ai/ sound for the vowel, pretty much the same vowel as in English “I,” “eye,” “my,” “pie” and “guide” (and now you can see why none of these English words is a good basis for a pronunciation guide).  In other words, “haghaidh” is pretty much like the English greeting “Hi!”  And btw, the vowel sound in this “le” isn’t at all like the French “le” (the) but it’s like the short “e” of “let” or “pet”

neamhghontacht [NYOW- γON-tukht] non-pithiness, probably not as commonly used as the positive form of this word, gontacht [GON-tukht], pithiness, but certainly there are possible usages, and it’s a nice example of four consonants in a row, due to lenition.  The final “-mh” makes the “-ea-“ vowel an “ow” sound (as in “cow,” or “ouch”).  The “g” of “gontacht” is lenited after the prefix “neamh-“ (non-, un-); linguistically, it is the voiced velar fricative that I’ve discussed elsewhere (Treoir don Treoir: A Guide to the Guide (for Pronunciation), Cuid a 2 (27 Iúil 2010), which is dedicated to the voiced velar fricative sound, and An Ghaeilge sa Leabhar _Galway Bay_: “Guilpín,” “Grá” agus Go Leor Eile (2 Mí na Samhna 2009), which discusses this sound in a few terms of endearment, such as “A ghrá!” and “A ghrá mo chroí!”

tarrtháil [TAR-haw-il], saving, bailout; the medial “th” is just pronounced “h”

tláithíneacht [TLAW-heen-yukht], mealy-mouthedness, soft-spokenness, wheedling, flattery, cf. tláith, weak; again, the medial “th” is just pronounced “h”

IV. Lenited sounds at the end of a word (usually very softened or silenced)

maith [mah], good, as in “gan mhaith” [gahn wah], without good (useless, etc.)

le haghaidh [leh hai], for.  We’ve mostly discussed this above, but note that the “-dh” of “haghaidh” is completely silent

V. Pronunciation of final “e’s” in Irish (as opposed to English)

In words like “déine,” the final “e” is never considered silent, although it may be barely audible or inaudible, if followed by another vowel.  For example, déine [DJAYN-yuh], austerity and déine an tsaoil [djayn yun teel], the harshness of life.  If one is articulating very carefully, the final “-e” and the “an” can be distinguished [DJAYN-yuh un teel]

VI. Which vowel is pronounced when there are two or three vowels in a row?

This could take several blogs to answer, but to pick just a few examples:

íobairt [EEB-irtch], sacrifice.  If one of the vowels has a long mark, only that one is pronounced.  Likewise,

Uí Thuathail [ee HOO-uh-hil], of O’Toole.  Again, just the long vowel of “Uí.”  Additional examples: déine, béal ([bayl], mouth, as in béalghrá), anróiteach [AHN-ROH-tchukh]

When neither vowel is long, the pattern sometimes has to be memorized, and there are noticeable variations:

deacair [DJAK-irzh], hard.  The “ea” is like English “bat” or “cat” (or like Irish bean, fear, or deas, but not like Irish “beag”).  The “ai” here is unstressed, because it’s the second syllable, so it’s not a very distinct vowel sound.  It could be considered a very short “short i” or almost a “schwa.”

mion- [min], mini-.  Basically a short “i” with the “o” mostly serving to keep the “n” broad.  Not like the “io” in “iontach” [EEN-tukh] or “iontas” [EEN-tuss], though.

In the case of “-ua” and “ia,” each vowel is pronounced, as in Ó Tuathail [oh TOO-uh-hil], crua [KROO-uh], diabhal [DJEE-uh-wul], and dian [DJEE-un]

Three vowels in a row?  Fadhb ar bith!  We’ve seen aoi [ee], a guest; faoi [fwee], under; and saoi [see], an expert, among others.

Bhuel, as noted above, that was just tip of the iceberg, but it’s a bit of a headstart.  If you have any specific pronunciation questions, please feel to write in.  SGF, Róislín

Cúig Fhrása (Béarla) Gan Mhaith (De Réir Fhionntán Uí Thuathail aka Fintan O’Toole) (Cuid 4/4)

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Jan 14 2012

(le Róislín)

Faoi dheireadh, an starr dheireanach!  Finally, the home stretch!  Cuid a ceathair as ceithre chuid (Part 4 of 4 parts).  Today’s blog will deal with the fifth of the cúig iontráil in Fintan O’Toole’s “Wasting Good Words on a Terrible Situation” (www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/opinion/2012/0103/1224309734610_pf.html).  I’ll repeat the SPOILER ALERT though.  You might want to wait until finishing an blag seo and the previous three sa tsraith cheathairchodach seo to read O’Toole’s article, since these four blogs are set up as a dúshlán to discover, via Irish, what English words he listed.

To quickly review the terms already covered in this series, seo cúig fhocal le meaitseáil:

1. déine                       a. difficult

2. tarrtháil                  b. austerity (1)

3. gátar                       c. sacrifice

4. íobairt                     d. bailout

5. deacair                    e. austerity (2)

If  you’ve just joined this dúshlán focal, the answers are sna trí bhlag roimhe seo: “austerity,” “bailout” http://www.transparent.com/irish/cuig-fhrasa-bearla-gan-mhaith-de-reir-fhionntan-ui-thuathail-aka-fintan-o%E2%80%99toole-cuid-13/; “difficult” http://www.transparent.com/irish/cuig-fhrasa-bearla-gan-mhaith-de-reir-fhionntan-ui-thuathail-aka-fintan-o%E2%80%99toole-cuid-24/, and “sacrifice” http://www.transparent.com/irish/cuig-fhrasa-bearla-gan-mhaith-de-reir-fhionntan-ui-thuathail-aka-fintan-o%E2%80%99toole-cuid-34/. Or just check na freagraí thíos.

At any rate, that brings us up to iontráil a cúig.  This one is a full-fledged seanfhocal, so instead of just listing comhainmneacha (synonyms), I’ll provide two keywords and see if you can piece the seanfhocal together.  It’s quite well known in English.

5. eochairfhocail (keywords): diabhal, mionsonra

But wait, it’s not quite that simple.  Or to paraphrase the pitchmen of the gnéchláracha fógraíochta, “Ach fan, tá a thuilleadh ann!”  

There are a couple of other possibilities for “mionsonra,” such as “mionphointe” or simply “sonra.”  The prefix “mion-“ can be added to “sonra” or to “pointe” to emphasize the miniaturizing aspect, and, of course it can also be added to hundreds, perhaps thousands of other words, like “mionarm” (small weapon), “mionchabhlach” (flotilla), “mionduirling” (small shingle-beach), “mionfheoil” (minced meat), “miongháire” (smile, soft chuckle), and “mion-ghnéchlár” (featurette).

For that matter, there are also a number of synonyms or nicknames (umm, “old”-nicknames?) for “an diabhal” in Irish, including “an giolla goillín (lit. the tormentor-lad)” “an mac mallachta (lit. the son of curses),” and “an t-áibhirseoir (the adversary).”  In fact, he goes by various names in English too, such as “Old Scratch,” “Mr. Splitfoot,” and “Old Nick.”  In today’s proverb, however, the most basic name, “devil,” is the one that applies.

There are still a few points to keep in mind with our “diabhal/mionsonra” proverb.  “Sonra” means “detail” and “mionsonra” is “minor detail,” but the words are sometimes used interchangeably.  “Pointe” can mean “point” in general, but also means “a particular (thing/aspect),” “a precise spot,” and “a distinctive trait;” I don’t think “pointe” is the best choice for “detail” here, since it can mean so many other things (including “headland,” “tip,” “direction,” etc.).  “Mionphointe” [MIN-FWIN-tchuh], though, means “fine point,” “small point,” or “particular detail,” so could be used here.

I looked for examples of this proverb in Irish online, and found, at most a mere handful of examples (about five!).  I was a bit surprised, since it is so widely used in English and seems to have a universal meaning.  How widely used in English?  1,370,000 hits worth.  In the search for Irish versions, I used all the variations for “detail” that I could think of.  That included both singular and plural forms for words like “pointe” (pointí), “mionphointe” (mionphointí), “sonra” (sonraí), and “mionsonra” (mionsonraí).  An interesting point is that in English, there is a split as to whether we’re just discussing one detail (or perhaps, with a bit of sineicdicé, one detail stands for all the detail) or whether we say “details” (plural).  At any rate, there is a fairly consistent split in English, with American writers tending to use the plural form (details) and both Irish and British writers using the singular (detail).

So if you want to translate this proverb with the plural sense, it would be: Tá an diabhal sna mionsonraí (sna mionphointí, sna sonraí, srl.), “the devil is in the details.”

O’Toole uses the proverb with the word “detail” in the singular, so that would be: Tá an diabhal sa mhionsonra (sa mhionphointe, sa sonra, srl.), “the devil is in the detail.”

At some other point, we can review the difference between “sna” (plural) and “sa” (singular), but that would definitely be at least blag iomlán eile.

Another thought that occurred to me in looking at this proverb is the possible use of the habitual form of the verb “to be” (which Standard English doesn’t differentiate).  So I also double-checked for examples with “bíonn” but found … tada (aka faic)!  “Bíonn” is routinely used in sentences that have adverbs like “i gcónaí” (always) or “go minic” (often), but even on its own, it suggests the habitual nature of an activity.  In theory, we could say “Bíonn an diabhal sna mionsonraí” (the devil does be in the details) but I found neither hide nor hair of that online either.

I also checked for fronting, which would be used for extra emphasis (Is sna mionsonraí atá an diabhal, etc.).  Diabhal amas a fuair mé mar sin (“Divil” a hit I got like that, that is to say, tada, rud ar bith, faic na fríde).

In other words, the picture is pretty clear.  This seemingly simple proverb just isn’t widely represented in Irish, at least not according to a fairly comprehensive search.  To the limited extent that I can find it online, it varies slightly in form (sonraí, mionsonraí, mionphointí) and it also tends to preceded or marked by a linguistic disclaimer, suggesting that the writers realize that they’re really using an English expression and translating it.  One such introductory phrase is “Mar a deirtear” (as it is said).  Another technique is to put the phrase in quotation marks.  Admittedly, that might be true of proverbs in general, but it seems to be all the more telling here, given the lack of Irish examples in a natural context.  Of the few places I found an Irish version of this proverb online, they were mostly translation sites, or primarily North American sites (or both together).  This suggests that the writers were aware that they were using an Irish version of a saying that is not traditionally found in Irish.  Which is done a-plenty these days, and makes life all the more interesting.

So, suimiúil, nach ea, that there should be so many examples of this proverb in English and so few in Irish, especially since Irish is rich in both humorous and threatening traditional expressions regarding the devil.  Some of these include  ”An rud a thig thar dhroim an diabhail, imíonn sé faoina bholg,” “Beidh an diabhal is a mháthair le díol,” and “Cead an diabhail acu!”  But the translations for those will have to wait for blag eile!

Meanwhile, getting back to O’Toole’s list, somehow, in the back of my mind I keep mulling over yet another Irish proverb as a near-ish equivalent to “The devil is in the detail.”  It’s certainly not a literal equivalent, and takes a somewhat different slant on the issues like maolú (obfuscation, mollification, lessening, reduction, dulling) and dorchú (obfuscation, darkening, being secretive).  But nevertheless, I’d like to suggest it as at least an angle on looking at deliberately obfuscated material, perhaps overloaded with mionsonraí:

An rud a scríobhann an púca, léann sé féin é.  (What the pooka writes, he himself reads, i.e. only he can read it).

So perhaps that suggests that some of the mealy-mouthed, jargon-laden doublespeak that we encounter in official documents could be written by púcaí, and that would explain it all!  An fíor dom é?  Bhur mbarúlacha? 

And further checking out bhur mbarúlacha, what do you think of O’Toole’s conclusion, that these words (austerity, bailout, difficult, sacrifice, the devil is in the details) not be used, except, as he says, “ironically and in inverted commas”?  Of course, I’m sure he doesn’t realistically expect the words will actually be outlawed or that íoróin (irony) will trump tláithíneacht (“mealy-mouthedness”, wheedling, flattery) or béarlagair an mhaorlathais (bureaucratic jargon) or ceol draíochta an bhéalghrá (the magic music of lip-service).   Or that uaschamóga will be diligently used where advisable.  O’Toole does, however, make a strong plea for society as a whole to devote more attention to issues such as “republic,” “democracy,” equality,” “justice,” and “sanity.”  So in some future blog, we’ll get back to those terms in Irish, and perhaps cúpla ainmfhocal teibí eile (and perhaps a few other abstract nouns).  But idir an dá linn, ábhair níos éadroime?  SGF, Róislín

Freagraí don “mheaitseáil”: 1b, déine, austerity (1); 2d, tarrtháil, bailout; 3e, gátar, austerity (2); 4c, íobairt, sacrifice; 5a, deacair, difficult

Gluais: amas, hit (in computer search); béalghrá, lip-service; ceathairchodach, four-part; éadrom, light; gnéchlár fógraíochta, infomercial (cf. gnéchlar, feature program); sa, in the (followed by a singular noun, as in “sa bhosca”); idir an dá linn, meanwhile; sineicdicé, synecdoche; sna, in the (followed by a plural noun, as in “sna boscaí”); sraith, series.

Nóta don iontráil “béalghrá”: as for “ceol draíochta an bhéalghrá,” thanks to Ruth Nic Giolla Iasachta (an t-iriseoir / drámadóir / scríbhneoir scripte) for that frása gonta (pithy phrase, which is, ironically, ar ábhar na neamhghontachta), from her article “Teannas agus Drochamhras” (http://www.beo.ie/alt-teannas-agus-drochamhras.aspx).  Both “ceol draíochta” and “béalghrá” are established, traditional Irish phrases, but the combination is, drmbansm, one of those moments of inspired journalistic phraseology.  In this case it neatly links Irish folklore (the “ceol draíochta”) with óráidíocht pholaitiúil thocsaineach (toxic political oratory), a rare combination!

Nóta don nóta: ar ábhar …, on the topic of …, drmbansm, my new acronym for IMHO, lit. de réir mo bharúla, ach nach saoi mé (according to my opinion but it’s not an expert that I am); neamhghontachta, non-pithiness

Cúig Fhrása (Béarla) Gan Mhaith (De Réir Fhionntán Uí Thuathail aka Fintan O’Toole) (Cuid 3/4)

Posted by róislín 1 Comment
Jan 11 2012

(le Róislín)

So, we’ve now covered the first three words i liosta Fhionntán Uí Thuathail a d’fhoilsigh sé ina alt “Wasting Good Words on a Terrible Situation” ag http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/opinion/2012/0103/1224309734610_pf.html

In case you’re just joining this dúshlán focal midstream, that means we’ve matched “austerity” with “déine” and “gátar,” “bailout” with “tarrtháil,” and “difficult” with “deacair.”  Admittedly, there are lots of other possibilities for “difficult,” but as discussed in the previous blog, they tend to have more specific contexts or to be far more limited in their usage (http://www.transparent.com/irish/cuig-fhrasa-bearla-gan-mhaith-de-reir-fhionntan-ui-thuathail-aka-fintan-o%E2%80%99toole-cuid-24/ ).

If you haven’t already read O’Toole’s article, he discusses five words or phrases that he thinks should be outlawed in 2012, saying that they distort or conceal reality or are otherwise overused, inefficient, or simply useless.  Ar ndóigh, ní ar na focail iad féin atá an locht, ach ar  na polaiteoirí (agus na hiriseoirí) a úsáideann ad nauseam iad.  I’ll repeat the SPOILER ALERT though.  You might want to wait until after you finish this blog, or even this series of ceithre bhlag, since these four blogs are set up as a challenge to discover what English words O’Toole is thinking of, via Irish, in fact, using lots of comhainmneacha i nGaeilge.

Seo agaibh, mar sin, focal a ceathair:

4. Íobairt?  Tabhartas?  And how’s that connected to “slad,” if at all?  Or “deonach,” likewise highly contextualized?

Again, synonyms first.  But you can probably tell even from the punctuation in the sub-heading above that “íobairt” is the shoo-in for “Ó Tuathail a Ceathair.”

íobairt: offering, or somewhat archaically now, an immolation; cf. íobair, agus Laidin “offero”

tabhartas: gift, boon, offering, cf. tabhair

slad: havoc, loot, plunder, as in ”sladphraghasanna” or “é a dhíol ar shladmhargadh.”

deonach: voluntary, as in “a thitim dheonach” (ag caint faoi júdó)

Unlike the word “difficult,” with its wide sweep of associations, O’Toole’s fourth word doesn’t generate a lot of synonyms, which makes our task a bit easier.  So the common thread of meaning is “sacrifice,” an ceathrú focal i liosta Uí Thuathail.

Íobairt (genitive: íobartha) is “sacrifice” in the standard sense.

Tabhartas is a gift or offering in the general sense; it could include a sacrifice, but more basically is simply related to “tabhair” (give).

There are also times that English uses “sacrifice” where Irish will use a completely different word.  One example is “sladphraghasanna” [SLAD-FRAIS-uh-nuh, with that “FRAIS” like English “price” or “slice” or Welsh “neis,” for more on that transcription dilemma, please see an nóta below].  “Sladphraghasanna” means “sacrifice prices,” using the Irish word “slad” (loot, plunder, havoc) instead of “sacrifice” as such.  A related phrase is “é a dhíol ar shladmhargadh [ay uh yeel err HLAHD-WAHR-uh-guh], meaning “to sell it at a sacrifice (sacrifice-bargain).”

“A thitim dheonach” means “his sacrifice fall” (lit. his voluntary fall).

One more word to go till we’re finished with this liosta and I’m hoping you haven’t found it liosta.  How can a “liosta” be “liosta”?  Liosta liosta?  Tráth na gcomhainmneacha arís!  While we see the word “liosta” meaning “a list,” much more often than its homonym, liosta, the adjective meaning “tedious” or “tiresome” (i mo thaithí féin, pé scéal é), both words do exist.  My guess is that the adjective “liosta” is somehow related to the English word “prolix” and Latin “prolixus,” but I’ll have to check out some more foclóirí to be sure.

At any rate, sin focal a ceathair as an gcúig théarma ar an liosta (nach liosta liosta é, i mo thuairimse, pé scéal é, as you can see from my determination to see this tionscadal through to its logical end, namely, téarma a cúig).   Hmm, since when should a thought in parentheses be longer than the actual sentence containing it?  Hope my former English teachers don’t get wind of this transgression against Strunk and White.  Actually I’d be tickled pink if they turned out to be reading mo bhlag!

Any previews as to what “téarma a cúig” will be that can be shared with léitheoirí an bhlag seo?  “Diabhal a fhios agam,” she said, feigning ignorance.  And that’s actually a leid bheag bhídeach.  Slán go dtí sin! – Róislín

Nóta (re: fuaim an fhocail “praghas”): – yes, I could have written the vowel sound as “ice” and hoped people would connect it with words like “rice,” “trice,” or “thrice,” but that would break my principle of trying to make analogies of sound instead of the incorporating actual (or nearly actual) English words into the transcription.  You’ve probably all seen the latter type of transcription, where a word like Welsh “dyna” is transcribed as “done-uh” and Latin “haec dies” becomes “hike dee-ace (all playing havoc with English’s silent “e”).  Another example of this approach to transcription (using English soundalikes) would be Spanish “suerte” transcribed, fairly frequently it seems, as “swear tay.”  This hinges on the totally erratic English “ea,” which we know and love from such dilemmagenic words as “bear,” “beard,” “heard” and “hearth.”  What’s the moral?  Don’t use English “ea” to describe sounds!.  “Dilemmagenic?”  Hmmm, just checked, doesn’t seem to show up anywhere online, at least not in my search.  It sure seems like a word that should exist though, so, I guess I hereby coin and start using it, with the “-genic” from Greek “genein” and resulting in the meaning “dilemma-inducing.”

As you may have guessed, “praghas” is actually borrowed from the English word “price;” there is another Irish word for price, “luach,” which is not a borrowing.  Something very similar happened with the word “saghas” [sais] (kind, sort, variety, size), cf. English “size.”

Gluais (Breatnais/Laidin/Spáinnis): dyna, there is, there are, that is, that are, as in “Dyna neis!,” (there’s nice, i.e. “That’s nice!”); haec dies, this (is the) day; suerte, luck

Cúig Fhrása (Béarla) Gan Mhaith (De Réir Fhionntán Uí Thuathail aka Fintan O’Toole) (Cuid 2/4)

Posted by róislín 2 Comments
Jan 8 2012

(le Róislín)

Remember what gátar, déine, and tarrtháil have in common?   Hmmm, the first two have related meanings and are nearly interchangeable (beart gátair, austerity measure; cáinaisnéis déine, austerity budget) but “tarrtháil” is completely different in function as well as meaning.  It’s  an ainmfhocal briathartha, not a gnáthainmfhocal (ordinary noun).  We could also note that  “gátar” and “déine,” are “abstract nouns” (ainmfhocail theibí), making them even more different from “tarrtháil,” which is primarily an action.  “Tarrtháil” expresses a fairly physical concept of “saving.”  This could be contrasted to other concepts of saving (anamacha, srl.) for which, please see an nóta below.

So what do “gátar,” “déine,” and “tarrtháil” have in common?  It doesn’t have to do with ciall per se; these three words are simply my choice of how to translate two of the five terms that leading Irish journalist Fintan O’Toole thinks should be outlawed in 2012, as he wrote  in http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/opinion/2012/0103/1224309734610_pf.html [SPOILER ALERT: I encourage you to read O’Toole’s article but you might want to wait until after you finish this blog, or even this mini-series of blogs, since the rest of this article is set up as a challenge to discover what English words O’Toole is thinking of, via Irish.]

The charge against these words, according to O’Toole?  Distortion, concealing reality, etc.  Not that he probably expects that the words will literally be exiled, but he does raise some interesting points, best expressed by O’Toole himself, as you can read in his article.

Why did I offer three Irish words for O’Toole’s two?  The question really is why do I include two words for “austerity”?  Because I think it would be unfair to “gátar” (if a word can sense unfairness) to only list “déine” for “austerity,” and likewise, it would be unfair to “déine” to only list “gátar.”  For “tarrtháil,” I’d say the choice was more straightforward, without so many tempting comhainmneacha.

So that brings us up to focal a trí on O’Toole’s list.  Again, we’ll try the same approach.  I’ll offer a group of Irish synonyms and a variety of Irish equivalents, but I won’t give the translation that completely reveals O’Toole’s third term.  That’s the dúshlán.

3.  Achrannach? Anróiteach? Deacair? Doiciúil? Doiligh? Duaisiúil? 

So, as I said, I’m not going to cut right to the chase and simply offer up one Irish word to correspond to O’Toole’s list.  Instead, we’ll look at some possibilities and their additional meanings.

achrannach: entangled, intricate, quarrelsome, rocky (regarding terrain); cf. achrann, tangled growth

anróiteach: distressing, hard, inclement (of weather), severe, weather-beaten; cf. anró, hardship

deacair: hard, reluctant, troublesome; cf. deacracht, distress, discomfort

doiciúil: hard to manage, impeding; cf. doic, impediment, hesitation, reluctance

doiligh: distressing, hard, hard to bear, hard to deal with, intractable, reluctant; cf. doilíos, affliction, reluctance, sorrow

duaisiúil: distressing, laborious, tedious, troublesome, wearying; cf. duais, dejection, distress, gloom, sorrow (not the perhaps more familiar “duais,” a prize, gift, or reward, which is a different word altogether – comhainmneacha!)

And then there’s always “crua” (hard), which can either describe something physical (clúdach crua, for a book, as opposed to “clúdach bog”) or something more abstract (obair chrua).

What is the key word that could be used to translate all of the above?  “Difficult,” and that’s no. 3 on O’Toole’s list.

Which one probably matches O’Toole’s meaning the best?  “Deacair (or ‘doiligh’) a rá,” I’d say!  “Deacair” appears to be the most widely used, and therefore is probably the best choice.   One point of comparison could be Google hits:

269,000 for “deacair,” by far the most prevalent of the six words for “difficult,” and, as far as I checked through the amais ([AH-mish], hits), “deacair” doesn’t seem to overlap with any words in other languages.  When that overlap does occur, it may give false high results for a search.  Examples of false highs include “nach,” with 2,330,000,000 hits (!), including, among others, 1) Nach, the Spanish rapper (short for Ignacio), ca. 5 million hits, 2) the German “nach” as in “Drang nach Osten,” which itself accounts for about 930,000 of those hits, and finally, the Irish “nach,” which can either be the conjunction, as in “Deir sé nach bhfuil …,” or the verbal particle, as in “Nach bhfuil …?”

18,100 for “doiligh,” which is also more typical of Northern Irish, and therefore somewhat limited in the total amount of use

6,790 for “achrannach,” including several hundred (apparently) for the phrase “achrannach liked this” (interesting in that it shows usage of the word as someone’s screen name, but that’s not our main focus here)

502 for “anróiteach,” narrowed to 165

158 for “duaisiúil,” narrowed to 46

139 for “doiciúil,” narrowed to 26

Not that volume of hits necessarily makes a word the best choice for a particular context, but in this case it seems to point to the word “deacair” covering the idea of “difficult” in the broadest possible sense.  So I’ll nominate “deacair” as most applicable to O’Toole’s focal a trí.  Do bharúilse?

All that to deal with just the single word “difficult”?  But wait, there’s more!  Dhá nóta thíos.  Which leads me to conclude that this mini-series should be four parts, not three, since this blog has already gotten quite long enough, thank you very much.  So please stay tuned for Cuid a Trí agus Cuid a Ceathair.  SGF, Róislín

Nóta 1 (re: tarrtháil agus focail eile ar “saving”):  Tarrtháil overlaps somewhat with the word “sábháil,” but “sábháil” can mean “save” either in the physical sense (“é a shábháil ar an mbás”) or in the spiritual (“anam a shábháil”).  Other words for “save” or “saving” also tend to be on the abstract, or at least the non-physical side (anam a shlánú, which is another way to say “to save a soul;” é a shlánú air, to indemnify him against it; banc taisce, savings bank).  “Tarrtháil” is more typically “save” in the sense of “rescue” (é a tharrtháil óna bhá / óna bhás, to save him from drowning / death; gléas tarrthála, life-saving apparatus; tuga tarrthála, a salvage-tug; rafta tarrthála, a life-raft; seaicéad tarrthála, life-jacket, etc.).

In summary, then:

Tarrtháil, to save, usually in the physical sense

Sábháil, to save, physically or spiritually

Slánú, to save, usually spiritually (cf. Slánaitheoir, Savior, Redeemer)

Taoscadh, to bail out, pump out, drain, shovel, earth up

I’d have to acknowledge  that using the word “save” (tarrtháil) for “bailout” doesn’t have quite the edgy sense of desperation evoked by the image of the sinking boats.  Not that our budget planners are literally out there in a sinking ship (hmmm?), getting bailed out with buckets (that would be “taoscadh”) but the expression is used figuratively in English.  To appropriate “taoscadh” for “bailout” in the economic sense in Irish would be a really big stretch; at any rate, modern Irish usage gives us “tarrtháil” for this purpose.

[And now for the “fonóta,” which is now beagnach chomh fada le blag féin!]

Fonóta: Speaking of “bailing,” just a reminder here that this is “bail” spelled with an “i.”  As we can see from the abundant commentary on the topic (http://www.beedictionary.com/common-errors/bail_vs_bale, http://public.wsu.edu/~brians/errors/bail.html, or [Bryan] Garner’s Modern American Usage, http://www.oup.com/us/catalog/general/?view=usa&ci=9780195382754, under bail/bale, m. sh.), there’s a lot of confusion on this spelling issue, and considerable leeway as well, depending on if you’re using British or American English.  “Baling” or “to bale” is usually for hay, cotton, or packages (baling wire, etc.).   At any rate, don’t try “baling” the water in the boat, or you might end up with the liquid version of the “súgán sneachta,” as immortalized by Mairéad Ní Ghráda in her 1959 dráma of the same name and by Tadhg Mac Dhonnagáin in his amhrán of the same name on his album “Imíonn an tAm” (2004:  http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/tmdhonnagain3).  Súgán sneachta – now that’s a topic that deserves a bhlag féin!

Nóta 2 (re: fhuaimniú): Isn’t it nice when English homophones generate all kinds of confusion and the corresponding Irish words are nice and straightforward and logically spelled?  I can’t think of any other Irish word that sounds like “taoscadh.”  Hurá!  It’s also interesting to consider how much of the homophone problem in English is caused by that ever-present silent “e” (as in “bale,” bate/bait, cane/Cain, Dane/deign, pane/pain, bore/boar, brake/brake, etc.).  Irish, quite logically, doesn’t have that silent “e” issue; final e’s, while not stressed (aiceanta), are usually articulated, unless the speaker is talking a mile a minute and the final “e” is glommed onto a following word that starts with a vowel (Tá páiste anseo [taw PAWSH-tchun-shuh]).  In that case, it’s not officially “silent;” it’s just swallowed.  There was an old lady who swallowed a guta neamhaiceanta — nah, that would truly be a digression.

Final e’s in Irish also don’t have that perplexing habit we find in English, where they sometimes cause the previous vowel to be pronounced long (can/cane, ban/bane, kit/kite, con/cone) and sometimes not (have, give, one, and the double-agent “live/live”).  What, you ask, what about all those silent letters, and consonant and vowel clusters, in Irish?  Yes, it does have its fair share, as in bhfuil, aghaidh, bhfaighidh, fhadhb, and aoi / aíonna, which was formerly aoighe / aoigheadha (!).  Yeah, I get it, consain chiúin go leor, consain a fhuaimnítear mar ghuta, trí ghuta i gcrobhaing, séimhiú, urú!  Well, to that, I can simply say, each language has its leithleachais, or should I say “À chacun son goût” (or should that be “À chacun son ‘guta’”?).  Ba-dum-bum-ching (and that’s probably the same in any language, at least in any language that has a stand-up comedy tradition)!  “Buille imill,” to be technical about it.

Gluais: ainmfhocal briathartha [AN-yim-OK-ul BREE-uh-hur-huh, with both t’s silent], verbal noun; anam, soul; bá, drowning; bás, death (ar an mbás [err un mawss], here: “from death”); ciall, meaning; crobhaing, cluster; dúshlán, challenge; imeall, rim, border (genitive form: imill); leithleachas, idiosyncrasy; neamhaiceanta, unstressed; óna, from his (ó, from + a, his)

Cúig Fhrása (Béarla) Gan Mhaith (De Réir Fhionntán Uí Thuathail aka Fintan O’Toole) (Cuid 1/4)

Posted by róislín 1 Comment
Jan 4 2012

(le Róislín)

Noted journalist Fintan O’Toole recently published his list of five phrases that he thinks should be outlawed in 2012 (http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/opinion/2012/0103/1224309734610_pf.html).  Not that words are typically actually outlawed as such, but he feels these five phrases “distort or conceal” reality and are misleading.  For example, we constantly discuss “austerity,” but meanwhile certain individuals are earning unfathomable salaries or bonuses, and vast sums of money are being allocated for questionable purposes.

Whether you agree with O’Toole’s argument or with his specific choice of words, it’s interesting to consider what the five would be in Irish.  Or whether it would be as straightforward to pinpoint the exact concept he means amongst the multiple Irish synonyms connected to some of his choices.  Do bharúilse?

Note: while most of O’Toole’s choices are literally “focail, ” one is actually a “seanfhocal” (proverb) as you’ll see when we get to uimhir a cúig.

1.. Géire? Gairge? Déine? Gátar?

What English definition do these all have in common?  Stuck?  Think of an English word we’ve heard ad nauseam recently, presumably to encourage us to think that we’re all san fhaopach together.

Let me give you the range of meanings first, minus the one common thread (le haghaidh an dúshláin, ar ndóigh)

Gátar: need, want, distress, difficulty, as in “beart gátair”

Déine: intensity, hardness, severity, as in “cáinaisnéis déine;” cf. “dian”

Gairge: harshness, gruffness, bitterness; cf. “garg”

Géire: sharpness, steepness, sourness; cf. “géar”

All of these can be translated as “austerity.”  “Beart gátair” means “austerity measure” and “cáinaisnéis déine” means “austerity budget.”  The idea of austerity can also be conveyed by an adjective, “dibhoilscitheach,” as in “beartas díbhoilscitheach,” a deflationary (austerity) policy.  “Díbhoilscitheach” may look like a mouthful, but it’s not so bad if you think of it as the negating prefix “dí-“ plus “boilscitheach” from “boilscigh” (inflate). “Boilscitheach“ [BIL-shkih-hukh] gets lenited after the prefix, becoming “-bhoilscitheach” [WIL-shkih-hukh].

So, maybe you didn’t expect that the first word would be the one discussed in the introductory paragraph.  I could have scrambled things up more, but, bhuel, feeling sochma (easy-going) today.

2. Tarrtháil?  Bannaí? Or (but not really) “taoscadh”?

Tarrtháil: saving, rescue, help, deliverance, intervention, mediation

Banna, pl. bannai: bond, binding, banns (in marriage)

Taoscadh: pumping out, draining, emptying, drawing off, earthing (as in “to earth up potatoes”)

What’s the common thread here?  “Bailout,” either in the sense of “saving,” or “going bail for him” (ag dul i mbannaí air).  “Tarrtháil” would be the best translation of for “bailout” in the economic sense.

What on earth do I mean by “Or (but not really)”?  Well, the Irish words for bailing financially (tarrtháil) and bailing regarding water (taoscadh) are completely unrelated etymologically.  But, as I just discovered, in English, “bail” in the financial sense and “bailing” out a boat have a common thread of history in the Latin words “bajula” (vessel) and “bajulare.”  But, yeah, that really belongs in a blog for Latin and/or English!

Phew!  Numbers 3, 4, and 5 will have to wait for upcoming blogs.  I’m estimating three altogether, though it’s diabhalta deacair to tell in advance.  And that’s a somewhat meandering clue as to the other three.  Of course, you can always find them by following the link above.

And by the way, regarding Fintan O’Toole’s name, I took the liberty of writing it in Irish (Fionntán Ó Tuathail) since I see at least a handful of references online to it that way, in Irish-medium publications.  Just as a disclaimer though, I haven’t myself seen him use the Irish form of his name.  In Irish, the surname Ó Tuathail has one more syllable than in English [oh TOO-uh-hil, as opposed to English “oh tool”].  Pé scéal é, SGCa2 (slán go cuid a dó) ó Róislín

 

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