Irish Blog

Súil siar gasta ar an mbriathar “a fheiceáil” agus na foirmeacha coibhneasta.  If you don’t remember the translations for these, please check back in the recent blogs.

Aimsir láithreach: Feicim an bhó.  An bhfeiceann tú an bhó?  Sin é an fear a fheiceann an bhó.  Sin é an fear a bhfeiceann a mhac an bhó. 

Aimsir chaite: Chonaic sé an bhó.   An bhfaca sé an bhó?  Sin é an fear a chonaic an bhó.  Sin é an fear a bhfaca a mhac an bhó. 

Aimsir fháistineach:  Feicfidh sé an bhó.  An bhfeicfidh sé an bhó?  Sin é an fear a fheicfidh an bhó.  Sin é an fear a bhfeicfidh a mhac an bhó.  

And now the verb “to make / to do” in the present, past, and future tenses.  You might recall its command form (déan) and the verbal noun form (déanamh).  We’ll keep to the bovine theme, but this time we’ll take the topic a generation younger, to the calf (an lao).  So we’ll talk about making a muzzle (soc) for a calf.  Next verb around, perhaps a more high-tech topic, but for today, “slisín de shaol traidisiúnta na tuaithe” (a little slice of the traditional life of the countryside). 

Aimsir láithreach: Déanann sí soc don lao.  An ndéanann sí soc don lao?  (She makes a muzzle for the calf.  Does she make a muzzle for the calf?)

Foirmeacha coibhneasta:

Seo í an bhean a dhéanann soc don lao. This is the woman who makes a muzzle for the calf. 

Seo í an bhean a ndéanann a hiníon soc don lao.  This is the woman whose daughter makes a muzzle for the calf. 

Aimsir chaite (and this is where the verb “déan” starts to look much more “neamhrialta”):

Rinne sí soc don lao.  An ndearna sí soc don lao?  (She made a muzzle for the calf.  Did she make a muzzle for the calf?)

Seo í an bhean a rinne soc don lao.  This is the woman who made a muzzle for the calf.

Seo í an bhean a ndearna a hiníon soc don lao.  This is the woman whose daughter made a muzzle for the calf. 

Aimsir fháistineach:  Déanfaidh sí soc don lao.  An ndéanfaidh sí soc don lao?  (She will make a muzzle for the calf.  Will she make a muzzle for the calf?)

Seo í an bhean a dhéanfaidh soc don lao. This is the woman who will make a muzzle for the calf.

Seo í an bhean a ndéanfaidh a hiníon soc don lao.  This is the woman whose daughter will make a muzzle for the calf. 

As you can see, we’re applying the same process throughout: lenition (d -> dh) for the direct relative clause and eclipsis (d -> nd) for the indirect relative clause.  And remember, also, all this is because Irish doesn’t use a relative pronoun (who) or a relative possessive pronoun (whose) to create relative clauses, the way English does.  It uses the particle “a,” which then triggers lenition or eclipsis according to the type of sentence. 

Now that you’ve suffered through conjugating the verb “déan” in three tenses and embedding it in six relative clauses, here are some more fun terms using the noun “soc.”  Mostly these are just phrases – no conjugating, no clauses (Ailliliú!), all just le haghaidh an chraic:

soc (of a person): a beak nose or sharp snout.

soc (of an animal): a muzzle or snout (curiously, when applied to people, the word implies beakiness or sharpness; when applied to animals, it’s just a gnáthshoc [gnaw-hok] an ordinary snout).  

soc (of a person’s expression): a pout.  We could use that to say “Ba chóir duit gan a bheith ag cur soic ort” (You’d better not pout), where “soc” is changed to the genitive case “soic” [sik].

And, if you’re willing to take the consequences, you can call someone a “soc searbh” (sourpuss), which is literally “sour snout.”  Interesting that the word “pus” in Irish has a similar meaning to “soc,” ranging from “a protruding mouth,” “a pout,” or “a calf or dog’s snout.”  So perhaps the word “sourpuss” is one more example of how the Irish created slang!  For pronunciation, do note that the Irish word “pus” has the same vowel sound as American English “put” or “pudding,” not the sound in “putt,” “custard,” or the less savory but homographic English word, “pus.”  

Finally, if you were wondering about the quote from the February 17 blog, it was from the satiric classic novel, An Béal Bocht.  And, faraor, no one wrote in to tell me that they recognized it!  The two relative clauses were “don mhuintir a leanann sinn” (for the people who follow us) and “na dibheairseans agus na haidbhintiurs a bhí ann lenár linn” (the diversions and adventures that were in it in our time, using “that” here since diversions and adventures are inanimate, however animated they may have been).

I hope you enjoyed this, or at least found it úsáideach, since we still have the following verbs to deal with:  abair, beir, clois, faigh, ith, tabhair, tar, and téigh.  Nach maith an saol (Isn’t life good)?      

Before the U.S. completely finishes with Lá (or Seachtain) na nUachtarán, let’s take a brief look at some contrasting terms for up/down and above/below in Irish.  As you might imagine, this will end up treating a wide variety of topics, not just spatial relations.  Ice-cream and underlings, for example.

Let’s start with the core terms:

thuas, above

thíos, below

These can be used quite straightforwardly: thuas staighre, thíos staighre (upstairs, downstairs).  These two terms are used when the subject is stationary, as in “Tá sé thuas ansin” (He is up there). 

The contrast of “ua” and “ío,” which I see as the core of these words, gives us many other pairs: 

suas (up, above, with motion, e.g. ag dul suas)

síos (down, below, with motion, e.g. ag dul síos)

anuas (down, emphasizing the movement from above to below, e.g. ag teacht anuas)

aníos (up, emphasizing the movement from below to above, e.g. ag teacht aníos)

Those are the typical contrasting pairs.  But the parallels continue:

uachtar, upper part, uplands (for sheep, etc.), surface (of water, etc.), cream (ó na laethanta roimh homaiginiú), and the upper of a set of millstones (an bhró uachtair)

íochtar, lower part, bottom, bottom land, skimmed portion (of milk), the lower of a set of millstones (an bhró íochtair), and even the runt of a litter of pigs (which could also be made even more diminutive, as íochtairín)                       

From uachtar we also get uachtar reoite (ice-cream, lit. frozen cream), and the special Irish version thereof, uachtar reoite aráin dhoinn, as well as borróga uachtair (cream buns) and the ultimate Irish culinary specialty, anraith seamróg le huachtar.

From íochtar we also get íochtar oighearshrutha [OY-er-HRUH-huh, silent g, s, and t] (glacier bottom), an Tréimhse Charbónmhar Íochtair (the Lower Carboniferous), and raca íochtair (lower rack, of a miasniteoir).

Add the “-ach” suffix and you get additional adjective forms:

uachtarach, as in Sráid Uí Chonaill Uachtarach, often abbreviated “Uacht.”

íochtarach, as in Sráid Uí Chonaill Íochtarach, often abbreviated “Íocht.”

Finally, for now at least, add the “-án” suffix, and you get the person characterized by the concept:

uachtarán, president, or head (of a school, etc., though other terms for that also exist, such as príomhoide), in pl. the authorities, etc.  Examples: Uachtarán na hÉireann (the President of Ireland). uachtarán slalóim (slalom president; note the genitive case of “slalóm,” which I must confess I’ve had little occasion to use otherwise), and an Leas-Uachtarán (the Vice President).  Preceded by the definite article when used with a person’s name: An tUachtarán Obama.

The American holiday, Presidents’ Day, is Lá na nUachtarán, since it’s plural (two presidents).  Somehow there is now “Seachtain na nUachtarán,” perhaps dreamed up by margóirí, since it enables sales to be prolonged. 

íochtarán, lowly person, subordinate, underling, in pl. the proletariat.  Not that I particularly like thinking of people in this manner, but the concept is traditional. 

So finally we get back to the seanfhocal that I used as teideal an bhlag seo: Thuas seal, thíos seal, up a while, down a while, describing guagaíl an tsaoil (the vagaries of life).  So, no, that’s not a translation of “ice-cream and underlings” as such, but come to think of it, maybe there’s something to that idea.  On that convoluted note, slán go dtí an chéad bhlag eile.