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

Posted by róislín No Comments
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

Ag Tarraingt ar Oíche Shamhna (Halloween’s Coming!)

Posted by róislín No Comments
Oct 15 2011

(le Róislín)

Halloween is, of course, a very Celtic topic, and you may be familiar with some of the basics of its role sa bhféilire Ceilteach.  So in today’s blog, we’ll mostly focus on the phrase itself, its pronunciation and basic meaning.

The word order of the Irish phrase is a reversal of the English.  That’s assuming, of course, that we think of the word “Halloween” in its original sense (Hallow + e’en, with the “e’en” standing for “evening”).  Curious, isn’t it, how we rarely use the apostrophe for “Halloween” anymore, even though the same syncopation process, dropping the “v,” occurs occasionally in “whenever” (“Whene’er you make a promise,” as Girl Scouts will recall).  To the best of my knowledge, that apostrophe remains  (Wheneer?).  Hmm, I wonder if the ubiquitous “whatever” that we hear so much of nowadays will ever get apostrophized (“I was, like, whate’er”?)

Anyway, “Hallowe’en” (to fully punctuate the word), is essentially “hallowed evening,” whereas “Oíche Shamhna” is “eve of Samhain,” with the “eve” part first.  This is typical Irish word order, since the word “Samhain” is being used to modify “oíche,” similar to an adjective.

“Oíche” [EE-hyuh] is the general word for “night” in Irish, and when used before holiday names, it can also mean “eve,” i.e. the night before, as in “Oíche Nollag” (Christmas Eve, as opposed to “Oíche Lá Nollag,” the night of Christmas Day).  Irish does have a word that is cognate to “night,” “nicht,” “nuit,” “nox/noctis,” et al., which is the “-nocht” part of “anocht” (tonight), but this “-nocht” cognate is limited to set phrases in Irish, and there are only a few of them, at that.  “Oíche” is a feminine noun, as you might recognize from the widely used phrase, “Oíche mhaith” [EE-hyuh wah], where the adjective “maith” becomes “mhaith” to match the feminine noun.  To be thorough in the pronunciation notes, I should add that in the North, instead of the “wah” sound for “mhaith,” it’s more like the English word “why,” but very breathy, like “why” with a puff of breath.

byb (or are we not minimizing “by the by” to “textese” yet? — BYB mostly shows up as “Bihar Yoga Bharati” online).   Anyway, by the by (maith dom an t-athluaiteachas), that “hyuh” sound I indicated uses the “y” to indicate the specific  ”h” sound of “human” or “humid,” not the actual “hy-” sound of “hybrid” or “hydrogen” and not the “h” sound of “hoover.”

“Shamhna” [HOW-nuh] comes from Samhain [SOW-in] (1 November), which was the Celtic New Year.  “Shamhna” means “of Samhain” and is lenited here after “oíche.”  In certain other situations, the form “Samhna” (unlenited) is used, for example, in “cultacha Samhna” (Halloween costumes).  And, as I know I’ve explained pre-this-blog, the “sow” of the pronunciation guide for “Samhain” is like English “sow” (the pig), at least in American English.  That’s “sow” as typically rhyming with “now” or “Frau.”  Not as in “sow” (to sow seeds, etc.).

So that’s the basics, word-wise.  Some upcoming blogs may cover more Halloween topics, such as costumes, candies or sweets, decorations, typical “tricks” and supernatural figures.

Other blogs in this series have covered the Halloween season, including “Samhain (1 Mí na Samhna): The First Day of Winter, http://www.transparent.com/irish/samhain-1-mi-na-samhna-the-first-day-of-winter/, and “Cultacha Samhna Móréilimh [best-selling] na Bliana 2010, http://www.transparent.com/irish/cultacha-samhna-moreilimh-best-selling-na-bliana-2010/

Meanwhile, for another view of Halloween, you might like to read “The Japanese Knotweed of Festivals” by Sean Coughlan, from October 31, 2007, ag http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7067804.stm .   Bhur mbarúlacha?

SGF, Róislín

Gluais: barúil, opinion; féilire, calendar; maith dom, forgive me (for)

Saying “I love you” in Irish and Minding Your Velar Fricatives

Posted by róislín No Comments
Oct 9 2011

(le Róislín)

We’ve recently been looking at different ways to say “I love you” in Irish.  Some of you might have been wondering how to pronounce them, especially the phrases where the straightforward “grá” [graw] changes to “ghrá” [γraw, to be explained below] and the straightforward “croí” changes to “chroí” [khree].

I’ve noticed some pronunciation guides online that simply say “graw” for the pronunciation of both “grá” and “ghrá,” which is, unfortunately, misleading.  For the “ch” sound of “chroí,” you’ll find at least three approaches,  1) the official IPA representation of /x/, 2) the typical “pronunciation guide” usage of “kh” (which I mostly advocate in this blog, for practicality’s sake), and 3) some sources just glossing over the fricative sound and making the “ch” a simple “k” sound.

I’ve actually dealt with this issue previously in this blog, as some of you may recall, but since there are always more léitheoirí nua ar an liosta and also many reasons to proclaim one’s love, or to talk about how to do so, we’ll revisit the fricatives.  Some of the other blogs that discussed the fricatives are http://www.transparent.com/irish/treoir-don-treoir-a-guide-to-the-guide-for-pronunciation-cuid-a-2/ (which mostly dealt with the broad dh- and gh- sounds) and http://www.transparent.com/irish/treoir-don-treoir-a-guide-to-the-guide-for-pronunciation-cuid-a-3/ (which mostly dealt with the broad ch- sound).

Some of the love phrases we discussed previously were “Mo ghrá thú,” “Tusa mo ghrá,” “Is tú mo ghrá,” and “Grá mo chroí thú.”

For “grá,” the basic noun for “love,” transcribing the sound as “graw” is reasonable.  In the North, of course, the vowel sound is a little different, but for this blog, we’ll just stick to consonant issues.

For “ghrá” [γraw], as in “mo ghrá” (my love), I described the voiced velar fricative sound previously as “a rumbling guttural sound that seems to want to stay in the throat.”  That’s “guttural” as in Latin “guttur” (throat), not “gutters” as in drainage systems.  I added that, subjectively speaking, it is “a bit softer and less blunt than the more familiar voiceless velar fricative,” the latter being represented by German “Achtung” or “Buch.”  The voiced velar fricative may be found in some pronunciations of German “sagen” and some pronunciations of Spanish “agua,” but not in all, and not typically in the American high school language class presentation.  The best way to pick up sounds that are not in one’s linguistic inventory, of course, is to listen, listen, listen, and for that, short of living in the Gaeltacht, I’d recommend tuning into to www.rnag.ie as often as possible and listening to the native speakers.

For “croí” (heart), the sound is quite straightforward, “kree” as in “Cree” Indian, or “creel” or “creepie,” etc.  Remember the long vowel “í” here trumps the short “o” sound, which is, essentially, silent.

For “chroí,” as in “mo chroí” (my heart), the sound is as I’ve mentioned several times before – like German “Achtung” or “Buch,” like the Welsh “bach” or “fach,” and as you might hear in the pronunciation of “Loch” especially by a Gaelic speaker.  This is the voiceless velar fricative.  In American English, we may find it sometimes in the pronunciation of Hebrew- or Yiddish-derived words like “Chanukah” and “Chutzpah,” but many Americans tend to minimize the throaty quality of these sounds and simply start off with an initial “h” sound.  Unless, of course, they actually speak Hebrew or Yiddish, in which case the voiceless velar fricative comes quite naturally.

Feeling completely tongue-tied?  Actually, it’s a vocal cord issue, not really the tongue.  There is some good news – there are some ways to avoid the velar fricatives and still say you love someone, like “Tá cion agam ort” and “Tá grá agam duit.”

Tá cion agam ort, very literally, there is love/affection at me on you.

Tá grá agam duit, very literally, there is love at me to you.

Of course, if you pronounce the latter with typical Cois Fharraige Irish, the “duit” will become “dhuit” and you’ll be right back in there with the voiced velar fricatives.

In fact, at some point, to really master Irish pronunciation, you’ll need the velar fricatives.  If you want to say “Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú, a Dhonncha?,” you’ve got two voiceless ones and one voiced one.  If you want to talk about the poet Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill, you’ve got a voiced one every time you say her surname.  If you live “sa Clochán Liath (Dungloe),” you’ve got two (voiceless, within the same word) and if your muintir are from “Contae Dhún na nGall,” you got a voiced one.  Not to mention speaking about “dúchas” (heritage), as in “Is as an gClochán ó dhúchas mé” (I’m from An Clochán/Clifden originally).  The phrase “ó dhúchas” is a “double-whammy” example, like “a Dhonncha,” with both a voiced and a voiceless velar fricative.  And isn’t that special!

And in case you think that velar fricatives are a bizarre topic for discussion in an Irish language blog, I’d like to add two points as closers.

First, both the voiceless and voiced velar fricatives are widely used sounds in Irish and they do occur in a variety of other languages.  They happen not to occur in English, except in a few loan words, and even there, English speakers will tend to soften them to the point where they are no longer fricative.  In other words, English speakers will tend to say Hanukah with an initial “h” sound instead of “Chanukah” with an initial “kh” sound.  They’ll also tend to say “Hallah” instead of “Challah” for the braided bread.  Whose talking about “Challah” these days?  Well, plenty of people in U.S. delis and bakeries, for one, but more recently, and newly exciting to both art historians and the world at large, anyone discussing Rembrandt’s “The Supper at Emmaus.”  Apparently the recent cleaning, removing many layers of varnish, revealed that the bread being served at Emmaus was, in fact, challah, bread braided in three strands before it’s baked.

Second, “Velar Fricatives” made headline news not too long ago in the online journal Significance: Statistics Making Sense (October 22, 2010).  A statistics journal, no less!  Michael O’Kelly’s article, “How’s your velar fricative? A numerical guide to urban and rural Irish speakers,” commented on some research by Dr. Brian Ó Broin, concerning the accuracy of pronunciation among difference demographics of Irish speakers.  O’Kelly’s article can be found at http://www.significancemagazine.org/details/webexclusive/870327/Hows-your-velar-fricative-A-numerical-guide-to-urban-and-rural-Irish-speakers.html

So keep your fricatives velarized when whispering “sweet nothings” in Irish, and remember to make them voiceless or voiced according to whether you’re saying “chroí” or “ghrá.”  Or, if you prefer, choose one of the fricative-less alternatives.

Hmmm, “sweet nothings” as Gaeilge.  “Baothbhriathra mealltacha” – that’s a nice mouthful, nach ea?  Ábhar blag eile, b’fhéidir?  You might note that while the Irish phrase is considered equivalent to the English, it contains neither the word “sweet” nor the word “nothing.”  How’s that?  Stay tuned!  SGF, Róislín 

Saying “I Love You” in Irish (without the verb “to love”)

Posted by róislín 2 Comments
Oct 6 2011

le Róislín

How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways, but, at least for Irish, not the verbs.

No verbs, hunh?  What’s all that about?

One of the first steps for learning Latin, at least when I was in school, was learning to conjugate the verb “to love” – amo, amas (I love, you love), and all that.  Scouring the Internet for more examples, I see a lot of samples, some derived from the well-known Latin verb, others not, but all of which (that I find) include a verb: Ti amo, je t’aime, te quiero, ich liebe dich, etc.

And it’s not that the Irish are remiss in discussing love — far from it.  Plenty of people are asking, and getting answers to the question, “How do you say ‘I love you’ in Irish?”  It’s just that in most cases, no verbs are involved, or if they are, it’s just the verb “to be,” not the actual verb “to love.”  So what are they saying instead?

Here are some of the most popular phrases:

Mo ghrá thú, you (are) my love, lit. my love you (no verb)

Tusa mo ghrá, you (are) my love, lit. you yourself my love (no verb)

Is tú mo ghrá, you are my love, using the linking verb “is,” not the verb “to love.”  Don’t be misled by the apparent similarity of the Irish verb “is” [say: iss] and the English verb “is” [say: iz]; in this case, the Irish verb “is” will be translated as “are,” due to the idiosyncrasies of the English verb “to be.”

Grá mo chroí thú, you (are) (the) love (of) my heart, lit. love (of) my heart you

In a previous blog, I discussed where you’re most likely to find the verb “to love,” with its various forms, mostly in religious or formal contexts.  These forms include:

gráigh, the command form, for whatever application you may find for that!

ag grá, “loving,” but, at least in my experience, not a very typical expression, unless McDonald’s gets a hold of it for their “loving it” ad campaign

a ghrá, to love, but again, at least in my experience, it would be more typical to say something like “grá a bheith agat do …”, i.e. to have love for, lit. love to be at you for … or “grá a thabhairt do …,” to give love to ; key point is that “to love,” as such, isn’t used as much as the more circuitous phrases like “Ní foláir duit grá a thabhairt do do chomharsa mar thú féin” (You should / ought to love your neighbor as yourself)

gráite, used more in the sense of “devoted to” than regarding romantic love, as in “gráite do d’obair,” devoted to your work).

We’ll probably visit this topic again next February, but meanwhile, más amhlaidh gur thit tú i ngrá le déanaí (if you fell in love recently), you’ve got a little more vocabulary to work with.  SGF, Róislín

Gluais: amhlaidh, thus; comharsa, neighbor; do, to/for; do, your; do do, to your/for your; le déanaí, recently; thit, fell

For more on this topic, please see my earlier blog “An Briathar ‘Gráigh!’ (Love!) i nGaeilge”: http://www.transparent.com/irish/?s=gr%C3%A1igh (14 Feabhra 2011).  The blogs before and after it may also be of interest:

17 Feabhra 2011: http://www.transparent.com/irish/665/

12 Feabhra 2011: http://www.transparent.com/irish/doigheanna-le-%E2%80%9Ci-love-you%E2%80%9D-a-ra-i-ngaeilge-let-me-count-the-ways/

9 Feabhra 2011: http://www.transparent.com/irish/tearmai-muirneise-terms-of-endearment-do-la-vailintin/

 

Túis, Frainclíní, agus Saincheadúnais, A Thiarcais!

Posted by róislín 1 Comment
Aug 14 2011

(le Róislín)

Actually, it is the English versions of these three words that offer the alliteration, which gives the phrase a slightly literary twist.  That in turns tempts me to end teideal an bhlag seo with the interjection “a thiarcais.”  So, the title of this blog translates into English as “Frankincense, Franklins, and Franchises, Oh My!” Can’t resist that “Oh, My!” ending when listing things in threes, thank to the indelible imprint of Arlen and Harburg (“Leoin, Tíogair, agus Béir, A Thiarcais,” if I may be so bold)

What do “frankincense,” “franklin,” and “franchise” have in common?  In English, they derive from the Late Latin “francus,” which meant both “a Frankish person” and “free”, with the extended meanings of “open,” “candid,” “sincere,” and “pure.”  And how does this pan out in Irish?  Baint ar bith acu leis an bhfocal Laidine sin “francus?  Uaim ar bith i dtús na bhfocal (áit a mbíonn “uaim,” ar ndóigh).  .  

1. Túis [toosh]

Ar dtús, pléifidh muid an focal “túis” (frankincense).  In case that was at all ambiguous, the first phrase “ar dtús,” comes from “tús” (fir1) a completely different Irish word meaning “beginning, start.”  Anyway, first we’ll discuss the word “túis” (bain2).   

Here, the Irish is clearly related to the Latin word for incense, “thūs,” which you may also recognize from “thurible,” the device for carrying incense, which in turns comes from the tuiseal ginideach of this word in Latin, “thūris”. A reminder how helpful it is to fully understand the tuiseal ginideach, not just for Irish, but for Latin too, and sometimes for Latin-derived Irish words. 

“Túis” means both “frankincense” and “incense” in Irish.  As a child, I never thought that much about what the “frank” part of “frankincense” was all about.  It was just part of the phrase, and about the only context I knew for discussing frankincense was the reference to the gifts of frankincense, gold, and myrrh in the Bible.  Eventually, the foclóir sanasaíochta beckoned, and I looked it up.  The “frank-“ part of the English word means “pure,” so, centuries ago “franke ensens” meant “pure incense” and eventually it became one word, “frankincense.” 

Now, how incense can be impure?  Sin ceist nach bhfuil an freagra di agam.  Or more succinctly said,

Diabhal a fhios agam!  Maybe if some filler is added, like sawdust, which burns but isn’t fragrant.  Eolas ag duine ar bith?

2. Frainclíní [FRANK-leen-ee]

The word “franklin” is more well known as a name these days, rather than as a term designating social status.  In the emerging middle class of the late Middle Ages, however, it meant “non-noble freeholder.”  It was originally spelled “frankeleyn,” from “francus” (free, Frank). 

The surname exists in Irish, as “Frainclín,” but in my experience, it’s not that widely encountered.  It was found in 13th-cneutry Dublin, and, in modern times, is centered in Limerick and Tipperary.  I have to acknowledge that I find no references to “frainclíní,” as a social class, in modern Irish, but I assume that to refer to them, we’d use the same form found as a surname.  If only I had Chaucer in Irish, I could check out what the translator used for “Scéal an Fhrainclín,” but unfortunately, I can’t find any Irish translations of Chaucer! 

As for some other “Frank-derived” names, the given names “Francis” (male) and “Frances” (female), those are widely used in Irish, as Proinsias and Proinséas respectively. 

One small pointer about the name “Proinsias” – it’s one of the few men’s names in Irish that doesn’t get slenderized at the end in direct address or when possessive.  In other words, we say,

A Phroinsias [uh FRIN-shuss], Francis! (to greet Francis, using an tuiseal gairmeach) and

cóta Phroinsias, the coat of Francis (an tuiseal ginideach)

That would be in contrast to other men’s names that end in “–as,” like Tomás or Séamas, for which we slenderize the ending (adding an “-i-“ before the final “s”), giving us phrases like “Dia dhuit, a Thomáis” [… uh HOM-awsh] and “cóta Shéamais” [… HAY-mish].

Another way to look at the difference between the names “Proinsias,” “Tomás,” and “Séamas,” is in terms of our old friends, na díochlaontaí (the declensions).  Yes, personal names also belong to declensions in Irish, just like generic nouns (box, table, etc.) do.  So Proinsias is “fir4” (4th-declension, masculine, with “fir” for firinscneach; or “m4,” for the English abbreviation) while Tomás and Séamas are “fir1” (m1, 1st-declension masculine).  Plenty more could be written on the declensions of personal names in Irish, but for now, that will have to be added to the riaráiste of ábhair do bhlaganna eile. 

3. Saincheadúnais [SAN-HyAD-oon-ish]

The English word, “franchise,” is also derived from “francus” (free, Frank).  The original meaning of “franchise” is the “right to vote,” since the origin of the word (francus) implied “freedom.”  In Irish, “right to vote” would be, quite straightforwardly, “ceart vótála.”   Why “vótála” and not “vótáil,” the latter being the form you’d probably find listed in the dictionary?  Tuiseal ginideach.  “Ceart vótála” literally means “right of voting.”  Irish doesn’t use a word that literally means “of” in phrases like this – it uses an tuiseal ginideach, with a change to the ending of “vótáil” to indicate “of voting.” 

These days, we tend to use the word “franchise” largely in discussing commerce, referring to individually run shops which are part of a larger enterprise, like Subway or McDonald’s.  In these cases, the parent company grants the right to others to sell its products, so cearta (rights) are still involved, just in a very different context.  That explains the Irish word “saincheadúnas,” a compound word, consisting of “sain-“ (special, particular) and “ceadúnas” (license).   

4. A Thiarcais [uh HEER-kish]

As to why, “A Thiarcais,” at the end of this blog’s title?  Just “le haghaidh an chraic,” really.  “A thiarcais” can be translated variously as “Oh, my!,” “Dear, dear!,” or “My goodness!,” or in an extended sense, “Bless my soul!”  As I said above, I find it hard to resist “oh-my-ing” threesomes when they occur in titles.  Even in Irish!

Aguisín: An Focal “frankly”

And finally, let’s look at one last word that might seem to be related to this discussion, “frankly,”  In English, yes, the “frank” part of “frankly” implies openness and sincerity, as in “’This hot dog is terrible,’ said Tom frankly.”

However this connotation doesn’t seem to have carried over into Irish, where the typical close equivalents to “frankly,” are “leis an fhírinne a rá” (to tell the truth), “déanta na fírinne” (the truth “done”), “go hoscailte” (openly), or “gan cor a chur sa scéal” (lit. without putting a twist in the story).  In other words, speaking “frankly” in Irish doesn’t borrow from Latin or invoke the Frankish people themselves. 

And speaking of “frankly,” sorry, Rhett, your famous retort doesn’t have quite the same panache when translated into Irish, imho.  In Irish, he could say “Leis an fhírinne a rá, a thaisce, is cuma liom sa diabhal!”  If he spoke Gaeilge Uladh, he would likely have used, “Leis an fhírinne a dhéanamh,” instead of “leis an fhírinne a rá,” but as the illogical saying goes, “same diff.”  Too many words and too many syllables for panache, at least when compared to the nearly metrical English, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!” (beagnach trócaech, más cuimhin liom na téarmaí scanta i gceart). 

“Is cuma liom sa diabhal” is still a great expletive, approximately like saying “Divil a bit do I care!,” lit. It’s indifferent with me in the devil), and, afaik, considered inoffensive in Irish. 

Maybe we could adjust Mr. Butler’s “Rhettoric” and give him a nice traditional Irish expression, “Is cuma liom agam nó uaim thú!” (I don’t care if I have you or not).  Literally, of course, that’s more like saying “It’s indifferent with me (whether) you (are) at me or from me!”   And it wouldn’t exactly respond to Scarlett’s classic query, “Where shall I go! What shall I do?”  But I think it would suit the context reasonably well.  At any rate, he would certainly be speaking his mind, something he never shirked from doing, fad mo chuimhne. 

Come to think of it, I guess with “Butler” heritage, Rhett might well have been of Irish descent, so perhaps one of his sinsir would have spoken Irish.  Certainly we can assume someone in the O’Hara lineage would have, and probably also someone in the ancestry of the original Gone with the Wind author herself, Margaret Mitchell. 

So of our three “frank-” terms in English, only one, “frainclín,” admittedly not widely used in modern Irish, actually retains the “francus” element.  C’est la vie! <insert croitheadh guaillí “Gailleach,” nó “Francach” más fearr leat, for which I now wish there were a convenient emoticon – but come to think of it, I don’t recall any emoticons with shoulders that can be shrugged, so “Bof!” mar a deirtear sa Fhraincis>

On that note, and with plenty of bia for future smaoineamh (.i.e. ábhair go leor ar intinn agam do bhlaganna eile), SGF ó Róislín

gluais: croitheadh guaillí, shrugging of shoulders; Gailleach, Gallic; gairmeach, vocative, i.e. “calling” (cf. gairm, a calling, vocation, in the religious or employment sense); mar a deirtear, as is said; riaráiste, backlog; sanasaíocht, etymology; scanadh, scansion; trócaech, trochaic; uaim (noun), alliteration; uaim (preposition) from me

Nóta (possible topic for future consideration): in Irish, should “Gallic shrug” be called “Gailleach” (Gallic, but also Gaulish) or “Francach” (to avoid ambiguity with the ancient Gauls).  As you may recall, “Francachas” is “Gallicism,” so maybe it’s best to stick to “croitheadh guaillí Francach.”  But then we lose that nice beagáinín uama (bit of alluring alliteration, guaillí with Gailleach). Hmmm!  And is a “French shrug” different from a “Gallic shrug”? Smaointe?  And of course, I can’t find any definitive answer for this query!  In fact, I can’t find any commentary in Irish about it at all.  Or even anything definitive in French, for that matter –- just a lot of debate back and forth about the term, between English and French speakers, which even with my Fraincis mheirgeach, I see leads to lots of commentary and discussion, but no specific dictionary-style entry in French.  A Fhrancachaí?

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