I’ve experimented with several versions, and since the advent of Google, I’ve checked ar líne from time to time to see what others are using.  Prior to ready access to the Idirlíon, it wasn’t easy to check up on these types of questions. 

Torthaí?

Lá an Altaithe – 44 hits (use of the definite article is almost “gob ar ghob” with the version without the definite article)

Lá Altaithe – 45 hits

Lá Buíochais – 5 hits

an Lá Gabhála Buíochais – 1 hit (but found by “guided browsing,” not by “Google”)

The first two options come from the verb “altaigh” (give thanks, generally implying to God), which has the verbal noun form “altú” (to give thanks, giving thanks, act of giving thanks).  Put the verbal noun in its possessive form (for the idea of “of Thanksgiving”) and you get “altaithe.” 

“Buíochas” means “thanks” or “gratitude” and here is in the possessive, so it has an extra “i.”  In its “root” form, it’s really widely used in the phrase “Buíochas le Dia” (thank God, or as many say, “Thanks be to God,” lit. “thanks with God).

The idea of using “gabháil” (taking, giving, catching, invading, seizing, assuming, accepting, srl., srl.!) or “gabhála,” its possessive form, seems definitely in the minority in this small sample, so I’d recommend using one of the shorter forms. 

As for the “Happy” part?  Again, these are all basically by analogy, since there’s no traditional precedent.  Most straightforward is “sona,” as we also see in the phrases “Lá Breithe Sona duit” or “Nollaig Shona duit.”  Why “sona” in some cases and “shona” in others?  “Sona” is used for masculine nouns and “shona” for feminine ones.  This refers to the key noun in the phrase, like “lá” for “lá breithe.”  I’ve seen “shona” used for “Happy Birthday” all over the Internet, but there’s no real reason for lenition here.  For “Happy Thanksgiving,” the same rule applies, with “sona” modifying “lá” itself, not “altaithe” or “buíochais.”  Christmas (Nollaig) is feminine, hence “Nollaig Shona.”

Two other options are “faoi shéan” and “faoi mhaise,” basically meaning, literally, “under happiness / prosperity” and “adorned / under adornment.”  The latter is typically used for “Happy New Year!” – “Athbhliain Faoi Mhaise!”  Note that for “Happy” New Year, we’re not really using the adjective “happy.”  Sometimes these phrases are doubled up for New Year’s (Athbhliain faoi Shéan agus faoi Mhaise.”  But more on that ar an 31ú lá de mhí na Nollag!

You may have been wondering how the well known phrase, “Go raibh maith agat” (thank you) fits into all this.  It doesn’t really, except thematically.  “GRMA,” as many write it now, literally means “may there be good at you,” so it doesn’t actually use the verb “to thank” or the noun “gratitude.”  It is however, I’d venture, much more widely used than the verb “altaigh / altú,” since we use it constantly in daily conversation.  “Altú” does show up in various phrases, certainly, but not like GRMA.  Some examples are “ag altú buí” (saying grace) and “deoch altaithe” (a drink at the end of a meal).   

And just “ar son cuimsitheachta,” I’ll note here that Thanksgiving, as such, is celebrated both i Meiriceá agus i gCeanada, albeit on different days.  I’ve seen it described ar an Idirlíon as a “100% American holiday.”  So I hope this blog will be of interest to lucht labhartha na Gaeilge ó Thalamh an Éisc go dtí an Cholóim Bhriotanach agus Yukon. 

Next up, cranberries et al. i nGaeilge.  I’ve still never found an Irish equivalent for “succotash,” which we should be eating at this time of year in honor of na hIndiaigh who helped the Pilgrims survive their first year in America.  Much “food for thought”! 

Post from: Irish Blog

So that starts us off with a breakdown of proverbs that are “i leith ciúnais” or at least favoring circumspection, or “in éadan ciúnais,” that is, against silence / in favor of speaking up. 

A. I leith ciúnais (in addition to “Is binn béal ina thost”):

1. Is minic a bhris béal duine a shrón.  It’s often a person’s mouth broke his nose.

2. Soitheach folamh is mó torann.   An empty vessel makes the most noise.

3. Is ciúin iad na linnte lána.  Still waters run deep. 

4. Is é an dias is troime is ísle a chromann a ceann.  The heaviest ear of corn bows its head the lowest (not explicitly about silence vs. talking, but expresses basically the same idea as “Still waters run deep”).

5. Más maith leat síocháín, cairdeas, ‘s moladh, — éist, feic, agus fan balbh.  Rather hear than speak (lit. if you want peace, friendship and praise, then listen, see, and stay silent).

6. Ní dhéanfaidh an chaint an obair.  Talk won’t get the work done. 

7. Ní bheathaíonn na briathra na bráithre. Words don’t fatten the monks. 

B. In éadan ciúnais (in addition to “Faigheann an roth díoscánach an ola”):

1. Is minic ciúin ciontach.  Often the silent one is guilty.

2. Is ionann toil ‘s éisteacht.  Silence can indicate agreement, whether intended or not. 

Neither of these last two are actually strong advocates for being outspoken; they’re really just saying that silence can be misunderstood, so if you want to clarify things, disagree, or prove your innocence, you may need to speak up.  Consequences if you don’t?  Well, just consider the outcome of one of my favorite songs, “The Long Black Veil.”  Do you remember the consequences of silence for that song’s protagonist?  Of course, there was a special agenda there (bean an chara a b’fhearr a bhí ag an fhear), but even when the judge asked “Son, what is your alibi?” the innocent protagonist remained “ina thost” though he knew it meant his life.    

As regards the “roth díoscánach,” this proverb doesn’t necessarily recommend that someone should be a “scaothaire” just for the sake of it.  But rather, that if you have something that needs to be said, go ahead and say it.  Or maybe not.  Maybe being a “roth díoscánach” is, in some people’s opinions, just being a “pian sa tóin,” claiming disproportionate privileges, perhaps trying to have one’s cake and eat it too, or as might be said in Irish, having “an craiceann agus a luach.” 

Hmm, I think it’s not completely coincidental that we have ocht seanfhocal i leith ciúnais and only trí sheanfhocal ina éadan.  While this by no means an exhaustive survey, I will note that the first eight came readily to mind, while the second batch of three took some hunting.  Most of these are internationally known proverbs, so I won’t say that any of them express Irish “national characteristics” as such, but it does seem far easier to find Irish proverbs advocating silence than to find ones that promote cabaireacht (talkativeness). 

It’s not unusual, though, to be presented with contradictory wisdom in proverbs (cooks vs. heads being yet another example).  Then there is “Ní thagann caonach ar chloch reatha,” which is famously athbhríoch (ambiguous).  As far as the rolling stone (cloch reatha) dilemma goes, some people will think that acquiring moss (caonach) is desirable and some think it is undesirable.  If moss is undesirable (a sign of stagnation and decay), then it’s good to roll, move about, work hard, and stay moss-free.  That’s the interpretation I grew up with.  But later I learned that the moss could represent acquisitions and worldly goods, and in that case, it’s good not to roll around too much, dilly-dallying here and there and shilly-shallying over life’s decisions.  Rather, one should work steadily in one place, be resolved, and at least get something, even if it’s only moss. 

As for bun agus barr an scéil (the be all and end all) in meaning of proverbs in general, I’ll leave that to the “seanfhocaleolaithe” (paremiologists), since it’s really their “báillíocht.”  Full disclaimer, I just improvised the Irish term for “paremiologists” since I couldn’t find it in any dictionary, ní nach ionadh.  There are plenty of precedents though, in terms like “eolaithe” (scientists in general, or, if you will, ”ologists”), bitheolaithe, eipidéimeolaithe, srl.  I suppose one could go for the root of the word and try something like “paréimeolaithe” but that seems a little beyond beyond.  If anyone has a better suggestion for “paremiologists” or knows an official Irish equivalent, please send it in to the “comments” at www.transparent.com/irish/.  Go raibh maith agat!

Nótaí: Frithráiteach, contradictory; éadan, forehead, opposition; linnte, pl. of linn, pool; lána, pl. of lán (not “lána,” a lane); is troime, superlative of trom, heavy; is ísle [iss EESH-leh], superlative of íseal, low; beathaigh, feed (vb); briathar [BREE-uh-hur], verb or word; bráthair [BRAW-hirzh] brother (religious); scaothaire = gaotaire = windbag (you remembered that from last time, right?). 

Post from: Irish Blog

The opening setting of the book is as described above, St. John’s Night, June 23^rd, 1839, in the fishing village of Barna, just west of Galway.  Many of the characters are based on the author’s own ancestors and would have been Irish speakers.  Although the novel is written i mBéarla, Irish phrases are sprinkled ar fud an leabhair, giving local flavor and some extra incentive to foghlaimeoirí na teanga. 

While many úrscéalta stairiúla adopt this literary style, most don’t carry it through to the extent that Kelly does.  The gluais at the end of the book could easily be twice as long if Kelly had glossed all the examples of Irish in the book.  She says it’s intended to be “helpful, not definitive,” so it doesn’t include absolutely every occurrence of Irish.  The glossary stands at trí leathanach, and unlike many glossaries, includes fuaimnithe (pronunciations).  That’s three pages without getting into the meanings of family and place names, which are sometimes examined in the course of the novel, and which could easily triple méid na gluaise.  I’m not going to vouch for all the spellings, but the flavor and background is certainly there.   Some are Gaeilge go hiomlán, some are galldaithe (anglicized), and some are idir eatarthu.  Which more or less reflects the situation of two languages in contact.

Seo cúpla sampla:

guilpín, a lout (GYIL-peen).  I wouldn’t really advise calling anyone a guilpín, but if you do, remember that in direct address, the word gets lenited, just like proper names, with “h” added after the first consonant.  So it becomes, “a ghuilpín,” and is pronounced with the voiced velar fricative, i.e. deep in the throat, not the regular “g.”  

On the more affectionate side, we have a range of terms of endearment, such as “a ghrá” (love), also pronounced with the voiced velar fricative, “a ghrá mo chroí,” (love of my heart), which has both the voiced (gh) and the voiceless velar fricative (ch), and the far simpler (pronunciation-wise) “a rún” (dear).  For that, you just need the Irish flapped “r,” like the very beginning of a trill, but cut short.  You might also recognize an Irish term of endearment that has actually become popular lately as a girl’s name, alanna, from leanbh ([LYAN-uv, note it’s two syllables] child).  These phrases are, of course, all in direct address, which accounts for the particle “a” at the beginning of each phrase.  In the case of “alanna,” it’s “ionsuite” (built-in). 

Some place name elements are also explained, like tobar (well), ráth (ring fort), and ard (a height, high place).  We also get some terms for buttercups, honeysuckle, and St. Dabeoc’s heath, but I’ll let you discover those for yourself!

As for St. John’s Night, aka Bonfire Night, this coincides closely to Midsummer according to the Celtic calendar, where an samhradh started on Lá Bealtaine (May 1).  So it’s surely not by chance that Kelly’s novel starts at this time of year, imbuing every action with embedded meaning for the future.  The protagonist (and the actual sinsinseanmháthair of Kelly herself) is Honora Kelly, and suffice it to say here that the events of that St. John’s dawn determine the question of an clochar vs. an saol pósta.   Not deliberate divination, as might have occurred on Oíche Shamhna, but nevertheless, we basically have the appearance of a strainséir ard dubh, and the fact that his first appearance is in his “culaith lá breithe” (to semi-coin a phrase), no doubt keeps the reader “gafa” (engaged). 

Remaining tour events are in Villanova, PA (Nov. 3), Fairfield, CT (Nov. 7), and Ft. Collins, CO (Nov 22) and details are available at www.MaryPatKelly.com

Fuaimnithe: fhéile [AYL-yeh, silent “f”], mhí an Mheithimh [vee un VEH-hiv, note 3 silent m’s]; go dtí [guh djee]; leathanach [LYA-hun-ukh]; sinsinseanmháthair [shin-shin-shan-WAW-hirzh],

samhradh [sow-ruh or sow-roo, with the “sow” like American “cow” or “now”].  Again, I’m bailing out for pronunciation based on na gutaí Albanacha, or even some of the gutaí Briotanacha, at least for now.  Soon I’ll need a pronunciation guide for the pronunciation guide!  The IPA for this sound is /au/, if that helps. 

Post from: Irish Blog

Bairín Breac, lit. “speckled loaf,” is made with raisins and/or currants, hence the name.  It can be served at any time of the year.  The “barm” part of the English name is believed to be a contraction of “bairín” (loaf).  Some interpret it as related to “barm” (yeast, and source of the English adjective “barmy”), but it has always seemed to me less likely that you’d call this food “speckled yeast,” with a hybrid half-English, half-Irish name, and more likely that “speckled” would describe the loaf itself.  Unless the “breac” part (speckled) stands for the loaf itself mar shampla de shineicdicé (as an example of synecdoche). 

At this time of year, various items can be baked into the loaf, predicting the future for whoever gets them in their slice.  These could include a pingin, or these days a ceint (i.e. saibhreas [SEV-rus], wealth), fáinne for a bainis (ring, wedding), or a méaracán (thimble), indicating that a man would sew on his own buttons for at least another year.  The symbolism of a thimble for a woman seems less clear.  Status quo, is dócha.

Cál ceannann, lit. white-faced or white-topped kale or cabbage.  It seems this was originally cabbage served with butter, as opposed to without butter.  A family might have been saving their home-made butter to sell at market days, to get actual cash income.  These days, though, potatoes are an equally important ingredient, with chopped up cabbage added.  Or oinniúin or síobhais ([SHEE-uv-ish] chives), srl.  This could also be served at any time of year but for Halloween, coins or other charms would be added.  Maybe today children would expect a euro, not a ceint!

By the way, if you try these, I recommend wrapping the charms in scragall alúmanaim (aluminum or “tin” foil) before cooking.  And maybe a metal thimble, not a plastic one, if you’re baking.  I don’t know how much heat it would take to melt a plastic thimble, but I don’t intend to find out.   

At any rate, it seems that the Celts didn’t need the iconographic liathróid chriostail.  .

Nótaí: fáistineacht [FAWSH-tin-yukht], divination; thig [hig]; liathróid [LEE-uh-hrohdj, silent “t”] ball; chriostail [HRISS-til, silent “c”] of crystal 

When the letter “h” is added to “sineicdicé” for lenition, resulting in “shineicdicé,” remember the initial “s” becomes silent and the first syllable (shin-) is pronounced “hin.”

Post from: Irish Blog

An bhfuil culaith Oíche Shamhna agat?  Do you have a Halloween costume?

Má tá, cén sórt culaithe atá ann? 

An mbeidh tú i do vaimpír?  [un may too ih duh VAM-peer?]     

Beidh [bay] / Ní bheidh [nee vay]

For these questions, note that you’re literally saying something like, “Will you be in your vampire?” and the answer is either “will be” or “won’t be.”  It doesn’t mean inside your own “vampireness,” but is simply a way to link a noun or pronoun, in this case “tú” with another noun, in this case, “vaimpír.”  It’s very important to include the phrase “i do” (in your” for sentences like this; normally one can’t use the verb “tá” to link two nouns. 

The full answer to a question like this is:

Beidh mé i mo vaimpír (I will be a vampire, using “i mo” for “in my”)

or for the negative, Ní bheidh mé i mo vaimpír. 

But one might simply answer “beidh” or answer “Ní bheidh” and then say what you’ll actually be, like “Ní bheidh, beidh mé i mo chonriocht.”  (No, I’ll be a werewolf).  

Hmm, that would actually be a tricky (úúps!) costume to create, wouldn’t it?  How would people know you were a werewolf and not just a regular wolf?  Maybe a costume that was “leathchonriocht” agus “leathdhuine” (half werewolf, half human), a sort of “fráma reoite beo” (living freeze frame) in the act of “trasdul” (transition). 

Seo cúpla ceann eile:

An mbeidh tú i do thaibhse? [… ih duh HAIV-shuh, silent “t” and “b”]     

An mbeidh tú i do dhiabhal? [… ih duh YEE-uh-wul?

An mbeidh tú i do chat dubh? [… ih duh khaht duv?]

An mbeidh tú i do bhuachaill bó? [… ih duh WOO-ukh-il boh?]

An mbeidh tú i do phíoráid? [… ih duh FEE-ur-awdj?[

And of course, now that Halloween costumes for pets have become popular, we could have a series of questions like:

An mbeidh do mhadra ina chat dubh?  Will your dog [male] be a black cat?

An mbeidh do mhadra ina cat dubh?  Will your dog [female] be a black cat? 

Or, thinking of an adorable costume I saw on a “smutmhadra” (pug dog) the other day:

Tá an smutmhadra ina phuimcín  (if the dog is male) or Tá an smutmhadra ina puimcín (if the dog is female). 

Please do note the pronunciation of the first part of the compound word for “pug.”   The “u” is like the sound in English “put” or “book,” not as in “putt” (in golf) or “buck.”  And please keep in mind that the compound “smutmhadra” literally means “stump-dog” or “snout-dog”  The first element may look like English, but that is, in this case, sheer coincidence.

If you’re trying to put a culaith on your cat, I’d say, “Ádh mór!”  I’ve also seen costumes for pearóidí, but have never actually seen a parrot wearing one.  Tusa?    

And  “mar fhocal scoir” for this topic, all of these questions imply a temporary state.  That is, you’re not permanently a devil, even though you’re wearing a devil costume.  

If you’re truly and inherently a vampire or if your pug is truly and inherently a pumpkin, you’d use the linking verb and say “Is vaimpír mé” (I’m a vampire) or “Is puimcín é an smutmhadra sin” (That pug is a pumpkin).  The first of those sentences might be reasonably useful, depending on what kind of company you hang out with.  The second one is a stretch, at least as I understand eiseadh (existence).  Perhaps we should say, “Is smutmadra é an puimcín sin” [That pumpkin is (actually) a pug].  To me, that would suggest that some wizard had transformed a pug into a pumpkin and you were pointing this out, since most people would think the pumpkin was simply a pumpkin.  But if you wanted to imply that the pumpkin could be transformed back into a pug, you could say, “Tá an puimcín sin ina smutmhadra” (That pumpkin is a pug). 

Of course, if your sense of identity with your costumed persona is really strong, you could use the “is” verb as well.  But if you wanted to say “I’m a vampire tonight, but if you want to know my job, I’m a programmer,” you’d say: 

Tá mé i mo vaimpír anocht ach má tá tú ag iarraidh a fháil amach cén post atá agam, is cláraitheoir mé. 

Whatever you choose to say with the Irish verb “is,” remember that it is pronounced like “hiss” or “miss,” not like its English look-alike, “is,” which is pronounced “izz.” 

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Post from: Irish Blog

Cad is “arbhar candaí” ann?  What is “candy corn”?

Fad m’eolais ní dhíoltar in Éirinn é ach díoltar i Meiriceá agus i gCeanada é (aon áit eile, a léitheoirí?).  Siúcra, mil, agus síoróp arbhair na comhábhair is mó atá ann.  Bagairt faoi thrí é!  Tá cruth eithne (kernel) arbhar Indiach air. 

Tá gach píosa trídhathach (tri-colored).  San Fhómhar bíonn na dathanna ina siombail ar arbhar Indiach: buí, bán agus flannbhuí (nó “oráiste” mar a deir a lán daoine inniu) ach níl aon eithne arbhar Indiach chomh siméadrach [SHIM-ayd-rukh, symmetrical] sa leagan amach (layout)!  Déantar thart fá 35 milliún punt d’arbhar candaí i Meiriceá sa bhliain.  Díoltar an chuid is mó de idir aimsir Shamhna agus Lá an Altaithe (Thanksgiving). 

Ag am Lá an Altaithe i Meiriceá díoltar “arbhar candaí” le scéim dathanna (color scheme) eile: flannbhuí (oráiste), bán, agus donn (mar thurcaí rósta?).  Deirtear go bhfuil scéimeanna dathanna eile ann freisin don Nollaig (Arbhar Réinfhia), do Lá Vailintín (Arbhar Cúipid), agus don Cháisc (Arbhar Coinín) ach ní fhaca mé riamh iad.  

Maidir leis an bhfocal “candaí” — ní úsáidtear mórán i nGaeilge é ach tá sé sa téarmaí seo: flas candaí, candy floss (aka “cotton candy”) agus cé gur lú i bhfad a blastacht, an leithphéist stríoca candaí (candy-striped worm, Prostheceraeus vittatus)

An gnáthfhocal Gaeilge ar an ainmfhocal “sweet” — milseán (rud atá “milis,” sweet).  Tá a lán cineálacha ann, searbhmhilseán (SHAR-uv-VIL-shawn] acid drop sweet) agus milseán miontais (peppermint humbug) ina measc. 

Ag caint ar “Laethe Náisiúnta Mic Uí Rudaí,” seo cuid de na hábhair eile a bhfuil a lá speisialta acu: foclóirí, galf, seacláid, agus frappes (focal Bostúnach ar chreatháin bhainne).  Caveat lector, is dócha go dtabharfaidh mé cuairt ar ábhair mar seo ó am go ham i rith na bliana.  Níos neamhiomráití, níos fearr!

Nótaí: taifead, record (n); forógraí, proclamation; Stáit Aontaithe Mheiriceá, the U.S.A.; na Stát Aontaithe, of the U.S. (note the change from “Stáit” to “Stát” for the possessive form); comhábhar, ingredient; díoltar, is sold; bagairt, threat; faoi thrí [fwee hree], triple; eithne [EH-nyuh, silent “t” but very breathy in the middle] kernel; lú, less; stríoca, striped; gnáth-, ordinary; ábhar, topic; creathán bainne, milkshake; neamhiomráiteach [NYOW-UM-rawtch-ukh] little-known; níos neamhiomráití, more little-known (!)

Arbhar (can be pronounced “AR-uh-vur” or “AR-oor”), corn, grain (in general).  The phrase “arbhar Indiach” can be used to specify “maize,” but “Indiach” is often dropped in compound words or phrases, like “arbhar ar an dias” (corn on the cob).

Post from: Irish Blog

“Bob” is an Irish word that means “a trick” or “a target (in games).  Pronunciation is straightforward enough, but please remember it’s not quite the “ah” sound we find in the English name “Bob,” but rather the Irish short “o” sound as in “pota.”     

I should also mention that there’s another word in Irish that’s probably more widely used for “trick” in general, that is “cleas,” which also means “a feat” or “an act.”  And for talking about targets in general, we have “sprioc” and “targaid” [TAR-uh-gidj], the latter largely used in sports terminology. 

“Bia” is a word many of you will already recognize, “food.” 

No doubt a key factor in the phrase “bob nó bia” is “uaim” (alliteration), which also contributes to the tarraingteacht (catchiness) of the English “trick or treat.”  In fact, as I look for this frása in some other languages, I find a lot of emphasis on uaim.  Numerous phrases exist, although a lot of discussions indicate that the phrase is not traditional, as such.  Some contributors say something to the effect of, “Well, we don’t really say that but you could say …”  In some cases, the English phrase seems to be used in other languages.  Nonetheless, many of the samplaí are a great fóram uama (forum of alliteration):

Possible phrases for Trick or Treat in other languages, seachas an Ghaeilge:

Spáinnis: Truco o trato

Fraincis: bonbons ou bâton

Iodáilis: dolcetto o scherzetto

Portaingéilis: doces ou travessuras

Rómáinis: ne daţi ori nu ne daţi

Seicis: koleda při Halloweenu

Which brings me to another point.  I’ve been wondering about the Irish for “Trick or treat” for about 20 years, but never encountered the phrase in a traditional context, despite having read volumes about the Irish origin of Halloween.  So, while, this phrase is certainly part of the Irish lexicon now, it remains unclear just how traidisiúnta this particular phrase is.  A quick turas ar an Idirlíon yielded only 13 searchable examples for “bob nó bia,” which showed up presumably because of how they were tagged.  The vast comparison with the number of hits for “trick or treat” is, well, more or less, a foregone conclusion, but I just checked and got about deich milliún (10,000,000).

There seems to be some reverse marketing going on, regarding Halloween, in that it is an Old World custom brought to the United States.  Now it is being exported back to Europe, mostly in a more commercial sense.  I’ve talked to European adults from various countries who say that no, it was not part of their childhood.  But now it has caught on, at least in the commercial sense (pop culture costumes, special candy manufacturing, etc.).  Of course, many of these countries have their own festivities held at other times of the year, replete with cultacha traidisiúnta nó cruthaitheacha (creative), nathanna cainte (sayings), agus bianósanna.

And, by the way, Bob(s), if you’ve read this far, I probably will devote a future blog to your namesake, since there are all kinds of interesting Irish words that either equate to one of the dozen or so meanings “bob” has in English, or are borrowed from English and are, therefore, also spelled “bob.”  Now if all the Bobs in the Bob Club (Cumann na mBob?) start reading this blog, that will be quite an impressive number!  An bhfuil sibh ann, a lucht na mBob? 

Nóta: na mBob [num ob, the first “b” becomes silent] of the Bobs

Post from: Irish Blog

So, what was that all about? 

As late October settles in and we prepare for Oíche Shamhna, we’ll no doubt hear many references to the Irish origins of Halloween.  First let’s clarify the terminology itself, and then, in the next upcoming blogs, we’ll look at some of the sprideanna that might be abroad ar an aonú lá is tríocha de mhí Dheireadh Fómhair (an 31ú Deireadh Fómhair) [err un AYN-oo law iss TREE-uh-khuh djeh vee YERzh-uh FOH-irzh]. 

Samhain [SOW-in], an chéad lá de mhí na Samhna, November 1^st (the Celtic New Year).  The first syllable is pronounced “sow,” as in the pig (rhyming with “cow” or “now” or “Tau,”not as in “mow” (the lawn) or “sowing” seeds.  At least that’s “cow” and “now” as they are pronounced in most American English; I can’t vouch for some of your Scottish or even Canadian vowels, or maybe other areas as well, any place where a “coo” might be “oot” in a field.  The main thing is that the –mh- in the middle is basically just a “w” sound. 

An tSamhain [un TOW-in]: sometimes this word will take the definite article (“the”), as Irish does for Christmas (An Nollaig) or Easter (An Cháisc).  Adding “the” also means the “S” of Samhain will be prefixed by a lower-case “t” and the new pronunciation is “un TOW-in.”  Again, that’s not like “tow-trucks,” but like “Tau” crosses, “towel,” or “tower.”  Most importantly, the “S” has become silent. 

na Samhna [nuh SOW-nuh]: this means “of Samhain” and shows up in phrases like “Mí na Samhna” (November, lit. “the month of Samhain”).  Note that as “Samhain” changes to its possessive form, it loses the original middle syllable and adds a vowel at the end.  Remember that “nuh” is used here to indicate the unstressed vowel sounds, as in “um, uh, I dunno,” not as in German “Huhn” or Turkish “uhlan.” 

Shamhna [HOW-nuh]: this is also the possessive form, as used in the phrase “Oíche Shamhna” [EE-hyeh HOW-nuh] (eve of Samhain).  Since “oíche” (eve, night) is feminine, the word following is lenited (“s” changes to “sh”) and only the “h” is pronounced. 

As for “oíche,” many of you already know this word, from phrases like “Oíche mhaith!” [EE-hyeh wah] (“Good night!”).  As with using “uh” for the vowel sound in “fun,” I use “eh” to indicate the vowel sound of “pet” or “met.”  Why add the final “h” at all, you might wonder?  If I don’t include it, I’ve found that people assume that the unadorned “e” is the long vowel sound in “me” or “be.”  The “y” in “hyeh” indicates breathiness, like the “h” sound in English “Hugh,” “hue,” or “hew” (not as in “who,” or the “hoo” of Sutton Hoo or the “hoo” that Horton heard).  Key point, then, the “c” of “oíche” is silent.

Now (the noo!) that the pronunciation of Samhain is safely under our belts, we can look at our original first paragraph, and hopefully you’ll find the situation as humorous as I did. 

Uair amháin, once

agus mé ag spaisteoireacht, while I was wandering

i bpasáiste na ngníomhfhigiúirí [nung NEEV-IG-yoorzh-ee], in the action figures aisle

i siopa ilrannach, in a department store,

cé a chonaic mé ag stánadh anuas orm, who did I see peering down at me

trí phacáistíocht thrédhearcach phlaisteach, through clear plastic packaging,

ach carachtar ó Ghostbusters, but a Ghostbusters character

darbh ainm “Sam Hain”!, named “Sam Hain”

Bhain sin preab asam!, lit. that struck a start out of me!

There was his name, on the package, and probably trademarked, as if “Sam” was his “ainm” and “Hain” was his “sloinne.”  A great onomastic pun, actually, as long as people don’t use that pronunciation for the holiday itself – which, ar an drochuair, I have heard often enough.  It sounds about as authentic as if pronounced the “f-i-e” of “fiesta” to rhyme with “apple pie” or the “fie” of “fie upon you!”

Anyway, there are lots of other points to discuss regarding “Samhain,” so keep your eyes “scafa,” skinned, or as said in the U.S., peeled (!) for some upcoming blaganna séasúracha (seasonal).  “Peeled eyes” – now there’s an íomhá ghúlach (ghoulish image) for you!

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Post from: Irish Blog