Posts tagged with "female"

Clásail Choibhneasta Arís: An Briathar “Beir” (Give birth, bring, take, grab, etc.)

Posted by róislín 3 Comments
Apr 29 2010

After some recent digressions, ranging from the “sobhlasta” (coiníní seacláide) to the “éigeantach” (Uncail Sam) or the “dosheachanta” (an bolcán / an Mháthair Dúlra), let’s return to na clásail choibhneasta le briathra neamhrialta.  Today’s blog will show the irregular verb “beir” in the three tenses (láithreach, caite, fáistineach) and in a declarative sentence, a question, a direct relative clause and an indirect relative clause.  

Remember that the verb “beir” is one of the more irregular irregulars, changing root for the past tense in a major way and for the future tense in a minor way: beireann sí (she gives birth), rug sí (she gave birth), béarfaidh si (she will give birth).  Also, this verb has a huge range of meanings, especially when you start adding prepositions like “le” or “ar.”  Our example will be very basic, “the cow calves / calved / will calve,” a deliberately short sentence to focus attention to the structure.    

First, though, let’s review the samples I’ve written up previously, for the verb “to say,” in a similar range tenses (deir, dúirt, déarfaidh) and structures.  The main subjects of these sentences are three types of fools: amadán (male or general), óinseach (female), gamal (generally male, since there’s a female equivalent, gamalóg)

Aimsir láithreach: Deir an t-amadán rudaí amaideacha.  An ndeir t-amadán rudaí amaideacha?

Direct relative (normally lenites, but not here) Seo é an t-amadán a deir rudaí amaideacha. 

Indirect relative (with eclipsis): Seo é an t-amadán a ndeir a bhean rudaí amaideacha. 

 

Aimsir chaite: Dúirt an óinseach rudaí amaideacha.  An ndúirt an óinseach rudaí amaideacha?

Direct relative (normally lenites, but not here): Seo í an óinseach a dúirt rudaí amaideacha. 

Indirect relative (with eclipsis): Seo í an óinseach a ndúirt a cara rudaí amaideacha.

 

Aimsir fháistineach: Déarfaidh an gamal rudaí amaideacha.  An ndéarfaidh an gamal rudaí amaideacha?

Direct relative (normally lenites): Seo é an gamal a déarfaidh rudaí amaideacha. 

Indirect relative (with eclipsis): Seo é an gamal a ndéarfaidh a mhac rudaí amaideacha.    

Now, here’s “beir”

Aimsir láithreach:  Beireann an bhó gach re bliain (The cow calves every other year). An mbeireann an bhó gach re bliain? (Does the cow calve every other year?) 

Sentences with relative clauses:

Direct relative: Seo í a bhó a bheireann gach re bliain.  This is the cow that calves every other year.

Indirect relative: Seo é an feirmeoir a mbeireann a bhó gach re bliain.  This is the farmer whose cow calves every other year.   

 

Aimsir chaite: Rug an bhó. (The cow calved). Ar rug an bhó? (Did the cow calve?)

Direct relative: Seo í an bhó a rug.  This is the cow that calved.   

Indirect relative: Seo é an feirmeoir ar rug a bhó.  This is the farmer whose cow calved.   

 

Aimsir fháistineach: Béarfaidh an bhó (The cow will calve).  An mbéarfaidh an bhó? (Will the cow calve?) 

Direct relative: Seo í an bhó a bhéarfaidh.  This is the cow that will calve.

Indirect relative: Seo é an feirmeoir a mbéarfaidh a bhó.  This is the farmer  whose cow will calve.   

Finally, although we’ve stuck to the most basic meaning of “beir” here, there are lots of other meanings.  Here’s just a short sample, not involving relative clauses:

Rug siad ar an mbuachaill.  They grabbed the boy (preposition “ar”)

“Beir leat chuig do mhamó é,” arsa an mháthair agus í ag tabhairt ciseán bia do Chlóicín Dearg.   “Take it to your granny,” said the mother as she gave a basket of food to Little Red Riding Hood. 

Beir uaim thú.  Take yourself away from me (more or less like “scram” or “skedaddle,” uses the preposition “ó,” with its first-person form “uaim”).

And finally, a quite common traditional saying:

Go mbeirimid beo ar an am seo arís.  May we live to see this time next year.  Like most blessings, this is in the subjunctive mood, as hinted at by the particle “go.”  Of course, Irish has four words spelled and pronounced “go” [say: guh], ach sin ábhar blag eile.    

Nótaí: dosheachanta [DUH-HAKH-un-tuh] inevitable; éigeantach, obligatory; sobhlasta [SUH-VLAHS-tuh], toothsome, lit. good-tasty;

Nóta don nóta (fuaimniú an tsiolla “uh” sna nótaí): Just as a reminder, since I’ve said this intermittently, I use “uh” to indicate the sound “uh” as in “about,” “fun,” or even “enough.”  These examples show that this sound is spelled various ways in English and there’s no really good way to indicate this sound in a rough phonetic guide, as I’m providing.  I know “uh” could suggest a long “u,” pronunciation, as in “Huhn” or “Kuhn,” but that’s not what’s involved here.

Logainmneacha Ceilteacha agus Náisiúntachtaí a Sé: Celtic Place Names and Nationalities 6 – Cornwall and the Cornish

Posted by róislín No Comments
May 22 2009

We’ve recently discussed the place names Albain, Éire, An Bhreatain Bheag, Oileán Mhanann, and An Bhriotáin.  Today we’ll turn to Cornwall.  Below you’ll find some examples of how to use the place name and how to indicate that a person or thing is Cornish.  Cornwall is called “Corn na Breataine” (horn of Britain) or sometimes “An Corn” in Irish. 

 

Cornach, a Cornishman or person.  Like the terms “Éireannach,” “Albanach,” “Breatnach,” “Manannach,” and “Briotánach,” it can be made feminine, “Cornach mná,” but, as I’ve previously mentioned, this form is rarely used.  The feminine form basically means “a woman Cornishman.” 

 

an Cornach, the Cornishman.  Cornach is also the adjective form.

 

 Some phrases with the place name “Corn na Breataine” include:

 

i gCorn na Breataine: in Cornwall

 

go Corn na Breataine: to Cornwall

 

muintir Chorn na Breataine: the residents of Cornwall

 

 In an interesting twist, the mineral cornwallite is “cornuaillít” in Irish, adapting the “-wall” suffix into Irish spelling. 

  

In a further interesting twist, the two main plant names that in English are designated as pertaining to Cornwall, Cornish heath and Cornish moneywort, lose the Cornish element in their Irish names, which are, respectively, “fraoch gallda” (lit. foreign heather – remember, the perspective is Irish here) and “pingin Dhuibhneach” (lit. penny from Corca Dhuibhne, a region in Co. Kerry).  I’ll let the Cornaigh and the Duibhnigh hash out the plant’s true origins among themselves – our concern here is terminology!

  

“Cornish hen,” the term I thought would be a “shoo-in” to exemplify Cornishness in popular culture and the lenition of feminine singular adjectives in Irish grammar, turns out to be a “shoo-out.”  The situation’s not straightforward at all.  One might think we’d simply use “cearc” (hen) plus “Chornach” (the feminine form of the adjective).  Mícheart (incorrect)!  First of all, this cearc goes by at least four other names (Cornish game hen, poussin, Rock Cornish hen, and Rock Cornish), thickening the plot considerably.  Secondly, it may refer to a specially bred chicken, slaughtered young and designed for one serving.  It isn’t a game bird and can be male or female, so isn’t always a “hen.”  Furthermore, the French word “poussin,” sometimes equated with “Cornish hen,” has two meanings in English, being the “Cornish game hen” in U.S. English and referring to an even smaller and younger bird in U.K. English.  So aside, from noting that the “Rock” element refers to Plymouth Rock, highlighting Cornish Rock’s American origin, I will respectfully bail out of this attempt to Gaelicize Cornish hens.  One might think that the Cornish hen was an indigenous breed, small in size to adapt to the rugged terrain in which it lived, like Kerry and Dexter cattle or Shetland ponies, ach ní mar sin atá sé (that’s not how it is).  Fascinating in their own right, those animals will be featured i mblag éigin eile. 

 

So what’s left to exemplify the adjective “Cornach” in context?  Our last place name feature added the tasty element of crêpes, the Breton specialty.  Although I don’t know of any North American bialanna (restaurants) specializing in Cornwall’s famous culinary creation, the Cornish pasty, we can at least offer the Irish name for it, pastae Cornach.  These pastries were stuffed with meat, potatoes and other vegetables.  They have a folded-over crust and were thus distinguished from pióga feola (meat pies).  Their shape supposedly made it safe for miners to eat their lunch, since they couldn’t always clean the coal dust, which might contain arsenic, off their hands.  According to tradition, the miners discarded the corner of the pastry, which they had touched with their fingers, saying it was for the “knockers.”  

 

 Yes, those are the same supernatural beings who loosely provided the inspiration for Stephen King’s The Tommyknockers.  They would warn miners of possible disasters, at least, one presumes, if you kept them well fed with pasty crusts.  One of these days, I’ll have to check King’s novel, to see if he feeds them properly!

 

And if you are in North America and want to sample pastaetha Cornacha (that’s the plural), you can find them at special events such as the Pasty Fest in Calumet, Michigan, and special church suppers in Cornish-settled parts of Pennsylvania, such as Bangor and Pen Argyl. 

 

 This finishes the series of Celtic place names and identities, at least for the modern period.  One of these days we’ll practice saying, “I am an ancient Gaul,” but for the immediate future, it will probably be more practical to work on phrases such as “Gael-Mheiriceánach” (Irish-American) or Gael-Cheanadach (Irish-Canadian) and to introduce such basics as “American” and “Canadian” in their unlenited forms.  Stay tuned!  – Bhur mblagálaí, Róislín

Back to the Top