Posts tagged with "Galway"

(le Róislín)

Here are some more possibilities for saying where you live, according to country, to follow up on the flurry of interest after the recent “ghost-town” blog (an blag faoin scáilbhaile).  This blog will just deal with ainmneacha tíortha that don’t include the definite article, like Ceanada, Meicsiceo, Sasana, Stáit Aontaithe Mheiriceá.  Irish, unlike English, does use the definite article with many, though not all, country names (An Bheilg, An tSile, An Bhreatain Bheag, Na Stáit Aontaithe (if leaving out the “Mheiriceá” part), srl., but  that will be ábhar blag eile

For place names that don’t include the definite article, Ceanada, mar shampla, we apply urú (eclipsis), i gCeanada, m. sh.).   Of course, certain consonants are not subject to eclipsis, so in those cases, there is no change to the initial consonant (i Vítneam, i Singeapór, srl.)

Although this blog mostly discusses countries as such, for a few examples I’ve used territories, cities, or other geographic subdivisions.

Here are some more examples of saying “in + place name” when there’s no definite article, with a rough pronunciation guide in brackets:

Tá mé i mo chónaí i mBuircíne Fasó. [i-MURK-een-yuh fah-soh, silent “B”]

Tá mé i mo chónaí i gCúba. [i-GOO-buh, silent “C”]

Tá mé i mo chónaí i nDoiminice.  [in-IM-in-ik-yuh, silent “D”]

Tá mé i mo chónaí i bhFidsí. [iv-ID-shee, silent “F”]

Tá mé i mo chónaí i nGána. [ing-AW-nuh, “n+g” run together as in “singing”]

Tá mé i mo chónaí i bParagua. [ib-AHR-uh-goo-uh, silent “P”]

Tá mé i mo chónaí i dTaihítí (cuid de Pholainéis na Fraince). [id-ah-HEE-tchee, silent “T”] 

I’m not sure if we’ll have many léitheoirí from any of those places.  They’re a little far afield from eipealár ghluaiseacht na Gaeilge, but in this era of cibearGhaeltachtaí, one never knows.  Why aren’t places like France or Germany represented more prominently here, you might wonder?  It’s a matter of linguistic convention.  Most of the larger European countries, as well as the more traditional-style place names globally, use the definite article (An Fhrainc, An Ghearmáin, An tSín, srl.) and that causes a different sound change (séimhiú), best handled, I think, i mblag eile (in another blog). 

As you may have noticed, the following consonants are omitted from the group above, since they wouldn’t take eclipsis anyway: h, j, k, l, m, n, q, r, s, v, w, x, y, z. 

There are actually more consonants that aren’t affected by urú than consonants that are affected by it, but some of these exceptions (j, k, q, v, w, x, y, z) are pretty rare in Irish.  They are even rarer for country names, since most possible examples get gaelicized and start with a different letter (Jamaica, for example, becomes “Iamáice” and Zimbabwe becomes “An tSiombáib”).  So, to wrap up, here is an assortment of countries, regions, cities, and other geographical entities that undergo no change to the initial consonant after the word “i”: i Háítí, i Jammu, i Meicsiceo, i Sainsibeár (oileán, iarshabhdánacht, srl.), i Sasana, i Stáit Aontaithe Mheiriceá, i Xenia (cathair in Ohio), agus i Zelienople (buirg i bPennsylvania).

Still to come (ábhar blag eile, or perhaps, ábhar blaganna eile), place names with the definite article (An Astráil, An tSile, srl.) and place names starting with gutaí, since you may have noticed that the latter aren’t represented here at all yet.  The place names starting with vowels do involve eclipsis, but in a sort of, hmm, transplanted way, since the “n-“ showing eclipsis of a vowel actually gets tacked onto the preceding “i.”  Like I said, “ábhar blag eile.  But it may sound more complicated when described than it is in practice, since many have you have probably already been using phrases that exemplify this,  like “in Éirinn” or “in Albain,” since you started Irish.  These often used to be written as “i nÉirinn” and “i nAlbain,” showing the eclipsis more clearly, but this isn’t the typical practice today.   

Any takers for na háiteanna seo a leanas?  Which ones requires an initial change to say “in + place name” and which ones don’t?  An bhfuil tú i do chónaí i gceann de na háiteanna sin?  Live there?  N.B. This first batch is a mixture of cities and countries.  Freagraí thíos.

Búcairist?  Lucsamburg?  Camarún?  Monacó?  Málta?  Páras?  Nasaireit? 

And to throw in a few back in Éirinn:

Gaillimh?  Baile Átha Cliath?  Port Láirge?  Loch Garman?  Muiceanach idir Dhá Sháile?

Sin é don bhlag seo, sgf, or maybe I should now try out “slán@@,” for those who like bilingual puzzlers.  I guess the monolingual version would just be “slán@.”– Róislín

Freagraí: i mBúcairist, i Lucsamburg, i gCamarún, i Monacó, i Málta, i bPáras, i Nasaireit

Áiteanna in Éirinn: i nGaillimh, i mBaile Átha Cliath, i bPort Láirge, i Loch Garman, i Muiceanach idir Dhá Sháile

And in case there’s any doubt as to what these places are in English: Bucharest, Luxembourg, Cameroon, Monaco, Malta, Paris, Nazareth, Galway, Dublin, Waterford, Wexford, and, last, but far from least, Muckanaghederdauhaulia

P.S. An Cúigiú Díochlaonadh, coming back one of these days.  “Ar sos.”

 

Oíche Fhéile Eoin, an 23ú lá de Mhí an Mheithimh, 1839, i mBearna, Co. na Gaillimhe.  We’ve been talking quite a bit lately about Samhain, but now we’ll jump 2.5 seasons forward, and discuss some of the Irish phrases used in the highly praised novel, Galway Bay, by Mary Pat Kelly.  The author is currently on tour sna Stáit Aontaithe and might be coming go dtí do cheantar féin (to your area, if it’s PA, CT, or CO).

 

The opening setting of the book is as described above, St. John’s Night, June 23rd, 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. 

 

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