Posts tagged with "German"

(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 

Cén fáth an bhéim seo ar Harry Potter?  Tá mé ag Azkatraz 2009 faoi láthair, comhdháil faoi na leabhartha, na scannáin, agus rud ar bith a bhaineanns le Harry Potter. Why this emphasis on Harry Potter?  I’m at Azkatraz 2009 at the moment, a convention about the books, the movies, and anything related to Harry Potter.

Seo na freagra
í a théanns leis na ceisteanna a bhí sa bhlag deireanach.  Cén chaoi ar éirigh leat? (or, for lucht Dhún na nGall, Cad é mar a d’éirigh leat?, How did you do, lit. how did it succeed with you?)

1. Tá seisear mac ag na Weasleys (6)

2. Is é Hedwig an t-ainm atá ar ulchabhán Harry.

3. Scabbers atá ar fhrancach Ron.

4. Tá cúigear deartháireacha ag Ron Weasley.  Leis an fhírinne a dhéanamh, tá cúigear deartháireacha ag gach mac sa teaghlach. Actually, every son in the family has five brothers!

By the time this blog appears, I hope that some of you will have written in about your favorite characters or actors in the series.  Tá mé ag tnúth (looking forward to) le d’fhreagraí.

Was anyone wondering exactly what an “órchloch” is?  As a translation, it’s much more faithful to the original British version than the American version of Book 1.  I won’t exactly call the American version of Book 1 (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone) a “translation,” but a lot of changes were made in the English to accommodate the American audience.  If you read the Irish version, keep in mind that it is translated directly from the British version. 

That should be major leid (clue).  The British title is Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, and an órchloch” is a philosopher’s stone in alchemy.  “Cloch” is the basic word for “stone” andór” means “gold,” here used as a prefix.  Because of the prefix, “cloch” is lenited to become “chloch” and both “ch” sounds are pronounced with that German-Yiddish-Hebrew-Lallans “ch” sound, gutturally, i.e. in the throat.  Like “Achtung” or “Buch.”

If any readers are also Harry Potter fans, scríobh chugam más mian leat (if you wish) na leabhartha a phlé (to discuss)!  As Gaeilge, an méid is féidir (as much as possible)!

Tamaillín ó shin (a little while ago, May 6 to be specific), I hinted at a discussion of the term “Jerusalem artichoke” in Irish.  And why not?  It’s suimiúil (interesting) on several counts: “luibheolaíocht” (botany), “logainmníocht” (toponymy), “sanasaíocht” and “bréagshanasaíocht” (etymology and pseudo-etymology), “cócaireacht” (cooking), and “eolas contráilte”(misinformation), to name just a few.

 

You may recall that the key to understanding Jerusalem artichoke,” the English name of the plant Helianthus tuberosus, is the Italian word “girasole” (turning toward the sun, heliotropic).  It has nothing to do with Jerusalem, which, if it were part of the phrase, would be “Iarúsailéim.”  So, if we look at the word’s history, its sanasaíocht, or in this case, bréagshanasaíocht, we find that the “girasole” element eventually became Jerusalem, through similarity of sound and the fact that so many plant and animal species are, in fact, named after geographic locations, accurate or not.  Stranger things have been known to happen, soundwise, like “sparrowgrass” for “asparagus,” or toponymically, as in Philadelphia Cream Cheese, which originated in New York, or “Panama hats,” which are traditionally made in Ecuador. 

 

Whether the plant actually turns to the sun or not, I will not question here, not being a luibheolaí (botanist), but if anyone can vouch for the plant’s héileatrópacht (heliotropism), I’d be interested to hear about it.   Or maybe we should ask the aptly named character, Miss Heliotrope, from the children’s book, The Little White Horse, which is one of my all-time favorites, and to judge from her recent endorsement, one of J. K. Rowling’s childhood favorites also.  Of course, Miss Heliotrope’s name comes from the color of her nose, which matches the color of the heliotrope flower, and not from any sun-turning propensities, but, sin Á.B.E.

 

Irish, I’m pleased to say, drops the ainm contráilte (misnomer) and simply uses “bliosán gréine” (sun artichoke) for H. tuberosus.  We’re still left with calling this sunflower an “artichoke” but that much seems irreversible.  Apparently its root is edible and tastes something like artichoke, hence the connection.  Can’t say I’ve ever tried it though.  Agus tusa?  Ar ith tú fréamh bliosán gréine riamh? (And yourself?  Ever eat Jerusalem artichoke root?).  If so, I’d be interested to know how it was prepared and I’m sure other readers would be interested too.  That might even help us work on one particularly ambiguous bit of Irish vocabulary, the verb “bruith,” which can mean to boil, bake, broil, grill, or become burnt, usually from the sun, not culinarily, which would typically use the verb “” (to burn).  So that’s our cócaireacht connection. 

 

The globe artichoke (Cynara cardunculus), the plant we normally eat, is actually member of the feochadán (thistle) family.  Thistles and their Celtic connections could easily occupy a full blog, so I’ll save that for blag éigin eile. 

 

Pronunciation tip:

sanasaíocht: SAHN-uss-ee-ukht; the “kh” here represents the guttural “ch” sound, like German has in “Buch” or “Achtung” and as in the word “Chutzpah.”

bréagshanasaíocht: remember the “bréag” (false) part is a prefix, which softens or “lenites” the initial “s” of sanasaíocht to “sh,” and that means that the original initial “s” is not pronounced at all!  The “sh” sound in Irish is pronounced like an “h,” so here we have BRAYG-HAHN-uss-ee-ukht.  You may have learned that the first syllable is stressed in pronouncing Irish words, which is true, but the rule changes for compound words.  They typically have equal stress on the prefix and the first syllable, which I indicate here with ceannlitreacha (capital letters). 

 

You can also see this pronunciation rule for prefixes in effect in words like “seanchapall” (old horse), which would be represented as SHAN-KHAHP-ull, with the first two syllables having equal emphasis.  More examples of that later, i mblag eile, if you let me know that “comhfhocail” (compound words) are of particular interest.  Bhur mblagálaí – Róislín

Quite a few of the basic Irish numbers from one to ten are recognizable if you know at least one other European language. In each case, the actual number is preceded by the single letter “a,” which here is the numerical particle. It has no actual meaning. It simply indicates that a “maoluimhir” (independent number) is coming up. It’s unstressed in pronunciation, like the “a” in English “about.”

 

The term “maoluimhir” in Irish refers to numbers not directly followed by a noun. “Maoluimhreacha” (plural) are used in telling time, phone numbers, arithmetic problems when spoken aloud, countdowns, bus or train routes, the abbreviation TG4 for the Irish language TV, raffle tickets, and bingo. We’ll eventually learn other forms of numbers for counting objects and people.

 

Seo iad na maoluimhreacha (here are the independent numbers):

 

a haon: Think of “un” or “uno.” Always be prepared for lots of vowel change when looking for European parallels to Irish words. Vowel change happens in many words that really are related, like Irish “tír” (land) and Italian “tèrra” (land).

 

But of course, it’s not just vowel change here. The basic number is “aon.” The numerical particle “a” causes the letter “h” to be prefixed, making “aon” look a lot less like “un/uno.” In capitalized words, like titles, the “h” remains lower case and “aon” is capitalized, as you can see in “teideal an bhlag seo” (the title of this blog). Before the streamlining of Irish spelling and punctuation which started in the 1950s, this used to be written “a h-aon” and I think it’s still useful today to recall that, since it indicates more clearly that the “h” is a prefix.

a dó: Not too far from “two,” “deux,” or “dos,” or even Hindi “do” (yes, Hindi is related because it’s Indo-European). Examples include “RTÉ a Dó” (an Irish television station) and “Séamas a Dó” (James II)

a trí: Not unlike “three,” “trois,” “tre,” “tres,” or “drie.” You could use this to indicate the region known as “Dublin 3,” which would be “Baile Átha Cliath a Trí” if spoken aloud. And by the way, only Dublin has post codes in the Republic of Ireland; so far, the rest of the Republic of Ireland manages with just the actual place names.  Post codes are used in the north of Ireland (as part of the UK post code system).

a ceathair: “quatre,” anyone? Example: “TG4,” spoken as “tee-gee a ceathair,” TG standing for Teilifís Gaeilge.

a cúig: Admittedly a stretch from “five” but think “cinq” or “cinco.” Example: iarann a cúig (a five iron in golf)

a sé: A near match to Esperanto “ses,” not to mention “sis” or Bulgarian “shest.” Very prevalent in Irish in the phrase “Nuacht a Sé” (the six o’clock news)

 

a seacht: Think “sette” or “siete,” and listen next time you go to an Irish dance lesson. Even if most of the instruction is in English, the basic footwork sequence of “sevens” and “threes” is often taught in Irish: A haon, a dó, a trí, a ceathair, a cúig, a sé, a seacht, A haon, a dó, a trí, Is a dó, a dó, a trí.” Those “a’s” really get swallowed here!

a hocht: Change just the first three letters and you’ve got the English equivalent, eight. Other languages follow suit: Italian and Norwegian “otto” and German “acht.” The Group of Eight (G8) in Irish? Usually written as G8 in Irish, which uses the same first letter, but said as “Grúpa a hOcht.” The “h” is inserted here for the same reason as with the number “one”: numerical particle “a” + h + number that happens to begin with a vowel.

 

a naoi: Swedish “nio” or Danish “ni,” mar shampla (for example). Example: “tairseach a naoi” (the 9 o’clock watershed, in broadcasting).

a deich: Think “decimal,” “deciliter,” or even “decimate” (the latter originally meant killing every tenth soldier if there had been a transgression). Example: spásáil chéim a deich? Hint: means the same as “spásáil phíoca” (pica spacing, in computese). Got it? Ten-pitch spacing!

Sin é! That’s it! A haon go dtí a deich as Gaeilge! One to ten in Irish!

Bhur mblagálaí, Róislín

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