Posts tagged with "Ireland"

Maidir le Dreoilíní

Posted by róislín No Comments
Dec 26 2011

(le Róislín)

Lá an Dreoilín sa Daingean

Wren Day has become increasingly well-known outside of Ireland, ever since the Clancy Brothers recorded “The Wran (i.e. Wren) Song” in 1955.  Groups as diverse as Steeleye Span and the Chieftains have added to the musical legacy of the wren festivities.  Well, festive for everyone except an dreoilín.  Ar an dea-uair, the wrens in today’s processions are either artificial or symbolic, but the original custom did include actual wrens.  I think, though, that we need to look at the practice of hunting a live wren in the context of the times.  In an era when rural dwellers constantly dealt with the life-cycle of animals and the realities of the food chain, it probably didn’t seem as disconcerting.  And if the custom is as old as it appears to be, perhaps pre-Christian, we could look at a lot of other life-and-death situations of the times and wonder why life was taken so casually.  But suffice it to say here that in those days, the notion of quarry stretched far beyond wrens.

As many of you know, the basic wren procession involved men and boys in handmade costumes, usually of straw (“strawboys”).  The Irish name for the strawboys, however, doesn’t refer to straw, which would be “tuí” or “cochán” or “sop.”  It’s “cleamairí,” which could also be translated as “rompers” or “mummers.”  Nowadays, women and girls may participate.  The group is sometimes called “lucht an dreoilín” (“wren-boys,” lit. the wren “crowd”).  They sang and played music, especially on easily portable instruments like the orgán béil and the bodhrán, and proceeded from house to house in their local community, performing and asking for money.  The wren was displayed, often on a miniature beribboned funeral bier.  The word “dreoilín” is probably one of the most widely recognized Irish words, even in English speaking communities.  It’s sometimes anglicized as “droleen” and most versions of the “Wran Song” that I’ve heard use both terms at different points in the lyrics: “The wren, the wren, the king of the birds” and “Droleen, droleen, where’s your nest?”

“Droleen,” as an anglicized Irish word, has its own interesting history.  Droleen II is a 33.6 ft. yacht built in 1945.  The British Classic Yacht Club description of it gives no hint as to why it was called Droleen II.  Or what happened to Droleen I?  If there’s a luamhaire or díograiseoir luamh reading this, you’ll find the mionrudaí on Droleen II at http://www.britishclassicyachtclub.org/register/Droleen.htm.  Hmmm, ainmneacha bád in Irish in general, even in anglicized Irish, now there’s a topic in itself.  The British Classic Yacht Club also lists Talisker Mhor, Corrie, Huff of Arklow (huff?!), Kelpie, Rinamara (Rí na Mara?), Cuilanaun, and Ceilidh Mhor.  Lots of food for thought there!  “Droleen” also occurs as a name for dogs (Milton Droleen, an Irish Terrier aka “the American Erin” – whereby must hang a tail/tale!) and horses (Cnoc na Droleen, not grammatically correct but c’est la vie, and Glencairn Droleen; for the grammatical analysis of “Cnoc na Droleen,” see below).  There is also the Droleen Cup (Bray Sailing Club) but I can’t find any background to that – thereto must hang a sail, or a scéal, but níl na mionrudaí agam.

But what about the word “dreoilín” itself?  Cén díochlaonadh?  An bhfuil ciall ar bith eile leis?

“Dreoilín” is a fourth-declension masculine noun, with the familiar “-ín” suffix, used for diminutives.

All the forms of this noun are fairly straightforward:

An dreoilín, the wren; the same form is used for the possessive (mar shampla: cosa an dreoilín, cinniúint an dreoilín, the feet of the wren, the fate of the wren)

Na dreoilíní, the wrens

Na ndreoilíní [nuh NROH-leen-ee], of the wrens (cosa na ndreoilíní, cinniúint na ndreoilíní, srl.)

“Dreoilín” is used in various phrases, e.g. dreoilín teaspaigh, grasshopper, lit. wren of hot weather, dreoilín ceannbhuí, goldcrest (the bird, aka “golden-crested wren”), and dreoilín spóirt, an object of ridicule

Various related words also suggest silliness!  For example, “dreoileachán” can mean “a little wren” or “a silly wretch.”  And “dreolán” can either be an alternate spelling of “dreoilín” or yet another word for “a silly person,” for which Irish already has a rich vocabulary, including “glagaire,” “pleidhce,” and the intriguing “leathamadán,” a silly person, lit. a “half-fool,” presumably in contrast to a full-fledged “amadán” (fool).

Ornithologically speaking, it’s quite interesting that the wren is so celebrated, if infamously, in Irish tradition.  Apparently, there are about 80 species of wrens, but only one of these is native to the Old World, the Eurasian wren.  Although all the species are small in size, they are known for having disproportionately loud and complex songs.  Perhaps that contributed to the notion of the wren as a betrayer, revealing the hiding place either of San Stiofán, when he was i bhfolach, or of saighdiúirí Éireannacha, who were then attacked by Uigingigh.  Which reminds us of the original theme of the day and why the wren is singled out for the strawboys’ attention.  The San Stiofán connection, of course, leads us back to the alternate name for this day, Lá Fhéile Stiofáin (St. Stephen’s Day), which is also alluded to in “The Wran Song”: “… on St. Stephen’s Day, he was caught in the furze.”  And that may suggest another ábhar blag for the future — “whin” do we say “furze,” and “whin” do we say “gorse,” and “whin” to we say “whin”?  And how does “aiteann” connect to all of those?  Ach sin ábhar blag eile, ar ndóigh.  SGF, Róislín

Gluais: díograiseoir, enthusiast; i bhfolach [ih WOL-ukh]; in hiding; luamh [LOO-uv], yacht; Uigingeach, a Viking

Nóta gramadaí faoin bhfrása “Cnoc na Droleen”: the word “na” would be used either if “dreoilín” were grammatically feminine (which it isn’t) or if it were plural, in which case it would have the “-í” ending.  “Cnoc” is “hill,” so to say “the hill of the wren,” it would be “Cnoc an Dreoilín.”  That could anglicized as “Cnoc an Droleen” (not “na Droleen”).  If we want to retain the “na,” the word for “wren” would have to become plural and it would take eclipsis (“d” changing to “nd”), which would probably end up anglicized as “Cnoc nan roleenee.”  And that looks to me like a situation where all three words would be run together, creating “Cnocnanroleenee.” Which barely looks like even anglicized Irish to me, but sin scéal eile.  It would mean “the hill of the wrens,” at any rate.  The original “d” of “dreoilíní” would have become silent, since it was “eclipsed.”

In fact “Cnoc na Droleen” is another example of hybridization when Irish words are used in an English-language context.  “Cnoc” is the actual Irish spelling of the word for “hill” and is often, if oddly, anglicized as “Knock” (as in Knockmany, Knockmealdown, or simply Knock, Co. Mayo, the shrine site).  Why do I say “odd”?  Because in Irish the initial “c” is pronounced like a “k” [cnoc, “knuk”], but we have to understand the initial “k” as silent in the English version [knock, “nahk”].  Anyway, one might think that if “dreoilín” is going to be anglicized to “droleen,” then “cnoc” would be also, giving us “Knock an droleen.”  But it isn’t, so once again, c’est la vie.  Ag an ainmneoir an t-ainm, is dócha, which roughly means, “to the namer (belongs) the name.”  I wonder what the horse would have to say about it, dá mbeadh caint aige!

Ag Caint faoi Bhia (hunger, hungry, etc.)

Posted by róislín No Comments
Aug 28 2010

Agus mé ag éisteacht leis an raidió le déanaí, chuala mé clár faoi neamhshlándáil bia.  Bhí an clár i mBéarla ach shocraigh mé ag an am go scríobhfainn blag faoi théarmaí Gaeilge a bhaineanns le bia.  Níl mé ag caint anseo faoi chineálacha áirithe bia mar thrátaí grianthromaithe nó vaiféil, ach go ginearálta, faoi bhia agus ocras agus a leithéid.

While I was listening to the radio recently, I heard a program about food insecurity.  The program was in English but I decided at the time that I would write a blog about Irish terms pertaining to food.  I’m not talking here about specific types of food, like sun-dried tomatoes or waffles, but generally, about food, hunger, and the like. 

So here are the basics:

Tá ocras orm [taw OK-russ OR-um], I’m hungry, lit. hunger is on me.

Hunger, like many other feelings (tart, thirst; brón, sadness, srl.), is “on you” in Irish. 

There is an adjective “ocrach” (hungry), but it is reserved more for saying someone has a “hungry appearance” (cuma ocrach) or for being abstract (na blianta ocracha, the hungry years; talamh ocrach, hungry soil, srl.).  “Ocrasach” is a variation. 

You might be asked, “An bhfuil ocras ort?” (Are you hungry, lit. Is there hunger on you?)

Possible answers could be:

Tá, tá ocras orm: Yes, I’m hungry.

Níl, d’ith mé tamaillín ó shin: No, I ate a little while ago.  But don’t try turning down a cup of tea in Ireland – somehow it’s just not done.  Actually, let me revise that.  Often what’s done is that you politely decline the tea the first time it’s offered.  Then it will probably be offered again, so turn it down again but sounding a little more hesitant.  But you’re still saying you don’t want to put your host to any trouble and your host is insisting it’s no trouble at all at all.  But the tea will probably be offered a third time, at which time most people will acquiesce and accept the tea.  Which everyone knew all along would be the likely outcome.  I know that’s a bit of a scéal thairis (digression), so let’s get back to hunger.    

If you’re really hungry, you could say:

Tá mé stiúgtha leis an ocras [… SHTYOOG-huh lesh un OK-russ], I’m perished with hunger (famished). 

So, “ocras” is the word most commonly used to describe hunger that an individual feels.  Turning to the more somber side of the issue though, and to the reason why “slándáil bia” is such an important topic these days, we have the word “gorta.”  In fact, this word has pretty much entered the vocabulary everyone should know to discuss even the basics of Irish history, when speaking English, since the phrase “An Gorta Mór” (The Great Hunger) appears to have largely replaced the term “potato famine” referring to the 1845 to 1851 time period.  

If one is very new to learning the Irish language, but has read in general on Irish history, one might well have encountered the word “gorta” before learning the word “ocras.”  In that case, it might seem surprising that there’s this shift in vocabulary, that one can’t just take the word “hunger” from the phrase “An Gorta Mór” and drop it into the everyday question, “Are you hungry?”  But this kind of thing happens regularly with languages, one word for one context and another word, meaning almost the same thing, for another context. 

So how else is the word “gorta” used, aside from the phrase “An Gorta Mór”?  Here are some samples:

bliain ghorta, a year of famine

bás den ghorta, death from starvation or famine

There’s also the phrase, “Bhí gorta air” meaning “He was weak with hunger.”  In my experience, however, that’s not used in everyday situations, even when one feels starving simply because it’s been some hours since one’s last meal.  In that case, the phrase with “stiúgtha” would be more likely.  In fact, for any of us in a country or region where “slándáil bia” is not an active concern, I think we tend to use the phrase “starving” even when we’re nowhere near the medical definition.

And having said all of this, yes, there is some overlap.  For example, there are at least two ways to say someone starved to death: “Fuair sé bás den ocras” or “Fuair sé bás den ghorta.”  In both cases, the more literal translation is “he got death from (the) hunger.”

To end on a more upbeat note, there’s also the well-known seanfhocal, “Is maith an t-anlann an t-ocras” (Hunger is the best sauce).  Nice for the thought and nice also as a reminder about inserting the letter “t-“ after the definite article (“an”) when dealing with an “ainmfhocal” which is both “fireannach” (masculine) and “uatha” (singular) and which starts “le guta” (with a vowel).  Had to end on a grammar note, didn’t I?  Bhuel, tá mé ag dul amach le haghaidh bróinse.  Tá ocras orm anois agus is dócha go gcuirfidh sin anlann ar an mbia!

Nóta ginearálta:  It’s at least another blog’s worth, but there are dozens of other terms like “An Gorta Mór” that are used when discussing Irish history (in English) that either have no English equivalent or for which the literal English translation doesn’t have the same nuance as the Irish.  The same is true, of course, for other languages around the world, with terms such as “raj,” “glasnost,” or “wampum.”  In fact, it’s also true for some English terms that might be used in discussing American history in Irish, such as “the Pilgrim Fathers,” for which the Irish term is “na Pilgrim Fathers.”  One could always take “pilgrim” (oilithreach) and “father” (athair) and construct a term, but in some cases, it’s best just to leave the term in its original language.

Logainmneacha Ceilteacha agus Náisiúntachtaí a Trí: Celtic Place Names and Nationalities – Wales and the Welsh

Posted by róislín 4 Comments
May 3 2009

We’ve recently discussed the place names Albain (Scotland) and Éire (Ireland).  Now we’ll turn to ”An Bhreatain Bheag” (Wales).  Since “Breatain” is a feminine noun, the adjective that modifies it, “beag” (little) becomes “bheag.”  And since this country name includes the definite article “an” (the), it also causes “Breatain” to change to “Bhreatain,” pronounced with an initial “v” sound.  Here are some examples how to use the place name and how to indicate that someone is Welsh. 

 

Breatnach, a Welshman or Welsh person.  Like the terms for Irish and Scottish, it can be made feminine, “Breatnach mná,” but, as I’ve previously mentioned, most people don’t seem to bother.  The feminine form basically means “a woman Welshman.”  The Welsh themselves, though, quite regularly use the masculine and feminine forms in their own language (Breatnais, Welsh): Cymro (a Welshman) and Cymraes (a Welshwoman). 

 

an Breatnach, the Welshman.  Since “Breatnach” starts with a consonant, there are no special rules to remember for prefixing letters when you add the definite article. 

 

Breatnach is also the adjective form, as in “capaillín Breatnach” (Welsh pony).  A Welsh corgi, though, doesn’t need to be labeled “Welsh” when you’re speaking Irish; it’s just “corchú” (corgi, which literally means “dwarf dog” in Welsh).  Of course, the Welsh don’t need to label their iconic dog as being Welsh either – again, “corgi” alone suffices.   

 

In theory, there should be evidence for the existence of “Breatnachas” as a word to mean “Welshness,” but a quick online search reveals no cyberfootprint for it.  But with this blog, I guess I’ve started one!

 

Some phrases with the place name include:

 

An Bhreatain Bheag: used as the subject or direct object of a sentence

 

sa Bhreatain Bheag: in Wales

 

go dtí an Bhreatain Bheag:  to Wales

 

na Breataine Bige, of Wales, as in caisleáin na Breataine Bige (the castles of Wales)

 

Seo samplaí leis an bhfocal “Breatnach” nó leis an bhfrása “An Bhreatain Bheag”:

 

Is Breatnach í an t-amhránaí Charlotte Church.  The singer Charlotte Church is a Welsh person.    

 

Tá mé ag dul go dtí an Bhreatain Bheag ar mo laethe saoire.  I’m going to Wales on my holidays.   

 

Cá bhfuil Caerdydd (Cardiff)?  Tá Caerdydd sa Bhreatain Bheag.  Where is Cardiff? 

Cardiff is in Wales.

 

“Breatnach” or its anglicized form “Branagh” also shows up fairly often as a surname in Ireland.  One famous namesake is Belfast-born Kenneth Branagh.  Sometimes the surname is actually translated to “Welsh” or “Walsh.“

 

Anyone care to say their nationality in Irish?  After we finish the sraith Cheilteach (Celtic series), we’ll try some others from around the world.  You might be able to figure these out: Is Meiriceánach mé.  Is Ceanadach mé.  Is Francach mé.  Is Síneach mé.  Agus tusa (and you)? –  Bhur mblagálaí, Róislín

The Many Meanings of “Oireachtas”

Posted by róislín 4 Comments
Apr 18 2009

  For the week of April 5 to 12, 2009, many Philadelphians probably saw more samples of the Irish language in the media than ever before in the city’s history.  Why?  This year, Philadelphia hosted the first Oireachtas Rince na Cruinne (World Irish Dance Championship) to be held outside Ireland or the U.K.  Over 6000 dancers attended, most accompanied by family members, bringing about 20,000 visitors to the city.

 

  In addition to highlighting the name of the event in Irish, the organizing body, An Coimisiún le Rincí Gaelacha (www.clrg.ie) uses numerous Irish terms, even when its members are speaking English.  Key among these are “feiseanna,” (basically “festival” but CLRG uses it for regional competitions), ADCRG (Ard Diploma Choimisiúin le Rincí Gaelacha, with “ard” meaning “high”) and TCRG (Teagascóir Choimisiúin le Rincí Gaelacha, a Coimisiún-certified teacher).    

 

  The original meaning of “oireachtas” isn’t exactly “championship,” though; that would generally be “craobh” (literally, a branch).  An “oireachtas” is a gathering (business or cultural), or a deliberative assembly.  A related word is ”oireacht,” which historically meant an assembly of freemen or members of a tribe, gathered for deliberation; it could also mean a gathering or assembly in the general sense. 

 

  “Oireachtas” isn’t generally used now for everyday meetings.  Those could be “cruinniú,” (meeting, gathering) or a “tionól” (gathering, assembly, typically a large group of people, not just the handful that could constitute a “cruinniú”).

 

  “Oireachtas” is also the name of the legislature or national parliament of Poblacht na hÉireann (the Republic of Ireland) which has two houses, Dáil,  and Seanad.  There was also a predecessor, the Oireachtas in Saorstát Éireann (the Irish Free State, 1922-37.). 

 

  Yet another use of the word is “Oireachtas na Gaeilge,” a literary and cultural festival celebrating the Irish language and held in Ireland since the 1890s.  It is similar to two other Celtic events: in Wales, the Eisteddfod, which in revival dates to 1792, and in Scotland, Am Mòd Nàiseanta Rìoghail, run by An Comunn Gàidhealach, which dates to 1891.

 

  Finally, if you know anyone with the surname Geraghty, Gerrity, Gearty, or Gerty, they probably had a distant ancestor who was an “oireachtach” (advisor, assembly-man).  From “oireachtach” to “Gerty,” you might well ask!  Consider the possessive form, Mag Oireachtaigh (sometimes Mac Oireachtaigh), meaning “son of the advisor or assembly-man.”  The final “ch” has been softened to a vowel sound (-aigh, like “ee”) since we’re saying “of the advisor,” not just “advisor.”  The “ch” in the middle of the word may get softened or silenced when anglicized.  And often the full “mac” or “mag” sound (for “son”) gets shortened to just a “c” or “g” before vowels (as in “Keown” from “Mag Eoin”).  This results in names like Geraghty (with a silent “gh”) or Gerty.

 

Bhur mblagálaí – Róislín

 

 

 

 

 

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An Chéad Lá den Earrach (The First Day of Spring) – Not!

Posted by róislín No Comments
Mar 21 2009

Shortly after St. Patrick’s Day, we welcome in an tEarrach (the Spring). Or do we?

 

We may be accustomed to thinking of March 20th or 21st as the beginning of Spring, but there is actually a lot of controversy in English as to whether Spring starts on the first of the month or on the eacaineacht (equinox). Then there’s the question as to which mí (month) anyway! Some say February, March, and April, and others say March, April, May!

 

Regardless of the English concept, the traditional Spring season in Ireland consists of Feabhra, Márta, and Aibreán, which resemble their English counterparts in spelling, as do most of the other months. Three prominent exceptions are the ones derived from the ancient Celtic calendar: mí na Bealtaine, mí Lúnasa and mí na Samhna. You might know these from their significance in Celtic mythology – May, August, and November. The first day of each of these months was a major holiday, Lá Bealtaine, Lá Lúnasa, and an tSamhain. Celtic New Year’s Eve was celebrated on Oíche Shamhna (the eve of November, i.e. October 31st, known now in English as Halloween).

 

You might wonder what happened to the fourth “quarter day,” February 1st. The pre-Christian festival, known as Imbolc in Old Irish, became Lá Fhéile Bríde (St. Bridget’s Day) following the Christianization of Ireland. It was linked with fertility and abundance. It marked the first day of Spring and a least a small amount of seeds were sown that day to ensure a good harvest.

 

So back to an tEarrach – it started on February 1st, Celticly speaking! As the different séasúir (seasons) come up, we’ll be discussing them sa bhlag seo (in this blog). But meanwhile, we have another significant “first day” around the corner, Lá na nAmadán (literally, the Day of the Fools). So stay tuned for the April Fool’s Day blog, when we’ll learn the terminology for male fools, female fools, soft fools, open-mouthed fools, and perhaps a few others.

 

A few grammar points for today’s terms, concerning the notorious tuiseal ginideach (genitive case). We have several examples i mblag an lae inniu (in today’s blog). The phrases mí na Bealtaine and mí na Samhna use the word “na” (of the) in the middle because both of the names of the month are feminine and in the genitive case. The genitive case typically shows possession, as in phrases like ”hata an fhir” (the hat of the man). where “an fhir” is the genitive form of “an fear” (the man). The genitive case may be used even when there’s no actual possession or ownership, as in phrases like “mí na Samhna” (the month of an tSamhain).

 

The phrase Lá na nAmadán also uses “na” (of the) in the middle, but here it’s with a masculine plural noun. It causes an “n” to be inserted before nouns beginning with vowels, and, like the “t” prefix discussed a previous blog, it stays in the lower case, even in titles or proper nouns.

 

Whether or not an tEarrach does bring us aer cumhra (balmy air) and aimsir earrachúil (springlike weather), let’s hope go mbeidh sé go deas go dtí an chéad bhlag eile (that it will be nice until the next blog).

Bhur mblagálaí, Róislín

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