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You tried Duolingo, you have some ability, you even attended an Immersion Weekend, and now you want to get better in Irish. What can you do to get fluent? Some suggestions to get you to another level mar is féidir. Seo a scríobh mé cheana ar an ábhar seo. Cúpla rud le cur leis anois: Listen. Éist. To podcasts & to music. Beidh tú ag foghlaim sa charr! B’íomhá i bhfíseán le Jean a spreag seo. É sin agus Pele i Hawai’i. Fadó, fadó agus is fadó a bhí, bhí Éire agus SAM le chéile. Bhuel cuid di. Ar bhealach. Muise, lig dom tosnú arís. Fadó fadó bhí Éire ina dá leath. Bhí farraige mhór eatarthu. Iapetus a thug siad uirthi. Bhuel, aigéan a bhí ann le bheith cruinn. Seo anois. Sé an rud é go raibh iarthuaisceart na hÉireann ar imeall SAM (nárbh SAM é ag an am, le bheith cruinn tá fhios agaibh). Bhí oirdheisceart na hÉireann ar imeall na hEorpa (nárbh … dheara, tuigeann sibh). Tháinig an dhá leath le chéile agus insíonn clocha i gCo. na Mí an scéal sin. Bhí mé ag smaoineamh ar seo go léir is mé ag smaoineamh faoi lár na tíre is Bealtaine, is tinte ar Uisneach. Nuair a tháinig mo chomharsan béil dorais ón tSeapáin go hÉirinn bhí fonn uirthi Eiscir Riada a fheiceáil. Níor thuig mé an thábhacht leis an áit. Tá scéalta againn a mhaireann faoi Leath Choinn agus Leath Mhogha. N’fheadar an mbaineann na scéalta le am i bhfad níos sine ná mar a cheapamar? Smaoinigh mé ar an gCruachán agus Uisneach agus an thábhacht le tine ar bharr an chnoic i lár na tíre. I gcuimhne ar bholcáin fadó? Bhíomar scartha fadó agus thángamar le chéile. Meas tú an féidir linn bheith le chéile arís? Sin na smaointe a bhuail mé inniu agus mé ag caint ar stair, tíreolaíocht is scéalta. See change. Sea change Leis na focail cuí, is féidir. Neart le ceartú leis na focail a roghnaímid. Béarla arís. GML. Gá leis scaití. GRMA, Michael Collins as an inspioráid. The fact that many of the women you’re being asked to vote for so they can have their rights are at this moment in exile and deprived of a vote shouldn’t put you off! Sure amn’t I one of them. They can exile us. They locked us up in Magdalenes. They stole our democracy and replaced it with a theocracy. They stole our babies and sold them. They rule our schools and call us monsters and murderers and threaten us with 14 years for daring to think we have rights. They have murdered us as small children in Tuam and with ignorance in our laws still. But, but we have a weapon more powerful than any in the whole arsenal of their Vatican Empire in its unholy marriage with our government and law — and that weapon is our refusal, our refusal to bow to any order but our own, any institution but our own. Our friends in Iona, Youth Defense, and American fundamentalist misogynistic churches would like to shut me up. Oh yes, shut me up again, humiliate me, who knows? And I’d like you to send them a message. If they shut me up, who’ll vote Yes for me and for all women? Abair: I will! Who’s going to vote Yes? Abair: I will! I can’t hear you. Who’ll vote for women?! Will they shut you up?!! Aisghair an t-ochtú. Roghnaigh saoirse, cearta, meas do na mná. Maith sibh na laochra sa bhaile. Neart agaibh ann. Hear the Atlantic seethe and swell And hear the lonesome chapel bell. God save their souls and mind them well, Tomás and Seán Conneely. Yesterday at half past four They pushed their currach from the shore. One took the net while one took the oar, The two fishermen, Conneelys. From Connor’s fort and from Synge’s chair Towards Inis Mor and Inis Iarr. They scour the sea in silent prayer As they go searching for their neighbours. Dia daoibh, beirt iascaire breá God be with you two fine fishermen Nach mbeidh thar nais ar barr an trá. Who will not be back at the top of the strand Go mbeibh sona sásta ar neamh, May you have peace and happiness in Heaven Tomás is Seán Conneely. Draw the seaweed up the hill And sow potatoes in the drill. Try to understand God’s will And the loss of the two Conneelys. Hear the Atlantic seethe and swell And hear the lonesome chapel bell. God save their souls and mind them well, Tomás and Seán Conneely. What I’m trying to do tonight, in the space I have, is to give you a bit of everything. And the next thing I’m going to do — maybe some of you heard about it, I don’t know — is called The American Wake. Now it’s nothing to do, directly, it’s nothing to do with America. But long ago, when people were going to America and emigrating, their parents knew they’d never see that particular person in this life again. And the night before they left, the woman or the man who was leaving — It wasn’t so easy then to come home as it is now. They settled down more or less when they went to America, and they got married, and their parents died, meantime they could never see them. But anyway, the man or the woman who was going away visited all the old people in the village, invited them to have a dance that night in the house. And those that weren’t able to go, they gave them a bottle of something as a remembrance. And they invited the people — Now I’m talking about a time when there was no musical instruments. And of course, long ago, musical instruments were barred, because some of the clergy reckoned that if you played music you were a druid or something — something pagan about you. So maybe it was a good thing, too. But anyway — there was somebody, always, who lilted a tune, and somebody danced to that tune. Now, in the old country houses they had what was known as a half-door. And sometimes when somebody was dancing on a concrete kitchen floor they lifted off the half-door, and danced on top of the half-door. Now two of the tunes they used to play was a reel, My Love She’s in America, and a hornpipe, Off to California. This was during the night; and in the morning, of course, the song — the lament — was sung by always — nearly always — the woman. But this is somebody lilting a tune for somebody dancing. My Love She’s in America went something like this: That’s My Love She’s in America. Now Off to California: Now, the dancing was over, and in the morning, usually the mother, put her hands around whoever was going away, pointing out to that person that ‘Even though you’re going away, remember, you’ll get no money thrown on the pavements. Where you’re going you’ll see somebody rich; but remember, behind that person there may be twenty people who’s very poor. And when you’re walking the streets at night, remember, stop and listen, because as sure as anything the voice you’ll hear will be mine, calling you back; because you know I’ll always love you’. And the song they used to sing was A Stór Mo Chroí. A stór mo chroí, when you’re far away from the home you’ll soon be leaving And it’s many a time by night and day your heart will be sorely grieving. Though the stranger’s land might be rich and fair, and riches and treasure golden You’ll pine, I know, for the long long ago and the love that’s never olden. A stór mo chroí, in the stranger’s land there is plenty of wealth and wearing Whilst gems adorn the rich and the grand there are faces with hunger tearing. Though the road is dreary and hard to tread, the lights of their city may blind you You’ll turn, a stór, to Erin’s shore and the ones you left behind you. A stór mo chroí, when the evening sun over the mountain and meadow is falling Won’t you turn away from the throng and listen and maybe you’ll hear me calling. The voice that you’ll hear will be surely mine of somebody’s speedy returning A rún, a rún, will you come back soon to the one who will always love you. Now the song is called Eileanóir a Rún. The way that Cearbhall Ó Dálaigh… composed this, and put music to it himself. And the story attributed to Carolan. I hope you don’t mind listening to this story. This is one of the finest stories ever behind a Gaelic song. When Carolan was a young man, his job was to do odd jobs for anybody who’d give him work, and he was travelling around the country doing such things until he was about twenty years of age. And one day, he came to this farmer’s house, and the farmer told him he’d give him a job to watch four cows. The rest of the cattle was watched by somebody else. ‘And keep your eye,’ he said, ‘on the white cow, because there’s a legend about the white cow, that she’ll give birth to a calf, and who will ever taste the milk of the mother first will have the gift of all knowledge, master of all trades, and any woman who will ever look at him will fall twice in love with him at the one time.’ So anyway, Carolan took the cattle out grazing, and nothing happened for a couple of months. And this day, he was grazing the cattle beside a huge big rock — like that wall there. And the rock opened up. And out of the rock walked the most beautiful, the most ferocious bull that a man ever laid eyes on. And the bull didn’t look right or left — he walked up to the white cow. Now, whatever they said to one another, the bull and the white cow took off to one corner of the field, and they stayed there all day until the sun was setting. And, you know the myth about something out of the other world, like the banshee — they have to go back before the sun sets, and stay there ’til twelve o’clock at night. Well, anyway, they came back, and the rock opened; the bull gave the cow a little kick with his hind leg, and back he goes into the rock again. Then Carolan came home and he told the master what happened; and he said ‘Keep an eye on the white cow until she has a calf; and whatever you do, don’t let the calf suck its mother, because whoever tastes the first of that milk is okay for the rest of his life.’ So the day the cow gave birth to the calf, Carolan forgot what the master told him. And he saw the calf about to suck his mother, and went over and he took the milk off the mouth of the calf, and he rubbed his fingers across his mouth, like that. And then he was told: ‘Carolan, you tasted the milk of the white cow and the black bull first. Now, you’re a gifted man. The first thing you do, don’t go home to the farmer and tell him this, because he’ll kill you.’ So he sets off, and he was travelling for three or four months, until one night he came to this shoemaker’s house. And the shoemaker was making a pair of shoes. And Carolan came in and he bid him good evening and he told him to sit down, he’d get him something to eat; but at the moment he was busy trying to finish a pair of shoes for the lady in the big house. The lady in the big house was Eleanor Kavanagh — that was her surname. ‘And I must finish the shoes tonight’, he says, ‘because she’s going to a dance.’ So Carolan says, ‘Could I’, he says, ‘do one of the shoes for you?’ And he said, ‘No, these… have to be perfect. I have to make them myself’. But the poor shoemaker was so tired that he fell asleep; and Carolan took over, and he finished the pair of shoes that was yet untouched. And when the shoemaker woke up, he saw the shoe, and he said ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I hope the shoe that you made,’ he said, ‘fits her like the one I made.’ And he said, ‘Will you bring them up now,’ he says to Carolan, ‘bring them up to… Eleanor, because she’s waiting.’ So when Carolan went up to the door, he saw Eleanor, standing inside the door. And he said in the song — the first thing he said in the song was ‘mo ghrá den chéad fhéachaint thú, Eileanóir a rún’ — ‘my love to you at first sight.’ He brought the shoes in; she tried them on; one shoe fitted her, and the other didn’t. And she said, ‘Whoever made this shoe, I’ll follow him for the rest… of my life’. And that’s when she eloped with Carolan. Now, there is no English translation to this, either. Not this way. There is, the other way — the way it’s in the book. And this is the way Carolan did it. Liricí Mo ghrá thú den chéad fhéachaint, is tú Eileanóir a rún. You’re my love at first-sight, Eleanor my love. Is ort a bhím ag smaoineamh tráth a mbím im shuain. It’s of you that I am thinking while I lie asleep. A ghrá den tsaol is a chéad-searc, is tú is deise ná ban Éireann. My love and my first treasure, you are the best of the women of Ireland. A bhruinnilín deas óig, is tú is deise milse póig. Lovely young maiden, you have the nicest, sweetest kiss. Chúns mhairfead beo beidh gean a’m ort As long as I live I will desire you Mar is deas mar a sheolfainn gamhnaí leat, a Eileanóir a rún. For I would love to drive the calves with you, Eleanor my love. Now, Carolan starts praising her. ‘She has a gift’, he says, ‘she could get the birds off the limbs of the trees; she had a gift she could even make the corpse move while laid out on the board and she has another gift I’ll never tell anybody until such a time as we get married.’ ‘S bhí bua aici go meallfadh sí na héanlaith ón gcrann. And she had the gift that she could entice the birds from the trees. ‘S ba mhílse blas a póigín ná a chuaichín roimh an lá. And the taste of her kiss was sweeter than the cuckoo before day. Bhí bua eile aici nach ndéarfad. She had another gift that I will not tell. Sí grá mi chroí ‘s mo chead-searc. She is the love of my heart and my first treasure. A bhruinnilín deas óig, is tú is deise milse póig. Lovely young maiden, you have the nicest, sweetest kiss. Chúns mhairfead beo beidh gean a’m ort. As long as I live I will desire you. Mar is deas mar a sheolfainn gamhnaí leat, a Eileanóir a rún. For I would love to drive the calves with you, Eleanor my love. Well, Carolan always said, ‘Is deas mar a sheolfainn gamhnaí leat’ — ‘I would love to drive the cattle with you’. Because he was thinking of the white cow that made him the man he was. So he’s always talking about driving the cattle with Eleanor.
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You tried Duolingo, you have some ability, you even attended an Immersion Weekend, and now you want to get better in Irish. What can you do to get fluent? Some suggestions to get you to another level mar is féidir. Seo a scríobh mé cheana ar an ábhar seo. Cúpla rud le cur leis anois: Listen. Éist. To podcasts & to music. Beidh tú ag foghlaim sa charr! B’íomhá i bhfíseán le Jean a spreag seo. É sin agus Pele i Hawai’i. Fadó, fadó agus is fadó a bhí, bhí Éire agus SAM le chéile. Bhuel cuid di. Ar bhealach. Muise, lig dom tosnú arís. Fadó fadó bhí Éire ina dá leath. Bhí farraige mhór eatarthu. Iapetus a thug siad uirthi. Bhuel, aigéan a bhí ann le bheith cruinn. Seo anois. Sé an rud é go raibh iarthuaisceart na hÉireann ar imeall SAM (nárbh SAM é ag an am, le bheith cruinn tá fhios agaibh). Bhí oirdheisceart na hÉireann ar imeall na hEorpa (nárbh … dheara, tuigeann sibh). Tháinig an dhá leath le chéile agus insíonn clocha i gCo. na Mí an scéal sin. Bhí mé ag smaoineamh ar seo go léir is mé ag smaoineamh faoi lár na tíre is Bealtaine, is tinte ar Uisneach. Nuair a tháinig mo chomharsan béil dorais ón tSeapáin go hÉirinn bhí fonn uirthi Eiscir Riada a fheiceáil. Níor thuig mé an thábhacht leis an áit. Tá scéalta againn a mhaireann faoi Leath Choinn agus Leath Mhogha. N’fheadar an mbaineann na scéalta le am i bhfad níos sine ná mar a cheapamar? Smaoinigh mé ar an gCruachán agus Uisneach agus an thábhacht le tine ar bharr an chnoic i lár na tíre. I gcuimhne ar bholcáin fadó? Bhíomar scartha fadó agus thángamar le chéile. Meas tú an féidir linn bheith le chéile arís? Sin na smaointe a bhuail mé inniu agus mé ag caint ar stair, tíreolaíocht is scéalta. See change. Sea change Leis na focail cuí, is féidir. Neart le ceartú leis na focail a roghnaímid. Béarla arís. GML. Gá leis scaití. GRMA, Michael Collins as an inspioráid. The fact that many of the women you’re being asked to vote for so they can have their rights are at this moment in exile and deprived of a vote shouldn’t put you off! Sure amn’t I one of them. They can exile us. They locked us up in Magdalenes. They stole our democracy and replaced it with a theocracy. They stole our babies and sold them. They rule our schools and call us monsters and murderers and threaten us with 14 years for daring to think we have rights. They have murdered us as small children in Tuam and with ignorance in our laws still. But, but we have a weapon more powerful than any in the whole arsenal of their Vatican Empire in its unholy marriage with our government and law — and that weapon is our refusal, our refusal to bow to any order but our own, any institution but our own. Our friends in Iona, Youth Defense, and American fundamentalist misogynistic churches would like to shut me up. Oh yes, shut me up again, humiliate me, who knows? And I’d like you to send them a message. If they shut me up, who’ll vote Yes for me and for all women? Abair: I will! Who’s going to vote Yes? Abair: I will! I can’t hear you. Who’ll vote for women?! Will they shut you up?!! Aisghair an t-ochtú. Roghnaigh saoirse, cearta, meas do na mná. Maith sibh na laochra sa bhaile. Neart agaibh ann. Bhí alt sna meáin faoi fhoclóir nua don Ghàidhlig. Is maith sin. Cheapfá go mbeadh áthas ar dhaoine faoi ach tá ciníochas fós láidir sa tír is seo is seo is seo mar a bhí cuid den chaint faoi agus alt faoi anseo. GRMA agus tapadh leat, Marconatrix. Tá grá ag daoine don Ghàidhlig. In am do chúrsa Duolingo a bheith ann. Is glaoigh Scottish ar an gcúrsa le do thoil! Deacrachtaí le Gaelic (dul amú). Fág Scots le Burns. Iontach ar fad seo a fheiceáil ar Twitter inné agus i bhfad níos mó. Timpeall 7,000 acu. Ag trendáil ar bharr Twitter. Ardaíonn sin mo chroí. Is aoibheann linn anseo i gCathair na nAingeal ár dturas go Gàidhlig. Teanga fíorálainn í. A Scotland without Scottish (Gàidhlig) is like a sky without stars. Chonaic mé taispeántas san Getty Villa le déanaí faoi Phluais Plato. Daoine mar phríosúnaigh ag breathnú ar bhalla ag ceapadh do bhfuil siad ag breathnú ar an saol mar atá ach níl siad ach ag breathnú ar scáileanna. Téann duine amach agus feiceann sé an domhan i gceart is tagann sé ar ais le rá leo cad atá amuigh ansin i ndáiríre ach tá daoine ann is fanann siad ina bpríosúnaigh go deo. Níor mhaith leo an fhírinne, ná brí, ná an saol mar atá i ndáiríre a fheiceáil. Smaoinigh mé ar sin is mé ag breathnú ar an scannán Song of Granite. Chuaigh Seosamh Ó hÉanaí amach sa saol mór is chonaic sé a bhí ann. D’aithin sé scaití go raibh glór nach raibh ceolmhar ann a chuir mearbhall ar dhaoine is fuair sé suaimhneas sa cheol a d’fhoghlaim sé sa bhaile amuigh faoin aer nó i gcisteanach. Smaoinigh mé ar an bpluais nuair a d’éist mé le The Streets Have No Name le U2. Tá ainmneacha ar na sráideanna againn. Ach níl brí leo. I mBÁC tá sráideanna nó bóithre ann ar nós Cappagh, Ratoath, Ballyboggan, Finglas, Glasnevin, Ballymun, Kilmore, Malahide, Raheny, Kilbarrack, Drumcondra, Clontarf, Kylemore, Ballyfermot, Inchicore, Terenure, Clonskeagh, Rathfarnham, Dundrum. Brí ar bith leo san leagan seo. Sin atá fágtha againne, na príosúnaigh a chreideann nach bhfuil tada mícheart le brí a bhaint ó ainm áite. Ní thuigimid cad is brí lenár dtír féin. Muid caillte sa dorchadas is ní aithnímid sin. Ní Béarla ná Gaeilge atá againn ach dul amú. Teanga gan brí. Sin a d’fhág siad againn. Is tharla 1916 is tháinig saoirse, dúradh linn. Níor tháinig ach daoirse eile. Is rinneamar dearmad ar an mbrí is d’fhanamar sa dorchadas. Leads, seo 2018: 125 bliain ó bunaíodh Conradh na Gaeilge. Mar a dúirt De hÍde fadó: DeAnglicize.