Irish Language Blog

(le Róislín)

From “súgach” to “ar deargmheisce,” the Irish language has numerous ways to indicate stages of intoxication.  This is, once again, just the tip of the vocabulary iceberg, but one has to start somewhere!  Here are some phrases to help get you ready for Lá Fhéile Pádraig (aka Lá ‘Éile Pádraig aka St. Patrick’s Day)

súgach [SOO-gukh], merry, tipsy

ar bogmheisce [err BOG-VESH-kyuh], tipsy, lit. on “soft-drunkenness.”  Note the lenition of “meisce” (drunkenness) after “bog-,” which here is used as a prefix.  The “mh-“ is pronounced like “v.”

ar meisce [err MESH-kyuh], drunk, lit. “on drunkenness.”  For this example, in fact for all the “meisce” examples here, note that there is no lenition after “ar” (on).  “Ar” typically causes lenition when discussing physical, material things (Tá hamstar ar bhosca, A hamster is on a box), but not for abstract topics (ar cíos, “on” rent; ar siúl, going on/happening, etc.).  That’s not to deny the material presence of “rent” in terms of the money or the paper statement, but it’s abstract in terms of physical tangibility.

caoch ar meisce [kaykh err MESH-kyuh], blind drunk, lit. blind on drunkenness; “caoch” (blind, one-eyed) is a nice cognate to the Latin “caecus” (blind) and the English “caecity,” but it’s not the most basic word for “blind” in Irish.  That would be “dall,” a form of which can also be used for drunkenness (dallta, dallta le meisce, dallta leis an ól).

ar deargmheisce [err DJAR-ug-VESH-kyuh], really drunk, mad drunk.  “Dearg” is a frequent intensifier for all purposes (deargnocht, stark-naked, etc.), so it’s no great surprise to find it used with “meisce” (drunkenness).  Remember the two points we discussed above: there is no lenition after “ar,” as with “ar meisce“ but there is lenition after “dearg-“ as a prefix, as with “bogmheisce” above, so the “m” changes to “mh.”

While the literal comparison, “as drunk as a lord” doesn’t traditionally exist in Irish, fad m’eolais, the following phrase is considered equivalent: ar stealladh na ngrást [err SHTAL-uh nungRAWST], lit. in a state of pouring out the graces (from “grásta,” grace)

And perhaps the ultimate state of drunkenness, inebriation, intoxication, tipsiness, crapulence (!), or whatever yer havin’ yerself, would be “gan féith ná comhaireamh a bheith agat,” dead drunk, very literally, “without a sinew (here understood as “sign of life”) or counting to be at you.”  To use that in a sentence, most likely you’d adjust the “a bheith agat” part to fit whatever structure you’re creating.  For example, “Ní raibh féith ná comhaireamh aige,” lit. “there was no sinew or counting at him.”  Hmm, I wonder if we could also use that to describe Spock (S3E1) in the “Inchinn Spock” episode.  Not that the Star Trek producers gave it the Irish title, just a little vocabulary nudge there.

There’s a lot more vocabulary where this came from.  This is just beagán réamhchleachtaidh [RAYV-HLAKH-tee], a little bit of warm-up (“pre-practice”), for the big day (17 Mí an Mhárta).  SGF, Róislín

(le Róislín)

Bhuel, mí an Mhárta may be the “sure-they’d-steal-your-heart-away” month, as “Irish Eyes” is sung over and over and over again, but I doubt it was ever meant to be taken literally.

Croí Lorcán Uí Thuathail sa bhosca adhmaid

But that’s exactly what has happened recently.  The theft of St. Laurence O’Toole’s heart apparently occurred on the morning of March 3^rd.  The heart, stored in a wooden heart-shaped box, was taken from its barred cage in the Peace Chapel of St. Laud in Christ Church Cathedral.  The Cathedral, described as “the spiritual heart of the city,” was founded ca. 1028, about a hundred years before the birth of the saint.  The heart has been kept there for about 800 years.  There’s plenty to read online about the incident but here’s a nasc for starters: http://www.christchurchdublin.ie/NewsDetails/72.

Meanwhile, seo capsúlbheathaisnéis Lorcán Uí Thuathail:

1128: rugadh é i nDíseart Diarmada (Castledermot), Co. Chill Dara

1154: ceapadh é mar ab ar Ghleann Dá Loch

1162: toghadh é mar Ardeaspag ar Bhaile Átha Cliath  

1180 (14 Mí na Samhna, a lá féile anois): fuair sé bás sa Fhrainc, in Eu sa Normainn

1225 (11 Mí na Nollag): canónadh é

1442: tógadh a chloigeann agus a chnámha go Sasana agus cuireadh i Chorley, Lancashire, iad, ach cailleadh iad in am Anraí VIII.  Ní fhacthas ó shin iad. 

2012 (3 Mí an Mhárta): goideadh a chroí ó Ardeaglais Chríost

Given that he lived about 600 years after most of the well-known Irish saints, in a (somewhat) more modern era, Lorcán Ua Tuathail’s life is quite well documented in comparison.  Desmond Forristal’s biography, Man in the Middle: St. Laurence O’Toole: Patron Saint of Dublin (1988) is a good place to start for further insight into his life.

From the perspective of Irish language learning, there are a few interesting points about Lorcán Ua Tuathail’s name.  First, one might notice right away that he is not referred to as “Labhrás,” which is the usual Irish for “Laurence” and is also the Irish for the 3^rd-century San Labhrás (na Róimhe).  I assume that the name was anglicized as Laurence in honor St. Laurence of Rome, although there’s no real connection between the names.  Lorcán, as a name, means “silent” or “fierce,” but it’s not the everyday word for “silent” or “fierce” in modern Irish.  Cad iad i nGaeilge?  Féach an nóta thíos.  Its appearance in the Harry Potter series may trigger greater interest in the name as the 21^st century proceeds.  Where in Harry Potter, you might wonder?  Bhuel, not in the actual books, but apparently in a family tree drawn by J. K. Rowling herself, which you can see at: http://www.snitchseeker.com/gallery/displayimage.php?pos=-11259 .  No “fada,” by the way – I checked.  The Lorcan connection was revealed in an interview with Rowling.  He is the son of Rolf Scamander and Luna Lovegood, and the twin of Lysander Scamander.  For details on the interview, see: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1071246/.

Second, “Ua,” as the middle component of his name is an alternate to the more familiar “Ó.”  Both words mean “grandson” or “descendant.”  Of course, “ó” isn’t the everyday word for “grandson” either – that would be “garmhac.”  Aside from their use in surnames, “ó” and “ua,” together with their plural and/or dative forms “óí,” “uí,” and “uíbh,” are used mostly in literary, historical, and geographic (place name) contexts these days, as in “Uí Néill” (the descendants of Niall Naoighiallach) or “Uíbh Ráthach” (Iveragh, Co. Kerry).

Thirdly, when the surname “Ua Tuathail” or “Ó Tuathail” is part of a possessive phrase, it becomes “UÍ Thuathail,” with a vowel change and lenition.  So we have phrases like “croí Lorcán Uí Thuathail,” or more generally “in aimsir Uí Thuathail” (in the time of O’Toole).  Likewise, the “Ó” of other modern surnames changes, as in “Bean Uí Dhónaill” (Mrs. O’Donnell, lit. wife of O’Donnell) or “Sráid Uí Chonaill” (O’Connell Street).  So, the grammar/spelling caveat is that “uí” can be plural or it can be the singular possessive form.  This isn’t unusual in Irish, as in “fir” (men) and “fir” (of a man) or “báid” (boats) and “báid” (of a boat).

As for the lenition, we see the additional “h” in the name “Tuathail” [TOO-uh-hil]  It becomes “Thuathail,” pronounced “HOO-uh-hil.”  At the risk of being obvious, I could also note that “Tuathail” usually has three syllables in Irish, whereas the anglicized version has just one (Toole).

A final interesting note — “Lorcán” is a shoo-in for a name in any O’Toole family, and I wonder what it’s like to bear it.  Peter O’Toole’s son, also an actor, is named Lorcan O’Toole.  Cad a shíleann seisean, meas tú?  Hmmm, Gaeilge aige, meas tú?  Peter himself is actually “Peter Seamus Lorcan O’Toole.”  I just checked and he was born in August 2^nd, not on St. Laurence O’Toole’s feast day (14 Mí na Samhna), so I’m curious as to how he ended up with Lorcán in his name.  Eolas ag duine ar bith?  Duine dena sheanaithreacha, b’fhéidir?  Ironic, isn’t it, that Peter O’Toole rose to fame as a “Labhrás” of another ilk altogether.  Na hAraibe, ar ndóigh.

At any rate, this blog is, ar ndóigh, just the usual tip of the iceberg of information about this interesting and well-documented saint, the recent and appalling theft of his heart, and the names “Lorcán” and “Ó Tuathail” in general.  Tá súil agam go raibh sé suimiúil.  As for the gadaíocht í féin, what a way to welcome in an mhí is Éireannaí sa bhliain!

Nóta: fierce: fíochmhar, fraochmhar, díocaiseach, srl., and silent: tostach, ciúin, srl.

(le Róislín)

Feabhra: an 29ú lá -- Lá Bisigh Sona!

Looking at the terminology for “leap” in Irish got me thinking, why exactly do we call it “leap” year?  Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t going to be a discussion of the space-time continuum, if that’s even relevant, and it’s not going to be about how time really works (which I leave to the, hmm, “spatiotemporalographers” (?)).  Or why leap year happens.  Just a calm little dictionary-based comparison of what different languages say to describe the “leapness” (?) of leap year.  The Irish examples will be prominent for the very reason that the way to say “leap” year, month, or day, has nothing to do with the ordinary Irish word for a “leap” or “leaping.”   So, Irish first, natch:

bliain bhisigh, leap year

mí bhisigh, leap month

lá bisigh, leap day

All of these are based on the word “biseach,” which basically means “an improvement or recovery” (especially in health), “an increase,” or “a premium.”

The ordinary Irish word for “leap” is “léim,” which can be a noun or a verb (léimim, I leap, or tugaim léim, I give a leap)

A few more fun terms regarding “leap” as the actual motion:

gluaiseacht chliobóige, leap-frogging, lit. moving of a (“like a,” really, in this case) filly (!)

Another leap-frog term, for those geocaigh ríomhaire who understand it: tástáil chliobógach chraplaithe, a crippled leap-frog test (!)

And then there’s always “Léim a’ Mhadaidh,” the Irish place name anglicized as ____________ (freagra thíos).

As for some other languages, all the others I can put my hands on (tip of the iceberg, I’m sure), the idea varies, but leans away from “leaping.”  Welsh does parallel the English, with “blwyddyn naid” (lit. year of jump).  The others I find mostly incorporate the adjective “bissextile” (intercalary): año bisiesto, Spáinnis; año bissexto, Portaingéilis; annus bissextus, Laidin; année bissextile, Fraincis; Schrikkeljaar, Ollainnis.  How the German “Schaltjahr” relates to the German adjective “eingefügt” (intercalary) actually defies me, but perhaps one of this blog’s léitheoirí will know.  If so, please do write in.

Sin é don bhlag inniu! SGF, Róislín

Freagra: Limavady, the leap of the dog