(le Róislín)

As mentioned in the most recent blog post (nasc thíos), this is a continuation of the translation of my imaginary conversation, in Irish, with Nola, an srónbheannach bán tuaisceartach deireanach a bhí ina cónaí sa leathsféar thiar.   Ise an ceann baineann deireanach sa leathsféar thiar agus an ceann deireanach dena fospeiceas sa leathsféar thiar. Ina cónaí sa Pháirc Safari de chuid Zú San Diego a bhí sí.  Bhíodh ceann fireann ann, Angalifu (1970-2014) ach fuair sé bás thart fá bhliain ó shin.  Anois níl ach triúr den fhospeiceas fágtha beo ar domhan, iad i dtearmann sa Chéinia (Ol Pejeta Conservancy, nasc thíos), le gardaí armáilte á gcosaint an t-am ar fad.   

So here’s the rest of the conversation with an interlinear translation and a few explanatory notes.  The first line overlaps the last quoted line in the last blog, ar son leanúnachais:

R: Mar sin níl lao srónbheannaigh (lao srónbheannach bán tuaisceartach) ann áit ar bith ar domhan?

So there is no rhinoceros calf (northern white rhinoceros calf) anywhere in the world?

N: Níl, agus níl seans ann go mbeidh ceann ann.  Níl céile agam agus ní shíleann na zó-eolaithe go mbeidh níos mó páistí ag “Sudan,” an t-aon srónbheannach bán tuaisceartach fireann amháin atá fágtha ar domhan. Tá iníon agus gariníon aige ach ní shíleann na zó-eolaithe go mbeidh sliocht eile ann.

No, and there’s no chance that there will be.  I don’t have a mate and the zoologists don’t think that “Sudan,” the last male northern white rhinoceros left on earth, will have any more children.  He has a daughter and granddaughter but the zoologists don’t think there will be any other offspring.

R: Tá sin uafásach ar fad.  Cén fáth a mbíonn na póitseálaithe ar bhur dtóir?

That’s really terrible (lit. terrible altogether).  Why do the poachers hunt you?

N: Síleann daoine gur féidir leo afraidíseach a dhéanamh as ár n-adharca.  Ach níl inár n-adharca ach ceiritin.  Go díreach cosúil le hingne do mhéar, nó ingne mhéara na ndaoine a chreideann gur afraidíseach atá ann, leis an fhírinne a dhéanamh.  D’fhéadfadh siad an rud céanna a dhéanamh as a n-ingne féin, gan a bheith ag marú m’fhospeicis.  Tá muid beagnach marbh mar fhospeiceas, tá a fhios agat.

Nóta: Mh’anam!  Trí fhoirm den fhocal “ionga” in alt beag amháin: 1) ingne, fingernails; 2) cosúil le hingne, like (the) fingernails (of) — with the h-prefix after the word “le“, and 3) a n-ingne, their fingernails, with eclipsis (prefixing the “n-“)

People think they can make an aphrodisiac out of our horns.  But our horns are simply made of keratin.  Just like your fingernails, or the fingernails of the people who believe that it is an aphrodisiac, to tell the truth.  They could make the same thing out of their own nails, without (being at) killing our subspecies.  We are almost dead as a subspecies, you know.

R: Tá a fhios agam. Ba bhreá liom a bheith ábalta rud éigin a dhéanamh faoi ach, faraor, níl sé i mo chumas rud ar bith a dhéanamh seachas ailt mar seo a scríobh.

I know.  I would love to be able to do something about it but, unfortunately, it’s not in my power to do anything except write an article like this.

N: Bhuel, sin mar atá agus níl neart againn air.  Níl mé uaigneach, tá a fhios agat, mar tá sioráif, gasailí, agus buabhaill Rinne ina gcónaí sa chlós ollmhór seo, agus tá na coimeádaithe ann.  Agus tagann cuairteoirí chugam, mar thusa agus an t-iriseoir Irv Erdos as San Diego.  Ach tá eagla orm go mbeidh mé “gan ó gan mac os mo chionn, a shilfeadh na deora tráthnóna nó’r maidin go trom,” mar a deir an t-amhrán. Ní fheicfidh mé srónbheannach bán tuaisceartach óg i mo shaol, an méid den saol atá fágtha dom.

Well, that’s how it is, and we have no power over it.  I’m not lonely, you know, because there are giraffes, gazelles, and Cape buffalo living in this giant enclosure, and there are the keepers.  And visitors come to me, like yourself and the journalist Irv Erdos from San Diego.  But I fear that I will be “gan ó gan mac os mo chionn, a shilfeadh na deora tráthnóna nó’r maidin go trom” (without an heir or a son “after me, but lit.  “above me” who would shed tears heavily [for me when I’m gone] in the afternoon or in the morning), as the song says.  I will never see a young northern white rhinoceros in my life, whatever’s left of it.

R: Ó, a Nola, tá tú ag baint na ndeor asam cheana féin.

Nóta: Ar thug tú faoi deara na foirmeacha den fhocal “deoir” atá sa téacs? Seo iad: deora, tears; na ndeor, of the tears (from “ag baint na ndeor asam, lit. at the striking of the tears out of me), and, of course, “deoir” here as part of the explanation

Oh, Nola, you’re already making me cry (lit. striking the tears out of me).

N: Agus asamsa freisin, caithfidh mé a admháil.  Ach caithfidh muid a bheith dóchasach.  B’fhéidir go mbeidh freagra éigin ag na heolaithe.  Nó b’fhéidir go bhfíoróidh “Páirc Iúrasach” an lae inniu.  Idir an dá linn, bainim sult as do chuideachta agus as cuideachta na gcuairteoirí eile agus as na cuimiltí boilg is muiníl a fhaighim ó na coimeádaithe.  Céard eile atá i ndán dúinn seachas fanacht beo ar an domhan chomh fada agus is féidir linn?

And me too (lit. and out of me too), I must admit.  But we must be hopeful.  Perhaps the scientists will have some answer.  Or perhaps a “Jurassic Park” of today will become a reality.  Meanwhile, I enjoy your company and the company of the other visitors and the belly and neck rubs I get from the keepers.  What else is in store for us other than to stay alive on the earth as long as we can.

Nóta: to say “I enjoy” in Irish, it’s literally, “I strike enjoyment out of” (bainim sult as), another idiomatic use of the verb “bain, ag baint”

R: ‘Sea, tá an ceart agat, agus tá súil agam go mbeidh neart agat.  Tá súil agam go mbeidh mé ábalta cuairt eile a thabhairt ort roimh i bhfad, b’fhéidir thart fán Nollaig.  Ar mhaith leat sin?

Nóta: to say “to visit,” it’s literally, “to give a visit on …” (cuairt a thabhairt ar …)

Yes, you’re right, and I hope you will have strength.  I hope I will be able to visit you again soon, perhaps around Christmas.  Would you like that?

N: Ba mhaith, cinnte.  A fhad is a mhairim.

I would, certainly.  As long as I am alive.

R: Ó, a Nola, ná bí ag caint mar sin!

Oh, Nola, don’t be talking like that!

N: Bhuel, anois, a stór, feicim an coimeádaí ag teacht.  Tá sé in am dom dul a luí anois.

Well, now, dear, I see the keeper coming.  It’s time for me to go to bed (lit. to lie down).

R: Slán go fóill, a Nola, agus tabhair faoi deara an “go fóill” sin.  Beidh mé ar ais.

Goodbye for now, Nola, and take note of that “for now” bit.  I’ll be back.

N: Tá súil agam go mbeidh.  Slán leat agus go mbeire muid beo ar an am seo arís.

Nóta: “go mbeire” is the oft-dreaded subjunctive form; one of the best ways to get used to it is simply to memorize some blessings and curses in Irish, since that’s where the subjunctive frequently occurs.  This is a widely used blessing, especially at birthdays or annual holidays or events, but it has always struck me as rather cinniúnaíoch  (fatalistic).

I hope you will. Goodbye and may we both be alive at this time next year.

R: (i gcogar) ‘Sea, a Nola, go mbeire muid beo ar an am seo arís.

(in a whisper) Yes, Nola, may we both be alive at this time next year.

Imíonn R as an gclós agus téann Nola a luí.

R leaves the enclosure and Nola goes to bed.

Mar is eol don domhan, fuair Nola bás ar an 22ú lá de mhí na Samhna, 2015, tamaillín tar éis an chomhrá shamhlaithigh seo.  Bhí sí an-tinn, le heaspaí agus le hionfhabhtú baictéarach. Cuireadh a chodladh go trócaireach í.  Ní gá a rá nár tharla an dara hagallamh.

As the world knows, Nola died on November 22nd, 2015, shortly after this imaginary conversation.  She was very sick, with abscesses and a bacterial infection.  She was put to sleep humanely.  Needless to say, there was no second interview.

Tá trí shrónbheannach bhána thuaisceartacha fágtha ar domhan anois, iad ina gcónaí ag Ol Pejeta Conservancy sa Chéinia.  Tá eagla orm nach fada an lá nuair nach mbeidh a leithéidí féin arís ann, mar a dúradh i gcomhthéacsanna eile faoi chineálacha eile marthanóirí deireanacha.

There are three northern white rhinoceroses left in the world now, they live (lit. them living) at Ol Pejeta Conservancy in Kenya.  I’m afraid that it won’t be long until the likes of them will not exist (lit. “be in it”) again, as was said in another context about other types of final survivors.

Slán leat is mo sheacht mbeannacht leat, a Nola, a shrónbheannaigh ionúin chróga — Róislín

Goodbye and my seven blessings with you, Nola, brave beloved rhinoceros – Róislín

NAISC

First half of translation: Aistriúchán den Chomhrá le Nola, An Srónbheannach (A Translation of the Irish Dialogue with Nola)–Cuid 1/2, Posted on 03. Dec, 2015 by róislín in Irish Language (https://blogs.transparent.com/irish/aistriuchan-den-chomhra-le-nola-an-sronbheannach-a-translation-of-the-irish-dialogue-with-nola-cuid-12/)

Original post (full conversation in Irish): Comhrá (samhlaitheach) le Nola, an Srónbheannach: An Imaginary Conversation in Irish with Nola, The Rhinoceros, Posted on 23. Nov, 2015 by róislín in Irish Language (https://blogs.transparent.com/irish/comhra-samhlaitheach-le-nola-an-sronbheannach-an-imaginary-conversation-in-irish-with-nola-the-rhinoceros/)

Nasc don tearmann Ol Pejeta: http://www.olpejetaconservancy.org/ agus nasc eile ón tearmann, é brónach (reilig na srónbheannach):  http://www.olpejetaconservancy.org/experience/destinations/rhino-cemetery/