Brush Up Your Irish with Katie and Seán Bán: Part 3 of 3

And here's the final part of the celebration of the greatest piece of extempore spoken Irish since God knows when. Seán Bán Breathnach's teary commentary on Katie Taylor's gold medal did more for Irish than a hundred studies or rubbish Departmental initiatives. I hope, in my own barely-competent way, I've taken some of the mystery out of the language so far, and people are looking forward to brushing up on the Gaeilge as Autumn falls. Anyway, back to the great man talking about the great woman.

1:35
Deich pointe in aghaidh a h-ocht, go h-oifigiúil anseo. Ó, dó a dó, sa chéad cheann, dó a h-aon ag Ochigava sa dara cheann, ceathair a h-aon ag Katie an triú babhta - sin é an ceann!

Ten points to eight, officially here. Oh, two-two in the first one, two-one to Ochigava in the second one, four-one to Katie in the third round – that was the one!

My Collins Irish Dictionary iPhone app lists six different meanings for the word “a.” It’s the language’s jack of all trades. You use it talking to someone (“a Sheáin”), as a preposition (“tabac a chaitheamh”), as a possessive adjective (“a athair/a h-athair/a n-athair” – his/her/their father), a participle with an abstract noun (“a leithéid,” as we’ve seen already), a relative participle (“an fear a bhris banc Monte Carlo” – the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo) and, as here, to count – a h-aon, a dhó, a trí. Phew! Why pile so much onto one one-letter word? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t rule out the Famine.

1:47

Tá sí ag breathnú suas sa spéir anseo - tá sí ag dul sásta go dtí na cúinne go gairid, tá sí ag cur an … dearg uirthí, tá sí ag dul amach as an fáinne anseo agus, a lucht eisteachta, dáiríre píre, … seo deor as do shúile. Tá sé an-deacair deor a bhaint as a chuid súile, tá sé ag tarraignt isteach ar cúig nóiméad tar éis a chúig, a lucht eisteachta, tá an stáir á dhéanamh.

She’s looking up to the sky here  - she’s happily going quickly to the corner, she’s putting on the red … she’s coming out the ring here and, listeners, honestly, [this would draw] a tear from your eye. It’s very hard to draw tear from your eye, it’s drawing in for five minutes past five, listeners, history is being made.

Stick a síneadh fada on the ‘a,’ of course, and you can get another day’s work out of it. This comes down to idiom – one of the reasons Gaeilgeoirs get thick about people translating directly from English is that it crushes the idiom that’s natural to the language. I’ve translated “tá an stáir á dhéanamh” as “history is being made” because that’s idiomatically correct English. But the phrase doesn’t literally translate at all – its construction is unique to the language itself. History is of the making, history is in the making, history has the making – something like that.

The big lesson here is when you’re working backwards. If you want to translate “history is being made”, don’t translate it as “tá an stáir ag bheith déanta.” A million fingers scratching one million miles across one million blackboards couldn’t be more horrible.

Why overload the “a” further with that fada? Musha Cromwell, don’t you know well.

2:14

Tá sé buaite ag Katie Taylor, 'sí Katie Taylor as Brí Chualann, sé bhliana d'aois, sé bhliana fiche d'aois, seaimpín Olympics don bhliain dhá mhile agus a dhó-dhéag. Le sin, agus mo cheainín bocht … go deo, le sin, ar ais … sa stiúideo.

It’s won by Katie Taylor, it’s Katie Taylor from Bray, six years old, twenty-six years old, Olympic Champion for the year thousand and twelve. With that, and my poor head … for ever ... back to the studio.

And here SBB, or what’s left of the poor man, wraps up and hands back to the studio. You’ll notice I’ve left out words in the past two extracts, and this is the most important lesson of all.

Reader, I haven’t a rashers what those words were. I couldn’t make them out. But here’s the thing – that’s ok. You’ve never going to catch all the words. Never. You can’t let the odd word here and there discombobulate you – as you may in fact be discombobulated just now by that most excellent jawbreaker. Missing the odd word is fine. Gaeilge, like golf, is not a game of perfect. Go n-éirí leat.

Brush Up Your Irish with Katie and Seán Bán - Part 2 of 3

Yesterday we got stuck into the first part of Seán Bán Breathnach’s epic commentary on Katie Taylor’s gold medal fight. Seconds out, round two!

0:30

Ó, a leithéid de bhean. Dúirt mé cheanna orthu, laochra na hÉireann - Maud Gonne, Gráinne Úaile, Mary Robinson, Máire Mac an tSaoí - tar isteach, seo í an bhean -

Oh, what a woman. I said already, heroes of Ireland – Maud Gonne, Gráinne Úaile, Mary Robinson, Máire Mac an tSaoí – come in, this is the women -

I’m not at all sure about the grammar of “leithéid de bhean,” but again, this is spoken in the white heat of excitement – we’re not always grammatical in English when we’re roaring. The tuiseal ginideach is here again – “laochra na hÉireann,” heroes of Ireland. Most people get thick when the British refer to Éire – Éire is the correct nominative form of Ireland in the Irish language. Surprise!

0:40

Tá an Rúiseach ag gáire - níl aon fhonn gháire ar an Rúiseach. Tá crá uirthí, tá colgach uirthí, tá sí lán d'éad, agus dúirt sí aréir go raibh deich pointe ag Katie sula dtiocfadh sí isteach sa bhfáinne ar chur ar bith. A leithéid de sheafóid! A leithéid de bhean. Katie Taylor!

The Russian is laughing – the Russian has no interest in laughing. She’s tormented, she’s angry, she’s full of jealousy, and she said last night that Katie had ten points before she got into the ring at all! What rubbish! What a woman, Katie Taylor!

Sofya Ochigava didn’t spare the trash-talking before the fight and SBB is inclined to take that stuff personally. When he sees her with a puss on her after the decision was announced he lets her have both barrels. Again, I’m not sure about two of the words, and I’m guessing “crá” and “colgach” – torment and anger. I’d say I’m fairly close.

“An Rúis” is the Irish for Russia, so “Rúiseach” is a Russian. It works for countries and for surnames, probably going back to when clans were their own states, more or less. Sasana, an Sasanach. Ó Brádaigh, an Brádach. Ó Ceallaigh, an Ceallach. Francach is a Frenchman, but it also means a rat. Puns exist in Irish too.

I’m not sure myself about the precision of the grammar in the last three of SBB’s sentences. But again, it’s spoken word and I’m not that clever, really.

0:58

Agus dáiríre, tá mé ag tráchtaireacht, a lucht eisteachta, le dhá scór bliain ach seo é an ócáid atá is giorra do mo chroí riamh sa tsaol, go bhfuil an bean seo 'théis craobh Olympic a thabhairt léi. Marach í, ní bheadh aon chraobh - ní bheadh aon bhean san Olympics.

And seriously, I’m commentating, listeners, for forty years but this is the occasion that is closest to my heart ever in life, that this woman is after taking an Olympic title. Without her, there wouldn’t be any title - there wouldn't be any woman in the Olympics.

This is where the commentary comes into its own, and SBB’s own personality comes out. The man’s a big softie, really. “Lucht” is a crowd, or group, so “lucht eisteachta” means “group of the listening.” There are no prizes for guessing what grammatical feature this is. Also here we see the phrase “tar éis,” after, contracted to “’théis.” Contraction is quite common in Irish, and we’ll see more of it.

1:16

Agus anois tá brat na hÉireann ag Katie Taylor, tá sí ag dul timpeall an fháinne. Sár-throid, níl aon cheist faoi cé hí an dara duine is fearr sa ndomhan - 'sí Ochigava an dara duine is fearr sa ndomhan, ach ag deireadh an lae, níl aon mhaith bheith ar an dara duine is fearr sa ndomhan mar 'sí Katie Taylor an duine is fearr sa ndomhan!

And now Katie Taylor has the flag of Ireland, she’s going around the ring. A fantastic fight, there’s no question who’s the second-best in the world – it’s Ochigava who’s second best in the world, but at the end of the day, it's no good being second best in the world because it’s Katie Taylor who’s the best in the world!

SBB is still pissed with Ochigava and her big mouth. Happily, it’s not all bad because here we see another of the primary features of Irish as a language – the fact there are two words for the verb “to be.”

If something is inherent to a thing, something that is essential to its very being, it’s rendered as “is fear é,” “is bean í,” – he is a man, he is a woman. If the something is something that can change, you say “tá sé caol,” “tá sé ramhar” – he is thin, he is fat. When Seán says “’sí Ochigava an dara duine” it’s a contraction of “is í Ochigava.” The two verbs for “to be” are another source of schoolroom torture, because there’s no equivalent in English. Spanish has the same system, yet it doesn’t seem to knock a stir out of them. On me head Xavi, on me head!

Phew. All worn out after that. Come back tomorrow for the last round-up.

Brush Up Your Irish with Katie and Seán Bán: Part 1 of 3

One of the many super dividends from Katie Taylor winning her gold medal was the opportunity for Seán Bán Breathnach to remind the nation of the inherent beauty of their own language. SBB’s commentary after Katie was announced winner of the fight has, in that awful modern expression, gone viral and people seem to be enjoying the emotion of it without actually knowing what the great man is saying.

So I thought I’d have a crack at transcribing, translating and commenting on the commentary, in the hope that it might help people who are trying to learn some Irish. This is slightly risky on my part, as verbatim commentary isn’t always correct in syntax or grammar. My own Irish really isn’t that great and there were parts of the thing I couldn’t quite make out myself but maybe we can use those flaws to our advantage too, and gain courage in the attempt. Seo chugainn anois - here we go.

0:00

Agus chomh ciúin - deich pointe in aghaigh a naoi - [béiceáil] Katie Taylor! Katie Taylor, seaimpín na hEorpa, seaimpín an domhain agus seaimpín Olympics anseo!

And so quiet – ten points to nine – [shouting] Katie Taylor! Katie Taylor, champion of Europe, champion of the world and Olympic Champion here!

SBB gets the score wrong at the start, but he’ll correct it later. Not that it matters – the detail is secondary to the achievement.

From the point of view of grammar, here we see the first occurrence of that notorious beast from under the bed that terrified your childhood but that gives Irish so much of its flavour, the tuiseal ginideach, or genitive case. English uses “of” to show possession. Irish doesn’t, but changes the word that’s being possessed instead. This is the tuiseal ginideach. So if “scoil” is school, school bus becomes “bus scoile” – bus of school.

Grammatically, changing a word according to its grammatical purpose in a sentence is called inflection. There are five tuisil in Irish, as there are in Latin. There are six in Ancient Greek, seven in Polish. The difficulty arises because English isn’t an inflected language – there’s nothing to equate it to. Also, the other tuisil don’t do an awful lot in Irish, and that’s what gives the tuiseal ginideach its Macavity the Mystery Cat air of omnipotence.

In the commentary, Europe is “an Eoraip,” but champion of Europe is “seaimpín na hEorpa.” World is “domhan,” champion of the world is “seaimpín an domhain.” There are a set of rules that govern this, and once you know them it’s really not that frightening at all.

0:15

Tá sé buaite ag Katie Taylor - a leithéid de thaispeántas arís, sa triú babhta sin. Tá sí fhéin agus Daide agus Billy, agus fear Georgia, tá siad ag baint barróige dá chéile.

It’s won by Katie Taylor – what a performance again, in that third round. She herself, and Daddy, and Billy, and the man from Georgia, they’re hugging each other.

There are two words here that I don’t recognise, so I’ve put in what I think are their nearest equivalents in the justly notorious Official Standard. “Buaite” is the verbal adjective form of the verb “buaigh,” to win, and there are those who will give you a fight that “Buaigh” itself not a right verb at all. We would not be Irish if we didn’t fight amongst ourselves.

The other word I’m guessing is “leithéid,” as in the likes of, the kind of – “ní bheidh a leithéid arís ann,” their likes will not be seen again. SBB seems to be saying “léide” here, which may be a Conamara equivalent of “leithéid.” It’s dialect – some people are thick about dialect in Irish and how everything should conform to the standard. That’s ok in textbooks but in actual living languages you must have dialect. To opponents of dialect, there are three words that crush all argument – Cheryl Cole, pet.

We also see our friend the tuiseal ginideach in this extract and one of the interesting points of Irish idiom. A verb in English that ends in –ing is called a participle – coming, going, and so on. In Irish, the giveaway is “ag” – “ag teacht,” “ag imeacht.” Where it gets interesting is if there’s a noun after the participle.

In English, we say we’re doing something. In Irish, we say we’re doing of something – that’s the difference. We don’t play football – we play of football, “ag imirt peile,” rather than “ag imirt peil.”

“Barróg” is the Irish for hug, but hug doesn’t exist as a verb in Irish. Therefore, Seán says collecting hugs - “ag baint barróige” literally translates as collecting hugs. It’s the way the Gael rolls.

End of Part One. More tomorrow - tuilleadh ar maidin.

Stuck Inside These Four Walls - Why is Everyone So Down on McCartney?

The generally unkind reaction on Twitter to Sir Paul McCartney’s appearance at the Olympic opening ceremony is further evidence that familiarity breeds contempt. McCartney’s dyed hair is reaching a Ronnie Reagan level of ridiculousness and his unrepentantly ‘sixties peace-and-love, man, persona is out of time in the edgy decade of the 21^st Century. But, as Paul Gambaccini once remarked, every time Paul McCartney leaves a room the correct reaction is to think “there goes Mozart.” That can never be taken from him.

A post-revolutionary world finds it difficult to imagine life in a pre-revolutionary one. John Lennon said that before Elvis, there was nothing, but he could say that because he was John Lennon. It was like Sinatra saying Tony Bennett was the best crooner in the world. We all know they’re only saying it to be nice.

The Beatles revolutionized music to such a degree that the revolution is now the establishment. Classical music had disappeared up a blind atonal alley by the 1950s and 60s, from which its never fully returned – The Beatles reminded the world that harmony and melody still have a place and, although the classicists themselves would be loathe to admit it, may yet play a play in the return of that high art. Check out Howard Goodall’s excellent discussion of this on You Tube. It’s superb.

Without The Beatles, rock music would have been limited to three chord tricks and twelve bar blues. The Beatles opened it up to a whole new world of depth. Without The Beatles, there could never have been a Bohemian Rhapsody. The Beatles blazed a trail for all to follow.

The Beatles were many bands rolled into one. Magpies who, to borrow a phrase from Mike Scott, heard the Big Music. They looked on all imposters just the same, and drew no distinction between Franz Joseph Hayden and John Lee Hooker, Ravi Shankar and Sir Arthur Sullivan. It all went into the pot.

In five years, The Beatles went on a learning curve from Rubber Soul to Let It Be that is unprecedented in popular music, and will never be matched because that’s not now the music industry works any more. Now, music is made like sausages, in factories.

The rock’n’roll ethos that rejected Tin Pin Alley has itself been consumed by Stargate and Xenomania. Pop has eaten itself. Hit records are made the same way as toasters and tricycles, with ISO 9000s and nothing left to chance. The commercialism is so successful that within six months it’s safe to use the songs in TV ads. The only thing missing is the humanity.

McCartney has never been forgiven for writing anything as good as Yesterday in the past quarter-century. Westlife’s Flying Without Wings isn’t as a good as Yesterday either, but it sold over 200,000 copies in the UK alone. Nobody’s calling for Mark Chapman to shoot them, even though the case can certainly be made.

There’s a movement to intellectualise pop music, not least because the exponents of pop’s golden era, the ‘sixties, are in the autumn of their days and everybody likes to look back on a life and see footprints.

There’s a strange deification of the Beatles that exists outside of the music too, that’s part of the continuing narcissism of that ‘sixties generation. But chances are Freddie Mercury was right when he said that pop songs were like disposable razors – you use them for three minutes, and then you throw them away.

McCartney is still big. It’s the music that got small. Modern music is something that plays in the background while you’re hoovering, and that can be used again to tell you about a great deal on life insurance. But in the centuries to come, when people look back to see peaks of musical achievement in the west, they will see men after whom music was never the same again. Beethoven at the start of the 19th Century, Richard Wagner at the end of it and McCartney in the middle of the 20th. That’s who that hoarse old guy with the funny hair was at Olympic opening ceremony on Friday night.

Minding Lovely Derval at the Olympics

The Games of the XXIXth Olympiad will officially commence at eight o'clock tomorrow evening, and the mind of the Irish nation has but one issue bouncing around in the brain – who’s going to mind our lovely Derval O’Rourke and her among all those hopped up buck eejits who fancy their chances with Ireland’s sweetheart in the notorious Olympic village?

Derval O’Rourke first won the nation’s heart when she won the World Indoor Championship of lepping in Moscow about two years ago. She hasn’t won too much since, God love her, and we might be well advised against holding our breath this time out either, but no matter. When Derval won in Moscow she unleashed on the nation the most beautiful smile seen in Irish sports in about twenty years. Cormac Bonnar, former full-forward for Tipperary in the eighties, had a lovely smile as well but he had only about three teeth left in his head – timber takes no prisoners in Tipp, you know. Lovely Derval has the full set of choppers, and when she turns on full beam she wins every heart within swooning distance.

Poor Derval will be busy in China. Not only has she to prepare for the hurdles in the light of yet another injury scare, but An Spailpín Fánach has it on good authority that she promised Seán Óg Ó hAlpín fifteen sets of Mao’s little red book with matching Chairman hats for delivery to Páirc an Chrócaigh by Sunday morning at the latest. They bonded over the breakfast rolls doing those Spars ads, you know. Seán Óg’s plan is that if the wild cats of Kilkenny are tearing Cork asunder coming into the final twenty minutes of hurling, Seán Óg can tip the wink to Dónal Óg and they can all go on strike again. Sure won’t Frank sort it all out later?

With all that on her plate, as well as her own training and preparation, it’s vital that no smartarse son of a bitch goes bothering Ireland’s sweetheart in the Olympic village, every damned one of them full to the gills of calf nuts and amour. It behoves the honour of every member of the Irish Olympic Team to protect lovely Derval, and to soften a few coughs while they’re at it. God knows, they’ll be doing nothing else anyway.

An Spailpín Fánach proposes a tag team strategy. Firstly, the Irish national champion boxer at Light Heavyweight, Kenneth Egan, should be appointed lovely Derval’s official IOC accredited minder and chaperone. He should take the book of Ruth as his light and inspiration, saying to Derval “whither thou goest, I shall also go,” and following that rule to the letter. So some wise guy who’s only over for the dressage will find Big Ken a horse of a different colour. Big Ken has a jaw like the front bucket of a JCB, God bless him – he won’t go down aisy.

But in case he does, or Derval, in a moment of weakness, succumbs to some flash Harry who can cycle a BMX – a BMX! – bike better than anyone else, Plan B comes into action. Plan B is to have Derval room with Siobhán Byrne.

Not only is La Byrne very beautiful, but the Ohio State Buckeye is the first Irish fencer to qualify for the Olympics in sixteen years. So, when Mr BMX slinks his way back to the flat, Siobhan simply reaches for the sabre under the bed and runs the dirty rat through. She then gets on the phone to Big Ken and gets him to dispose of the body, by ating it if he has to. By rights, Siobhán’s duties should also include giving Derval a good telling off, but what force could withstand Derval’s beautiful beam? Best to just run the sword under the tap and say no more about it.





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