Tuesday, August 7, 2007


Origins of the British: Stephen Oppenheimer's book reviewed.


Not the place to begin, but this book may reward advanced readers who can handle a popularized but scholarly work on the implications of recent findings in DNA. Earlier readers posting {this is my Amazon US review posted today; search this blog for posts on Sykes' "Blood of the Isles" and DNA British origins} frequently disparage this book's ponderous prose and its massive array of recondite DNA analyses. After reading more accessible, and considerably shorter (no coincidence!) works on genetics and anthropology by Spencer Wells and Bryan Sykes (for both authors, their two most recent books reviewed by me on Amazon), I felt ready to tackle Oppenheimer's work, despite its difficulty. While the time invested paid off in a better knowledge of the Celtic and British origin debate and the possible influence of Germanic cultural and linguistic influences preceding not only the Anglo-Saxon invasion but the preceding Roman occupation, Oppenheimer while he may be a better scholar than Sykes remains a less entertaining writer. Sykes can popularize his findings in "Blood of the Isles" & "Seven Daughters of Eve." He also can profit from them if you note the enterprise Oxford Genetics. As I commented when reviewing Sykes' "Blood," it remains curious that two geneticists both at Oxford do not even mention the other colleague in hundreds of pages of closely documented and meticulously referenced texts.

This apparent rivalry aside, Oppenheimer acknowledges very late in his text that names given to Rostov or Ian or Helena are merely "aides memoires" for R1B-11 or the like in an alphabet soup of markers all geneticists rely upon. Readers of both Sykes & Oppenheimer sniff disdainfully at this popularization, but surely both scientists and lay people need assistance in imagining "Eve" or "Lucy" or the "Ice Man" to make more personal the findings buried in blood types or bone samples. Oppenheimer carefully explains his reasons for clarifying relationships among these difficult classifications, numbering in the thousands by now. Much explanatory material on genetics here is relegated to appendices and a glossary; while Sykes & Wells integrate more definitions and analogies into their briefer, more readable books, Oppenheimer opts for density.

This can bore a reader. My eyes glazed over in the second hundred pages full of dull genetics. The first hundred, tackling the Celtic origins debate and guardedly based on scholars such as Simon James & Barry Cunliffe, and Iron Age archaeologists such as John Collis, argues a southerly direction into the British Isles for Celtic infusion, not the La Tene Danube-Central European homeland and its overland route for entry into the Isles. Personally, I'd have liked to have Bob Quinn's book "The Atlantean Irish" (reviewed by me) credited for its prescience regarding the Atlantic Celt "fringe" movement that Cunliffe and others have since fought to replace the Continental migration theories of the 19c. This vexed matter alone, building upon the past two decades of Celtic revision, or Celto-skepticism, could fill an entire book easily.

But, I did perk up eventually. This is more a reference book on a variety of unevenly covered but admittedly provocative topics. He writes clearly in places and dully in many others, depending it seems on his diligence vs. his enthusiasm! This is an arduous trek, but you need to weather this if your curiosity's aroused about this intellectual terrain that for the first time geneticists and linguists have entered to do battle over, not to mention archeologists and historians!

Advances in DNA may soon rely on its suggestions, or they may overturn its assumptions. But, Oppenheimer bravely piles all he has amassed for the benefit of science. It may be too clunky and over-ambitious, but he has done specialized researchers, armchair genealogists, and academics like myself needing a non-technical explanation of dozens of arcane debates all a service.

Oppenheimer builds on this fact-laden if recondite foundation to posit that many of today's ancestors came to the Isles perhaps as early as around 15-7,500 years ago. The land bridge before the end of the last Ice Age became submerged allowed two major inflows of migration, from a Ukrainian-Moldavian refuge, and an Iberian refuge. The former provided a basis for North Sea movements added to later by Scandinavians, Saxons, Belgae, and other Continental peoples. The latter brought people in on the Irish, Welsh, and Scottish sides closest to the Irish Sea that opened up in the later periods of global warming. Germanic languages cannot have diverged in Old English so rapidly after the Saxon incursions, nor were (against the Welsh historian Gildas' spurious claims of Celtic "wipeout") the indigenous natives necessarily Celtic-speakers all prior to the landing of Hengist and his post-Roman mercenaries.

Percentages of genetic disruption rarely reach even the point of "decimation" of 10% in a handful of Anglian areas, according to genetic studies of inhabitants today in these long-stable regions of Britain. Simply and ineradicably, this persistent divide, genetically and perhaps linguistically, Oppenheimer proposes, persists in our DNA. This parallels the Germanic vs. Celtic division of languages in the Isles, the spine of mountains serving as an insular border between these two major routes for farming and colonization.

The hoary myth of a Celtic genocide by Teutonic overlords that inspired Arthur's last stand, it seems, proves more a "Dark Age" screed than plausible history. Granted that this early medieval era remains fraught with dangers for those reliant only on chronicles or a misleading archeological record, Oppenheimer here makes his boldest suggestion.

Probably the first to enter this fray as a geneticist, he confronts linguistic assumptions about the rapid spread and dialectal evolution in only a few centuries of Anglo-Saxon in post-Roman Britain. Germanic languages, he opines, might have become established long before Romans, let alone Saxons, entered into what was not necessarily a Celtic-dominated Brittania. Celts themselves, whatever this term means given the looseness of this pseudo-ethnic linguistic concept, did not rush en masse into the islands, and they too were perhaps the harbingers of not a massive demographic invasion but an elite influencing cultural and linguistic trends among the natives, who may date back ten thousand years before the arrival of Celtic-language speakers. Unfortunately, traces of any words that are pre-Celtic lurk rarely in the archaeological record, according to most experts. We lack a Rosetta Stone to decode whatever insular peoples spoke before Celtic languages became the norm among both the newcoming elite and the long-settled old-timers.

Therefore, Oppenheimer turns to DNA for clues. He challenges linguists who for a century have been indoctrinated to ignore searching for language origins. He argues that science can offer tentative solutions that account for a Germanic undercurrent that may not be that apparent on the surface, but which aligns with what we know about rates of linguistic change that may have begun as long ago as 3000 BCE (estimates differ) that can be calibrated with patterns of genetic migration.

His thesis? Most of the original British Isles inhabitants descend from a massive "founder population"-- maybe far more than three-fourths or more of those today living in some locales. Due to genetics and settlement patterns, most humans stick to one place for millennia. This conservatism therefore provides a solid bedrock. It cannot be eroded even by the waves of more recent, and tribally-named, intruders. While closer to us in time and in the historical record (however tenuous!), these famous warriors themselves often number in the low single-digits (5% often!) in terms of percentages of genetic "material" we British and/or Celts carry today.

All subsequent immigrations, whether Celt, Roman, Saxon, Angle, Jute, Viking, or Norman, Oppenheimer states in the closing line of his epilogue, diminish by their traces in the descendants of the majority who trace their roots to British-resident or Celtic-origin DNA today. Most of the origins of the British predate even the Celts. Oppenheimer concludes: "we are all minorities compared with the first, unnamed pioneers, who ventured into the empty, chilly lands so recently vacated by the great ice sheets." (421)




American Carthusians: Transfiguration Charterhouse

Vermont's hermitage, the only foundation in North America, now, as of the feast of that name yesterday, has a website. It's full of texts, photos, and the accumulated wisdom of a way of life that by its austerity and isolation inspires those who have, for the past thousand years, been separated from-- but all the more drawn to-- its power. Many criticize monks for their retreat from our bustle, but I counter (against even those in my own family!) that we skeptics and doubters need the blessings that prayer, devotion, and good works done in private by the few and the humble generate. Perhaps our own unbelief or at least in my case nagging doubt may be balanced by the intensity of a purer, more committed, and totally sincere apostolate, one that focuses inward, magnifying the Shekinah, the rush of the Divine Presence, so it can burn a few chosen souls in Vermont and the few hundred male and female "eremites" around the world, all the more. God heard not in whirlwinds but "a still small voice."

The Feast of the Transfiguration at Mount Tabor with its odd talk of huts and the sudden shock in Joycean terms of raw unwanted devastating epiphany always appealed to me. A mystical passage, suitably, from John's swirling gospel narrative. The "desert," even in Vermont, is what the monks call traditionally their place of surrender to the void. In Ireland, "Dysert O'Dea" marks such an ancient locale set apart for "the white martyrdom" of renunciation to the Force. Carthusians wear white habits to attest to the blinding resurrected landscape that this Feast illuminated. Out of a blankness, into the overwhelming oneness that obliterates all other hues, these couple dozen holdouts on a New England hillside find as those on Tabor did their annihilating, ecstatic, rapturous lover's embrace.

In a time in which the official Church has been so weakened by scandal and tainted by compromise, the Carthusian charism-- as shown by Philip Groening's acclaimed documentary on the passage of time at Le Grande Chartreuse, the motherhouse, last year (reviewed on this blog) "Into Great Silence"-- shines even more sharply, as with the heart of Newgrange pierced by the solstice ray of light. (This reminds me of the start of Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill's "Feis," which I must translate here soon!) The harsh light depicted above the snowy path to the Charterhouse symbolizes this contrast. Excerpted below is sample "testimony" from one of three eloquent witnesses on this moving, purified, and genuinely simple website. (Look for more at the homepage under "Monastery.") "Elisha" writes as a psychotherapist working at the UN headquarters.

The silence of the Charterhouse is filled with an unfathomable presence. It is like heart tissue, alive and sentient, vast and deep, austere and pulsating. Through the grace of exposure and intention my life progressively has been shaped around this Carthusian heart of silence and solitude, a shaping that echoes the search for God in the depth of my own heart. I have come to know-through fits and starts and often in the midst of failure--the deep wisdom, the resolute ascesis, the intimate embrace, the hidden silent simplicity of being, the brilliant nothingness, and the whispers of Love that pour forth from the Carthusian heart.

Images from the site: Mount Equinox in the distance beyond the monastery walls; a shot with the belltower and the enormous Vermont granite blocks with which the interior and exterior are both constructed; the road in winter to the gates; "a solitary cloud, looking to the south."

http://transfiguration.chartreux.org/index.htm

Saturday, August 4, 2007


Joyce: "Ulysses" MP3 Readings at LibriVox: Free!

While I paid (using a gift certificate to defray costs) for Donal Donnelly's marathon reading of the novel, 33 hours in a sort of Edwardian recitative swagger, and while I would like one day to compare it to the Naxos & RTE versions, for now, my impecunious (thanks to the remodelling?) hunt revealed this effort by devoted amateurs who read aloud and upload public-domain files of stories. "Dubliners" is in the planning stages, while "Portrait" and "Ulysses" can be accessed here. There's even an RSS feed for iTunes along with the sound files. Hugh McGuire's note warns of pub noise and creative additions that make this an exception to the quieter, more pristine, deliveries of other LibriVoxians.

This is part of the Lawrence Lessig-inspired Creative Commons movement. Much as I admire actors who read eloquently Joyce's language that demands a musical power on the tongue that can resound in the ear as well as revive the eye, we also need to free art from idols of the marketplace who would charge admission for every aesthetic creation ever displayed in the agora. What would Francis Bacon (the original one, not the painter of torment) do? Remember: demand alternatives to, contra Stephen Joyce & Disney & Sony & the RIAA, the idiocy of an era when we Americans suffer the Sonny Bono Mickey Mouse (aka Digital Millennium Copyright Act) corporate mania to protect for another thousand years their capitalist Reich.

(Image credit: is this Jim Dale the reader of Harry Potter? Here, as did Jim Norton for an abridged (of course!) Wake on CD from Naxos, Mr Dale tries out Joyce aloud. I trust S. Harris will permit this use of the cartoon for educational, non-profit purposes on my blog which earns me no profit, in the same open-minded spirit. I don't think bloggers should become shills-- although Leopold Bloom was an advertising canvasser!-- as this only worsens the relentless commercialization of the medium of the Net for us all. That's why I married a woman more practical and worldly than Mr. Peabody-lecturing distracted dreamer me, of course. )
http://librivox.org/ulysses-by-james-joyce/

Friday, August 3, 2007


Vivien Igoe's "Joyce's Dublin Houses & Nora Barnacle's Galway"

Review (cross-posted at Amazon US) of this 140-page guide (Wolfhound Pr. 1997). A new version expanded to 208 pp. (shown here, Lilliput Pr.) appeared in June 2007 but I haven't seen it; the basics in the older edition should remain the same. Perhaps URLs & updated transport data are added for the itinerary supplement that carefully leads you around by bus to Joyce's Dublin houses, each residence given a few pages per biographically organized chapter) and their environs. This handsome vademecum fits the hand, pleases the eye, and informs the mind of the Joycean pilgrim searching not along the streets for Stephen Dedalus, Leopold Bloom, the denizens of Nighttown or the cast from "Wandering Rocks"-- but their engenderer in his native habitat. This parallels not only the ubiquitous electronic and print guidebooks for walkers recreating Bloom's steps, but academic maps for the fictional counterpart, the topographical dictionary by Ian Gunn & Clive Hart, "James Joyce's Dublin," (Thames & Hudson, 2004). Igoe's title speaks for itself.

Igoe, a Joyce scholar and former curator at the Sandymount museum, gives requisite passages from Joyce's fiction, period and recent illustrations, and comprehensive but not mind-numbing biographical details that guide armchair visitors as well as direct real tourists. Neil Hyslop's handsome, readable, and hand-lettered maps recall the elegant ones that used to grace endpapers of historical hardcovers. They are easy to consult, spare enough not to be cluttered with extraneous information, and large enough to be accurate and not merely decorative.

(Blog note: An earlier entry a few days ago ties into two relevant websites: JoyceImages.com archive of postcards and period photos matching the text of "Ulysses," and Eishiro Ito's chronologically organized charts of his snapshots as he followed along Igoe's trail blazed in both Dublin and Galway.)

Irish-language Book-CD sets for learners

Review: Here's my impressions of Book-CD pairs, especially Turas Teanga, Gíota Beag & Gaeilge agus Fáilte. (Posted to the Learning Irish Yahoo Group today.)


I have reviewed on Amazon US (please visit and rate under John L Murphy "fionnchu") various CDs and beginner's guides in book format. I think that Turas Teanga is better if you have had "school Irish" or live in Ireland where you have picked up more easily a low-level exposure to phrases, words, TV channels, etc, or helped your children with their lessons. It comes in two halves, one the CD-book combo, the other the ten-part DVD series aired. The two overlap, but do not totally mesh. The book has more than what was aired, and vice versa! The two halves, confusingly, are not available as a three-media package! You have to order from RTE the book (which can come on its own too) with the CDs, and then buy the DVDs. It's not cheap, but there is no other competition. Warning: for us foreign learners, TT probably expects too much will ""come back to us" as we listen that we plain don't have!

Let me explain. If you lack earlier Irish classes way back, after a while the well runs dry and you're left gasping. TT assumes that your well of deep knowledge can come back by recall, and the series is designed to refresh your recollection. Since I am an adult learner, TT's pace very soon exceed my ability. You expect to be challenged, and this is not bad, but realize the demographic that TT aims at reassuring.

After two weeks in partial immersion at Oideas Gael in Glencolmcille, however, as I spent last month, I will return to the TT series and give it another go. (I can tell you as an adult learner from books and it turns out not enough tapes, that having other learners rapidly rattle Irish at you in a class and chat context is far more harrowing than learning as I have solo, as I never had the chance really to go to classes or speak Irish with others! I also know now that I must listen to the feeds for TnG4 now that we thanks to the web have no excuse abroad.) The teachers and advanced students recommend TT to reinforce such as TnG4 & RnG, although I know learners with a soft spot for Buntus Cainte with its little cartoons and dialogues-- it's now on CD and I have ordered it as backup help from Oideas Gael, whose non-profit site carries all these tape-book combos mentioned in this post. I recommend them highly, and you support a worthy Gaeltacht endeavor.

(As an aside, I have not heard the "Tús Maith" series, now two parts out with a third on the way next year to complete the package, which Risteard MacGabhann created for learners of Ulster Irish. One learner I know --who is a reader of this Yahoo Group-- highly praises this, and used it in his classes in Boston. It has the advantage that few language texts bother to incorporate, a loose-leaf binder that allows you to study a text without breaking the spine. Again, not cheap, but comparable in price to TT. Lots of diagrams and cartoons to show relationships and define connections. I have the "Learning Irish" Michael Ó Siadhail book, which apparently has been reissued with its pronunciation tapes long on cassette now as CDs, but having labored through this formidable text for over a year on and off and now 2/3 of the way through, unless you are a linguistically-enamored learner, this approach is more for the academic than the avocational among you.

Next, Gabriel Rosenstock, the Co Limerick guru-poet-translator, has a hour-long CD now attached to the Hippocrene Press "Beginner's Irish" short text, which blends the historical, cultural, linguistic, and plain idiosyncratic I think well, but the dialogues will not be the standard ones you find elsewhere, and its ten lessons are brief. Strong on prepositions, less so on practicality. Good side-dish, however, for the other main courses I sample here.

Finally there's an Urscealta Yahoo Group making its way through now the second Pól Ó Muiri "Paloma" detective novel for adult learners; Comhar Teoranta has these, some with CD readings packaged with these attractive stories about drugs and death and crime and refugees, some only as books. )

TT's advantage is the exposure to all three dialects each lesson. Among its drawbacks are an ambient video passage each chapter with absolutely no explanation of what the people are mumbling. Also, the graphics and fashions will look horribly dated very soon-- I know those who have watched the admittedly strong (I have never seen it-- the VCR and the cassettes both are becoming obsolete!) "Look Who's Talking" series circa the early 90s cringe at its "once-trendy look." The TT RTE website assists somewhat, but there are portions without answer keys, which annoys me no end.

I like the BBC-NI "Gíota Beag." In a way, ironically, the lesson helps and support at the "Blas" website and the other interviews and grammar lessons on the site that can be read and listened to put the RTE's TT site to shame. The BBC site is more tech-savvy, and has fun games and children's exercises as well as help for schoolchildren. GB is geared to a lower-level audience than TT, logically reflecting the demands of many in the North who have had no formal exposure to the language. I downloaded it to my iPod and it helped me get a feel for the Ulster "blas" before going to Donegal. Fearghal MacUiginn has a great accent, and gently encourages you along. The lessons are ideal, packing a lot of info if not much grammar into a five hours or so. The silly voices in the first series vanish in the second, and although too much time for my tastes is taken up with the hesitant travails of a sample adult learner, the series integrates place names, lore, culture, and relevant "sidebars" geared towards a Northern Irish audience effectively in fifteen lessons of about ten minutes in each of the two modules.

Finally, Annette Byrne's "Gaeilge agus Fáilte" from Linguistics Institute of Ireland & Gael-Linn came out around the same time as TT. I only purchased it recently, so I have not had time to study it in detail. It too comes as a book-cassette or book-2 CD combo, although confusingly often the book itself is sold separately from the CDs! It too is not cheap, although less than the whole TT package, certainly. It addresses the needs of learners different from both GB & TT. GB as I mentioned targets the Northern Irish resident who probably has had no Irish in school but for cultural and social reasons has picked up a bit of the language naturally, and takes first steps towards basic conversations and a general sense of sounds and sense. TT fits the adult wanting to return to earlier Irish learned and partially forgotten, at least as an active speaker. GF integrates the basic level of GB with the Irish resident (or student abroad in a class for beginners of Irish) who may be new to Ireland and who wants to discover both cultural topics and linguistic roots.

One downside is the marked paucity of information about this book on the rather moribund Gael-Linn site. There's no web reinforcement as there is for GB & TT, but I suppose the BBC "Blas" could enrich a learner in GF, and after GF, the learner might be ready for TT. GF's book's very colorful, and more in line with the bright graphics and plentiful illustrations that for better or worse characterize student textbooks for the current generation. Maybe a bit too "loud" for me? But, like "Blas," little puzzles and sidebars appeal to those learners needing stimuli geared at "multiple intelligences." It is aimed at a diverse audience of non-Irish immigrants, foreign learners, and possibly Irish learners in adult classes who somehow did not have much school Irish, so the level is for total beginners more like GB, not TT.

In fact, GF would make an ideal bridge between GB & TT, come to think of it!

http://www.Oideas-Gael.com

Blog P.S. There's also a 3-CD "Gaschaint" series with a book, each CD the same conversations with children for parents whose Irish is lacking, in the three dialects. Image credit: From a village in the Mayo Gaeltacht, on the peninsula near Belmullet, Inver NS children's paintings: www.inver.org/ceantar/tgaeilge.JPG

Thursday, August 2, 2007


"I do not like that other world"

Martha Clifford's misspelling in her letter to Bloom speaks for nearly us all. Unless necrophiles, goths, or that Lady in Black who showed up at Valentino's grave each year on the anniversary of his death. Morrissey: "meet me at the cemetry [sic] gates." Irish newspapers have in their memorial obits after the name of the deceased, if an adverb, only two choices. Said subject died either "suddenly" or "peacefully."

Even in the boneyard, however, as Bloom notes, the gravekeeper managed to procreate eight lives amidst Glasnevin's monuments to the faithful departed. Perhaps less surprising given the visual stimulus amidst the crypts: the towering monument over Dan O'Connell's presumed grave in period postcards. So obvious this fifty-foot erection that I preferred a modest shot of the mortuary chapel with mourners, fitting the literary inspiration du jour. (Image from superb JoyceImages.com site linked a few days earlier at this blog.)

James Heffernan's "Teaching Company" audio lectures on "Ulysses" that I started on the flight over to Ireland have kept me company on the more prosaic commute by bus and train the past two days. The Dartmouth prof does wheedle in his preppie delivery. I thought the tapes would have deleted pauses, hesitations and mis-enunciations, but perhaps the Teaching Company keeps them for verisimilitude? It's done live. His enthusiasm and erudition balance on the whole well. He reminds me of much and teaches me in the extended course on Joyce Himself I never had either as an undergrad or grad, and never could have returned to for twelve hours via iPod regardless! A portable education. Heffernan mimics different voices in "Ulysses" effortlessly.

I want to know more about the RTE radio play from a couple decades ago made of the novel; while Donal Donnelly's version captures the period charm superbly (I also bought it and uploaded all 40 CDs to the iPod along with the public library's Heffernan & Edna O'Brien's short Penguin Lives biography, not to mention the Caedmon cast of dozens Dubliners and Jim Norton's Portrait. I also have a four-hour Norton sampler of the Wake-- the Naxos "Ulysses" looks splendid but was nearly twice the price of Donnelly, which is plain wrapped in a flimsy box with no annotation!), I'd like to hear a dramatization as opposed to a marathon reading. I wish the BBC 10-hour prototype of radio drama they did on cassette in 1984-- a great Stephen Rea as Stephen D!-- was full-fledged for the forty hours. But the RTE set is too pricy to buy unheard, and no review can be found of it online either. On their page they label the novel "Joyce's most ensuring work." [sic] RTE needs more effort put into their on-line shop. The sets there remain too tersely explained. You'd think the Irish radio station would do more to inform you about Joyce's masterwork issued on CDs and MP3s during the nationally-funded Bloomsday centenary PR media blitz.

Anyhow, this evening I finished Heffernan's talk on "Hades." So far, the emphasis on Stephen's need for the particulars and not the abstractions, and Bloom's insistence on the humanist, the concrete, the trivial out of which we build up our hope in the face of death to challenge it with our flickering life. These themes gain poignancy, given my own fresh encounters with forebears and their mortality. For now, this passage as Leopold leaves Paddy Dignam's internment at Glasnevin (which Wikipedia gives as a possible and terribly fitting (think of Rudy eleven days old/young) or heartbreakingly appropriate derivation "Glas Naoin" or "grove of the infants." This representative section as it moves away from the morbid to the mortal with vigor and determination (7.1000, thanks to Jorn Barger's Robot Wisdom site for the online text) conveys the affirmative power of Joyce's narrative. I agree with Heffernan. This credo speaks of the creator's own sacramental revivification of the force that pulses within us against the fatal pull of open gates of dark mystery. Here reveals and resists eternity's vast reach:

The gates glimmered in front: still open. Back to the world again. Enough of this place. Brings you a bit nearer every time. Last time I was here was Mrs Sinico's funeral. Poor papa too. The love that kills. And even scraping up the earth at night with a lantern like that case I read of to get at fresh buried females or even putrefied with running gravesores. Give you the creeps after a bit. I will appear to you after death. You will see my ghost after death. My ghost will haunt you after death. There is another world after death named hell. I do not like that other world she wrote. No more do I. Plenty to see and hear and feel yet. Feel live warm beings near you. Let them sleep in their maggoty beds. They are not going to get me this innings. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life.

http://www.rte.ie/readingulysses/test.html>

http://www.robotwisdom.com/jaj/ulysses/etexts.html

Wednesday, August 1, 2007


Flann O'Brien's Sea-Cat

Miss Templeton invited me back into the Come Back Horslips GB fray; they all began discussing cats after I had posted on, well, a Horslips-meets-academia dutifully posted "what I did on my summer vacation" last week. Yesterday, coincidentally, I thought about of all things Myles na gCopaleen/Flann O'Brien's An Beal Bocht/The Poor Mouth, and its illustration of the terrible Sea-Cat that terrorizes the Gaelic Redoubt. It bugged me no end that I could not see in the outline/silhouette of the island any feline shape. This long-standing gripe exacerbated by my Glor na Gael poster back from Glencolmcille now up at the office staring back at me the past few days, "Dathanna na gContaenta," or the "colors of the counties" in their GAA finery. Only Kilkenny gets not a human fan bedecked in two bright shades, but a black cat! Diligent hunting, no less than Pangur Ban after the mice, mightily revealed none of my Sea-Cat haunting images extant on the whole of the Net. I wish I could scan it in for your edification, but in the meantime, a Google Book Search revealed Fintan O'Toole in the title essay in his "The Lie of the Land" had solved this puzzle.

"It is an outline map of Ireland on its side, the four great peninsulas of the west coast as legs, Ulster the head, Wexford the tail." (6) Of course, this terrible Sea-Cat that threatens the doughty natives is none other than Ireland herself. Too terrible to be spoken of, it can only be drawn, the lie of the lay of the land.

Corkadoragha itself, with its inversions in Myles' English-language columns, always intrigued me as a learner of Irish. I mean to delve further into this bilingual wordplay. I've been saying that for twenty-five years!

On my ride to the train in Belfast a few days ago, the genial, erudite, and half-unintelligible (it being Beal Feirste if not Bocht) cabbie Des and I chatted about in this order Foster Brooks, Spike Milligan, and Flann O'Brien! I recommended to him the Keats & Chapman episodes, those awful build-ups to horribly upended puns. For now, a passage from At Swim-Two-Birds that made me and my wife laugh out loud, which is all too rare considering my usual reading material.


Death by fire, you know, by God it’s no joke.

They tell me drowning is worse, Lamont said.

Do you know what it is, said Furriskey, you can drown me three times before you roast me. Yes, by God and six. Put your finger in a basin of water. What do you feel? Next to nothing. But put your finger in the fire!



Meanwhile, some Flann O'Brien sites. "The Poor Mouth" I found first! (Image credit interruption: no gonzo Ralph Steadman pictorial either extant except this Beckettish French version! Note double billing cover credit prominence.) At the Hellshaw URL, "No Bicycle" as a detour from the blog "Blather" has all too-brief passages from Yer Man Himself and a hipsters' post-"Lost" episode tie-in. "Jams O'Donnell" at his blog "The Poor Mouth" links not only to the N-BP but two short essays, one from Necessary Prose on "Gaelically Gaelic" by Eric Mader-Lin & "Flann O'Brien: A Post-modernist When It Was Neither Profitable Nor Popular" by Robert Looby (thanks for the At-Swim citation I lifted) via the Scriptorium site-- which in pomo fashion links to other scribes of whom techno-literati latterati are enamored. These bloggers probably have all seen at least once "Lost," but I never have.

http://thepoormouth.blogspot.com/2006/11/why-poor-mouth.html

http://www.hellshaw.com/flann/

http://www.necessaryprose.com/poormouth.htm

http://www.themodernword.com/scriptorium/obrien.html

Tuesday, July 31, 2007


How the Irish Invented American Slang?

Not sure if linguists would concur, but here's one take on how Irish language words entered our Murrican vernacular. This was sent to be by an Irish American ex-pat, the best kind, the type who goes back to live there. "Internal evidence" gives the snip a Belfast origin but no URL, so I reproduce it below. Coincidence, as I sat in on a test lecture given by a instructor who has her M.A. from New College in San Francisco. A degree I would have loved to pick up if I had lived in the Bay Area and had the money and leisure to do so. Rumors have had it that their small Irish Studies program is dormant, although Daniel Cassidy's efforts may attest I hope to the contrary. I can vouch for hearing on Fearghal MacUiginn's BBC-NI show Gíota Beag the snazzy-snas etymology already. (Image credit: The Atlantic.com illustrating "The Dictionary of American Slang." Hard to find a good pictorial for this topic.)

By the way, coming from IASIL and hearing ad infinitum the phrase from the semi-discredited "How the Irish Became White" book by Michael Ignatieff repeated by scholars with hook marks made by fingers or inflection, I call for a ban on it now. And razzmatazz allusions such as Cassidy and I make to it, of course.


Gee Whiz Daddy-o! Irish slang is baloney

By Margaret Canning

IT IS a conundrum that has long confused scholars – why the Irish language seems to have had little influence on English as spoken in America.

Millions of Irish emigrated to America but English as Americans now speak it appears devoid of Irish references – despite the reputation of the Irish for verbal creativity.

And with other ethnic groups leaving an indelible mark on English – from the chutzpah of Yiddish spoken by Jews to the zeitgeist of German immigrants, the lack of an Irish verbal footprint is regarded as an anomaly.

Now, in good news for Gaelgoiri everywhere, a new book credits the Irish language for influencing spoken English – and slang most of all.

In How the Irish Invented Slang: the Secret Language of the Crossroads, Irish American academic Daniel Cassidy demonstrates that the influence of Irish emigrants on American existence went beyond pubs and politics.

Mr Cassidy, who has an interest in all things Irish and founded an Irish studies course at the New College of California, nonetheless balked at taking up the language himself.

That changed when a student, who died at 37, bequeathed him a battered, dog-eared Irish dictionary.

Mr Cassidy contemplating binning the book but instead, decided to absorb a word or two of Irish very night.

A Eureka moment came not long afterwards: “Was it possible that some of the slang words and phrases that I learned as a kid in New York in the 1940s and 1950s √ like ‘in dutch’ (duais, pron. dush, trouble); ‘snazz’ (snas, polish, gloss, lustre) and ‘dude’ (dudach, dud, pron dood, a foolish-looking person, a dolt) √ were derived from the Irish language?” he writes.

“Americans speak Irish every day, but they do not dig (tuig, understand, comprehend) it.

“The words and phrases of Ireland are as woven into the clamour (glam mor, great howl, shout and roar) and racket (raic ard, loud melee) of American life as the hot jazz (teas, pron j’as, cd’as, heat, passion, excitement) of New Orleans.”

Mr Cassidy hopes to waft the winds of change in studies of English – but reminds readers that academics have long harboured a snobbish attitude to Irish.

HL Mencken, author of The American Language, said the Irish had contributed very few words to Americans.

“Perhaps speakeasy, shillelah and smithereens exhaust the list,” Mencken wrote.

Instead, Mr Cassidy, who is taking part in the Feile an Phobail in west Belfast next month, reasserts the Irishness of artistic figures like playwright Eugene O’Neill and the Brooklyn Irish actress and writer Mae West.

Mr Cassidy points out that West used the word “babe”, meaning a physically attractive woman, in 1926 – and that the Irish word ‘bab’ meant a baby, woman or a term of affection.

And baloney, meaning nonsense – a word synonymous with America if ever there was one – is derived from the Irish beal onna, meaning foolish talk.

If you ever need to tell a nosey parker to “mind your own bee’s wax”, you could be referencing the Irish saying beasmhaireacht, meaning morality and manners, Mr Cassidy contends.

So the idea that the Irish have contributed zilch (word meaning nothing or zero, origin unknown) to American English could be beal onna, after all.

• Mr Cassidy takes part in Scribes at the Rock at the Rock Bar on Falls Road, on August 9 at 4pm.

WORDS WITH GAELIC ROOTS


Some American English slang words with Mr Cassidy’s version of their Irish root below:

Buck: a strong and spirited young man
boc: a wag, a playboy
Caca: euphemism for excrement
Cac/caca - excrement, filth, probably derived from the Latin caco
Cantankerous: grumpy, awkward
Ceanndanacht arsa - old obstinacy, aged wilfulness.
Cold turkey: cut off an addiction abruptly
Coilleoireach, coillteoireachta - cutting off, expurgation
Daddy-o - affectionate term for trendy male
Daideo - grandfather
Freaky: strange or unsettling
Fraochaidhe: fierce, fuerious, passionate
Gee Whiz: exclamation
Dia Uas: Great God!
Geezer: fellow
Gaomshar, gaosach: a wise person
Hick: a rural person
Aitheach: a peasant
Racket: organised crime
Ragaireachd: violence, extortion
Razzmatazz: showing off, extravagance
Roiseadh mortas: high spirits and exultation

Sunday, July 29, 2007


Joyce Images & Joyce's Dublin Houses

Two websites worth a look for Joyceans. "Joyce Images" features Aida Yered's linked postcards, vintage snapshots, and period clip art to citations organized by chapter & verse in "Ulysses." Eishiro Ito gathers together under Atelier Aterui many snapshots of Joyce's many Dublin residences with Vivien Igoe's published chronology on a webpage (under classification #4) of what's evidently Ito's busy centenary pilgrimage to Ireland 2004. I take his shot, as mine was taken when it started raining, of 41 Brighton Square West where Joyce was born in decidely better circumstances than those that would fuel his anger and his creativity, I reckon. Adversity tempered his soul and stoked his revenge, at his cost for our profit.

I also found out that my relatives lived literally two thousand feet away, at the corner of Rathgar Road and Garville Avenue, from Brighton Square (facing actually a triangular garden and not "Cearnog Brighton," as was pointed out to me by my host, who lived at that same corner house). Growing up mid-last century, no mention of the famous author five minutes walk away was ever made in that household, the neighborhood, or the school. My teacher in high school, an Irish sister, had to smuggle the book in brown paper into her homeland to study it in the 1960s. Speaking of subterfuge, even the master artificer's commemoration plate today cannot be easily glimpsed by a passerby. Unlike the blue-and-white historic dish-shaped plaques gracing many British and Irish houses of repute, Joyce's natal nursery has a brick, terracota-shaded rectangle that blends in all too easily with the facade. Camouflage, the better to watch Dub 6 citizens of the Center of the Hibernian Metropolis with silence, exile & cunning.

"http://p-www.iwate-pu.ac.jp/~acro-ito/Joyce_pics2004/Joyce2004dDUB23/imageidx.html"

"http://www.joyceimages.com"


Silence speaks of the world to come.

After my Irish sojourn, I reflect after chatting with a militant atheist and agreeing with his criticism of the harm that millennia of organized religion have caused. I understand Christopher Hitchens' argument of and how enforced dogma and perpetuated group-think set up the totalitarian secular creeds that damned so many millions in the name of false consciousness, deviation from party lines, and simple stubborn individualism. The grooves worn deep in my own psyche by repression, timidity, and guilt seem to have been the pressure of a thousand and a half years of fervent renunciation, or so I imagine! My wife and I read the other night aloud a NYT Magazine article by Yale Law prof (and so young! He writes of his teens being in the 80s) who after 12 years at a Brookline yeshiva that gave him an amazing college prep & Torah curriculum combined went into the world where live the rest of us, who do not know that some Jews would only save a life of a goy on Shabbat so as not to cause friction between MOTs and the gentiles, not since inherently a non-Jewish life possesses the same right to existence as a Jewish person would possess.

On the other inevitable hand, my kids sit today in the back of the car on their return from Camp Shalom JCA nestled in Malibu's hills, as they regale each other with a scary story of a crazy man at another nearby J-camp who stabbed hapless teens with a "yod," the "fickle finger of Fate" (Laugh-in reference, dating me) used to touch the Torah scroll as the reader follows the chanting of the weekly portion. I think of how Leo & Niall chose to not attend the nature setting service or the fun one with singing clown Robbo (Krusty without the bad relationship with the rabbi father, and more sincere at least if he wants to keep this summer gig year after year), but the one in the formal set-up. Layne had shown me a picture sent of Leo in tallis, eyes closed. I confess I could not tell if he was mocking or serious, as his face had one of those unreadable expressions that he has worn ever since arriving at camp, at least from the snaps Layne sent me.

Well, I kvell to say that the emotion on camera was genuine, and in that shot Niall too slyly looked sidewise at the inquiring camera. Nachas to both my boys and their adoring, stereotypical. caring mom who sent them effusive e-mails every day. Niall claimed they were the high point of his day. Leo did not, but he did wear the pricy sneakers out that his mom had sent him and inquired frantically about, to no reply from her firstborn. There is a moment that I hoped my sons entered into from their side of the threshhold into the infinite mystery of the eternal now-- a place imagined or real we cannot tell the difference.

They can enter into the realm outside our own egos and edifices there briefly reclaimed, as it may be sometimes even in Hitchens' own life, as he may think of his own ancestors among the Jewish people and his own upbringing in Christian culture, from all the sex scandals and Tammy Fayes and hypocrisy that commissars and clergy indulge in like the rest of us sinners. A spark that goes back to its source after the shattering of the Light amidst the darkness in that kabbalistic model when the vessels were broken and their warmth sharded into the eternal formless place of tohu-bohu that Genesis mentions at its wonderfully ambiguous start, "when God began to form the heaven and the earth."

Here is a passage from the IFSB Carthusian Yahoo Group that sums up the appeal of silence, stones, and solitude. Edward Emery's post on the power of that left unsaid. My photo of the Church of Ireland iconic steeple in the Glen and the older stone a few yards away juxtaposed dramatically speaks to the same language that preceded us, and which will follow us, and which eludes us when we are far from such nodes, ley-lines, songlines, charged areas of energy made holy over thousands of years of pilgrims, fanatics, refugees, and endurers. "Place shapes awareness." Reminds me of the Marxian dictate that "culture precedes consciousness," always a conundrum before, but perhaps now I know a bit more, after my stay in the Glen, of its truth.

Isaac the Syrian observes that words are the language of this world while silence is the language of the world to come. Silence begets presence and in presence listening ripens as does awareness of all that is--of color, form, shape, texture, as well as of that which is not of the order of the visible--of interior shadings and intimations of another presence that threads through and weaves self with the uncreated light through the imago Dei.

Exterior silence is often essential to nurture and awaken interior silence. That is why place shapes awareness. Places of distraction give rise to misplaced relevancies. Places of emptiness, if tolerated, birth the new being of self in Christ. A desert is especially auspicious in drawing us into the silence that is the Word of God. A cave or places of stone also compel and support this development. We also find in aesthetic ambiance the surround that is conducive to intimations of the silence of the Word, filtered through either spatial-visual or auditory idioms.

Thus, we find within the United Nations, for example, in the midst of the bluster of frantic urgencies and the deal making that is the signature of the political a room filled with nothing but a large granite slab on which is directed a simple beam of light. No matter that virtually no one enters or if they do do not stay, for the very existence of this site within this place is an embodied metaphor for the hidden cave of the heart at the core of all being form which the energies of God stream forth.

Or we find in Sibelius' Fifth Symphony, unusually long intervals of silence including in the soaring finale an especially poignant silent interval in which all that proceeded it is gathered together and unified into a higher moment of expression, expressing through this silent summation transition between a reformulated language of this world and a language of the world to come. It is in these spaces of silence that we reside most intimately with the Word of God and in doing so we engage, for those of us who live in the 'world,' the spirit of St. Bruno.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007


Ireland: Moon Handbook review

This is my Amazon US review, posted today. I liked this guide. Not flashy, not a lot of color, but down-to-earth, sensibly written, and affordable as it's pitched towards we cost-conscious travelers who head out on our own.

This was published in May 2007, and I consulted it during my stay in June and July. I can vouch for its accuracy. The strength of the book lies in the fact that as far as I can tell from the acknowledgements (worth reading for their charm), the whole was written by a young American ex-pat, Camille DeAngelis, and therefore has the consistency of a single p-o-v that reflects her encyclopedic knowledge, tempered enthusiasm, and evident stamina. While the guide is markedly less comprehensive on history, sightseeing, and local lore than competing guides, it is very thorough on practicalities such as civilized accomodation, decent eats, bus routes, and ATMs. I would use this to work out the nitty-gritty of planning the details of staying once you figure out in your itinerary where you are going and how long in each locale you'd be staying.

That's where the prefaced itineraries geared to particular cultural, scenic, historic, or recreational interests come in, as well as a few paragraphs at the end of each county section telling you how long would be ideal to remain in a certain location if you want to partake of its attractions-- or flee their lack of appealing destinations. The book lacks the flashy graphics of other guides, and is geared more to the independent visitor, perhaps on their own, on a budget rather than a tour bus or expense account. DeAngelis succeeds in giving travellers a realistic expectation of the costs, hassles, rewards, and drawbacks of getting about the remoter and less-obviously touristed places in Ireland. She also takes care to note prices whenever possible; although inevitably these may rise, they do, due to the book's recent publication, reflect as closely as any print work can, the considerable expense of looking after yourself and getting around and staying put in this, one of the priciest nations now in the world-- especially given the weak dollar vs. the euro.

I tested my own two-week stay in such a place in Donegal, off the beaten track a bit, with her coverage. She was accurate in her descriptions, noting such details as the mattresses in a hostel, how far said hostel was from the main road, what kind of road it was, how to find the place given its remoteness, the temperament of the caretaker, and prices for what she charged vs. what you got for the money. All this in about a hundred words. She tells that the nearest ATM is 27 kilometres away. She recommends of the three choices the pub (not the quieter one I favored...but the same one all the guides like!) with the best craic. She warns of the few shops, the difficulty without a car in seeing it all, and the scattered nature of the dramatically situated settlement. While her coverage of the archaeological and cultural sites there was for my tastes far too brief, such information can be obtained easily with other references.

Like the Moon Handbook I remember using on a trip five years ago to the Big Island of Hawai'i, this series concentrates on the good place to grab a bite, the B&B that won't rip you off but which may not have t.v., the view from the window of the pricy hotel, the fare to the airport, the cost of the taxi, the options if you have a week vs. a day.

The pictures she took, often in black-and-white, make it difficult to do justice to the places, but this does keep costs down for this affordable book, and you can always take your own snapshots or buy postcards! She took care with every feature here. The maps are a bit less detailed than those in a Lonely Planet or Rough Guide, but easier to read and larger on the page. For those of you unsatisfied with other guidebooks' tiny maps and insets, the Moon Handbook provides bigger type both in the page layout and the graphics. Symbols often mark tourist attractions. The pages are easy to scan without being cluttered. The shops, pubs, attractions, and bus and rail stations are marked clearly in text and on maps. Streets actually have names on maps and are not only drawn blanks!

A telling example of DeAngelis' thoroughness is the Irish-language section. Short as this portion is, she thought it through. She gives you actual words and everyday sentences and (not simply cute phrases about buying folks drinks and/or flirting with them) with phonetic equivalents, and encourages you (I studied Irish there on my recent trip in that locale for those two weeks) to use them when conversing with the locals in the Gaeltacht-- or, I might add, outside of it! She is realistic about the chances of actually using much Irish (earnest outsiders tend to be in my experience regarded often with bemusement or suspicion by native speakers), but I encourage her inclusion of this material, often superficially treated in other guides.

Finally, she wrote a lovely preface, that begins with the trope that (I paraphrase) ten years from now you will remember the trip that you are now planning, and from there goes into an evocative memory of the pub, the craic, the stranger who struck up a chat, the scenery as you walked to your temporary home away from home that evening. It's a powerful way to bring you into the power that Ireland still can hold, despite the rush to ugly bungalows, rampant consumerism, littered countrysides, urban gridlock, and suburban sprawl. She does not shy away from these realities, but urges you as a visitor to understand these marks of our society as the island's prosperity must contend with, in my clumsy metaphor, killing the goose that laid the golden egg.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007


Horslips meets Irish academia

I gave two papers on Horslips and literature, that only overlapped about two sentences! (I have amassed about 12,000 words of notes so far out of which I had to hack out two 2,800 word, twenty-minute talks for entirely disparate academic audiences). The first was at the 21st Irish Conference of Medievalists at Mary Immaculate College, a teacher-training institution now under the aegis of the University of Limerick. It has the usual horrid 60's-70's-era concrete around a charming, Hogwartsian century-old Edwardian hall where I gave my paper. The trouble with any such presentation on a topic less familiar to an audience of Old Irish specialists is that half your allotted time you must spend on background, and I reasoned few out there would know much about the band and their two relevant concept LPs. But, I entertained and edified, I hope, and at the end a couple people asked me where they could buy Táin & BoI-- I directed them to the band's site.

One man recalled hearing Barry on Irish radio last year telling how they were treated (poorly) by a club owner aghast at their sound and look; another told me of his own teenaged love for the band, and started chanting the chorus to ""Charolais." I hope that my paper in Limerick roused up interest; the director of the conference told me she at MIC teaches the Táin and introduces it with some of the songs from the album.

At University College, Dublin, I gave the second paper to the International Conference for the Study of Irish Literatures, IASIL. This attracts hundreds each year from around the world to give papers, drink free wine (well considering the exorbitant reg fees, not exactly on the house) at book launches, and regale each other with obscure arcana from texts far-flung. While paper one pitched the band's use of medieval themes made relevant-- I argue while other critics tend to dismiss the band as a-political, that the band "back-dating" conflict into ancient times allows them and their audiences to participate as if the struggles then related to the tensions in the 70s-- the Dublin talk featured the band's pioneering grassroots attempts to make the material fresh and iconoclastic. While the original paper sought to concentrate on the band's resurrection via CBH and how that site uses user-generated content and social networks to spread the influence of Horslips across the diaspora in virtual space and real time, the fact that my 14-year-old son sabotaged my iPod's files (now I get a message that they are corrupted or unreadable-- if anyone can solve this version of doomsday, I beg your intervention) the day I was leaving for Ireland made the paper less hi-tech.

Instead, the discovery in the publication in Sean Manning's new book (Da Capo, 2007) "The Concert I'll Never Forget: 50 Writers Relive Their Most Memorable Gigs," of Paul Muldoon's essay purportedly on one (he does not remember which of the three dates although his essay is dated April 1980) of the final Whitla Hall Belfast Gigs shifted my paper into a direction that I figured would play to the lit-crit crowd better within the limits of my time frame. I did use basic tech after all, but had little time to set-up even a Net hookup, as I do not believe in Power Point on stodgy principle anymore than I never liked overhead projectors...yet the band's own site with the album covers (which are kinda dinky, and where's the interior shots of inner sleeves I thought were there for such as HTMSTP?) failed to do justice to their contents. I also showed the home page for CBH and explained its features.

Of course, as Miss T. guided me, I re-read (after ten years) the whole of "Dead School" (reviews on Amazon and my blog at fionnchu.blogspot.com dutifully followed). I link the three mentions of Horslips to the co-protagonist Malachy's own rise and fall from countercultural rebels to old fogies disdained by punks (well, back then I was the exception to that rule!) within the arc of the 70s and the changes in Irish culture. Using McCabe & Muldoon as well as Gerry Smyth's critiques of the band in his books "Beautiful Day" & "Noisy Island," I then briefly surveyed the DVD, the exhibition, and the CBH & HorsLit sites before wrapping it all up with how the Belfast Gigs LP neatly summed up the band's trajectory. Muldoon perversely stops his essay at the moment the band took the stage, so he actually never tells of the "gig that he never forgot" explicitly!

I do not wish to name-drop, but scholarship served, I must tell of Cheryl Herr's own work that used Horslips in her keynote lecture that closed the conference wonderfully. A renowned Joycean at the University of Iowa, she had listened to my paper and asked a question for myself and the previous presenter (graduate student at UCD Barry Shanahan gave a great paper on a 2004 story, "Home to Harlem," published in Metro Ireland in Dublin and in McSweeney's in the US, which Roddy Doyle wrote about Declan, half black, half Irish, in New York City's hip-hop scene) how we, removed directly from the respective milieux we critiqued (in my case as an American Irish examining Ireland, in his as an Irishman analyzing America), could speak as outsiders authoritatively about the somewhat "foreign" contexts we were studying. A great question, but time prevented me from responding after Barry. I guess I'd say along with the Rabbi Hillel, if not me, who, if not now, when?

Professor Herr, whose influential critical analysis published about fifteen years ago on the music-hall, melodrama, popular culture, and sermons underlying "Ulysses" was a study so engrossing I wound up xeroxing it all when I only needed, I thought, one chapter years ago in my research, gave a talk, "Stories for Boys," that examines how rock-n-roll works within post-WW2 Britain & Ireland to liberate adolescents. I believe a book is forthcoming.

She told of McCartney & Lennon stringing up wires to hear Radio Luxembourg, of this same station's allure in other films and books fictional & factual, of the amazing to me incident that critic Nik Cohn grew up in of all places as a secular Jew in Derry and heard Elvis for the first time when he ventured outside the Protestant enclave (where such wordly influences were proscribed) to hear the King played in the Catholic ghetto, and of the tendency for boys of a certain age to stay in their bedrooms, often in their skivvies (like John L.) to hear the rapturous sounds extracted from the static half a Continent away.

Best of all were film clips. One from a movie by Martin Duffy (British from a few years ago?) "The Boy From Mercury," contrasting the older brother's Quarryman-type quiff with the younger lad's SF obsession as music marks the gap between the two youths; "All Things Bright & Beautiful," Barry Devlin's 1984 BBC film that seemed rather autobiographical, if not the part I presume about "Barry O'Neill" having a spurious Marian vision (I won't spoil the results), also fixated on the power of radio changing the ten-year old (born Professor Herr charts around the same time as Mr Devlin, circa 1944) as he too hears a certain station; and tellingly, as she argues, the Mork-like I don't wanna grow up robotic nu-wave contortions of jerky marionette mime Bono, backed by Adam in a lime-green neon top and the Edge with a haystack rivalling Ian McCulloch's on a 1980 "Late Late Show" appearance that after a while she turned off with a wry "I think we've had enough."

(Cross-posted, mostly, on CBH & HorsLit for maximum reproduction!)
(Image from Slipkid's site with other self-designed album sleeves for downloaded gigs, with some of Horslips both vintage and fresh from radio/TV shows in 70s and 2006. Too bad the albums themselves cannot be downloaded as the wife prevents such forays by me. http://www.webserves.com/slipkid/cdartwork.html )

Sunday, July 22, 2007


Milwaukee Dan & Me!

Proof of one of only six pints I drank in my Irish stay. Proof too of my own largess, although the wife will never believe it, as I bought the fine fellow shown beside me his Smithwick's. Proof that my order placed in Irish resulted in him getting not his black death but my brown affliction. Here's below in my cod-Irish and blowhard Béarla a note I posted with this photo placed on Flickr. I had only visited this site once, to find out just last month about Jim Fitzpatrick for my Horslips research as he has a fine site there. But my friend in Belfast raved about the photo-sharing site's possibilities, and I promised her I'd sign on. Now, half a day after my return to the sprawl of smog (did you know by 2050, the population of Italy will equal that of An Stat Órga, The Golden State? And judging from the loss of untouched hillsides on my street, a large portion of newcomers account for the bulldozers and signs for what speculators deem lots for sale and I call open space.) I check my mail to find from my first week at Oideas Gael that my bus companion straight outta Stab City Limerick, Milwaukee Dan, has today uploaded his fine shots. I show the one of him with yours truly at our last night at Roarty's.

Go raibh maith agat, Dhónallín a chara dhil. Seachtaine seo chugainn, i ndiadh chuaigh seisean sé Ghleann Cholm Cille, tháinig foghlaimeoraí fasta go leor Milwaukee díobh. Baileoidh mé grianghrafaí agam ar an idirlíon ar Flikr freisin. Ach, d'fhill mé abhaile aréir ó mBaile átha Cliath aréir-- tá tuirse orm inniu! Nuair déanaim sin, seolaidh mé cuireadh a feiceann seo go gasta! Tá súil agam go mbeidh mhic léinn eile de Oideas Gael go dtaispéana siad pictíuraí acu fosta. Is maith liom lionláithréan agat. Seachtaine seo caite, d'fhoglaim agamsa faoi Flickr, mar sin bhí mian liom a ceangal air!
B'fhéidir, buailfaidmid linn arís in na Gleann nó bus orthu as Luimhneach, go bhfóire Dé arainn!

Thanks, good buddy Dan. The week after you left Glencolmcille, lots of learners came from Milwaukee. I'll get my own photographs up on the net at Flicker soon. But, I got back last night from Dublin-- I'm tired today! When I do that, I'll send you them right away. I hope that the other students from Oideas Gael will show their photos too. I like your website. Only last week, I learned about Flickr, so I wanted to join! Perhaps we'll meet again in the Glen or on the bus from Limerick, God willing.

Best wishes from L.A./ slán go foill as Cathair na nAingeal!

Saturday, July 21, 2007


Back from Ireland

Half a week in Limerick, Mary Immaculate College, giving a paper on the medieval influences & modern impacts during the 70s of Horslips to a warm reception if cool weather during the 21st Conference of Irish Medievalists. My first time at a group pursuing the Middle Ages since my graduate school days, and I look forward to studying Old Irish there. Already I have another idea for a paper next round.

Two weeks at Oideas Gael, Foras Cultúir Uladh/the Ulster Cultural Center in Glencolmcille/Ghleann Cholm Cille, Co. Dun na nGall/Donegal. I stumbled through a middle-level class by dint of previous study in book-larnin' & a bit of tape listnin' but not enough to match those lucky natives who had to sit through a dozen years of Irish classes, and now found themselves by midweek blossoming into hedge-school masters reborn. We foreigners had a harder time of it, with no such deep roots to draw from in times of rote memory or panic attacks. But, even among those beyond the nine waves, from France & Sweden & Norway & Wales & Belfast & America came diligent largely self-educated &/ tutored students in and out of colleges who determined to learn to a very high level Irish that could rival those who had the luxury (if in retrospect) to listen to it nearly daily most of their lives-- or at least see it on signs, listen to it on RTE or TnG4, or chat with their children as they did lessons.

But now, I realize as the devoted director-founder (and in my case midnight angel who brought me as if magically appearing on the spot a new key after mine snapped in the lock) Liam Ó Cuinneagáin emphasizes, we all have the radio, the Net, Skype, books & tapes, and video & TV to aid our learning. NO excuses for we foreign-born wannabees. I even met a blogger in such an advanced class, HilaryNYC, not Mrs. Rodham Clinton, who writes in Irish, and recognized her halfway up the walk to the Túr in Biofan's enchanting townland above the glen. She writes on Blogger in both languages; I had found her as gaeilge when searching for podcastannaí.

Then, up to see friends in Belfast before down to UCD for the IASIL lit-crit gathering, always an event full of fascinating people and fresh insights. There I gave another paper on Horslips that repeated but about 2% of the other, be assured. This talk examined how the band positioned itself (I did not use critical terms trendy today such as interrogate or mediate or even overdetermine) within 1970s Ireland as a cultural force for change, reflected in Pat McCabe's novel The Dead School (see Lee's site CBH for more, of course, and her HorsLit Yahoo Group), the new essay by Paul Muldoon, or the CBH site and the DVD out recently. Not enough time to do justice to the material, but I acknowledge delightedly Cheryl Herr (her pioneering work on Joyce's sermon, music-hall, advertising, and consumerism I admire greatly) the next day at her keynote lecture showed bits of Barry Devlin's 1984 film "All Things Bright & Beautiful" to support "Stories for Boys" on male adolescence post WW2 and how rock n-roll. Professor Herr taught us how this seemed to be listened to invariably by spotty boys circa 1956 in Northern climes faintly on strung wires from bedroom walls conveying Radio Luxembourg. She also used a 1980 "Late Late Show" clip of Bono looking embarassingly Mork-like singing that very song in jerkily "let's pretend we are nu-wave robots" fashion. Enough said.

Despite a letter today that accused me of being but not only a foreigner but a romantic chaser of will o' the wisps Irish, I defend myself. After or despite many years of serious study, silly fun, and combinations of the two that pull me eastward (whatever that direction's in Irish called-- this and numbering prove particularly troublesome to this gaeilgoir), my mind tries not to cloud my heart. I seek both academic rigor and pure enthusiasm. In a few inspired moments of "flow"," as with all scholarship and all pleasure, I would hope that the two do work as one.

Saturday, July 14, 2007


Tá mé go bloganna as Gaeilge i dtosach!

Tá mé anseo anocht ina mBaile Ui Murchú, le mo chairde an-mhaith in aice leis an Bóthar na bhFállai, ceantar stairiul Bheal Feirste Thiar. Ar dtus, chuaigh mé a Luimhneach ar an gColaiste Mhuire gan Smál. Thug mé an paipear faoi Horslips. In éigsean, d'fhoglaim Gaeilge ar an Oideas Gael ina Ghleann Cholm Cille go alainn mór ina nDún na nGall ar feadh coicis é. Beidh mé ag dul go dtí mBaile Atha Cliath riamh deireadh seachtaine seo. Tugfaidh mé an paipear eile-- mar eagsula go domhan-- faoi ábhar le cosuil! Ansin, tá bron orm ag abair agaibh, fhillfeadh mé ar an gCathair na n-Aingeal.

Bheul, tá mé gconai i gCalifornia Thior, tir ro-teas seimreadh seo, go deimhin. Is maith liom Eireann nios mó! Bhainn sult me as an-leathanta saoire, ceart go leor. Tá Oideas Gael áit go hiontach. Scriobhfiann mé go mór nuair beidh mé ag dul abhaile.

Níl focloir agam inniu, mar sin bigi go bog é agam. Slán go foill, critiulaí nios lú agus Gaeilgoirí de mo croi.... Seaghán (aka mise féin)

I'm starting blogging in Irish.


I am here tonight in Ballymurphy, with my good friends near the Falls Road, the storied district of West Belfast. At the start, I went to Limerick at Mary Immaculate College. I gave a paper about Horslips. As a student, I studied Irish at Oideas Gael in greatly beautiful Glencolmcille in Donegal for a fortnight. I will go to Dublin after this weekend. I will give a paper-- a different one on the topic-- about the same material! Then I am sorry to say to you all, I will return to the City of Angels.

Well, I'm living in Southern California, a very hot land this summer, indeed. I like Ireland more! I enjoyed my holidays, for sure. Oideas Gael is a wonderful place. I will write more when I go home.

I don't have a dictionary today, therefore I am easy on myself. See you later, better critics and Irish-speakers from my heart! Seaghán (aka "Himself").