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Author Topic: Irish-isms and honouring things Irish
N.Beltov
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Babbler # 4140

posted 17 March 2006 09:10 AM      Profile for N.Beltov   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Here's an Irish greeting ... taken from Cuchulainn to Fergus in the great epic, The Tain, before Cuchulainn fought Fergus:
quote:
"Welcome friend Fergus," Cucuulainn said. "If the salmon were swimming in the rivers or river-mouths I'd give you one and share another. If a flock of wild birds were to alight on the plain I'd give you one and share another; with a handful of cress or sea-herb and a handful of marshwort; and a drink out of the sand; and myself in your place in the ford of battle, watching while you slept."

The Tain, Thomas Kinsella (trans), OUP, 1979 p. 118


From: Vancouver Island | Registered: May 2003  |  IP: Logged
Fidel
rabble-rouser
Babbler # 5594

posted 17 March 2006 01:07 PM      Profile for Fidel     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Stew and soda bread.

Me mam and dad were Irish
And I'm Irish too
We kept a pig in the parlour
And it were Irishhhh too
(thought I was gon' say stew eh? HA!)

Paddy Dool fer a day eh

[ 17 March 2006: Message edited by: Fidel ]


From: Viva La Revolución | Registered: Apr 2004  |  IP: Logged
rockerbiff
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Babbler # 9273

posted 17 March 2006 01:31 PM      Profile for rockerbiff   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
from my favourite Irish man....

Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realm of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies I want to know
So I can teach my children, oh
Pray tell me the story of young Cuchulainn
How his eyes were dark his expression sullen
And how he'd fight and always won
And how they cried when he was fallen
Oh tell me the story of the Queen of this land
And how her sons died at her own hand
And how fools obey commands
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
Where the mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Will she no come back to me
Will she no come back to me
Oh Shenandoah I hear you calling
Far away you rolling river
Roll down the mountain side
On down on down go lassie go
Oh Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realms of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies so I might know
So I can tell my children, oh
My Roisin Dubh is my one and only true love
It was a joy that Joyce brought to me
While William Butler waits
And Oscar, he's going Wilde
Ah sure, Brendan where have you Behan?
Looking for a girl with green eyes
My dark Rosaleen is my only colleen
That Georgie knows Best
But Van is the man
Starvation once again
Drinking whiskey in the jar-o
Synge's Playboy of the Western World
As Shaw, Sean I was born and reared there
Where the Mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Is such a long, long way from Tipperary


From: Republic of East Van | Registered: May 2005  |  IP: Logged
Hephaestion
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posted 17 March 2006 03:11 PM      Profile for Hephaestion   Author's Homepage        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Irish-isms and such? Well, one thing I can tell you is don't ask directions from an Irishman. You'll get something like:

Holylea? Holylea, aye, I know where t'find Holylea. It's like this.... Y'go down this road until y'see a great bloody tree planted right on th' left side of th' road, so close y'could awwwwlmost near reach out'a yer car 'n touch it... well, then y'know y've gone too far.... y'turn around 'n coom baaack till y'can see th' lake from th' top of a hill when y'top it -- y'll never see th' lake goin' t'other way, 'coz it's behind y'then -- well, when y' see the lake -- coomin' back, y'understand -- look fer th' first right hand turn comin' up next...


The above is taken almost verbatim from directions my Uncle Liam once gave to a bewildered (but thoroughly charmed) friend of mine, with only a little bit of parodying by me. Never a *word* about how many miles, or east/west directions, or anything like that. I sometimes wondered if Uncle Liam was just "puttin' it on", but I have since come to suspect that giving hilariously complicated directions, with *loads* of extraneous commentary is something of an Irish trait (at least, among several of the Irish folks from The Old Country I met.) I can't help but sit there and grin when they get going in full verbal flight.

I have found, though, that "North American Irish" don't seem to display this quirk, which is sorta too bad, as it amuses me no end -- as long as I'm not the one needing directions...


From: goodbye... :-( | Registered: Dec 2003  |  IP: Logged
lagatta
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posted 17 March 2006 03:21 PM      Profile for lagatta     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Griffintown and the Pointe in Montréal. Don't miss the Black Rock Monument.
From: Se non ora, quando? | Registered: Apr 2002  |  IP: Logged
Catchfire
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posted 17 March 2006 04:58 PM      Profile for Catchfire   Author's Homepage     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Maybe I love it, maybe I hate it, but this is one of the most beautiful passages ever written. Ulysses, James Joyce, "Penelope"

quote:
the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas 2 glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

From: On the heather | Registered: Apr 2003  |  IP: Logged
Fed
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Babbler # 8926

posted 17 March 2006 05:44 PM      Profile for Fed        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
Hephaestion wrote:
quote:
...I have since come to suspect that giving hilariously complicated directions, with *loads* of extraneous commentary is something of an Irish trait (at least, among several of the Irish folks from The Old Country I met.) I can't help but sit there and grin when they get going in full verbal flight.

That so much sounds like my Dad! He was born in Canada, but his father was Irish---I think some of it may have rubbed off.

Here is, not exaggerating much, how my Dad described getting into a fender-bender the parking lot of a Home Hardware:

"I had to go down to Home Hardware to get some screws. Brass screws, for the towel bar in the bathroom. The ones that came with the towel bar were only 2" long. Wet towels are heavy---how can they expect you to be able to hang a wet towel on a towel bar that is only held in with 2" screws? ..... etc. etc. etc."


From: http://babblestrike.lbprojects.com/ | Registered: Apr 2005  |  IP: Logged
Brett Mann
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posted 18 March 2006 12:31 PM      Profile for Brett Mann        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
"Can you tell me how to get to the other side of the river?" the stranger called to the Irishman on the far bank. "You are on the other side," he replied.

(sad, when one can't post a 2 sentence thought without having to edit for spelling )

[ 18 March 2006: Message edited by: Brett Mann ]


From: Prince Edward County ON | Registered: Jul 2004  |  IP: Logged
Screaming Lord Byron
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posted 18 March 2006 05:09 PM      Profile for Screaming Lord Byron     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
I still wonder - I suppose marvel as to the reach of St Patrick's Day. I know it is to some degree fuelled by the diaspora* (of which, I suppose I could be considered part - though I could be considered part of quite a few diasporas, depending on what percentage of descent we're going for there), but there are other nations who have send millions off to the wider world for whom we don't have an equivalent event.

I suppose the factors would include the sheer scale of the diaspora, particularly in the cultural nerve centres of North America, Australasia, London and so-on, plus the fact that the Irish are essentially an anglophone race (this is the point at which I get murdered, right? ), plus of course that fact that St Patrick's Day is a holiday that has no real traditions attached to it (unlike Easter or Christmas), so we end up with a void that is filled with an impulse to get drunk - an act which, by its attachment to a saint's day, becomes the ritual of devotion).

However - there must be more to it than that - or is it just really a matter of convenience - an easy way of filling the post-winter, pre-easter holiday gap?

*At what point do we stop including people as part of a diaspora? Is it something that is open to anyone who can trace a drop of that nation's blood? I've never been sure on that one.

[ 18 March 2006: Message edited by: Screaming Lord Byron ]


From: Calgary | Registered: Dec 2003  |  IP: Logged
Hephaestion
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Babbler # 4795

posted 18 March 2006 05:23 PM      Profile for Hephaestion   Author's Homepage        Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Originally posted by Screaming Lord Byron:

plus the fact that the Irish are essentially an anglophone race (this is the point at which I get murdered, right? ),


Well, Patrick *was* an Englishman, after all...

From: goodbye... :-( | Registered: Dec 2003  |  IP: Logged
oldgoat
Moderator
Babbler # 1130

posted 18 March 2006 05:31 PM      Profile for oldgoat     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.


There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

By Seamus Heaney

Hear Here


From: The 10th circle | Registered: Jul 2001  |  IP: Logged
Screaming Lord Byron
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posted 18 March 2006 06:12 PM      Profile for Screaming Lord Byron     Send New Private Message      Edit/Delete Post  Reply With Quote 
quote:
Originally posted by Hephaestion:

Well, Patrick *was* an Englishman, after all...


Yeah. And it's real easy to drive the snakes out of Ireland, when there are none to begin with. After all - I myself drove the narwhals out of Saskatchewan.


From: Calgary | Registered: Dec 2003  |  IP: Logged

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