Turrys foddey / Turas fada / A Long Journey

Last night I arrived safely in Glencolmcille in Donegal in the northwest of Ireland. I left Peel at 8am, went by bus to Ronaldsway airport, flew to Dublin, then took buses all the way to Glencolmcille, arriving just before 8pm, so it took nearly 12 hours.

Sunset in Gleann Cholm Cille

I met people I know from previous visits to Ireland along the way – at Dublin airport, in Donegal town, and in Killybegs – so the journey didn’t seem quite so long as I had people to talk to. As they say in Irish, bíonn siúlach scéalach (travellers have tales to tell), and giorraíonn beirt bóthar (two people shorten a road).

On the road and after I arrived in Glencolmcille I had conversations in English, Irish, German, Welsh, and spoke odd bits of Russian, French, Romanian, Swedish and Manx.

Today the courses start – there are courses in Irish language, translation, flute and whistle player, and harp playing (that’s the one I’m doing), and also a group going hill walking every day.

There are people here from many countries, including Ireland, the UK, the USA, Australia, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Finland, Germany, Switzerland, Belarus, Brazil and Slovakia. So I will have plenty of opportunities to practise my languages.

An Clachán, Gleann Cholm Cille

Celtic conversations

This week I’ve had quite a few conversations in Manx. I only speak it when I come to the Isle of Man, and when I meet Manx learners at polyglot events. At the beginning of the week my Manx was decidedly rusty, but it’s starting to flow now. When I don’t know a word or phrase in Manx, I switch to Irish, and often get away with it. It helps that some of the Manx speakers I know here also speak Irish.

As well as Manx, and English, I spoke some Welsh last night, and odd bits of Scottish Gaelic, Cornish and Breton.

The performers here for the festival are from the Isle of Man, Scotland and Ireland. The songs have been in English and Manx, and the evening concerts have been introduced bilingually in Manx and English. There aren’t any performers here from Wales, Cornwall or Brittany this year, but there have been in previous years.

Tomorrow I’m off to Glencolmcille (Gleann Cholm Cille) in Donegal in the northwest of Ireland. I will speak plenty of Irish there, and probably other languages, and learn more traditional Irish songs and tunes.

Gaelic hills

A photo of Scottish mountains I took in March 2016

I’m currently reading an interesting book – Uncommon Ground – A word-lover’s guide to the British landscape by Dominick Tyler.

One thing I’ve learnt from it, is that there are quite a few words in Scottish Gaelic related to hills and mountains:

Beinn [beiɲ / beɲə] = mountain, mount; high hill, pinnacle; head, top, high place. It comes from the Old Irish benn (peak, point, pinnacle), from the Proto-Celtic *benno- (peak, top).

Sgurr [sguːrˠ / sgurˠə] = high pointed hill, peak; cliff, craig.

Stob [sdɔb] = point, pinnacle; stake; pointed iron stick; prickle, thorn; stump; sharp-pointed stick; to prick, prod.

Meall [mjaul̪ˠ / mjal̪ˠəɣ] = mound, round hill; pile, heap; lump, clot, mass; (rain) shower; bout. It comes from the Old Irish mell (a ball, sphere, round mass; a round protuberance, swelling).

Stùc [stuːxg] = little hill jutting out from a greater, steep on one side and rounded on the other; cliff; pinnacle of a roof; horn; scowl; rock; lump; conical steep rock; precipice.

Stòr [sdɔːr] = steep, high cliff; broken or decayed tooth.

Coire [kɤrʲə] = circular hollow surrounded by hills; mountain dell; whirlpool.

Cnoc /krɔ̃xg/ = hill: small hill, hillock, knoll; chilblain. It comes from the the Old Irish cnocc (hill, lump, stump), from Proto-Celtic *knokkos (hill).

Cruachan [kruəxan] = conical hill; hip.

Mam [maum] = rounded hill/mountain; mountain gap/pass; boil; bulge.

Cnap [krãhb] = small lumpy hill; knob, lump, protrusion; block; boss, node; swelling; button; potato; gust of wind; thump, thud. It is a borrowing from the Old Norse knappr (knob, stud, button), or the Old English cnæp (top of a hill, button, brooch).

Tiumpan [tʲũːmban] = one-sided hill; timbrel, tabret; tambourine; backside, bum.

Binnean [biɲan] = high conical hill; apex, high point; pinnacle.

Cruachag [kruəxag] small round hill; small pile/stack; small clamp (stack).

Dùnan [duːnan] = small hill; small fortress; dunghill; midden.

Torr [tɔːrˠ] = hill, mountain of an abrupt or conical form, lofty hill; Eminence; mound, large heap.

Monadh [mɔnəɣ] = mountain (covered with moors); high-lying moorland; expanse of heather.

Sliabh [ʃʎiəv] = hillside, slope; mountain. It comes from the Old Irish slíab (mountain, mountain range, moor), from the Proto-Celtic *slēbos (mountain).

Note: not all these words feature in Uncommon Ground.

Some of these words appear mainly in place names, and may be used in songs and poems, but are not used in everyday Gaelic.

Sources: Wiktionary, Am Faclair Beag, Bosworth-Toller Anglo-Saxon Dictionary

Standing still on the longest day

Today is the longest day of the year and the summer solstice. After several hot, sunny days in Bangor, today it’s cloudy, warm and muggy.

The word solstice comes from the Old French solstice, from Latin sōlstitium (solstice; summer), from sol (sun) and sto (stand), from sistō (I stand still).

Sol comes from the Proto-Italic *swōl, from the pre-Italic *sh₂wōl, from the Proto-Indo-European *sóh₂wl̥ (sun), which is the root of words for sun in many Indo-European languages. In the Gaelic languages though, it is the root of words for eye: Irish: súil, Manx: sooill, and Scottish Gaelic: sùil.

The word muggy, meaning humid, or hot and humid, comes from an English dialect word, mugen (to drizzle), from the Old Norse mugga (drizzle, mist), which possibly comes from the Proto-Indo-European *meug- (slimy, slippery), which is also the root of the English word mucus.

Protagonists and sidekicks

When listening to The Allusionist podcast today I learnt an interesting word – tritagonist, who was the actor who played the third role in ancient Greek drama.

Tritagonist comes from the Ancient Greek word τρίτἀγωνιστής (triagōnistḗs), from τρίτ ‎(third) and ἀγωνιστής ‎(combatant, participant).

The actors who played the first and second roles in ancient Greek drama were known as the protagonist and deuteragonist, or sidekick. Proto- comes from πρῶτος ‎(first), a superlative of πρό ‎(before), and deuter- from δευτερ (second).

Proto goes back to the Proto-Indo-European *pro/*per- (to go over), which is also the root of:

– Proto-Celtic *ɸro = before, in front of, in addition
– Welsh rhy = too
– Irish ro = too
– Proto-Germanic *fram = from, by, due to
– English from
– Scots frae = from
– Swedish från = from; and fram = forward
– Icelandic frá = from, away from, about
– Latin per = through, by means of, during, and related words in Romance languages.

The antonym of protagonist is antagonist, from ἀντί ‎(against) and ἀγωνιστής (combatant, participant).

Source: Wiktionary

Plains, pianos and floors

Flat piano on a wooden floor

The Welsh word llawr [ɬau̯r] means floor, deck, gallery, stage, platform, cellar, basement, ground, face, and a few other things. I discovered today that it has cognates in all the other Celtic languages:

leur (Cornish) = floor, ground
leur (Breton) = area, ground, floor, soil
lár (Irish) = ground, floor, middle, centre
làr (Scottish Gaelic) = floor, ground, storey
laare (Manx) = storey, deck, floor, bottom, flat, set, sill, level

These words all come from the Proto-Celtic *ɸlārom (floor), which comes from the Proto-Indo-European *pleh₂rom or *ploh₂rom, from *pleh₂- ‎(to be flat).

THe PIE word *pleh₂- is the root of many other words, including:

– The English piano, plain, plan, floor and flake
– The Dutch vloer (floor, ground, surface)
– The German Flur (hall, hallway, corridor, stairwell)
– The Italian piano (flat, level, smooth, plane, softly, quietly)
– The Spanish llano (even, flat, level, plain) and plano (plain, level, flat)
– The Latvian: plats, plašs ‎(wide, broad)
– The Lithuanian: platus ‎(wide, broas)
– The Russian плоский (flat, plain, level)

Sources: Wiktionary, Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru, Maga Cornish Dictionary / Gerlyver Kernewek, Dictionnaires bilingues de Francis Favereau, teanglann.ie, Am Faclair Beag, On-Line Manx Dictionary, Reverso

Weathered pagodas and stretching times

Picture of a pagoda

The word for weather in Russian is погода (pogoda) [pɐˈɡodə], which sounds more or less like pagoda in English.

The English word pagoda, which refers to an Asian religious building, especially a multistory Buddhist tower, comes from Portuguese pagode, which comes via Tamil from the Sanskrit भगवती ‎(Bhagavatī, name of a goddess) or भागवत ‎(Bhāgavata, “follower of Bhagavatī”).

In French the words for weather, temps, also means time and tense, and comes from the Latin tempus (time, period, age, tense, weather), from the Proto-Indo-European *tempos ‎(stretch), from the root *temp- ‎(to stetch, string), which is also the root of the English word tempest, via the Latin tempestas ‎(storm), and the English word tense.

Breton also has one word for time and weather – amzer, which comes from the Proto-Celtic *amsterā ‎(time, moment), which is also the root of the Irish aimsir (weather, time and tense), the Manx emshir (weather, time and tense) and the Scottish Gaelic aimsir (climate, weather, season, era, time, reign), the Welsh amser (time, age, tense), and the Cornish amser (tense).

Sources: www.study-languages-online.com, Wiktionary

I’ve started putting together a new section on Omniglot featuring weather-related words and phrases. So far I have pages in Czech, Russian and Welsh.

In the UK we talk about the weather quite a bit. It’s (usually) a neutral and uncontroversial topic, and while some people are genuinely fascinated by it, for most of us it’s just a way to start a conversation. Do people do this is other countries? Or do you use of topics as conversation starters?

Ingenious genius

The word ingenious sounds like the antonym (opposite) of genius as in- is often used as a negative suffix (invisible, indivisible, etc). However they are not.

Ingenious means:

– displaying genius or brilliance
– tending to invent
– characterized by genius
– cleverly done or contrived; witty; original; shrewd; adroit; keen; sagacious.

It comes from:

– the Middle French ingénieux (ingenious)

– from the Old French engenious (ingenious)

– from the Latin ingeniōsus ‎(endowed with good natural capacity, gifted with genius), from ingenium ‎(innate or natural quality, natural capacity, genius), from in ‎(in) and gignere ‎(to produce)

– from the Old Latin genere, from genus (birth, origin)

– from the Proto-Italic *genos (lineage, origin)

– from the Proto-Indo-European *ǵénh₁os ‎(race), from *ǵenh₁- ‎(to produce, beget).

Genius means:

– someone possessing extraordinary intelligence or skill; especially somebody who has demonstrated this by a creative or original work in science, music, art etc.
– extraordinary mental capacity
– inspiration, a mental leap, an extraordinary creative process
– the guardian spirit of a place or person (in Roman mythology)
– a way of thinking, optimizing one’s capacity for learning and understanding

It comes from:

– the Latin genius ‎(the guardian spirit of a person, spirit, inclination, wit, genius, literally “inborn nature”), from gignō ‎(to beget, produce)

– from the Old Latin genō

– from the Proto-Indo-European root *ǵenh₁- (see above)

So ingenious and genius come from the same root, as do many other words, but took different paths to arrive at their modern forms.

In Proto-Celtic the PIE root *ǵenh₁- became *gniyeti (to make, to do), which became gníid / ·gní (to do, to work) in Old Irish, which, with a suffix became dogní (to do, to make), which became déan in Modern Irish, jean in Manx and dèan in Scottish Gaelic. This is possibly also the root of the Welsh gwneud, the Cornish gul and the Breton (g)ober). All these words mean to do or to make.

Sources: Wiktionary

Reasons to learn minority languages

I came across an interesting article today which discusses some of the benefits of learning a minority language like Manx. The writer, a fluent Manx speaker, is currently studying French and Linguistics at Oxford University, and has found that her knowledge of Manx has enabled her to make all sorts of connections, and has opened many doors. She was also in Gleann Cholm Cille studying Irish, though in July during the week I’m usually there, and I heard that Adrian Cain had been there teaching Manx that week – it’s a shame I missed it.

When you learn a language with a small number of speakers like Manx, it is possible to get to know quite a few of them and feel part of the community, and there is quite a lot of interest in such languages among linguists and language enthusiasts. I’ve certainly found this with all the Celtic languages, and whenever I meet someone who speaks one or more of them, I feel an instant connection. In Gleann Cholm Cille, for example, I met an English lad who is doing Celtic Studies in Aberystwyth University, and we found we have some mutual friends, and chatted away happily in Welsh, though I was in Irish mode that week, so sometimes mixed in a bit of Irish with my Welsh.

Does the same kind of thing happen for other minority and endangered languages?

One of my classmates in Gleann Cholm Cille, a gentleman from Oklahoma, mentioned that he had studied some Cherokee, but that the Cherokee people are suspicious of outsiders learning their language, so it can be hard to find material to learn the language and people to practice with.

Irish Tongue-Twisters

Last week I learnt some new tongue-twisters (rabhlóga) in Irish. To those not familiar with Irish, almost an sentence in Irish might appear to be a bit of a tongue-twister, but these ones are particularly tricky.

Seacht sicín ina seasamh sa sneachta lá seaca.
Seven chickens standing in the snow on a frosty day.

Fear feargach ag faire na farraige fuaire.
An angry man watching the cold sea.

Cheannaigh cailín cliste ceanúil císte.
A clever, affectionate girl bought a cake.

Cearc ag piocadh piobair de phláta Pheadair.
A chicken is picking peppers from Peter’s plate.

Bhí bean bheag bhocht breoite bruite leis an bhfuacht.
The poor little sick women was scaled with the cold.

Rinne Máire gáire gan náire ag an fhaire i nDoire anuraidh.
Mary laughed shamelessly at the look-out in Derry last year.

I have made recordings of my attempts to say them. If you can do better, please contact me.

You can see more of these on: http://www.omniglot.com/language/tonguetwisters/irish.htm