Llygoden wedi ei boddi

Nos Sadwrn canais mewn cyngerdd gyda’r côr meibion yn Woodingdean, tref fach ger Brighton. Cyrhaeddais yno mewn amser, ond yn anffodus, es i hollol ar goll ar y ffordd o’r stop bws i’r eglwys lle cafodd y cyngerdd ei gynnal. Ar ôl disgyn o’r bws, sylweddolais mod i’n yn y lle anghywir. Ro’n i’n nabod roedd yr eglwys ar ffordd o’r enw Ridgeway ond doedd dim ond syniad amwys ‘da fi lle roedd honna. Felly cerddais yn ôl i fyny’r bryn yn chwilio am y Ridgeway. Pan cyrhaeddais ar ben y bryn o’r diwedd heb ddod o hyd i’r Ridgeway neu’r eglwys, es i i fyny ac i lawr pob un o’r ffyrdd hyn cyn i mi ddod o hyd i rywun i ofyn cyfarwyddiadau amdano. Dywedodd ef wrthaf lle roedd y Ridgeway a meddyliais fyddwn i’n cyrraedd i’r eglwys cyn bo hir.

Felly ro’n i’n ar y ffordd gywir, o’r diwedd, ond ar ben anghywir hi. Felly cerddais i lawr y ffordd, a nid ffordd fyr roedd hi. Pan cyrhaeddais i’r ben arall heb weld yr eglwys, meddyliais wrtho fy hun mod i wedi blino, yn wlyb dros ben – roedd hi’n bwrw glaw trwm trwy’r amser – ac mae’r cyngerdd wedi dechrau yn barod, felly mae’n well ‘da fi mynd adref. Ond yna weles i’r eglwys, es i mewn, a llithrais i mewn sedd yng nghefn hyd at yr egwyl – roedd yr hanner cyntaf bron wedi gorffen hyd hynny. Dyma’r tro cyntaf mod i wedi clywed y côr fel aelod o’r cynulleidfa a swniodd yn wych.

Ces i canu yn ail hanner y cyngerdd o leiaf.

Cynghorodd ein arweinydd mod i’n gorfod cael lifft i gyngherddau yn y dyfodol rhag ofn i mi cyrraedd yn edrych fel ‘llygoden wedi ei boddi’. Cyngor da! Dod â’r map byddai yn syniad da hefyd.

Luchóg báite

Oíche Shatharn chan mé i gceolchoirm le cór Breatnach i Woodingdean, baile beag i aice le Brighton. Shroich mé ansin in am, ach ar an drochuair, chuaigh mé ar seachrán idir stad na mbus agus an eaglais cá raibh an cheolchoirm ar siúil. I ndiaidh an mbus a fhágáil, shíl mé go raibh mé san áit mícheart. Bhí fios agam go raibh an eaglais ar bóthar dar bh’ainm an Ridgeway, ach ní raibh mé cinnte cá raibh an bóthar sin. Mar sin de shiúl mé air ais suas an cnoc agus mé ag lorg an Ridgeway. Nuair a shroich mé ar bharr cnoic gan tar ar an Ridgeway nó an eaglais, chuaigh mé suas agus síos gach bóthar ansin roimh tháinig mé ar duine agus chuir mé faisnéis an bhealaigh air. Dúirt sé liom cá raibh an Rideway agus shíl go shroichfinn mé ann gan mhoill.

Raibh mé ar an bóthar ceart ar deireadh, ach ag barr an cnoic in áit bun an cnoic, cá raibh an eaglais. Mar sin de shiúl mé síos an bóthar, agus ní raibh sé bóthar gearr. Nuair a tháinig mé ag bun an cnoic gan an eaglais a fheiceáil, dúirt mé liom féin go raibh mé tuirseach agus fliuch go craiceann – bhí sé ag cur báisteach an t-am ar fad – agus go mbeidh an cheolchoirm ag tosú cheana, agus rachaidh mé abhaile anois. Agus ansin, chonaic mé an eaglais, chuaigh mé isteach agus shuigh mé síos ag cúl na lucht féachana – bhí an chéad leath thart faoin am sin. Sin é a chéad uair atá mé an cór a chluinstin mar ball na lucht féachana agus bhí sé go hiontach.

Ar a laghad chan mé sa dara leath.

Dúirt ár stiúrthóir liom gur cheart dom síob a fháil agus mé ag dúl chúig cheolchoirmeacha as seo amach, nó tiocfaidh mé ann ag féachaint mar luchóg báite. Comhairle mhaith! Mapa a thógáil bhiodh smaoineamh maith freisin.

Drowned rat

On Saturday evening I sang in a concert with the Welsh choir in Woodingdean, a small town near Brighton. I arrived there on time, but unfortunately got completely lost between the bus stop and the church where the concert was taking place. After getting of the bus I realised that I was in the wrong place. I knew that the church was on a road called the Ridgeway but only had a vague idea where that was. So I marched back up the hill looking for the Ridgeway. When I finally arrived at the top of the hill without finding the Ridgeway or the church, I went up and down all the roads there before finding someone to ask for directions. He told me where was the Ridgeway and I thought that I’d soon be arriving at the church.

I was on the right road at last, but at the wrong end of it. So I off I went down the road, and it wasn’t a short road either. When I finally arrived at the other end without seeing the church, I thought to myself I’m tired, soaked – it was raining heavily all this time – and the concert will have already started, so I might as well go home. But then I saw the church, went in and slipped into a seat at the back until the interval – the first half was almost over by then. This was the first time I’d heard the choir as part of the audience and it sounded great.

At least I got to sing in the second half of the concert.

Our conductor advised me to get a lift to future concerts so that I don’t turn up looking like a drowned rat. Good advice! Taking a map would also be a good idea.

Language Evolution

Language Evolution

Yesterday I finished reading Language Evolution by Morten H. Christiansen and Simon Kirby. The book contains 17 chapters written by scholars from a range of fields, including archaeology, biology, cognitive science, linguistics, neuroscience and psychology, and discusses the latest theories and current controversies in the field of language origins and evolution.

It’s very interesting and I’d certainly recommend it. However, quite a few of the chapters contradict previous ones or seek to prove them wrong, and by the time I’d finished it, I wasn’t at all sure which of many theories to believe.

They’re definitely a lot more sophisticated than the old bow-wow, ding-dong and yo-he-ho theories, which suggest that we got language by imitating animal noises or other natural sounds; that language began as instinctive responses to stimuli; or that it began as a way to facilitate cooperative labour.

Language quiz

Here’s a text in a mystery language sent in by Renato Figueiredo. Any ideas which language it’s in and where it’s spoken?

Papa tumus su in kosao, E’los oal payi. Togusaï lalos tuku. Orok ma nu fwalu, ou elos oru in kosao. Kite kit len si ini ma kut mono misini: A nunok munas nu ses ke ma koluk las, oanu kut nunok munas sin met orek ma koluk nu ses. A tiu kol kit kut in mel, a es kit la liki ma koluk, to togusaï lalos, a ku, a mwolanu, ma patpat. Amen.

Accents and the brain

A researcher at University College London who is looking into how we come by our accents, among other things, has found that more of the brain is involved in speech than previously thought.

An article in The Times explains how the brain of an impressionist was scanned while he was saying short phrases in a variety of accents, or as an impersonation of someone famous. The scan revealed that not only was he using the parts of the brain known to be involved with language, but also other parts involved with movement: one for visualising images and one for body movement. The conclusion was that he was “literally thinking himself into someone’s skin when he was adopting a different accent.”

It is suggested that this research could lead to new ways to help people with communication problems.

The question at the beginning of the article – “Why do some people hold on to their accents all their lives while others drop them overnight?” is no really discussed.

Do you still have the accent you had as a child? Or has it changed? Do you slip into other accents from time to time?

I used to have a bit of a Lancashire accent, but it now closer to RP and tends to vary depending on whom I’m talking to. I often slip into other accents, especially Scottish, Irish and Welsh ones.

Irish language resources

Here are a couple of online resources I came across today for learning Irish:

Everyday Irish – a series of Irish language lessons by Liam Ó Maonlaí, lead singer of the Hothouse Flowers, and offered for free by the Irish Independent. The lessons are in the form of mp3s with accompanying worksheets in PDF format. They are available for beginners and more advanced students.

Talk Irish – a new Irish language learning project which will offer free Irish word-a-day emails, podcasts and flashcards. At the moment only the word-a-day is available, once you’ve joined the site.

Emperors, antiquarians and elephants

What do the above have in common?

Well, believe or not they’re different sizes of paper in the English Imperial system. An emperor is the largest size – 72 × 48 (all measurements in inches), an antiquarian is 53 × 31, and an elephant is 28 × 23. There are also double elephants (40 × 27) and grand eagles (42 × 28 ¾), while the smallest size of writing paper is the pott (15 × 12 ½). A bit more interesting than A4, A3, etc!

Quantities of paper also have special terms to describe them:

  • quire = 24 sheets of paper
  • ream = 480 or 516 sheets of paper, or 20 quires
  • bundle = 2 reams
  • bale = 5 bundles

Quire comes from the Latin quaternī, set of four, four each, via the Vulgar Latin quaternus, the Old French quaer and the Middle English quayer.

Ream comes from the Arabic rizma, bundle, via Old Spanish resma, Old French reime, and Middle English reme.

Sources: The Free Dictionary and Paper measures

Sesiynau cerddoriaeth

Yn ddiwethar dechreuais mynd i sesiwn cerddoriaeth mewn tafarn yn Rottingdean, pentref ger Brighton, pob nos Sul. Rhwng deg o gerddorwyr sy’n chwarae yn y sesiwn ‘ma ac maen nhw’n i gyd yn dalentog iawn. Mae’r mwyafrif ohonynt yn chwarae dau neu fwy offeryn cerddoriaeth yn dda, ac mae rhan ohonynt yn canu hefyd. Dan ni’n chwarae alawon o Iwerddon yn bennaf, a dw i’n nabod cryn dipyn onhonynt, ond llawer mwy o ymarfer sy’n angen cyn i mi gallu chwarae’r alawon yn gyflym ac yn dda heb gamgymeriadau. Dim ond chwarae’r darnau mod i’n gallu chwarae ydw i.

Dw i’n ceisio dysgu mwy o alawon wrth fy nghlustiau heb wrando ar y gerddoriaeth. Sgil defnyddiol iawn yw ‘ny, a gobeithio bydda i’n gallu dysgu bron unrhyw alawon ar ôl wrando arno tipyn o weithiau. Ar hyn o bryd dw i’n gorddibynnu ar gerddoriaeth ysgrifenedig. Dw i’n gallu dysgu caneon fel ‘ny yn barod, ond mae alawon symlach ‘da nhw.

Seisiúin Ceoil

Le déanaí thosaigh mé páirt a ghlachadh i seisiún ceoil i dteach tabharine i Rottingdean, sráidbhaile in aice le Brighton gach oíche Dhomhnaigh. Bíonn thart ar deich daoine ag sheinm sa seisúin seo agus is ceoltoirí ildánach iad – bíonn an chuid is mó acu ag sheinm dhá uirlis ceoil nó níos mó, agus bíonn chuid acu ag canadh freisin. Bíonn muid ag seinm poirt as Éirinn go príomha, agus tá aithne agam ar go leor acu, ach tá orm i bhfad níos mó cleachtadh riomh gur féidir liom iad a sheinm go mhaith, go tapaigh agus gan botúin. Níl ach seinm na páirt gur féidir liom atá mé.

Bhainím triail as páirt a fhoghlaim gan feachaint ar an ceol. Is scil an úsáideach sin agus tá súil agam go mbeidh mé in ann páirt a fhoghlaim i ndiaidh iad a chloisteáil cúpla uair. Ar faoi láithair bhainím an iomarca úsáid as ceol scríofa agus mé páirt a fhoghlaim. Is féidir liom amhrain a fhoghlaim trí mó cluais, ach bíonn fonn níos simplí acu.

Music sessions

Recently I’ve started going to an Irish music session at a pub in Rottingdean, a village not far from Brighton every Sunday evening. About ten or so people go to this session and they are all very talented musicians. Most of them play two or more instruments and some of them sing as well. We play mostly tunes from Ireland and I know quite a few of them, though a lot more practice is needed before I can play quickly and well without mistakes. I just play the bits I can.

I’m trying to learn more tunes by ear without looking at the music, a very useful skill which will hopefully develop over time until I can pick up more or less any new tune after hearing it only a couple of times – I tend to rely too much on written music at the moment. I can already do this for songs, though they tend to have simpler melodies.

Double letters in txt msgs

This is a guest post by by Siôn Jobbins.

Wrth tecstio yn Gymraeg ar fy ffôn poced dwi’n ceisio osgoi defnyddio llythrennau dwbwl gan fod hynny’n cymryd gormod o amser. Mae’n hawdd peidio dyblu ‘n’ ac ‘r’ (a dweud y gwir, dwi ddim yn deall pam na wnaeth John Morris Jones gael gwared arnyn nhw yn yr 1920, fel y cafodd wared ar ddyblu ‘m’ a ‘t’). Byddaf yn osgoi dyblu ‘d’ ar gyfer y lythyren ‘d’ trwy ddefnyddio’r symbol ð sydd ar allweddell rhif 4 fel arfer ar y ffôn. Mae’n rhaid dyblu ‘l’ ar gyfer ‘ll’. Byddaf hefyd yn defnyddio ‘x’ ar gyfer y swn ‘ch’ gan fod hynny’n gynt.

Ond hoffwn holi, gan fod dyblu llythrennau mor drafferthus wrth ddanfon neges destun, sut mae ieithoedd sy’n llawn llythrennau dwbwl fel Iseldireg, Estoneg neu Ffineg yn mynd i’r afael gyda’r broblem (os ydyn nhw’n ei weld yn broblem wrth gwrs!)? A fyddai gan ddarllenwyr dy flog atebion neu awgrymiadau?

Texting in Welsh I try to avoid doubling letters as it’s a nuicance whilst texting. Not doubling ‘n’ and ‘r’ is easy and I don’t understand why we need them in Welsh in anycase (we got rid of doubling t and m with John Morris Jones’s reforms in the 1920s). I can avoid doubing ‘d’ for the ‘dd’ sound by using the ð symbol which is on the d key, though many Welsh-speakers aren’t familiar with this letter. I can’t find a way of not doubling l to get the ll letter.

This got me thinking how do language with many double letters; Dutch, Estonian or Finnish cope with this problem (if they see it a problem)?

Language quiz

Here’s a recording of a song in a mystery language. Any ideas which language it is and where it’s spoken?

[Update] Here are the lyrics of the song:

Ferðist eg í millum landa
Síggi gleði sorg og stríð
Men ein myndin bjørt man standa
Minnir meg um bestu tíð
Ja har heima í tí dali
Har alt grønt og vakurt er
Eg í huga kátur spæli
Meðan skip um sjógvin fer

and here’s a translation:

??? in the midst of bright stars
In the midst of the sound of waves and lambs
Where harsh storms blow
Where no strings tie
Where I’m always free
Where the ocean is a friend
Where I’m free to go somewhere distant
Where fresh ???

Phatic expressions

“Well”, “there you are then”, “Oh dear!” and “That’s life!” are all examples of phatic expressions, which are used as conversation openers, to establish and maintain contact with people, to show that you’re listening, and/or to give you time to think of something else to say. They don’t usually have much meaning in themselves. Greetings and farewells are also examples of phatic language.

The term phatic was coined by the anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowski in the early 1900s and comes from the Ancient Greek φατός (fatos) ‘spoken’, from φάναι (fanai) ‘to say’. Other terms for these types of expressions include small talk and grooming talk – one theory is that humans developed phatic language to replace grooming, an activity that takes up quite a lot of time for our ape relatives and ancestors.

If you’re able to use the common phatic expressions in languages you’re learning, you will sound much more fluent. The actual content and usage of phatic expressions various from culture to culture, so just translating such expressions from your mother tongue won’t necessarily work. You need to find out which expressions to use and when to use them.

For those of you learning Chinese, this blog post on phatic communication between Chinese people and Westerners will probably be of interest.