Week 1 : Land – Talamh
Here I have compiled the various poems, songs and visual material from our first session together. If you have any questions please do post in the discussion area.
Many thanks for your participation on this experimental journey.
Droichead na nDeor: The Bridge of Tears – Recording of an interview with Donal Mac Polin.
Aisling Gheal : Bright Vision
I shared about how this song is part of the “Aisling“ or vision poem tradition. In these poems, Ireland appears in the form of a maiden who is awaiting her hero who will relieve her sorrows. The example below however reveals the very mortal concerns of a young man. Listening to the version of Iarla ‘O Lionaird below that, that eternal longing for a more elevated visionary promise, carried in the emotion of the song, lingers on.
| Lyrics: | English Translation: |
| Aisling gheal do shlad trím néal mé | A vision bright beguiled in sleep me |
| Is go rabhas-sa tréithlag seal im luí | As I lay feebly bereft of cheer |
| Is go rabhas i ngleann cois abhann im aonar | In a river valley I wandered gaily |
| Is go rabhas ag aeraíocht le grá mo chroí | In conversation with my true love dear |
| Go raibh na camthaí Gall agus Gaelach | The host of foreigners and host of Gaeldom |
| Is claimhte géara ag uaisle an tsaol | In battle baring their sword and spear |
| Ag breith barr áidh is á rá le chéile | And the word went out in loud lamentation |
| Go raibh clann an fhaoit anois le fáil gan mhoill | That the day of saints was now drawing near |
| Ba ghearr a shamhail dom gur dhearcas Mary | Then soon I gazed on a fair young maiden |
| ‘Gus gruaig a cinn léi go féar a’ fás | With shining hair falling to the ground |
| A folt a tíocht mar na réaltainn | Her flowing tresses like stars cascading |
| Ag titim léise go barr a troighe | Falling in waves to her ankles down |
| Ag siúl na drúchta de barr an fhéir glais | Sweeping the dew off the meadow early |
| ‘S is lúafar éadtrom mar do shiúladh sí | And tripping gaily with footsteps light |
| A dá chíoch chruinne ar a hucht go néata | Her two round breasts on her bosom neatly |
| A grua mar chaortha, is ba gheal í a píb | Her cheeks were berries and her throat was white |
| Do bheannaíos-sa do mo chuid i ngaelainn | And when I greeted my love in Gaelic |
| Is modhail ‘s maorga do fhreagair sí | In manner gracious she did reply |
| “A plúr na bhfear, mo shlad ná deinse | “Oh flower of men, please do not take me |
| Mar is maighdean mé nár tháinig d’aois | I am underage and a maid foreby |
| Dhá dtéadh sa ghreann dúinn clann a dhéanamh | If our lovemaking conceived a baby |
| Is go mbéifeá séantach ins an ghníomh | And if your blame then you should deny |
| Gur gearr ón mbás mé, is go bhfágainn Éire | I would leave Erin and death would face me |
| Im ghóist im aonar bheinn romhat id shlí” | And my ghost would plague you all through your life” |
| Do leagas mo láimh uirthi go béasach | I laid my hand on her so ever gently |
| Ó bhun a stays go dtí barr a troighe | From the top of her stays to the tips of her toes |
| In aghaidh gach staire go ndeinfinn léi dhi | In spite of every rumor I would do it with her? |
| Go bpógfainn a béilín tlath arís | Until I kissed her tender lips again |
| Nuair a fuaras-sa dhom gur ghéill sí | When I gained what she yielded to me |
| Mo chroí do léim mar an éan ar chraoibh | My heart leapt like a bird on a branch |
| Trí lár mo smaoinimh ach gur dhúisigh néal mé | In the middle of my vision, alas I awoke in sorrow |
| Is de chumha ina disdh siúd, ní mhairfead mí | On account of my tears, I shall not live a month |
Here is the recording I mentioned – the first I ever heard : sung by a young Iarla ‘O Lionáird
Ariel Views of Newgrange : Brú na Bóinne
From a Dream of Aonghus Óg : Short Film with Poem by George Russel ( A.E.)
The Song of Amergin
| (Translation) I am a wind across the sea I am a flood across the plain I am the roar of the tides I am a stag of seven fights I am a dewdrop let fall by the sun I am the fierceness of boars I am a hawk, my nest on a cliff I am a height of poetry (magical skill) I am the most beautiful among flowers I am the salmon of wisdomWho (but I) is both the tree and the lightning strikes it Who is the dark secret of the dolmen not yet hewnI am the queen of every hive I am the fire on every hill I am the shield over every head I am the spear of battle I am the ninth wave of eternal return I am the grave of every vain hopeWho knows the path of the sun, the periods of the moon Who gathers the divisions, enthralls the sea, sets in order the mountains. the rivers, the peoples | (Original) Am gáeth tar na bhfarraige Am tuile os chinn maighe Am dord na daíthbhe Am damh seacht mbeann Am drúchtín rotuí ó ngréin Am an fráich torc Am seabhac a néad i n-aill Am ard filidheachta Am álaine bhláithibh Am an t-eo fisCía an crann agus an theine ag tuitim faire Cía an dhíamhairina cloch neamh shnaidhiteAm an ríáin gach uile choirceoige Am an theine far gach uile chnoic Am an scíath far gach uile chinn Am an sleagh catha Am nómá tonnag sírthintaghaív Am úagh gach uile dhóich dhíamaíníCía fios aige conara na gréine agus linn na éisce Cía tionól na rinn aige, ceangladh na farraige, cor i n-eagar na harda, na haibhne, na túatha. |
Further Reading
For Katy – Germany and Ireland– 1000 years of Shared History by Martin Elsasser
Island of the Setting Sun – In Search of Ireland‘s Ancient Astronomers by Anthony Murphy and Richard Moore
Week 2: Water – Uisce
Blessing for an Exile by John ‘O Donoghue ( still uploading )
From Exiles and Hermits – in Robin Flower, The Irish Tradition :
Poet Human of the 7th Century to which this song is attributed –
“The Northmen told him to praise the sea that they might know whether he possessed original poetry. So he praised the sea and he drank the while saying:
“Tempest on the great suborders!
Hear my tale, ye viking swords :
Winter smites us, wild winds crying
Set the salty billows flying,
Wind and winter, fierce marauders.
Lir‘s vast host of shouting water ( referencing Mananaan Mac Lir – God of the sea )
Comes against us charged with slaughter;
None can tell the dread and wonder
Speaking in the ocean thunder
And the tempest, thunder‘s daughter.
With the wind of east at morning
All the waves‘ wild hearts are yearning
Westward over wastes of ocean
Till they stay their eager motion
Where the setting sun is burning.
When the northern wind comes flying,
All the press of dark waves crying
Southward surge and clamour, driven
To the shining southern heaven,
Wave to wave in song replying.
When the western wind is blowing
O‘er the currents wildly flowing,
Eastward sets its nightly longing
And the waves go eastward, thronging
Far to find the sun-tree growing.
When the southern wind comes raining
Over shielded Saxons straining
Waves round Skiddy isle go pouring,
On Caladnet‘s beaches roaring,
In grey Shannon‘s mouth complaining.
Full the sea and fierce the surges,
Lovely are the ocean verges,
On the showery waters whirling
Sandy winds are swiftly swirling,
Rudders cleave the surf that urges.
Hard round Éire‘s cliffs and messes,
Hard the strife, not soft the stresses,
Like swan-feathers softly sifring
Snow o‘er Míle‘s folk is drifting,
Manann‘s wife shakes angry tresses.
At the mouth of each dark river
Breaking waters surge and shiver,
Wind and winter met together
Trouble Alba with wild weather,
Countless falls on Dremon quiver.
Son of God , great Lord of wonder,
Save me from the ravening thunder!
By the feast before Thy dying
Save me from the tempest crying
And from Hell tempestuous under!
O the stern ascetic life, daily labour and prayer of the monks in their cells and anchorites in their oratories we learn through the fragments of verse that remain.
“The wind over the Hog‘s Back moans,
It takes the trees and lays them low,
And shivering monks o‘er frozen stones
To the twain hours of nighttime go.
(ie. The wind is sharp and cold when the men go to church at Glendalough for vespers and nocturne!)
Love of Nature
“Learned in music sings the lark,
I leave my cell to listen;
his open break spills music, hark!
Where Heaven‘s bright cloudlets glisten.
And so I ‘ll sing my morning psalm
That God bright Heaven may give me
And keep me in eternal calm
And from all sin relieve me.
There is a story that tells of a time Saint Brigit went to visit Colmcille in Iona. Her small craft was struggling through the waves as there was little wind. A flock of Oystercatcher birds whooshed by and through their aid she travelled with great speed to arrive at that northern Island of Iona. To this day the Irish name for the Oystercatcher bird is “Bríd éan“ – Brigit‘s bird.
There are many excellent films about currachs:
A recent and wonderful film The Camino Voyage follows the efforts of a group of Irish men including musician Glen Hansard, author Donal Mac an tSíthigh and traditional musician Brendán Begley.
There are other photographs from a small festival I organised back in 2015 called Féile na Saoirse– the central focus over a week was building a currach using the Irish language.
Holy Wells
Caoineadh na dTrí Mhuire – Lament of the Three Marys
A Pheadair, a Aspail,
An bhfaca tú mo ghrá geal?
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
Chonaic mé ar ball é,
Gá chéasadh ag an ngarda.
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
Cé hé an fear breá sin
Ar Chrann na mPáise?
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
An é n-aithníonn tú
Do Mhac, a Mháthrín?
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
An é sin an Maicín
A hoileadh in ucht Mháire?
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
An é sin an Maicín
A rugadh insan stábla?
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
An é sin an Maicín
A d’iompair mé trí ráithe?
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
A Mhicín mhúirneach,
Tá do bhéal ‘s do shróinín gearrtha,
Óchón agus óchón-ó!
Cuireadh tairní maolatrína chosa ‘s trína lámha,
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
Cuireadh an tsleáTrína bhrollach álainn.
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
Óch óchón agus óchón-ó!
Session Three
Celtic Festivals – The Irish Celtic Calendar – The Otherworld
The Hill Of Uisneach from www.crosscut.ie on Vimeo.
Above is a virtual introduction to the hill of Uisneach – at the centre of Ireland.
Recording of the third session: https://web.tresorit.com/l/LSj5a#8A5-Pjg9wH16Wk3CUc3UsQ
Recording of our Week 3 Session:
ANAM: 