Broken Irish – Mo seachtain na gaelige anseo

I’ve just spent a week at Oideas Gael learning Irish in the valley of Glencolmcille… these are my memories… sheimhius, fadas, focloir and grammar corrections welcome…

Mo seachtain na gaelige anseo

Lá A Haon

“Dia duit,” she said. The fear (no not that one) sweat-beaded his forehead
Declensions, verbs and conjugations clustered ‘neath his brow
Cases clattered, blood vessels burst.
Tongue twisted he stuttered, “ Ta t t ta mé…” and stopped
Focloir feckin focloir fumbled on his palate.
Reverse gear selected, his mind mumbled
Something about something about Mary.
“Dia s’Maire duit…” delved deep from day a haon
Iosas Chriost, that was close.

Lá a Do

D’ith mé mo ceapaire
D’ith mé mo ceapaire
Scriobh mé mo column páipéar.
Chula na tradaoi cursing; anglo-saxon focloir,
Agus na carraige ag briseadh. Duh duh duh duh duh.
Be vay, me bay
Tenses twisting unpronounceable sheimhius
Inné, Amarach, Gach Lá, Ordú.
And as for amarach, that can fanfaidh till amarach.
Filiocht flattering verses,
Repeated rhymes of cotai dearga before lunch,
Whetting appetites for possessive agams, agats, agus againns.
“Tá sé seo ar fad an gcarta,”
Dúirt an múinteoir.
Oh aye, it’s on the card alright… but where.

Lá a Tri

Tá me tuirseach, an-tuirseach.
Bíonn mé i Teach Roarty’s gach oiche.
Mo cheann lán le guthanna agus teanga
Mo bheal beirthe i a haon a reanga
As bearla, as gaelige, as bearlige aris
You say that how? Ah now, you’re taking the pish.
Togánn me an siúl-fáda
Along the bothár casta
Up to Glen head’s Napoleonic Tower
Amhráin na fuiseoga
Tíre na spuinse
Radharc na mára
An ceol na dtonnta
Tar anseo mo chara
Tar anseo mo chara
Tar anseo mo chara
Then back to Roarty’s for the cure.

Lá a Ceathair

An raibh amuigh, aréir?
Gabh mo leithsceal mo chara,
but that’s a stupid bloody question.
Ta poit orm.
We sit and yawn, waiting for verbs to dawn,
Orainn takes muid, my brain is now fudge
And then from somewhere it comes
Je suis penseé, en francais…
Eh maintenant, an ceacht staire
To Port, on an bothar caol,
Scared sheared sheep
Mo mhuinteoir at the wheel
An fuaim na duirlinge
Agus an glaoch ar an bhfarraige
Tar ar ais anseo mo chara
Tar ar ais anseo mo chara
An cupla pionta, roimh na damhsa
An Ceilidh Mor made my knees awful sore
Agus tar éis, Roarty’s of course…
Amhrain agus ceol, na Sasana, na Alba agus na Roisin Dubh

Lá a cuig

Sillyness and giddiness all the day long,
We’ve almost finished, so this poem is near done

Cloisim fós na dtonnta
Tar ar ais anseo mo chara
Tar ar ais anseo mo chara
Agus beidh mé ag teacht ar ais

So, to na muinteori, na banisteori, the makers of the coffee and the tea,
Agus An struithoir, le teanga oir,
Go raibh maith agat from us all
I had a ball, ceart go leor.
Who said you can’t learn Irish in a week.

Sine é.

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