Author: peadar

Alt beag ag fáiltiú roim lucht Oireachtais go Cathair Chorcaighe 2005, - foilsithe san Evening Echo seachtain an Oireachtais

Céad míle fáilte roimh Oireachtas na Gaeilge go Cathair Chorcaí. Cork people were always proud of their culture whether on the sporting field, writing songs, painting, prancing, dancing or celebrating language, which makes the city a most suitable home for Oireachtas na Gaeilge.

I 1884 bunaíodh Cumann LúthChleas Gael. Sa bhliain 1886 reachtáileadh an céad Oireachtas i mBaile Atha Cliath, bhí lóchrann lasta do chultur ársa uasal na nGaedhal. I 1916, le réabhlóid, fógraíodh Poblacht. Laistigh de achar gearr blianta bhí córas stáit i dtreo againn le Dáil agus Seanad agus úsáideadh an focal Oireachtas don dara uair. Tagann cultúr roim rialtas.

Tá meon neamhspleach dóchasach ag pobal Chorcaí agus tá na tréithe seo préamhaithe in a gcultúr. Is iad na treithe cheadhna a thugann in uachtar iad go minic i gcursaí spóirt is ceol. James Barry thar nais ina dhúthaigh féin.

Fearaimíd Fáilte roimh oilirthigh culthurtha go Corcaigh. B’fhéidir gur suim leo Cúchulainn le camán, Fionn Mac Cumhaill le cluiche fichille, Seanáchan ag seanachaíocht, agallamh nó lúibín nó Amhránaíocht Dúchas na nGael. Le teacht an Oireachtais beid go léir ann.

‘Sé Corcaigh an contae is mó in Éirinn. Laistigh dá chríocha fairsing tá machairí méithe, móinteáin is riascaibh, abhanntractaí is árdshléibhta maorga. Tá siad seo breachaithe le pobail éagsúla lonnaithe in oileáin, bailte is sráidbhailte, gaeltachtaí is breacgaeltachtaí, cathair is cnoic.

Cosúil leis an Róimh atá suite i measg na seacht gcnoc ar bhruachaibh an Tiber, tá Corcaigh féin ag luí go seascair ag bun na gcnoc ar dé-bhruacha fáilteacha na Laoi is í ag sní chun farraige. Ní hé brúidiúlacht fuilteach Ímpireacht na seana Róimhe a cheilliúrann bratacha dearga Chorcaí ach laochas na n’ollamh is na naoimh agus iad ag traochadh dragún Fhionnbarra. Nó b’fhéidir gur seolta allúrach na long iasachta ar dugannaibh is céanna an chalaphoirt a mhúscail an dúil in’s na bratanaibh ioldathach is ioldána a bhíonn le feiscint ag mannair oscionn an tslua Chorcaíoch.

Tá fáilte roimis an taistealaí go Corcaigh. Tá a chionn féin de laetheannata tubaisteach i leathanaigh staire na tire seo fiscithe ag an gContae. Ach ní le mí áth is mí fhortún an áir amháin átá ainm bhaile Cionn tSáile luaite ach le feabhas a cuid bídh is a cócairí. Agus ní le Cionn tSáile amháin an cáil bídh sin – is leis an contae ar fad é. Is iontach iad putóga dubha na duichí sin gan trácht ar cháiseanaibh is cíortha meala, feoil is éiscibh na shlaodaibh aneas go maragaí Bhaile Átha Cliath is na hEorpa ó Chalaphoirt Bhéara.

Agus má tá cultúr an bhídh go tréan sa chontae ní féidir a cháil ó thaobh portair is fuicsí do cheilt ach chomh beag. An ionadh é go mbeadh an t-Oireachtas chomh seascar sásta ar bhrúachaibh na Laoi nuair atá rogha rísiúil chun gloiní do líonadh de dhéantús áitiúil?

Sea, tá agus beidh fáilte roim Oireachtas na Gaeilge go Corcaigh mar thar aon ní eile tá muintir Chorcaí fáilteach, fial, faireálta – beagáinín cainteach b’fhéidir ach ar ndeoin tá na focail go léir acu.

Tá sé ráite i dtaobh muintir Chorcaighe gur dream iad a bhíonn go minic ag maíomh. Ach aon duine atá tar éis an sliocht thuas do léamh tuigfidh said nách fíor sin in aonchor!

An article published in the Cork Evening Echo to coincide with the Oireachtas na Gaeilge Festivel held in Cork during the first week of November 2005, when I was chairman of the local organizing committee.

I have a friend who will be a 106 next June, le cúnamh Dé. When he qualified as a teacher during the years of Irish rebellion a friend of his, John Collins, asked him if he spoke Irish. “No” says Paddy. “Well” says John (brother to Michael Collins) “we are building our own country here and we will have our own educational system. We will use our own language. Go down to Tuirín Dubh in Béal Átha an Ghaorthaigh and learn the language if you are going to be a teacher in this new country of ours”.

What happened to their dream? We have had so much plámás and palavour about the language and scarcely a word of it abroad in the community today. We have had so many promises, a few threats, policy documents and political perorations. Yet the country is now further away from the goal of having our own language as the national lingua franca.

It is not a case of displacing English but there is so much more you can say in Irish. Now that we travel the world there are many of us who regret not having that extra bit of sophistication and being able to speak our own language. Never shorten a ladder - you will never replace the missing steps. Yet after eighteen years or steps learning the Irish language most people I meet have never passed the first rung. Most have a yearning to reach the middle at least and to be able to converse in their own native language. So what the hell is wrong? Why is the Irish language such a nasty bitter experience for so many students? My belief is that children pick up a negative vibe from their earlier teachers and this coloures them all the way through the educational system. There are noble exceptions.

Where a person with a love for the language has been at work, the lasting results of their labour can be seen in many ways throughout the community. A sense of pride in identity ripples out from their activities. This is quite often in a secondary or tertiary way via a Christmas play or success in competitions, a sense of history and pride of place which in turn evokes support for other community activities - supporting a local team or keeping a village tidy or a commitment to caring for other members of the community. I heard a quotation from such a person last Friday – “Gaeilge marbh – Éire balbh.” I believe this to be true. For I have seen it said that the average vocabulary of an English speaker is about 400 words. It is after all the language of the world, the easiest to learn, the fastest way to communicate today. The daily vocabulary of an Irish speaker is said to be 1400 words or so. Irish is a very descriptive and definitive language. The Irish version of our constitution takes precedence over the English translation. And language reflects the mind that uses it. Is it any wonder that English speaking Irish people are so successful when writing in the English language? Their instinct or “dúchas’ is to poke out the corners of language, to have a rhythm or flow to their expression of thought.

Here in Cork we always had a love of our language. Just look at the tam ratings for Irish language programming on tv and radio. Our first two Lord Mayors bravely proclaimed their pride by the use of our language before they gave their lives for our freedom. When you join the ‘Rebels’ on hurling or football final days just take a look at all the flags with “Corcaigh” rather then “Cork.” There is a kind of competition amongst supporters to find the most unique “Rebel” shirt. I personally have two that I am proud of – the one, red of course, with “Poblacht daonlathach Chorcaí” and another advertising our local “An Muileann agus an Poc ar Buille”. It would surely be a surprise to many to learn that may of the hurlers and footballers speak Irish and use it on the playing field. But then why be surprised? Is that not the essence of being a rebel these days? To strike out and do something different and unique. To set one self apart and to believe that we follow the true ritious path. The surprise is that not many other people in the country feel the same way or do they? Do you? It is all very simple in the end – just use the cúpla focal you have and the rest will follow. And here are two “Sláinte” (instead of that awful mediocre ‘cheers’) and “slán” instead of goodbye.

If you think that the country has a problem with regard to the Irish language just think about us poor so and so’s in the Gaeltacht. Half of us are still in the last century and think we will suffer because we will have to emigrate – with “no proper and modern english! More of us are fanatical supporters and more of us speak it out of a sense of duty while more wish the whole question would just dissapear. And dumped heavily on our backs is the idea that we are responsible for maintaining and preserving the language. Actually I do not remember any of us Gaeltacht people being asked if we wanted this noble and onerous task.

And so to Mr Enda Kenny’s statement. There is a truth hidden somewhere in his idea. There is something very wrong with the current state of affairs with regard to the teaching of Irish. But that is neither the fault of the language or the students but rather of the teachers and the system that we use. Some people did warn us against the closure of the preparitry schools in the early sixties. But most people I have spoken to on this subject during the last week have been very certain that abandoning the language is not the answer. We all need a way to learn to speak it. Not everyone wants to be a poet or bard – yet. We just want to be able to speak it when we want to. If three year old kids can learn it in a few weeks surely, surely it must be within the capacity of the department of education to make us reasonably fluent in, say twelve years? In the mean time good people – use the cúpla focal you have and Cork city and county may show the rest of the country a thing or two – not for the first time.

Don Cronin, Luc Racine, Bob Rasmussen, Úna Ní Shé.

Sníonn eolas tharainn is cnuasaíon eagna le teacht aoise. Measaim féin gur geall le máilín glóthaí, uile-eolas aon pobal - luig ar thaobh amháin agus boilsceóigh giota eile amach chughat. Eolaíocht is ainm don bhfaircéan is mó sna laetheanta seo agus is iad toibreacha sean eagna, i réimse eile an d’aonaí, atá thíos leis go sealadach. Ach tá rudái áirithe ann atá ionann de shíor. Bás, beatha, domhan-tharrac, sruth, agus mar sin de. B’fhéidir go n’átharaíonn ár ndearca ar na nithe seo. Is ar faor na faille seo mar, a n’atharaíonn dearca, is ea oibríonn an ealaíontóir. Ní mór dóibh tuiscint iomlán do bheith acu ar crot, fuirm, is comh-ionnanas, chun múnlú do dhéanamh ar an mbith faoin’ a smacht. Mar sin ní mór don ealaíontóir bheith ina cheardaí oillte len’a chuid amhabhair.

Is baolach gurb anamh caighdeán an taispeántais seo do bheith coitianta inniu. Toisc iad do bheith ina máistrí ar a gceard, tá saoirse iomlán ag na ealaíontóirí seo tabhairt faoi chríocha na samhalaíochta is na cruthaíochta. Tá a gcuid saothar iomlán. Is eiseamlár is dea shampla iad d’aon ealaíontóir óg atá ag brath ar bheith ina saoithe lena n’ealaíon, le imeacht srutha an ama atá romhainn.

As life flows past us we learn into the wisdom of old age. It seems to me that the knowledge capacity in a community is like a bag of jelly – pinch one area and another bulges out. We have a big bulge called science today, that is balanced by the pinched areas of older interests and temporally discarded knowledge.

But some things are constant. We live, we die, gravity, flow, and so on. Our perception of these things may change. It is on that interface, where perceptions are shaped, that artists work. To be able to “see” and “shape” they must understand the nature of elements - the importance of balance, of shape and form. This is why artists must also
be craftsmen with their materials.

The standard of our artists in this exhibition is, alas, rare today as these artists have a control and understanding of their craft, that allows their creativity to roam free and truly creatively. Their work is complete. They are the example for young artists of the future who truly wish to be genuine masters of their field.

An article written in the form of a letter from Peadar to his father Sean. First appeared in the Sunday Independent February 1998)

Seán,
I smelt you here again last Tuesday. Here, in your room, where I now work, I could feel your presence as that familiar cigar smoke whiff wafted around the room. God, a lot has changed since you died on the third of October in 1971. Of course, we seven here are no longer the children you left behind, and we no longer fret over our mother preferring to join you so soon afterwards. It did cause quite a rendering for her as to which to be with: her children or her other half. The cancer was horrendous and she suffered immensely but then, knowing her, she probably never told you that part when she reached heaven up there with you. There better be a bloody heaven. So many have parted this mortal coil that I quite often feel a little like ‘Oisín i ndiaidh na Féine’.

Do you remember those last few years where you felt the reaper kept looking over your shoulder? It was so palpable that Ruth felt you had a death wish and this left her, your wife, very frightened. You studied death with the connivance of you friends Paití Thadhg Pheig and Tadhg Ó Muláin, two who were in that gateway at the time. But then pre-cognisence is such a hassle sometimes.

I have my own kids now. Four of them. I married a wonderful woman from Clare who is cracked about hurling and football. And Clare have finally collected the ultimate trophies in Croke Park in recent years. Your father would be a happy man. Anyway, I find that I am quite a different father to you. Where you never really held us or fooled around with us, I find myself the opposite. Us boys in the family also seem to have turned out pretty handy at the old house work. None of this inspection of knives and forks that you were fond of. The wooden spoon is only used for stirring the porridge, which is still the same Macroom oatmeal, by the way. But then life has changed so much since you died. Every family is tiny nowadays: two or maybe three. But we still have two schools in Cúil Aodha. Do you remember the ‘bacharam’ about keeping them open in the sixties? Do you remember how you used to badger people like George Colley and Padraig Faulkner for the odd factory or whatever? Ireland seemed much smaller that time. Everyone seemed to know everyone else..

All your talk of the Pale seems to have come to pass. There certainly are two cultures, two strands or tribes of people in this country today. Them up there and us down here. All things Irish have become trendy world wide, so the airbrains in the Pale are suddenly interested and buying what irishness they can, to add to their style. Of course the real Dubs still exist in pockets but the metropolis has grown so much that it sometimes is hard to find them. Your old work pals in RE/RTE have a huge place out in Montrose now. Two channels if you don’t mind and the radio waves to boot. There is a lot of bullshit moving around there as usual but mind you some of the old reliables are still there, ploughing away. Believe it or believe it not Gay Byrne is still top dog there and I would have to say that he is a friend and has been loyal to you and yours. Poor Gerry Victory died. Like you, I don’t think people really appreciated his work. Mind you, now you are becoming quite famous again. Well, some of your work is. You wouldn’t believe who is singing or playing Mná na hEireann. There is a list of pop stars and bands as long as your arm. Mike Oldfield, Kate Bush, James Last, Phil Coulter, Sinead O Connor, The Christians, a whole rake of them. Mind you, I don’t think the young fella in the street has a clue as to who you were or why you were famous. You have become some kind of an icon I suppose. Do you remember that habit you had of writing a tune or an air for Sean Ó Sé and the lads in Ceoltóirí Chualainge, and then not letting on where it came from, just to see if it would be accepted by the tradition? Well, it worked a treat. The country is playing and singing 'em by the new time. If we got a penny for every time Carraig Fergus was sung now we could build that airstrip you dreamed about. Maybe too many poets eulogised you and that put the coybosh on the situation. Schools, firms, streets, festivals, lectures, rooms, all kinds of things are named after you. But nobody remembers what fun it was to be in your company. The sound of laughter and enjoyment. The buzz of excitement as something new or different seemed to be always happening around you. Jaysus, God only knows where you would have stopped if you had lived. This bloody world would hardly be big enough for you. I could never get over the way you seemed to be able to go anywhere you wanted or to drift into any company you desired. But then again your were always great crack and quite different to the image of a heavy duty artist, genius, eccentric or whatever. Do you remember all the filming? Mind you not everyone in the business was impressed but I have heard it said that the best deer sequence ever shot in this country was the one yourself, Roy Hamond and “Divine Mother of God” Jack Spillane did at dawn in Killarney. I fiddle away at the old films myself these days. I have an inkling that your music is about to hit the fan shortly. Two Englishmen who have taken up the flag on your behalf have made a great film and recorded a whole pile of pieces of yours for the first time. You being as particular as you were in these matters, would be quite pleased with the orchestra used. It was an amalgamation of all the best players in this country North and South and a few from across the pond for good measure.

That reminds me of something else. Do you remember the boats. Your Galway Hooker got smashed that first winter after you died. What was it? Two Hookers afloat in Ireland, at that time? Well there are as many as sixty of those beautiful vessels sailing around now. I still have all those boating magazines you used to buy. And do you remember when you were trying to learn Mandarin Chinese? You had me at the other end of the table with the book while you practiced. I am at it myself with my own kid now. Italian this time. Well, you know, Ruth’s mother being Italian and all that. I haven’t got your ear for languages though. What was it? English, Irish, French Italian, a bit of German and smatterings of Russian. God, but Russia has changed. Gone is the Soviet Union. I wonder if the friends you had in Moscow still exist or if they would still want you, the choir, the ceoltóirí and all that caper. I am sure they would because as I said, Irish is now popular. There is even a whiff of elitism with the ever more popular Irish language, though the story in the gaeltachts might be slightly different.

That reminds me, the North is boiling away still and has broken many a heart. It is a far cry from 1967 with the Orange Lodge at that hotel, yourself and Gutherie planning the future of Dal Riada and Sean Ó Sé and the lads singing the boys of Kilmichael at the insistence of their hosts. In a way I am glad you never witnessed the worst of the last 25 years. Awful things were done to the Ulster people. You would have gone mad or been locked up with those strong emotions of yours. We all practice a kind of schizoid state of mind and seem to be in denial about our identity as a result. Do you know that there are a lot of people who would be very uncomfortable if you sang many of the old songs now. People are afraid they might be branded a republican. Imagine that in Ireland, if you please.

The choir is still hammering away here in Cúil Aodha. I have learned a bit more then the three keyboard notes you told me to press that day you got sick. Mind you now, we don’t do just your stuff, there are a few pieces of my own foisted into the repetoire. Funny how the crowd in Dublin never understood what you were up to when you left their great civilised world with its poets and artists and beautiful people. They whisper that you went to the drink and depression you know. Hard to figure really, I mean, I saw you under the influence twice ever. They never heard of our little family weakness in the liver area either I’d say. Fat foods and drink are dodgy at the best of times in that department. Some of us siblings just cannot touch the stuff without paying for it severely. You never did repeat anything. Once you had tried it out, it lost its interest to you. So you had done the European thing, done the arty farty bit, done the bourgeois bit, done the intellectual, and got struck down when doing the spiritual bit. Do you know that it is not Mise Eire that makes you famous abroad? It’s the pieces out of the first Mass. All over the world, every Sunday there are people singing your “Ag Críost an Síol”. There actually are pop groups singing them these days.

That old sergeant death still hangs around. One of our own kids, your namesake, Seán óg, has spent this, his first eight years of life, dancing with the reaper also. We would prefer him to stay with us a while longer, but if it should happen that you find your self dandling him upon your knee with St Patrick and Co, look after him for us. Tell “the mother” and the rest of the family and neighbours up there that we were asking for them. We are lucky in that we people around here feel close to ye always.

Beir Bua.
Do mhac,
Peadar

P.S. You old pal Charlie fell off his horse again. He hurt himself but he is OK. It also happened to him during a bad patch, like the first time. History will certainly treat him kinder then than the present lot. He was always loyal to us after you went, even when the others were busy. Like you, he is a grandad now. It’s time they left him alone.