GAEL

Tá blag leite agam le déanaí, agus ann ach nár bhual mé dorn ar an údar. Cinnte go mbeadh sé deacair ar fad é sin a dhéanamh agus seisean thar lear…

It was full of vitriol, of all-too-common Irish self-loathing and, I must say, a good deal of ignorance. But what most angered me about this blog I read quite recently was that it was rife with pragmatic money-logic and had no regard for the soul.

I know: "What is the soul?" There was a time, I think, that the term was readily understood in its religious context. Yet, by extension, even for the most irreligious among us, I believe that we can define it as that which makes an individual most unique, and that from which one contributes to the world in a way that no one else can do. The poet, the prophet and the artist can go further (and most, I'd say, have something of either within us) and assert that the "soul" is that element within us that finds pleasure in what lies beyond sight, beyond words, what the mind can put together to create new worlds, new visions, new sounds; it binds affections, weaves memories into dreams, roots time into eternity. It is something like imagination, yet creeps into the vital places much more ineradicably than just "an imagining". To tear it up would kill the prophet, the poet, the artist... It would do some damage to the pragmatist, but without much howl and perhaps there would be little noticeably different in his gait once the deed were done.

I will not link to this blog. I will not stain your mind with the images, but I will sum it up as such: too much money is being poured into supporting the Irish language; we Irish are just a bunch of fuck-ups anyway; let's use the money for something better, like making ourselves more British.

The benefit of reading the blog, in my own case, was that I had to ask myself again: why on earth for the past 10 years have I been studying the most difficult Indo-European language still in existence when so few people speak it natively and not many more than them show an honest interest in it even in its own land? My own history and thoughts on the language could fill a small book. I have just about discarded it in disgust at times along the decade only to pick up again, avidly, ravenously. Why the love-hate, and why the hundreds of hours of effort?

Because of my own heritage? Yes, especially at first: a connection to my ancestors.
Because I'm a linguist? Absolutely, the mechanics of the language are fascinating.
Because I love a challenge? Not really, but I found myself determined.
Because, like any language, it makes you think differently about reality? Quite so, and the Celtic vision of the world as I force myself to think in this tongue is something that I would be poorer without.
Because I believe in uniqueness of culture? And there is no better way than through a language.
Because I believe in revival for the sake of improvement, in cultural renaissance, in rising from the ashes and in seeing injustice reversed? Because I'm a gay man with whom oppression resonates, who is enraged to the core when he sees a dominant force squelch the identity out of a people? Because I'm a gay man still struggling to be himself in the face of a scoffing majority, indignant--perhaps self-righteously--when a people will not reclaim their own soul for themselves and will cut the legs off those who try?

GAEL

Banba flails and foams.

Romantics write the words that will not be heard
above the nay and say no more for what’s the use.
An army of warrior poets wrestling under the waves
of indolent cynics.
So much élan to lose one’s thoughts
and trample dreams and be
without
a name.

The children of her children
scattered
Stand upon the five shores
mourned
Banba fades beneath a wave.