Géilleadh ~ Surrender
Accepting the process instead of the desire for fluency
When I first set out to learn Irish, I set myself three goals that I felt were reasonable and relatively measurable:
To be able to listen to the news in Irish on Raidió na Gaeltachta (and understand it!);
To be able to follow the commentary of a hurling match as Gaeilge (though since Cork’s collapse in the second half of the All-Ireland final last year, this has become a bit of a potential trigger); and
To be able to have a reasonably competent adult conversation in the language.
I think I’ve more or less accomplished these at this point, though following sports commentary is still difficult for me if it’s radio only, as things move fast, and it’s a very particular context with its own language, terminology, and style that’s very distinctive. And while I can struggle through a conversation, I don’t think my fellow interlocutor’s experience is always going to be that great; I still require a good deal of patience and indulgence on their part.
But the thing is, as I have progressed, and I’m sure this is common for many learners, I’ve wanted to achieve more. As soon as I understand one thing, I am getting frustrated because I don’t understand the next thing, and I just want to be able to get on and speak and read the language.
I’m lazy and greedy basically; I just want the results.
I am extremely envious when I hear other learners who have mastered this. It generally tends to be younger people, far more proficient in the language than I will ever be, that I have encountered in the education system. They will sometimes produce Irish that is beautifully structured and natural with a true Irish idiom, whereas what I will come up with will be some kind of Frankenstein’s monster of word salad cobbled together in an attempted literal translation of an English structure I had in my head to begin with.
The only way that I have come across to get out of this is to go through it.
We have five kids. My wife is very musical. She has encouraged all of them to learn music and instruments from a young age, and all are now competent to varying degrees. I can’t read music or play any instrument, and I can’t sing, so I am a stranger to all of this.
But all that I can testify to is that to have five young adults who are all now competent at playing some form of music, we had to sit through a lot of very bad attempts at sound production from musical instruments.
You just have to be prepared to be bad and keep doing it to get better.
You have to surrender to the process, and try to enjoy it in the meantime.
This is something I know intellectually but have an ongoing internal temper tantrum about emotionally; it’s much easier said than done.
On some level, striving is what gets stuff done; it’s the energy that gets us up and moving in the direction of a goal. It’s necessary for progress.
But on another level, the striving becomes the problem, as we are always grasping for something that is just out of reach and frustrating ourselves in our inability to achieve it.
Acceptance of the process is the key; surrendering to imperfection.
I tried to write some words about my take on this as Gaeilge and here’s what came out.
I’m calling it in omós do Fhill Arís, in honour of Seán Ó Riordáin’s great poem of that name (which you can hear Joe Ó Fátharta read here - which I am particularly excited by as Joe and Patricia Nic Eoin of Listen Up Irish will be my first guests on Season 2 of The Language Question podcast dropping on Tuesday 10, March.)
Anyone familiar with that poem will see this as entirely derivative. I’m calling it influenced or inspired by, you can call it what you like!
Iomramh Finghin
(in omós do Fhill Arís)
Cáithnín bídeach ar mhuir mhór fhairsing
ag rámhaíocht siar;
ag fágaint talamh slán agus tír aitheanta,
ag tóraíocht na gréine agus í ag dul faoi.
Nochtann an dorchas réaltaí.
Léarscáil atá doléite dom.
Ceapaim gur thuig m’aigne nua-aimseartha
cad atá iontu;
fuílleach grianta i bhfad,
cuid acu múchta le fada.
Eolas beagmhaitheasach do m’iomramh.
Ach fan, cím an Camchéachta.
Ag díriú ar an Réalta Thuaidh.
Is cuimhin liom an méid seo;
thig liom mo bhealach a dhéanamh leis.
Bhí ainm agus féiniúlacht agam.
Táim á dtóraíocht fós.
Ag lorg cad atá i ndán dom
san aimsir chaite.
Anam agus corp,
ag rámhaíocht go deo.
Níl ann ach an sclábhaíocht
agus is leor í.
Here’s what I think I understand those words to mean:
Finghin’s Wandering
(in honour of Fill Arís)
A tiny speck on a wide expansive ocean
rowing back;
leaving dry land and familiar territory,
chasing the sun as it sets.
The darkness reveals stars.
A map that is unreadable to me.
My modern mind thinks it understands
what they are;
remnants of distant suns,
some long extinguished.
Information of little use to my wandering.
But I see the Plough,
pointing to the North Star.
I remember this much
I can make my way with it.
I had a name and an identity.
I am chasing it still.
Seeking what is destined for me
in the past tense.
Soul and body,
rowing ceaselessly.
There is nothing apart from the toil
but it is enough.
P.S. This is the first time I have shared any writing as Gaeilge publicly that hasn’t previously been proofread by someone far more proficient in the language than I, and so comes with all appropriate health warnings. And here’s to surrendering (~ géilleadh) to process (~ sclábhaíocht) over pefection (~ líofacht)!
P.S. This is Day 17 in a 21-Day series on The Irish Language and Its Role in Irish Identity; you can start at Day 1 here or read Day 18 here.