Aiteall Prog 8_19april2024

Good afternoon and welcome to our Bilingual Programme here on Conamara Community Radio. Today we're going to bring you a wonderful Bilingual Poetry Performance from Seáná Coistealadh and his great friend and fellow poet Árta Ó Súilamháin, Árta Ó Súilamháin from Cornamona, Dôi Ceoigach, here in the Galway area. Seán and Árta were living in Glachán for three years, and as you know, Tony Curtis and Léa Tónigh a théan, Dán Gachadh théan, at the end of the 19th century. This was a beautiful performance from Árta and Seán, and Tony Curtis was the host and he also read from his own poetry. And after this performance, we'll have about ten minutes to bring you from a wonderful evening in Ciarnaigh, here in the Highlands there, in Little Moor, when Seáná Coistealadh was living in America when he and his fellow poet were together, and they listened to Seán's poetry and the poetry of Colm Lardy. I'll come back to that later, but for now, Seáná Coistealadh, Árta Ó Súilamháin and Tony Curtis. I was listening to Seán for a while, and everyone has a story to tell. I was listening to Seán, and in the middle of this performance, Seán was singing, maybe at eight o'clock or so. You were singing, and there was music in the background, and there was music. There was music in the background to see the audience. And there was, as we do in the morning, the church bells ringing. Now, some of the people were drunk and things, but some of the people were ringing the church bells. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. I was sitting in the church, and I heard the church bells ringing. So, I took Irish and a book, and then a poem. So, I took Irish and a book, and then a poem. The title was Ríochair Amairí Bóthair. All the time of the year, and every day of the year, the people of the country would say that there was a flood on the island of Aran, on the banks of the Rhône, in Snaefart or Bramman. Here, in the middle of the day, people wanted to go back to the suburbs. People wanted to go back to the suburbs. People wanted to go back to the suburbs. People wanted to go back to the suburbs. With a song in the background, with a song in the background, they were singing a song about the flood. They were singing a song about the flood. They were singing a song about the flood. They were singing a song about the flood. They were singing a song about the flood. They were singing a song about the flood. It's not as easy as it seems, but I have to go back to the suburbs, just like I did my winter in the Rhône. Tuk, tuk, tuk, as we say here. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. He wears jeans in summer. Oh, to be clear, I wasn't eavesdropping. I was just feeding my hungry hens, like any good country boy in keeping with an ancestral chore. Tuk, tuk, tuk, as we might say back west. Do you know what's a tee? He wears jeans in summer. His riveting refrain ripped through the fog, and here I am, or there I was, at best, still trying to come to terms with this spake. For us coastal dwellers, indeed also for our mountain cousins, and throw in the rural rest for God's sake, would always be winter or summer forever in blue jeans. What we did have a saying back in the day, for our hens or other flighty beings, get it out, but be discreet and don't be shitting on the street. Go raibh maith agat. Go raibh maith agat. As John said, I was, in my own words, a schoolboy in the past. Now, I'm not a child, I'm a grown man, but that doesn't put an end to the past. But there was an end to it when I wrote the poem about him. And that's the end of the end to it. I wrote the first poem, the first book I ever wrote about Dad Dermadach, and Dad Dermadach is the father who has the spake on the clock. I suppose I was talking about myself. But it was a very simple poem from the time of Rome, as it says, but a little story. A little simple thing. A story in the ring or in the house. It was about my own father, Rome, as he wrote about him. Dad, don't let anyone see that. But he wrote a poem about a man. Now, I have a wife and a son. And he was that man. Well, she was that man. But when she was four years old, she was the first woman in her life. She was the first woman in her life. So maybe you understand this. It was a simple poem, and I wrote a simple poem, but it's... it's... you can read it in a couple of languages. If you're that person in the family, you'll understand what I'm saying. Bochum or Cailín. And you'll see the story. And I'll read it to you. The story. Mámaí léanamh nua san osbidealim é. D'ireáirín nua domse. Ní thigim phóos ceith é. Cachan mám an lár fad da bhathú sa bhá. Níl nómaid eich ioch omse. Ní thigim phóos cein phá. D'ir sílom fann sicair, fann gathúran an lí. Cachan misse fann o piúin, ach ní thigim phóos cein ghaith. Ach tá déad an chinnáilta. Tá sé saiseann ban nosceann. Ní bachan sé leamánaigh, ormse tá cheam. Agus, an simplea, in mé ar leach, there's a stranger in the family. My mother got a new baby in the hospital yesterday. A little brother for me. I don't know what to say. Mom spends every minute washing and feeding him. She hasn't a moment for me. My future is growing grim. She tells me to be quiet. How do I do that? I cannot be silent all the time. What if I need a chat? But Dad is just the best. He gives all his time and attention to me. He stays away from Mom. We live in a new dimension. Thank you. Maybe he has something to say to you. Tony, you mentioned there zooming and poetry zooming and it's kind of hard to do. But, I don't think I chatted a lot to Art for a couple of years sometimes. We're in the same game, or we were in the same game when Art was in the working game. Agus sin éideachas. Éideachas. Níomid a bheala éideachas. Nid uchaidh an bine chéist arom céan slí beatha tam, téorim, is éideachas óir mé. Agus níomh maith aga bhí, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideach óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, sin éideachas óir mé, Dyma'r poem hwn, ac dyma'r trafodaeth yng Nghaerlannol, byddwn i'n hoffi rhoi hwn mewn iaith Máir, oherwydd mae magig i'r iaith Máir. Dwi'n treulio tri mlynedd yno fy hun, a'r ffrindiau mwyaf yno oedd Máir. Dydych chi'n gwybod pob un o'r ffrindiau, nid oeddech chi? Australia? America? Yn dda iaith. Dydych chi'n dod yn ôl. Iawn, pam na. Roeddwn i'n rhaid i mi ddod o'r rhai o'r rhain o'r aelodau yng Nghaerlannol, ond nid yw'n bwysig. Dyma'r poem, ac mae'n ymwneud â phai-waka-waka, sy'n bywyd fach, ond mae'n gweithio'n ddifrifol, mae'r nodau'n newid. Felly dyma'r fersiwn Cymraeg, ac roeddwn i'n rhoi fersiwn Iwerddon ar ôl hynny. Dyma'r hyn sydd wedi'i ysbrydoli. Mae'r iaith yn y gêg, yn y gêg hwn, yn dda iawn. Rydyn ni'n cael llawer o'n gilydd gyda'r bobl Máir yng nghaerlannol Máir, rwy'n credu. Ha, pai-waka-waka! Hei, ffantail, ble rydych chi nawr, fy ffrind ychydig? Yn bwrdd gyda gweithio'n bwysig. Yn oradwriaeth fel cŵn, bob amser. Beth yw'ch stori, ffrind? Beth yw'r golygu hwnnw o'r sgwrs unwaith? Dydw i ddim yn gwybod, oherwydd dydych chi wedi mynd allan i le. Dydw i ddim yn gallu gweld eich olygiadau. Dydw i ddim yn gallu clywed eich dŵr llawn. Rydyn ni'n rhannu nawr, ac rydw i'n teimlo eich bod chi. Hei, ffantail, ble rydych chi nawr? Leg yng nghaerlannol. Hei, pai-waka-waka! Rydyn ni'n gweithio'n bwysig, fy ffrind. Rydyn ni'n gweithio'n bwysig, fy ffrind. Rydyn ni'n gweithio'n bwysig, fy ffrind. Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! Pai-waka-waka! A couple of years ago, I was alone in the house. There was a bed. You could sit on the bed or something like that. But Dad was there with us in the house. Now, Dad wasn't out on the bus or on the road. He was with me on whatever he had. Now, he came home late and I remember that he had a letter in which he said that he wanted a couple of parts of the song to be released and this lad said to him, Michael John, put Tobaccy in that! But anyway, I remember this letter saying that he wanted a couple of songs and Michael said to him, but a couple of weeks later he wanted a song to be released. And I remember this piece as I said, he wanted a couple of songs to be released. But, I remember this piece from two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Two years ago. Thank you. That's lovely, that's a picture. That's a picture. A picture and... The first thing I saw 30 years ago was just lovely, there was a moment there and there's a picture in my head. And it's on St Clarke's and I was mesmerised by it. But it's a real life picture. It's a picture, but it's lovely. Oh, it's lovely. You're creating a culture for yourself. A culture that's a culture of the world. That people if they can speak not the language of the gods but the language of the people. It's a part of life. It's important when people ask me about the language and I don't like people who are fanatics about the language. Some of the fanatics I think my life has been endangered by one or two of them at different periods of time, from a distance mind you. My interest in the language is that thing you're asking about. The culture, the beautiful heritage we have in Ireland. How a language preserves a culture and the way you should act. In the best way. And all of the poetry I sometimes feel sorry for people that have gone to learn Irish and maybe spent 30 years learning Irish and phrases and the genitive case and the conditional clause and the whole lot. And I often feel sorry that they don't know where Lough on the Gosforth is or Lach na Hunchy because that's the tapestry of language that's associated and that's the great reservoir that should inspire people to learn. And it's preserved more often than not in poetry. I was a great friend of Michael Harkness. When Michael grew up he was given to his grandmother in Templestown and he was raised in a house a rambling house with old people who all spoke Irish. And he learnt Irish through osmosis. He just sucked it into himself. And when he met his mother and spoke his language, she couldn't speak it. And he used to say to me now here I am, heartbreaking both times. Sláinleis a bheirle. Farewell to English. But see my wife tried to discourage me from saying a poem that I'll have to say eventually in keeping with my nature and character. God help us. But art is having a soothing effect on me. So I've even put it back further now. Maybe if there's another good one I might even say it later. But it's not that it's that bad. I have one that is raw. I have one that is raw in the back. But no I'll give this one out now. I hadn't intended, but it's Éadáil. And Éadáil is a beautiful Irish word. Í fada, éadí, é fada éal. Am I saying it right? Éadáil. And Éadáil is in the word Níl se coitíonta go siarga bhfuil áthair. D'ar nám. Stabhaí lór. Gaeilge am. Lleapan. Tá slúleam. Níl se coitíonta Níl se coitíonta Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. Éadáil. But you may be in a good mood. It's good and bad in the good mood of your life. In a little while life will be better. Small talk. In talk there are little things. Insignificant deeds of the day. Occasional events that chance upon us. Pleasant happenings that slide in and out of our vision. They can be gauged right or wrong. That's a judgment. That's a measurement. That's a human decision. In your case there are good deeds in the quietness. Ones that reveal your goodness. That pray your positive life. They are there in the quick of secrets in your conversations. Positives from your mellow mouth. In small talk there are the sweet realities of this life. At this stage I'm getting stuck and I'd better give out this long one quick. This is one this is the one now I think my wife told me to be careful about. Did you read this one to your wife in bed? Well I did, yeah. It's the only time I ever did that. It should have a romantic edge to it. Maybe, maybe. I've always been bad on that though. Good on flowers. Very good on potatoes. Fish, lobsters. Stuff like that. Old time romantic. It should have a romantic edge to it. Especially to Brendan who's in the audience. Great man. And thank you very much. Very good on Brendan. He's a good person. He has a great heart and Brendan is in the audience. There are people from Boston and Auckland and other people. They listen to poetry and I speak Irish to many of the poets in Irish poetry. And Karen too because she's a friend of the poet the first time I met her. And it's clear that there are people like him and there are people who aren't. There are thousands of good people in the world. There's no language or language like there are people who listen to him. There isn't any poetry unless there are people who listen. That's the most important thing for a poet. Or a songwriter or whatever we are. I put this song here and I had a friend who asked me a long time ago and he asked how is Irish in Irish poetry? A big question. A big question. How is the Irish in Irish poetry? It's a very hard question to answer. How is it? Fairly healthy. I'm very positive about the language. I said I might say this poem as an answer. Because sometimes you do get a little bit worried. Is this a new version of it? After your wife? Well I mellowed it a little bit I hope. Gaeilge anéas. Gaeilge anéas. And this can be true of any place. I think it's so important. You mentioned John Clear there a while ago. You know Frank Hart is a great friend of mine. You couldn't teach them people or them people were what they were. As I often say I use Donegal terms and Niathair there a while ago. People say what the hell is that Connemara fella saying? I'm a Gaeilge person. Be it Donegal or Kerry or whatever. Or anywhere I suppose. Nothing against people coming in but sometimes I think if you do come in appreciate what's around you and value it. Don't sneer about it. That's something that annoys the hell out of me at times when I see people. My father had a great expression when I was out of boarding school. My middle daughter always says Jesus you must have been bad. Don't put you out of boarding school seven miles away from your house. Don't be telling me what to do. When I'd come out once I think I had a bit of gashg and my old man said to me and I'll never forget There's many a good man in a bad pair of trousers. That's something that always stayed with me. Gaeilge nair. Gaeilge nair. 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fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía clipire fada lía It's as important as your Irish And there's only a line in the middle Tigham tú It's a question It's a kind of a question and it's not a question and I'm not going to give you an English translation of it because there are certain points in the verses here that they don't translate properly I don't want to, anyway Go raibh fúth is bideáil am So it's about somebody and I love Is fhíomh an lám Be thíne ar holog go raibh Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is fhíomh an lám Is 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