An Irish language immersion

Have you ever heard a ladybird being called a "cow of God"?

I am trying to read as much Irish as possible. (David Cronin)

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The ladybird
Has the singular fame
Of being known
The world over
By that very name
Except in Wexford
Where
For reasons most odd
They decided to call it
The cow of God

The Irish language is replete with gems.

One such gem is the term for “ladybird” — bóín Dé. Literally, that means “little cow of God.”

The only place where I have heard a ladybird referred to as a “God’s cow” is Bunclody, a charming town in County Wexford. The quirk inspired me to write a short “poem.”

I am on a brief visit to Dublin at the moment. The last time I was home was two months ago, when my dad died.

Being in my parents’ house again is both comforting and bewildering.

Happy memories intermingle with a profound sense of absence.

My dad regularly began his days by exercising. Each morning now I have to remind myself that he is not at the gym.

The big news story in Dublin concerns protests over fuel prices.

Others have a better knowledge of the situation than I do. Sarah Clancy, a proper poet (unlike me) and political activist, neatly summarized the class dynamics involved in a post earlier this week.

The Irish government is calling the protests “sinister and despicable.” Ministers appear far angrier about the disruptions than about the cause of the rise in fuel prices: the war which Israel and the US are waging against Iran.

I am disgusted by the war, as well as the brutality which Israel is continuing to inflict on the Palestinians and Lebanese. But I confess that I am not following events as closely as I should.

Over the past few years, I have heard various people recommend submerging yourself in icy water. The apparent logic is that the experience distracts from grief.

I have zero intention of taking that course of action. Frankly I’d prefer to be miserable than freezing.

Besides, I have discovered a form of immersion that I find therapeutic.

Don’t ask me to explain why but I find that diving head first into the Irish language cheers me up.

I am trying to read and listen to as much Irish as I can.

Speaking it more would be a major bonus. Unfortunately I have limited opportunities to do so, though I hope that I will find some before too long.

In my mid fifties, I have realized that the Irish language is a source of joy. The best expression I have learned lately is the Irish version of “it’s a small world.”

Is fánach an áit a bhfaighfeá gliomach. Translation: What an odd place to find a lobster.

Exploring Irish can take you to lots of odd places. That’s what I love about it.