The Celtic Stereotype: A Rant

It's the end of February and Chicago is still buried in snow. But recently I've seen a certain kind of green plant popping up in various places--usually on windows or walls of homes and storefronts, or plastered on posters and event announcements. It's the clover, and it's been making its annual appearance as the United States (prematurely, as usual) prepares to celebrate its absurd version of St. Patrick's Day.

I know St. Patrick's Day is still weeks away. And I know I should be used to how our secular culture trashes real holidays. But the diluting of this particular holiday touches one of my pet peeves--the romanticization of the Celtic.

I've always had a vague interest in Celtic culture, given my heritage. My grandmother's maiden name was Gallagher, and there is a family legend (mostly a joke, but who knows?) that our ancestors were Irish horse thieves. However, my family never put special emphasis on our Celtic background, so it wasn't until I read Robert Louis Stevenson's Kidnapped that I began unearthing the Celtic riches for myself.

Kidnapped, of course, is set in Scotland, so the book left me obsessed with all things Scottish. Having quickly depleted the list of Scottish stories by Stevenson, I turned next to Walter Scott. In books like Waverly and Rob Roy I discovered more adventure, more romance, more delicious Scots dialect. Soon after I found myself writing a short story (very much inspired by Rob Roy) which featured an 18th century Highland village. Now, in Scott's story, the stereotypical Highland peasant, along with being ragged and uneducated, spoke an unintelligible language called Gaelic. So for fun, I thought I'd translate bits of my story's dialogue into Gaelic. It would give it that more foreign, romantic atmosphere, wouldn't it?

An internet search revealed no automatic translations tools for Scottish Gaelic. But it did turn up a truckload of resources for learning Scottish Gaelic. Curious, I tried out a few websites. (The first thing that boggled me--not surprisingly--was the phonetics. "You mean, mh sounds like v? And th sounds like h?? And what's with dh--it sounds like g???")

Despite my bewilderment, I was hooked. My study of modern Scottish Gaelic launched me into a whole new consideration of Celtic culture. It was more than romance. It was real. Its language was more than unintelligible babble--it was a poetic, expressive tongue, both liquid and edgy. Its people were more than the nostalgically uncivilized peasants portrayed by Scott--they were human beings, who lived, worked, prayed, loved, sang, mourned, rejoiced. Their lives were harsh and often primitive by our standards, but that did not reduce their humanity.

After discovering this nugget of true Celtic culture through the Gaelic, I found I could not return to my old obsession with romantic Scotland. Scott's portrayal of the primitive Highland life irritated me. On the other hand, movies like Brigadoon, with its over-idyllic Highland village (not to mention its Highland villagers who speak in Lowland Scots), annoyed me as well. The truth lay deeper than the bagpipes and plaids, the thatched roofs and hairy cattle. I don't mean to say that these things were not a real part of Highland culture. They were--but not in the picture-postcard way they're often presented.

Brigadoon, the musical

Perhaps I split hairs. But I insist the deeper study of a culture reveals beauties far more engaging than any romantic stereotype, because it reveals real human personalities. To prove it, I here share the English translation of an old Gaelic song, once sung by real Highland women while milking real Highland cows.

Come, Mary, and milk my cow,

Come, Bride, and encompass her,

Come Columba the benign,

And twine thine arms around my cow.

Ho my heifer, ho my gentle heifer,

Ho my heifer, ho my gentle heifer,

Ho my heifer, ho my gentle heifer,

My heifer dear, generous and kind,

For the sake of the High King take to thy calf.

 

Come, Mary Virgin, to my cow,

Come, great Bride, the beauteous,

Come, thou milkmaid of Jesus Christ,

And place thine arms beneath my cow.

Ho my heifer, my gentle heifer.

 

Lovely black cow, pride of the shieling,

First cow of the byre, choice mother of calves,

Wisps of straw round the cows of the townland,

A shackle of silk on my heifer beloved.

Ho my heifer, ho my gentle heifer.

 

My black cow, my black cow,

A like sorrow afflicts me and thee,

Thou grieving for thy lovely calf,

I for my beloved son under the sea,

My beloved only sun under the sea.

 

(From "Carmina Gadelica" Vol. 1, collected and translated by Alexander Carmichael)

 

This song is chock full of reality. It reflects the deep Christianity of the old Highland peasantry. It reveals their poetic love of nature and animals. And it hints, in that mournful last stanza, of the harsh and tragic side of their lives. No Broadway writer could have reproduced the glinting nuance of joy and sorrow in such a song. Only a real woman, who had prayed and milked cows and lost a son to the sea, ever could have composed it.



In this country St. Patrick's Day is primarily an excuse for a party, featuring small three-leafed plants, small green-clothed men, and green beer. But I challenge my readers this year to treat it as a chance to explore real Celtic culture. Read the prayer of St. Patrick. Listen to a traditional Gaelic song. Never mind the cute cartoon leprechauns--read one of the ancient Irish myth cycles, like The Cattle-Raid of Cooley (a warning, though: Cu Chulainn and company are not for the faint of heart!).

Enjoy a bit of this true heritage. I bet you won't be able to go back to the stereotypes, either.

Nollaig Chridheil! ~ Two Gaelic Christmas Carols

Nollaig Chridheil dhuibh, a h-uile duine. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Today I'm afraid you, my readers, will have to endure another outburst of my Scottish geekiness. Fortunately, this one is appropriate to the season, and it involves more listening than reading. So turn up your speakers and prepare yourself for a wash of musical Christmas beauty.

~

 

Last Christmas I taught myself one Gaelic carol. That was all I had time for, what with the host of other preparations I had to make for the feast day. But this year I was eager to discover more: traditional Gaelic music holds a special place in my heart and I was sure there were some gorgeous Christmas songs out there just waiting for me. I was not disappointed. In my search I quickly uncovered the album Duan Nollaig: A Gaelic Christmas, by Fiona Mackenzie.

 

The album is lovely as a whole, including, along with the traditional Scottish carols, translations of some English favorites, like "In The Bleak Midwinter" and "Silent Night". Two of the native Gaelic songs in particular caught my attention: "Oran na Nollaig" (The Christmas Song) and "Bha Buachaillean an Dùthaich Shear" (There Were Shepherds in an Eastern Country). Below I post the videos and English translations of each song.

 

 

As soon as I read the lyrics to this song I knew I had to learn it. The words tell the story of a different kind of "Night Before Christmas"--this time, the midnight visitor is not a jolly St. Nicholas, but the voice of the Holy Spirit Himself. I invite you to read along as you play the video.

 

Oran na Nollaig (The Christmas Song)

 

The night before Christmas sleep fled far from me,

I lay on my elbow with a whisper in my ear

Saying, "Arise, get dressed and we'll go for a wander--

To a town far away across the ocean.

 

"There'll be a star in the sky," said the voice in my ear:

"Follow it and you'll get your reward:

You will glimpse the child they call the Lamb

Lying in a manger--his cheek like a star.

 

The Lamb of Reconciliation in the manger. Give him hospitality and welcome.

The Savior of the world, the beautiful child of joy,

What the prophets reported in the Bible

You will see tomorrow night--come sail with me."

 

"Who are you," I asked, "Whose voice do I hear?

Who leads me to the sleeping child?

Why did you invite a poor, wretched sinner?

Come and tell me the reason--don't leave me so quickly."

 

"Farewell," said the whisper, "I'm the Author of the book;

May the song of Christmas be daily on your lips

May the child's mercy follow your steps--

As long as you're on earth give honor to Him."

 

If you've read this far, it means you've survived the beauty of Fiona Mackenzie's voice and the heart-wrenching violin interludes. I congratulate you! But you ain't seen nothing yet...

 

When I first heard the opening harp chords of "Bha Buachaillean an Dùthaich Shear", a chill pricked my spine and felt my heart pulled into a kind of swoon. This I had to learn! To my surprise, when I looked up the lyrics, they were merely a straightforward account of the angels' appearance to the shepherds on Christmas Eve. The story itself was utterly familiar, but the Gaelic poetry and swoon-inducing melody infused it with a new beauty, gentleness, and wonder. The song sounds like stars. I'm sorry, that's the only way I can describe it.

 



 

Bha Buachaillean an Dùthaich Shear (There Were Shepherds In An Eastern Country)

 

There were shepherds in an eastern country,

Watching their flocks by night,

When there came an angel from heaven,

And the slope lit up with light.

The men were terrified but he said to them,

"Fear not, for I bring good tidings of great joy

To you and all generations."

 

"The Savior of the world,

The Christ, the Holy Lord,

Tonight has come to Bethlehem,

A helpless, gentle child;

And you shall find him securely wrapped

In a warm manger in the hay,

The precious, heavenly babe

Promised to us since the beginning of time.

 

Thus said the angel to them,

And suddenly the heavens were full

Of angels singing sweetly

And this was what they sang:

Glory to God in the heavens,

Everlasting peace of earth!

Glory to God in the heavens,

Everlasting peace of earth!"

 



I have no doubt these two carols will become part of my favorite Christmas repertoire. There is something breathtaking about viewing Christ's birth through the eyes of another culture's language. I have enjoyed it immensely, and I hope I've helped open your ears to another world of Christmas music. Beannachd leibh, agus Nollaig Chridheil! (Blessings and a Merry Christmas to you all!)





 





Gaelic Gems: Carmichael's "Carmina Gadelica"

Mansueto and Regenstein Libraries at the U of C



One of the distinct advantages of having a mom who works at the University of Chicago is access to one of the largest libraries in the country--no joke. The University carries over 9 million books (probably more by now; that statistic is from 2010). That may seem like just a number, but when you walk through the miles of musty, cool, dim-lit shelves filled with the knowledge of millennia on virtually every topic known to man...it is an awesome experience.

I have had this experience twice in the past year. I remember last time I was there, standing in front of their (very large) Stevenson collection with my mouth almost watering. One tiny, badly worn volume of The New Arabian Nights caught my eye; I drew it out, and was physically shaken when I realized it was an original edition published in 1882! Those are the kinds of treasures just sitting on shelves at a library like the U of C.

Besides loads of books in English, the University library also carries a large foreign language collection. Tucked away behind the aisles of French, Spanish, and German volumes, are two-and-a-quarter shelves of Scottish Gaelic. Most are old, a few newly-published, but all written in the obscure little language that has stolen my heart.

The last time I visited I borrowed a book called Carmina Gadelica, by Alexander Carmichael. Just before the turn of the century, Carmichael toured the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, orally collecting poetry, hymns, and incantations among the old Gaelic-speaking population. By this time in Scotland's history most of that population was already gone, thanks to the massive clearances and emigration of the 19th century. So Carmichael's book, by his own admission, represents a way of life and traditions virtually extinct.

Don't get me wrong; Gaelic speakers still do exist (thank goodness!). But I would guess that the oral literature captured in Carmichael's collection is all but gone from today's native speakers. Nevertheless my own discovery of these archaic prayers and hymns has proved a rich and beautiful one.

For example, in Carmina Gadelica are a dozen or so different night prayers. Simple, rhythmic, and quite lovely in meaning, I have started using a few during my own private prayertime. But sharing them with others has proved a dilemma: none of my Gaelic correspondents are church-going, and none of my church-going friends study Gaelic! However, I'll try to remedy that in this post with a little video. Below is a recording of me reading one of my favorite night prayers, "An Achanaidh Anama", with Gaelic and English text. I hope you will find this simple piece as much of a blessing as I have. Beannachd leibh!