Over the past few days nothing special has happened, as far as exploring goes. The first week/weekend had us all pretty burnt out, so some relaxation and many hours of sleep were vital to our sanity. We have done so much walking since we arrived. My poor legs have never hurt as bad as they have these past few days. I've been trying to avoid the American cliche of wearing sneakers, but they really are the only thing comfortable enough to walk that far in. So here I am rocking pumas in a world of stiletto boots and penny loafers.
Classes have started and although the thrill of being in a new place is still there, we are being brought back to reality by having some responsibility again. Currently I am enrolled in 5 classes. One of which I am in the midst of trying to change. My courses are: Early Irish History, Cultural Immersion through Irish Literature, Environmental Earth Science, Celtic Tiger and the EU, and Nonprofit Social Marketing. As of today I have been to all of them except the marketing one which I have tomorrow.
The classes here are somewhat different from those that I have experienced in Burlington. All of my teachers have mentioned that they want to get us out of the classroom and out into the world to physically show us what they are talking about. They plan to take us on field trips frequently, some in Dublin and some outside of Dublin, which I am very excited about. It is weird, because I actually am more interested in these classes than ones I have taken at home. Never before have I been excited about history, but for some reason learning how Ireland was discovered is very entertaining.
OKAYYYY time for me to be a bit of a nerd:
In one of my classes today we read a very strong poem. It was about the tragedy of the Irish language (Gaelic) being lost. I never really thought about it. But the Irish were forced to give up their language for commerce, so that they would be able to trade and communicate with the rest of the world. The poem we read is called 'A Grafted Tongue' by John Montague. and goes as follows:
Dumb, bloodied, the severed
head now chokes to
speak another tongue:
As in a long suppressed dream,
some stuttering garbled ordeal of my own
An Irish child weeps at school
repeating it's English.
After each mistake the master
gouges another mark
on the tally stick
hung about its neck like a bell
on a cow, a hobble on a straying goat.
To slur and stumble in shame
the altered syllables of your own name:
to stray sadly home and find the turf cured width
of your parents' hearth growing slowly alien:
In cabin and field, they still
speak the old tongue.
You may greet no one.
To grow a second tongue,
as harsh a humiliation as twice to be born.
Decades later that child's grandchild's
speech stumbles over lost
syllables of an old order.
After learning about it, and reading the poem it made me realize what a shame it is that they were forced to give up what they were first used to. The language is beautiful and so melodic, it makes me feel bad for them that they had such a hard time holding onto tradition. The part saying how people even had to change their own last name makes me sad. many people are proud of their roots and a name can say a lot and that having to be altered into an Anglo-Irish version is rather degrading. It's like English speakers saying your language it too hard to understand and you are not worthy of us learning how to really pronounce it. So instead your name is 'this'. Aren't we such great people?
Anyway.. that's enough nerdiness for one day... it's getting late and we wanna catch a bit of open mic. To the Pale we go. Cheers!
Classes have started and although the thrill of being in a new place is still there, we are being brought back to reality by having some responsibility again. Currently I am enrolled in 5 classes. One of which I am in the midst of trying to change. My courses are: Early Irish History, Cultural Immersion through Irish Literature, Environmental Earth Science, Celtic Tiger and the EU, and Nonprofit Social Marketing. As of today I have been to all of them except the marketing one which I have tomorrow.
The classes here are somewhat different from those that I have experienced in Burlington. All of my teachers have mentioned that they want to get us out of the classroom and out into the world to physically show us what they are talking about. They plan to take us on field trips frequently, some in Dublin and some outside of Dublin, which I am very excited about. It is weird, because I actually am more interested in these classes than ones I have taken at home. Never before have I been excited about history, but for some reason learning how Ireland was discovered is very entertaining.
OKAYYYY time for me to be a bit of a nerd:
In one of my classes today we read a very strong poem. It was about the tragedy of the Irish language (Gaelic) being lost. I never really thought about it. But the Irish were forced to give up their language for commerce, so that they would be able to trade and communicate with the rest of the world. The poem we read is called 'A Grafted Tongue' by John Montague. and goes as follows:
Dumb, bloodied, the severed
head now chokes to
speak another tongue:
As in a long suppressed dream,
some stuttering garbled ordeal of my own
An Irish child weeps at school
repeating it's English.
After each mistake the master
gouges another mark
on the tally stick
hung about its neck like a bell
on a cow, a hobble on a straying goat.
To slur and stumble in shame
the altered syllables of your own name:
to stray sadly home and find the turf cured width
of your parents' hearth growing slowly alien:
In cabin and field, they still
speak the old tongue.
You may greet no one.
To grow a second tongue,
as harsh a humiliation as twice to be born.
Decades later that child's grandchild's
speech stumbles over lost
syllables of an old order.
After learning about it, and reading the poem it made me realize what a shame it is that they were forced to give up what they were first used to. The language is beautiful and so melodic, it makes me feel bad for them that they had such a hard time holding onto tradition. The part saying how people even had to change their own last name makes me sad. many people are proud of their roots and a name can say a lot and that having to be altered into an Anglo-Irish version is rather degrading. It's like English speakers saying your language it too hard to understand and you are not worthy of us learning how to really pronounce it. So instead your name is 'this'. Aren't we such great people?
Anyway.. that's enough nerdiness for one day... it's getting late and we wanna catch a bit of open mic. To the Pale we go. Cheers!
No comments:
Post a Comment