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The Daltaí Boards » Archive: 2005- » 2007 (September-October) » Archive through October 26, 2007 » Tattoo « Previous Next »

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Tyrone
Member
Username: Tyrone

Post Number: 1
Registered: 09-2007
Posted on Thursday, October 18, 2007 - 08:48 pm:   Small TextLarge TextEdit Post Print Post

This tattoo is for my nephew in music production,

"After silence that which comes mearest to expressing the inexpressible is music"

please help and translate.

Go raibh maith agat.

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Aonghus
Member
Username: Aonghus

Post Number: 6351
Registered: 08-2004


Posted on Friday, October 19, 2007 - 08:21 am:   Small TextLarge TextEdit Post Print Post

Casta. (Difficult). I'll shorten it somwhat.

Tost, nó Ceol a léiríonn an doléirithe
*Tost,* nó Ceol * a léiríonn * an doléirithe

*Silence * or music * it is which expresses * the inexpressible *



léiriú [ainm briathartha][ainmfhocal firinscneach]
a dhéanamh léir, míniú; cur in ord, socrú (do chuid oibre a léiriú); críochnú (béile a léiriú); cur i láthair nó ar stáitse (dráma a léiriú).

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Dennis
Member
Username: Dennis

Post Number: 3273
Registered: 02-2005


Posted on Wednesday, October 24, 2007 - 02:37 pm:   Small TextLarge TextEdit Post Print Post

The "music speaks better than words" sentiment is expressed in the lovely short piece "Giotár" by Tadhg Mac Dhonnagáin on the "Imíonn an tAm" album. Here are the words and translation. A sample of the song can be heard at the iTunes store. Is breá liom a ghuth.

Pillim ar m’árasán
Tá sí romham ceaptha ag an lampa sráide
Cuair a coirp ar mo leaba sínte
Fonnadóir Francach ó Pháras postúil na bhfichidí
“Labhair liom” a deir sí.
“Labhair liom faoin oíche mhór lasmuigh
Faoi bhlaosc gheal na gealaí
Ina luí in uaigh dhubh na spéire
Faoi na réaltóga ag dó go síoraí sa bhfuacht
Bí ag bladaráil ar an gcaoi sin
As seo go maidin más maith leat
Ach fós ní bheidh a dhath ráite agat
Nach gcuirfinnse díom in aon chorda amháin
Corda chomh snoite le cloichín cladaigh
Chomh so-aimsithe le nead na cuaiche.

I come into the darkened bedsit
By the street light
I see her Her curvy body stretched on the bed
A torch singer from Paris of the twenties
“Speak” she says
“Speak of the night outside
The moon like a white skull
Lying in the black grave above
The stars burning in the frost
Blather like that until morning if you like
But you still won’t say anything
I couldn’t say better with one chord
A chord, sculpted like a pebble from the strand
A chord, as easily found as the cuckoo’s nest.

"An seanchas gearr,
an seanchas is fearr."




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