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Translation for FEILE CLUAM MEALA

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Post February 22 2005, 7:11 AM
dancurranjr
New Arrival
 
Posts: 1
Thanks in advance! IF you could email me at Daniel@Curran.net I would appreciate it. FEILE CLUAM MEALA is listed on a trophy called the CURRAN's CUP and I am very curious as to the meaning

Cheers

 
Post February 22 2005, 7:15 AM
breandan_ui_ciarraide
Laoch na nGael
 
Posts: 1233
spoiled (something) festival? weird. Don't recognize Cluam off the bat, and it doesn't make any sense to me really. But, I suck biscuits at literacy and such

;D
Breandán
Spreading wisdom via repetitive application of the Cluebat Image
--
I have never been formally taught and absorbed cussing and such growing up, so I'm good with insults, but wait for confirmation on everything else :-)

Post February 22 2005, 7:41 AM
Tim
Scéalaí Mór
 
Posts: 2934
Feile "Cluain" Meala (?)

"Honeyfield Festival"(?)
Wait for at least two confirmations or corrections on this/these translations. Completion of a good translation may take time. Go ra' ma'ad.

Tim

Post February 22 2005, 7:43 AM
GrainneBhaoil
Scéalaí Mór
 
Posts: 2044
Hello folks

Féile Cluain Meala = a festival of vocal and instrumental music held in Clonmel during June and July, 1956.

Lit. Festival of Clonmel (in County Tipperary)

Hope that helps
Once, as a child, out in a field of sheep/Thomas Hardy pretended to be dead/And lay down flat among their dainty shins.
In that sniffed-at, bleated-into, grassy space/He experimented with infinity/His small cool brow was like an anvil waiting
For sky to make it sing the prefect pitch/Of his dumb being, and that stir he caused/In the fleece-hustle was the original
Of a ripple that would travel eighty years/Outward from there, to be the same ripple/Inside him at its last circumference.

Post February 22 2005, 7:49 AM
GrainneBhaoil
Scéalaí Mór
 
Posts: 2044
Sorry Tim, didn't see you there. Cluain Meala = the meadow of honey. Bhí an lán-cheart agat :wink:
Once, as a child, out in a field of sheep/Thomas Hardy pretended to be dead/And lay down flat among their dainty shins.
In that sniffed-at, bleated-into, grassy space/He experimented with infinity/His small cool brow was like an anvil waiting
For sky to make it sing the prefect pitch/Of his dumb being, and that stir he caused/In the fleece-hustle was the original
Of a ripple that would travel eighty years/Outward from there, to be the same ripple/Inside him at its last circumference.

Post February 22 2005, 8:12 AM
Tim
Scéalaí Mór
 
Posts: 2934
Ah, Clonmel! I love that place. I thought I had seen that somewhere. :oops: (Dumb de dumb dumb dumb . . . as the drums march him off the field to be shot . . .)
Wait for at least two confirmations or corrections on this/these translations. Completion of a good translation may take time. Go ra' ma'ad.

Tim



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