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Грязь кладбищенская
Величайший роман, написанный на ирландском языке, и одна из лучших книг Ирландии прошлого века.
— Колм Тойбин
Все персонажи романа «Грязь кладбищенская» мертвы, но упокоены ли? Загробное бытие нисколько не убавило в них горячего интереса к новостям, свежим сплетням и слухам из мира живых. Лежа под землей, они злословят, подличают, врут, заискивают и сводят счеты едва ли не более увлеченно, чем когда-то на земле.
Однако поделать уже ничего не могут — им остается только разговаривать, и потому весь роман написан целиком как полилог. Книга-театр, «Грязь кладбищенская» классика ирландской литературы Мартина О Кайня — подлинный образец безжалостного комизма, музей человеческих типажей и одновременно проникновенное размышление о скоротечности и нелепости человеческой суеты.
— Колм Тойбин
Все персонажи романа «Грязь кладбищенская» мертвы, но упокоены ли? Загробное бытие нисколько не убавило в них горячего интереса к новостям, свежим сплетням и слухам из мира живых. Лежа под землей, они злословят, подличают, врут, заискивают и сводят счеты едва ли не более увлеченно, чем когда-то на земле.
Однако поделать уже ничего не могут — им остается только разговаривать, и потому весь роман написан целиком как полилог. Книга-театр, «Грязь кладбищенская» классика ирландской литературы Мартина О Кайня — подлинный образец безжалостного комизма, музей человеческих типажей и одновременно проникновенное размышление о скоротечности и нелепости человеческой суеты.
448 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1949
280 people are currently reading
4856 people want to read
About the author
Máirtín Ó Cadhain
28 books54 followersMáirtín Ó Cadhain (1906 – 18 October 1970) was one of the most prominent Irish language writers of the twentieth century.
Máirtín Ó Cadhain was born in Cois Fharraige in the Connamara Gaeltacht in 1906. He is best known for his major novel, Cré na Cille (Dublin, Sáirséal agus Dill, 1949). It has been translated into English as Graveyard Clay, and into many other languages, including Danish and Norwegian. However, it was not published in English until 2015.
His short story collections include Idir Shúgradh agus Dáiríre, 1939, and An Braon Broghach, 1948, from which Eoghan Ó Tuairisc translated stories published under the title Road to Bright City (Dublin, Poolbeg Press, 1981); An tSraith ar Lár, (1967); and An tSraith Dhá Thógáil (1970).
A national school teacher in his early life, he was interned for his activities in the IRA during World War II. He became a lecturer in Irish in Trinity College Dublin in 1956, and became Professor of Irish there in 1969.
He died in 1970.
Máirtín Ó Cadhain was born in Cois Fharraige in the Connamara Gaeltacht in 1906. He is best known for his major novel, Cré na Cille (Dublin, Sáirséal agus Dill, 1949). It has been translated into English as Graveyard Clay, and into many other languages, including Danish and Norwegian. However, it was not published in English until 2015.
His short story collections include Idir Shúgradh agus Dáiríre, 1939, and An Braon Broghach, 1948, from which Eoghan Ó Tuairisc translated stories published under the title Road to Bright City (Dublin, Poolbeg Press, 1981); An tSraith ar Lár, (1967); and An tSraith Dhá Thógáil (1970).
A national school teacher in his early life, he was interned for his activities in the IRA during World War II. He became a lecturer in Irish in Trinity College Dublin in 1956, and became Professor of Irish there in 1969.
He died in 1970.
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June 13, 2025I don't usually pay attention to the disclaimers at the beginning of novels, the statements about any resemblance to actual persons living or dead being purely coincidental.
However, when I was about half way through the English translation of this novel set in the graveyard of an Irish speaking village in Connemara during WWII, I decided to take a look at the original Irish version of the book, and the disclaimer (there's none in the English version) jumped out at me: Níl aithris sa leabhar seo ar aon duine dá bhfuil beo nó marbh, ná ar aon chill dá bhfuil ann.
It's the usual disclaimer formula: that the novel is not modelled on any known persons, living or dead, but having already read half the book, the word 'dead' sounded like a huge joke—because the characters are just that: all dead. And there's an additional clause in this disclaimer: nor is the graveyard in the novel modelled on any known graveyard. As if we might all be familiar enough with graveyards to recognise individual features—and that we might imagine we know this one! As if graveyards might have personalities. Who ever heard of such a thing!
Well, Máirtín O’Cadhain has imagined such a graveyard, and he gives it a mighty personality. Periodically throughout the book, a preachy self-important voice which calls itself the ‘Trump of the Graveyard’, warns about the fate that awaits all those who are consigned to its clay. A gloomy doomy message, no doubt about it. But the reader soon ignores these proclamations because it is clear that none of the people buried in the graveyard can hear the pompous Trump. That's obvious, you might say, since they are all dead. But no, it’s not so obvious. The reason they can’t hear him is because they are all too busy shouting about their own issues which ironically have little to do with death and decay.
In this chorus of voices (the book has no descriptive or linking passages), the first and loudest voice belongs to seventy year-old Caitríona Pháidín who dies just before the novel opens. We listen as she wonders about how her wake and funeral were conducted, and in which part of the graveyard she has been buried. Did her son pay a full pound and bury her in the best part? Or did he only pay fifteen shillings for her grave in spite of her many requests. She cannot bear to think that he might have paid as little as ten shillings and consigned her to the paupers’ corner. But she very soon forgets these worries because she finds she has a neighbour, the woman who lived next door during most of her lifetime, and now that she knows exactly where she is buried—in the fifteen-shilling plot—she begins to do what she did all her life: gossip and complain about everyone she ever knew. The dialogue between the two women is interrupted as other voices enter the conversation, the voices of all the neighbours and relatives who died before Caitríona, and eventually those who arrive after her.
The book becomes a shouting match as each voice seeks to be heard, some recalling endlessly their final illnesses, others boasting about the size of their gravestone or denigrating the poor souls who have no marker on their grave.
While I was reading this book, I was on holiday in the west of Ireland where the book is set, and one day I found myself in an old graveyard very like the one described in the story, complete with the ruins of an old abbey just as on the cover of the book. Such graveyards are often situated on hilly ground and the older graves tend to be scattered about in no particular order. Sometimes they have headstones to mark the space, sometimes not, so it's very difficult to walk about without stepping on a grave. I was extra careful where I trod because the main character in the story, Caitríona Phaidín, has no marker on her grave. In spite of having requested a fine cross made of granite from the Aran islands, poor Caitríona gets no gravestone of any kind. The result is that the grave digger frequently tries to bury someone else in her space which irritates her hugely.
In fact, Caitríona is permanently irritated: with life, with death, with the world and the afterworld. Death hasn’t changed her in the least. She respects no laws of God or man, and fears nothing except not having the status she thinks she deserves. Her irreverence was interesting because salvation and damnation were keen preoccupations among certain sections of Irish society in the 1940s but the author has deliberately chosen to ignore that side of mid-twentieth century Ireland. He describes his characters as completely free from religious scruples—apart from one pious character who is speedily ignored by all the others. The characters do mention religion once in a while but only to compare the amount of times the local priest might have visited a sick person’s house or the amount of prayers he might have said at someone's funeral but there is no concern among the voices of the graveyard with heaven or hell.
So any thoughts the reader might have about dying being associated with a deeper interest in spiritual matters get knocked on the head pretty thoroughly. We soon discover that the after-death life of the characters is the same absurd run-around as the before-death life, and that it is filled with the same inclinations and petty preoccupations, the same loves and hatreds. Hatred for authority, especially the local guardaí or police, and for the circuit court judges, and the law makers in the big city. Hatred for enemies, especially the historical enemy that was Britain—though everyone in the village has relatives who’ve emigrated to find work there. Some of the characters are so bitter towards Britain that Britain’s enemies—this is set during WWII—are seen as friends. This is incomprehensible to the French pilot whose reconnaisance plane crashed in the area and who has been buried alongside these insular villagers. Whenever we hear his voice in the early parts of the book, he’s speaking French, but gradually he learns some Irish and eventually manages to be partially understood by the rest of the characters which leads to amusing exchanges that are often at cross purposes.
Of all the expressions of hatred in the book, the most virulent are pronounced by Caitríona Pháidín, and her own sister is her main target. But the big surprise is that Caitríona loved as deeply as she hated. When we look at the illustration of her by Charles Lamb in the original edition, it seems hard to imagine her as a young woman in love.
But she was once young and she was once in love. She loved Jeaic na Scolóige long before he became her sister's husband. And she loved him all the way to the grave.
Human nature is damnably complicated, and religion and politics are no help whatsoever. I think that was O'Cadhain's message.
However, when I was about half way through the English translation of this novel set in the graveyard of an Irish speaking village in Connemara during WWII, I decided to take a look at the original Irish version of the book, and the disclaimer (there's none in the English version) jumped out at me: Níl aithris sa leabhar seo ar aon duine dá bhfuil beo nó marbh, ná ar aon chill dá bhfuil ann.
It's the usual disclaimer formula: that the novel is not modelled on any known persons, living or dead, but having already read half the book, the word 'dead' sounded like a huge joke—because the characters are just that: all dead. And there's an additional clause in this disclaimer: nor is the graveyard in the novel modelled on any known graveyard. As if we might all be familiar enough with graveyards to recognise individual features—and that we might imagine we know this one! As if graveyards might have personalities. Who ever heard of such a thing!
Well, Máirtín O’Cadhain has imagined such a graveyard, and he gives it a mighty personality. Periodically throughout the book, a preachy self-important voice which calls itself the ‘Trump of the Graveyard’, warns about the fate that awaits all those who are consigned to its clay. A gloomy doomy message, no doubt about it. But the reader soon ignores these proclamations because it is clear that none of the people buried in the graveyard can hear the pompous Trump. That's obvious, you might say, since they are all dead. But no, it’s not so obvious. The reason they can’t hear him is because they are all too busy shouting about their own issues which ironically have little to do with death and decay.
In this chorus of voices (the book has no descriptive or linking passages), the first and loudest voice belongs to seventy year-old Caitríona Pháidín who dies just before the novel opens. We listen as she wonders about how her wake and funeral were conducted, and in which part of the graveyard she has been buried. Did her son pay a full pound and bury her in the best part? Or did he only pay fifteen shillings for her grave in spite of her many requests. She cannot bear to think that he might have paid as little as ten shillings and consigned her to the paupers’ corner. But she very soon forgets these worries because she finds she has a neighbour, the woman who lived next door during most of her lifetime, and now that she knows exactly where she is buried—in the fifteen-shilling plot—she begins to do what she did all her life: gossip and complain about everyone she ever knew. The dialogue between the two women is interrupted as other voices enter the conversation, the voices of all the neighbours and relatives who died before Caitríona, and eventually those who arrive after her.
The book becomes a shouting match as each voice seeks to be heard, some recalling endlessly their final illnesses, others boasting about the size of their gravestone or denigrating the poor souls who have no marker on their grave.
While I was reading this book, I was on holiday in the west of Ireland where the book is set, and one day I found myself in an old graveyard very like the one described in the story, complete with the ruins of an old abbey just as on the cover of the book. Such graveyards are often situated on hilly ground and the older graves tend to be scattered about in no particular order. Sometimes they have headstones to mark the space, sometimes not, so it's very difficult to walk about without stepping on a grave. I was extra careful where I trod because the main character in the story, Caitríona Phaidín, has no marker on her grave. In spite of having requested a fine cross made of granite from the Aran islands, poor Caitríona gets no gravestone of any kind. The result is that the grave digger frequently tries to bury someone else in her space which irritates her hugely.
In fact, Caitríona is permanently irritated: with life, with death, with the world and the afterworld. Death hasn’t changed her in the least. She respects no laws of God or man, and fears nothing except not having the status she thinks she deserves. Her irreverence was interesting because salvation and damnation were keen preoccupations among certain sections of Irish society in the 1940s but the author has deliberately chosen to ignore that side of mid-twentieth century Ireland. He describes his characters as completely free from religious scruples—apart from one pious character who is speedily ignored by all the others. The characters do mention religion once in a while but only to compare the amount of times the local priest might have visited a sick person’s house or the amount of prayers he might have said at someone's funeral but there is no concern among the voices of the graveyard with heaven or hell.
So any thoughts the reader might have about dying being associated with a deeper interest in spiritual matters get knocked on the head pretty thoroughly. We soon discover that the after-death life of the characters is the same absurd run-around as the before-death life, and that it is filled with the same inclinations and petty preoccupations, the same loves and hatreds. Hatred for authority, especially the local guardaí or police, and for the circuit court judges, and the law makers in the big city. Hatred for enemies, especially the historical enemy that was Britain—though everyone in the village has relatives who’ve emigrated to find work there. Some of the characters are so bitter towards Britain that Britain’s enemies—this is set during WWII—are seen as friends. This is incomprehensible to the French pilot whose reconnaisance plane crashed in the area and who has been buried alongside these insular villagers. Whenever we hear his voice in the early parts of the book, he’s speaking French, but gradually he learns some Irish and eventually manages to be partially understood by the rest of the characters which leads to amusing exchanges that are often at cross purposes.
Of all the expressions of hatred in the book, the most virulent are pronounced by Caitríona Pháidín, and her own sister is her main target. But the big surprise is that Caitríona loved as deeply as she hated. When we look at the illustration of her by Charles Lamb in the original edition, it seems hard to imagine her as a young woman in love.
But she was once young and she was once in love. She loved Jeaic na Scolóige long before he became her sister's husband. And she loved him all the way to the grave.
Human nature is damnably complicated, and religion and politics are no help whatsoever. I think that was O'Cadhain's message.
September 16, 2022
Я в курсе, что многие критики и читатели считают этот роман великим. Я отдаю должное новаторству в выборе формы. Тем не менее, для меня важно и содержание, какой бы великолепной форма ни была бы. Но весь роман – это деревенские склоки, сплетни, досужие разговоры, вздор без малейшего смысла. Этот роман-нонсенс.
March 6, 2015
A classic of the Irish language, and a lost modernist epic, a multitude of voices from beyond the grave narrate this foul-mouthed novel, led by the histrionic Caitriona Puadeen, keen to dispel gossip about her character from the longer-dead residents of the cemetery. A frenetic stream of insults, hearsay, banter, prattle, and bickering, the novel flits from one unidentified voice to another (Caitriona identifiable with her oft-used catchphrase “I’m going to burst!”), split into ten sections with occasional lyrical turns from the Trumpet of the Graveyard, who showcases Ó Cadhain’s talent for language (outside the inventive curses and epithets, creatively rendered into English by Alan Titley). Dense in allusions to the politics and references of the period (late 1940s), Yale Press plan to release a second annotated translation in 2016, for those interested in further context or outright scholarship (and why not?). In the meantime, this blackly funny novel can be read for its wicked humour and sublime Irish banter by the plain-drinking masses, who may never see its like again.
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September 10, 2025I dipped in and out of this original version of O'Cadhain's novel while reading the English translation.
I particularly enjoyed finding out what certain characters' names were in Irish - Tomás Taobh Istigh sounded better than 'Tomás Inside' as the translator renders the name - though they mean the same thing.
I was interested in the place names too - some of them are very beautiful. Doire Lacha for example, which becomes the more awkward sounding Wood of the Lake in the translation.
Once I'd read half the book in English, I was able to reread sections in Irish and understand most of what I was reading. Very satisfying.
Here's a link to the English edition with further thoughts on this very unusual story: Graveyard Clay
I particularly enjoyed finding out what certain characters' names were in Irish - Tomás Taobh Istigh sounded better than 'Tomás Inside' as the translator renders the name - though they mean the same thing.
I was interested in the place names too - some of them are very beautiful. Doire Lacha for example, which becomes the more awkward sounding Wood of the Lake in the translation.
Once I'd read half the book in English, I was able to reread sections in Irish and understand most of what I was reading. Very satisfying.
Here's a link to the English edition with further thoughts on this very unusual story: Graveyard Clay
March 23, 2020
Самое болтливое кладбище на (том) свете - теперь и по-русски. Блистательно!
April 6, 2021
"Η ΖΩΗ ΚΑΤΩ ΑΠ'ΤΟ ΧΩΜΑ"
Μάρτιν Ο'Καιν
‘Θεός φυλάξοι! Ζωντανή είμαι ή πεθαμένη; Ζωντανοί ή πεθαμένοι είναι τούτοι εδώ; Στριγκλίζουν όλοι τους, όπως ακριβώς έκαναν και τότε που ζούσαν. Κι εγώ που νόμιζα πως, σαν θα βρισκόμουν στον τάφο, ξέγνοιαστη πια απ’ τις αγγαρείες και τις σκοτούρες του νοικοκυριού, θα’χα επιτέλους την ησυχία μου… Μα, γιατί τέλος πάντων τόση φασαρία μες στο χώμα;’
Το μυθιστόρημα αυτό ,από τον τίτλο και μόνο σε προδιαθέτει για κάτι πένθιμο, βαρύ κι ασηκωτο όμως όπως εύστοχα έγραψε και η Washington post : "Μην νοιάζεστε που σε τούτο το βιβλίο ολοι οι ήρωες είναι νεκροί. Το Η ζωή κάτω απ'το χώμα ΣΦΥΖΕΙ ΑΠΟ ΖΩΗ!" Προκειται για ένα ανάλαφρο ,χιουμοριστικό μυθιστόρημα, σε μορφή διαλόγου ,με απλή γλώσσα και γλαφυρό ύφος που κερδίζει αμέσως τον αναγνώστη.
Όλοι οι χαρακτήρες είναι νεκροί, πρώην κάτοικοι της ίδιας περιοχής που γνωρίζονταν μεταξύ τους και συναντιούνται ξανά μετά το θάνατό τους κάτω απ’ το χώμα. Στη νέα τους κατοικία ανακτούν τη συνείδησή τους και επικοινωνούν μεταξύ τους με αποτέλεσμα οι παλιές διαμάχες να αναζωπυρώνονται, μυστικά και προθέσεις να αποκαλύπτονται και χαρακτήρες να ξεσκεπάζονται
Το βιβλίο είναι μοιρασμένο σε δέκα κεφάλαια που αναφέρονται ως ιντερλούδια και τα περισσότερα από αυτά ξεκινούν με τη Σάλπιγγα του Κοιμητηρίου "Ακούστε τη φωνή μου! Ο έχω ώτα ακούειν, ακουέτω…" η οποία προσπαθεί να επισημάνει τον παραλογισμό της ανθρώπινης φύσης.
Ο Ο’Κάιν μεσα από το χιούμορ ασκεί μια πολιτιστική κριτική καταγγέλλοντας τη φτώχεια, τον φανατισμό, τη ζήλια, τον ρατσισμό και τη στενομυαλιά. Πραγματικά θα περάσετε πολύ ευχάριστα ( όσο κι αν ακούγεται οξύμωρο) διαβάζοντας και τις 400 του σελίδες!
Μάρτιν Ο'Καιν
‘Θεός φυλάξοι! Ζωντανή είμαι ή πεθαμένη; Ζωντανοί ή πεθαμένοι είναι τούτοι εδώ; Στριγκλίζουν όλοι τους, όπως ακριβώς έκαναν και τότε που ζούσαν. Κι εγώ που νόμιζα πως, σαν θα βρισκόμουν στον τάφο, ξέγνοιαστη πια απ’ τις αγγαρείες και τις σκοτούρες του νοικοκυριού, θα’χα επιτέλους την ησυχία μου… Μα, γιατί τέλος πάντων τόση φασαρία μες στο χώμα;’
Το μυθιστόρημα αυτό ,από τον τίτλο και μόνο σε προδιαθέτει για κάτι πένθιμο, βαρύ κι ασηκωτο όμως όπως εύστοχα έγραψε και η Washington post : "Μην νοιάζεστε που σε τούτο το βιβλίο ολοι οι ήρωες είναι νεκροί. Το Η ζωή κάτω απ'το χώμα ΣΦΥΖΕΙ ΑΠΟ ΖΩΗ!" Προκειται για ένα ανάλαφρο ,χιουμοριστικό μυθιστόρημα, σε μορφή διαλόγου ,με απλή γλώσσα και γλαφυρό ύφος που κερδίζει αμέσως τον αναγνώστη.
Όλοι οι χαρακτήρες είναι νεκροί, πρώην κάτοικοι της ίδιας περιοχής που γνωρίζονταν μεταξύ τους και συναντιούνται ξανά μετά το θάνατό τους κάτω απ’ το χώμα. Στη νέα τους κατοικία ανακτούν τη συνείδησή τους και επικοινωνούν μεταξύ τους με αποτέλεσμα οι παλιές διαμάχες να αναζωπυρώνονται, μυστικά και προθέσεις να αποκαλύπτονται και χαρακτήρες να ξεσκεπάζονται
Το βιβλίο είναι μοιρασμένο σε δέκα κεφάλαια που αναφέρονται ως ιντερλούδια και τα περισσότερα από αυτά ξεκινούν με τη Σάλπιγγα του Κοιμητηρίου "Ακούστε τη φωνή μου! Ο έχω ώτα ακούειν, ακουέτω…" η οποία προσπαθεί να επισημάνει τον παραλογισμό της ανθρώπινης φύσης.
Ο Ο’Κάιν μεσα από το χιούμορ ασκεί μια πολιτιστική κριτική καταγγέλλοντας τη φτώχεια, τον φανατισμό, τη ζήλια, τον ρατσισμό και τη στενομυαλιά. Πραγματικά θα περάσετε πολύ ευχάριστα ( όσο κι αν ακούγεται οξύμωρο) διαβάζοντας και τις 400 του σελίδες!
May 19, 2016
Классика ирландэза, роман в диалогах, где все покойники, вся Ирландия, а заодно и весь остальной мир у Мартина О’Кайня закопаны и похоронены, хоть и без креста хорошего конамарского мрамора. Роман при этом — ненамеренное предвестие Гэддиса и Криса Мура (большой вопрос в том, читали они это или нет, но сходство есть). История вопроса освещена достаточно хорошо, поэтому ее касаться не будем, но понятно, что после всего этого я не мог не прочесть оба перевода, выпущенные один за другим изд-вом Йелского ун-та (слава героям, конечно, — это к вопросу о множественных толкованиях, версиях одного текста и «канонических» переводах). Я понимаю, что это аттракцион только для сильных духом, но сделать такое возможно.
У двух чуваков (чей перевод называется «Кладбищенская глина») перевод действительно более остраннен — он вроде бы действительно ближе к оригиналу, вязок и диковат на глаз. Bad language, как нам предусмотрительно замечают переводчики, во время оно был не то, что ныне: тогда если человек кого-то проклинал и сулил адские муки, он действительно имел это в виду, а не просто дежурно посылал нахуй, поэтому в ругательствах они старались не сильно отступать от исходника. Сейчас смириться с этим и держать это в памяти, конечно, затруднительно, а орут в романе друг на друга постоянно, только что не капсом. Титли же (у кого перевод называется «Грязный прах») сознательно переводил не слова, а энергетический посыл, поэтому у него по всему роману в изобилии рассыпаны факи, да и словесных анахренизмов довольно; при этом, стараясь избавиться от карикатурной ирландщины, он свою версию вполне приручал, и его текст действительно читается легче. Хотя при этом он, очевидно, выплеснул из ванны целую кучу детишек и, говорят, на всем оставил свой собственный писательский опечаток — примерно так же, я подозреваю, Аксенов «переводил» Доктороу, хотя у Титли перевод явно добросовестнее.
В итоге мы имеем две версии одного романа для разных целей: у двух чуваков — издание более академическое и образовательное, с обилием сносок (есть смешные: что в Ирландии, например, любая необработанная земля и глухомань называется «горой»; это не обязательно возвышение; там, как правило, гонят самогон); у Титли — «книжка на почитать». Что здесь лучше, я даже не берусь судить, такой вот кунштюк переводческой практики. Правда замечены некоторые расхождения: к примеру, у Титли Бабе (старшей сестре, которая в Америке) — примерно 93 года (и столько не живут), а у чуваков ей 73 (и ей пора на кладбище). Чем объяснить разницу в 20 лет, я не знаю. Названия же у обоих равно неплохи, с некоторой аллитерацией, оставшейся от оригинального.
Еще одно примечательное: читая чуваков, поражаешься, насколько близок ирландский вернакуляр русскому — и в общем подходе к говорению, и в частностях речевых оборотов: культура-то по сути сельская. Буквально слышишь все это на русском, даже через перевод, так что было бы круто его все же сделать тут; это будет сродни коростелевской версии ФОБ («Поющие Лазаря»), которая лучше плоского английского извода. Тут, если подойти к делу грамотно, может получиться лучше целых двух английских переводов.
У двух чуваков (чей перевод называется «Кладбищенская глина») перевод действительно более остраннен — он вроде бы действительно ближе к оригиналу, вязок и диковат на глаз. Bad language, как нам предусмотрительно замечают переводчики, во время оно был не то, что ныне: тогда если человек кого-то проклинал и сулил адские муки, он действительно имел это в виду, а не просто дежурно посылал нахуй, поэтому в ругательствах они старались не сильно отступать от исходника. Сейчас смириться с этим и держать это в памяти, конечно, затруднительно, а орут в романе друг на друга постоянно, только что не капсом. Титли же (у кого перевод называется «Грязный прах») сознательно переводил не слова, а энергетический посыл, поэтому у него по всему роману в изобилии рассыпаны факи, да и словесных анахренизмов довольно; при этом, стараясь избавиться от карикатурной ирландщины, он свою версию вполне приручал, и его текст действительно читается легче. Хотя при этом он, очевидно, выплеснул из ванны целую кучу детишек и, говорят, на всем оставил свой собственный писательский опечаток — примерно так же, я подозреваю, Аксенов «переводил» Доктороу, хотя у Титли перевод явно добросовестнее.
В итоге мы имеем две версии одного романа для разных целей: у двух чуваков — издание более академическое и образовательное, с обилием сносок (есть смешные: что в Ирландии, например, любая необработанная земля и глухомань называется «горой»; это не обязательно возвышение; там, как правило, гонят самогон); у Титли — «книжка на почитать». Что здесь лучше, я даже не берусь судить, такой вот кунштюк переводческой практики. Правда замечены некоторые расхождения: к примеру, у Титли Бабе (старшей сестре, которая в Америке) — примерно 93 года (и столько не живут), а у чуваков ей 73 (и ей пора на кладбище). Чем объяснить разницу в 20 лет, я не знаю. Названия же у обоих равно неплохи, с некоторой аллитерацией, оставшейся от оригинального.
Еще одно примечательное: читая чуваков, поражаешься, насколько близок ирландский вернакуляр русскому — и в общем подходе к говорению, и в частностях речевых оборотов: культура-то по сути сельская. Буквально слышишь все это на русском, даже через перевод, так что было бы круто его все же сделать тут; это будет сродни коростелевской версии ФОБ («Поющие Лазаря»), которая лучше плоского английского извода. Тут, если подойти к делу грамотно, может получиться лучше целых двух английских переводов.
April 19, 2018
Petty squabbles amongst small-minded townsfolk repeated for eternity create an extremely bleak imagining of the afterlife. Sometimes funny but mostly an exhausting, plodding experience in spite of all the swear words. I felt bad for the French pilot who learned Irish only to engage with these bickering lamers.
March 16, 2016
According to Colm Toíbín this book is “the greatest novel to be written in the Irish language”. I have to take his word for that as I’ve never come across any other book originally written in Irish, but certainly it’s an unusual and quite distinctive novel that feels very Irish to me. Shades of Joyce and Beckett, for sure. Toíbín also claims that it’s “amongst the best books to come out of Ireland in the twentieth century”. Praise indeed. It was published in 1949 but has only now been translated into English. The author is one of the most significant writers in the Irish language but little known outside his native land. That might well change with this translation. I hope so, as it’s a book well worth discovering. However I can’t say that I actually enjoyed it, although I certainly appreciated its originality. Told entirely in dialogue, with no narration, it certainly taxes the reader’s concentration, trying to keep up with who is talking. All the characters are dead but there’s no peace in the grave for them. They carry on talking just as they did when alive, preoccupied with all the worries and concerns they had before. They only find out what’s been going on since they died when someone new gets buried and can join the conversation. It’s a clever idea, and the author carries it off well, but I did find myself getting tired of the conceit after a while. Absurd, quirky and imaginative, but ultimately, for me, a little tedious.
Updated March 2016
In view of there now being a new translation I've had to write a new review, but there doesn't seem to be a way on Goodreads of distinguishing between the 2 editions. So I'm adding this new review on to the old one...
Cre na Cille is regularly flagged as a great Irish novel and according to Colm Toíbín “the greatest novel to be written in the Irish language”. I have to take his word for that as I’ve never come across any other book originally written in Irish, but certainly it’s an unusual and quite distinctive novel that feels very Irish to me. Shades of Joyce and Beckett, for sure. Toíbín also claims that it’s “amongst the best books to come out of Ireland in the twentieth century”. Praise indeed. It was published in 1949 but has only recently been translated for general readership into English. The author is one of the most significant writers in the Irish language but is little known outside his native land. That might well change with these translations, for surprisingly there have now been 2 in the last year or so. Alan Titley published The Dirty Dust just a year ago, and it’s now in paperback, and this month, March 2016, we have Liam Mac Con Iomaire and Tim Robinson’s Graveyard Clay. It’s an invidious business comparing translations, especially when you’re unable to refer to the original, but it’s obvious from just a cursory reading that the translators have taken very different approaches. Alan Titley has chosen to make his translation quite vulgar and crude, whilst Mac Con Iomaire and Robinson have made theirs a little more literary. For my money I prefer the latter approach. I found Titley’s constant use of fuck and cunt just too jarring and inauthentic. However, that’s my personal view and I’m not competent to judge on whether one is better than the other. This latest translation also has a lot of supplementary material – footnotes, a bibliography, publication history and a lengthy biography of the author, which I found very useful and again makes me prefer this most recent edition. Alan Titley also includes a good introduction, though. So it’s really a matter of taste. In any case, as readers we can only applaud this renewal of interest in Mairtin O Cadhain and this classic of Irish literature.
However I can’t say that I actually enjoyed it, although I certainly appreciated its originality. Told entirely in dialogue, with no narration, it certainly taxes the reader’s concentration, trying to keep up with who is talking. All the characters are dead but there’s no peace in the grave for them. They carry on talking just as they did when alive, preoccupied with all the worries and concerns they had before. They only find out what’s been going on since they died when someone new gets buried and can join the conversation. It’s a clever idea, and the author carries it off well, but I did find myself getting tired of the conceit after a while. Absurd, quirky and imaginative, but ultimately, for me, a little tedious.
Updated March 2016
In view of there now being a new translation I've had to write a new review, but there doesn't seem to be a way on Goodreads of distinguishing between the 2 editions. So I'm adding this new review on to the old one...
Cre na Cille is regularly flagged as a great Irish novel and according to Colm Toíbín “the greatest novel to be written in the Irish language”. I have to take his word for that as I’ve never come across any other book originally written in Irish, but certainly it’s an unusual and quite distinctive novel that feels very Irish to me. Shades of Joyce and Beckett, for sure. Toíbín also claims that it’s “amongst the best books to come out of Ireland in the twentieth century”. Praise indeed. It was published in 1949 but has only recently been translated for general readership into English. The author is one of the most significant writers in the Irish language but is little known outside his native land. That might well change with these translations, for surprisingly there have now been 2 in the last year or so. Alan Titley published The Dirty Dust just a year ago, and it’s now in paperback, and this month, March 2016, we have Liam Mac Con Iomaire and Tim Robinson’s Graveyard Clay. It’s an invidious business comparing translations, especially when you’re unable to refer to the original, but it’s obvious from just a cursory reading that the translators have taken very different approaches. Alan Titley has chosen to make his translation quite vulgar and crude, whilst Mac Con Iomaire and Robinson have made theirs a little more literary. For my money I prefer the latter approach. I found Titley’s constant use of fuck and cunt just too jarring and inauthentic. However, that’s my personal view and I’m not competent to judge on whether one is better than the other. This latest translation also has a lot of supplementary material – footnotes, a bibliography, publication history and a lengthy biography of the author, which I found very useful and again makes me prefer this most recent edition. Alan Titley also includes a good introduction, though. So it’s really a matter of taste. In any case, as readers we can only applaud this renewal of interest in Mairtin O Cadhain and this classic of Irish literature.
However I can’t say that I actually enjoyed it, although I certainly appreciated its originality. Told entirely in dialogue, with no narration, it certainly taxes the reader’s concentration, trying to keep up with who is talking. All the characters are dead but there’s no peace in the grave for them. They carry on talking just as they did when alive, preoccupied with all the worries and concerns they had before. They only find out what’s been going on since they died when someone new gets buried and can join the conversation. It’s a clever idea, and the author carries it off well, but I did find myself getting tired of the conceit after a while. Absurd, quirky and imaginative, but ultimately, for me, a little tedious.
April 15, 2015
A very unique idea and style that I felt was very well translated by Titley, as its meaning is very difficult to interpret in Irish never mind in English. My only qualm is that it is unclear, aside from the odd quirk, to ascertain who is speaking in the novel when the story is told in a constant dialogue with no speakers obviously labelled. At the same time this is part of the book's unique style yet I couldn't help but find it frustrating and unfocused at times. I'll have to read the Irish original soon so I can compare both editions though, maybe it will give me some more insight into the work. Overall it is a very well done and entertaining read and I am only ever delighted to see work being done to bridge the literary gap between English and Irish.
April 17, 2015
As it turns out, the conversations of the dead is only very interesting for 100 pages or so.
The story (or stories) are found in the dialogue so you have to work for it. The reading can be difficult and confusing because there isn't even a "Patrick said' to guide you. You must learn each speaker's style of speech or recall who discusses who/what.
Anyway, I lost interest eventually because there isn't a whole lot of development in any of the stories. We learn a lot about all the different characters but it's all who had more money, who inherited what, who married whom, and so on for the entirely of the book.
The story (or stories) are found in the dialogue so you have to work for it. The reading can be difficult and confusing because there isn't even a "Patrick said' to guide you. You must learn each speaker's style of speech or recall who discusses who/what.
Anyway, I lost interest eventually because there isn't a whole lot of development in any of the stories. We learn a lot about all the different characters but it's all who had more money, who inherited what, who married whom, and so on for the entirely of the book.
March 28, 2024
Νομίζω πως αυτό είναι το πιο πρωτότυπα δομημένο βιβλίο που έχω διαβάσει, αφού όλη η υπόθεση διαδραματίζεται μέσα από διαλόγους. Δεν υπάρχει αφηγητής, έχουμε μόνο τους πεθαμένους ολόκληρου χωριού που μιλάνε μεταξύ τους (οι οποίοι αν και νεκροί διατηρούν τη συνείδηση, τις αναμνήσεις και τον χαρακτήρα τους). Εμείς καταλαβαίνουμε ποιος μιλάει κάθε φορά είτε επειδή τον προσφωνεί με το όνομά του ο συνομιλητής του, είτε από κάποιες μικρές φράσεις που επαναλαμβάνει ο καθένας, είτε από το θέμα για το οποίο μιλάει. Σας μπέρδεψα; Κατά την ανάγνωση δεν θα μπερδευτείτε. Ας πούμε η Κατρίνα, μια από τις πιο ομιλητικές νεκρές και η βασική πρωταγωνίστρια του βιβλίου, ρωτάει συνέχεια αν της έβαλαν σταυρό πάνω από τον τάφο της, ο Δάσκαλος ρωτάει για την γυναίκα του, ο Γάλλος (έχει και έναν Γάλλο που σκοτώθηκε κατά τον πόλεμο στην περιοχή) μιλάει συνέχεια γαλλικά και δεν τον καταλαβαίνει σχεδόν κανείς...
Ο καθένας από τους νεκρούς έχει τον χαρακτήρα του και τα βιώματά του, προσπαθούν να συνεχίσουν τις σχέσεις που είχαν όσο ζούσαν ή δείχνουν τα πραγματικά τους αισθήματα για τον άλλο αφού δεν υπάρχει πια λόγος να φιλτράρουν αυτά που λένε. Μας περιγράφουν το ίδιο γεγονός αρκετές φορές, καθένας όπως το έζησε ή όπως το άκουσε. Θυμούνται τους ζωντανούς που άφησαν πίσω και μαθαίνουν τα νέα τους, θυμώνουν και συγχωρούν. Ταυτόχρονα, μέσα από τα λεγόμενά τους μαθαίνουμε και για την καθημερινότητα στην περιοχή εκείνη την εποχή, τη φτώχεια και τις κοινωνικές προκαταλήψεις που υπήρχαν.
Είναι πάρα πολύ ωραίο το βιβλίο, μου άρεσε πολύ, πάρα πολύ. Το διάβασα πολύ γρήγορα, δεν μελαγχόλησα καθόλου, γέλασα αρκετά και το ευχαριστήθηκα απρόσμενα πολύ.
https://kiallovivlio.blogspot.com/
https://thematofylakes.gr
Ο καθένας από τους νεκρούς έχει τον χαρακτήρα του και τα βιώματά του, προσπαθούν να συνεχίσουν τις σχέσεις που είχαν όσο ζούσαν ή δείχνουν τα πραγματικά τους αισθήματα για τον άλλο αφού δεν υπάρχει πια λόγος να φιλτράρουν αυτά που λένε. Μας περιγράφουν το ίδιο γεγονός αρκετές φορές, καθένας όπως το έζησε ή όπως το άκουσε. Θυμούνται τους ζωντανούς που άφησαν πίσω και μαθαίνουν τα νέα τους, θυμώνουν και συγχωρούν. Ταυτόχρονα, μέσα από τα λεγόμενά τους μαθαίνουμε και για την καθημερινότητα στην περιοχή εκείνη την εποχή, τη φτώχεια και τις κοινωνικές προκαταλήψεις που υπήρχαν.
Είναι πάρα πολύ ωραίο το βιβλίο, μου άρεσε πολύ, πάρα πολύ. Το διάβασα πολύ γρήγορα, δεν μελαγχόλησα καθόλου, γέλασα αρκετά και το ευχαριστήθηκα απρόσμενα πολύ.
https://kiallovivlio.blogspot.com/
https://thematofylakes.gr
May 28, 2018
Bu romana (bence daha çok bir senaryoya benziyor) gerçekten çok heyecanla başladım. Ancak üçte birini okuduktan sonra çok sıkıldığımı, ilgimin kaybolduğunu farkettim ve kitabı bıraktım.
Neden mi ? Çünkü, 1940’lı yıllarda İrlanda’nın küçük bir yerleşim yerinde ölmüş bir grup insanın hayattayken şikayetçi oldukları bir sürü konuyu mezarlarında da dile getirmeleri ama aynı şeyleri devamlı tekrar etmeleri, üstelik bunu hiç bir edebi üslupla, üzerinde düşünülecek bir ifadeyle değil de, günlük dedikodu ve gevezeliklerle yapmaları çok sıkıcı geldi bana.
Neden mi ? Çünkü anlatılan hikayelerde bir orijinallik yok, hiç bir hikayede gelişme olmuyor, bir iki cümle ile öylece ortada kalıyor. Bir çok farklı karakter hakkında çok şey öğreniyoruz, kim daha zengin, kim daha kıskanç, kimin nesi var veya kim kimle evli ve benzeri bir çok bilgi. Ama hiçbiri sizi ne düşündürüyor, ne okumanıza bir anlam katıyor ne de merak uyandırıyor. Tam bir şizofrenik ortam, fikir firarları, kelime salataları vesaire...
Modern İrlandaca’nın başyapıtı olarak takdim ediliyor bu kitap, zaten “başyapıt” denilmesinden kuşkulanmalıydım :)
Neden mi ? Çünkü, 1940’lı yıllarda İrlanda’nın küçük bir yerleşim yerinde ölmüş bir grup insanın hayattayken şikayetçi oldukları bir sürü konuyu mezarlarında da dile getirmeleri ama aynı şeyleri devamlı tekrar etmeleri, üstelik bunu hiç bir edebi üslupla, üzerinde düşünülecek bir ifadeyle değil de, günlük dedikodu ve gevezeliklerle yapmaları çok sıkıcı geldi bana.
Neden mi ? Çünkü anlatılan hikayelerde bir orijinallik yok, hiç bir hikayede gelişme olmuyor, bir iki cümle ile öylece ortada kalıyor. Bir çok farklı karakter hakkında çok şey öğreniyoruz, kim daha zengin, kim daha kıskanç, kimin nesi var veya kim kimle evli ve benzeri bir çok bilgi. Ama hiçbiri sizi ne düşündürüyor, ne okumanıza bir anlam katıyor ne de merak uyandırıyor. Tam bir şizofrenik ortam, fikir firarları, kelime salataları vesaire...
Modern İrlandaca’nın başyapıtı olarak takdim ediliyor bu kitap, zaten “başyapıt” denilmesinden kuşkulanmalıydım :)
Read
July 31, 2022Really fascinating book that I can't rate. I'll need to find some essays about it when I can because there was a lot I didn't quite follow or understand and I'd be interested to know more about the irish language original text and contexts anyhow.
March 9, 2017
this is an odd book to review in the sense that although i didn't enjoy it, there is a lot to like.
the central conceit of the novel is excellent - the dead lie buried in the earth and chat and bicker as though they were still alive - but i'm not sure if it ever really went anywhere interesting beyond the initial humour in its concept. the translation is pretty good, apart from a few oddly overtly modern curses that feel very out of place in the mouths of 1940s Irish speakers (ie 'Holy fuckaroni!') and the flow of dialogue isn't too difficult to follow except when it's supposed to be.
it can be very funny and, in the mysterious 'Trumpet of the Graveyard' segments that open most chapters, quite beautiful and poignant too. as an Irish novel inaccessible to even the broad majority of Irish people themselves, elements of it are remarkably relatable in the broader view of Irish culture.
so there are valid reasons to appreciate this novel and to recommend it to others; why the one-star review, then? something about the novel didn't sit at home with me. yes, parts of it were very funny, but larger swathes of comedy wore thin quite quickly. the characters have energy and life and remind me of people in my home village, true - but they were as dull to listen to in prose than the living around me can be in trivial conversation. despite overtly concerned with death and the afterlife with the kind of morbidity i find fascinating, everyone is completely inane, without a degree of introspection; there is something about being dead in this novel which absolves all characters from any sort of existential angst - once i realised no-one was going to look at the reality of their demise and purgatoric circumstances, the book lost a major layer of depth or intrigue to me. it became simply an exploration of old-irish banter, which isn't awful, and possibly very interesting to people who aren't irish, but nothing more.
the praise heaped upon it seemed more a result of its obscurity rather than its thematic value. i don't regret reading it, and think there's a lot to appreciate, but it really wasn't for me.
the central conceit of the novel is excellent - the dead lie buried in the earth and chat and bicker as though they were still alive - but i'm not sure if it ever really went anywhere interesting beyond the initial humour in its concept. the translation is pretty good, apart from a few oddly overtly modern curses that feel very out of place in the mouths of 1940s Irish speakers (ie 'Holy fuckaroni!') and the flow of dialogue isn't too difficult to follow except when it's supposed to be.
it can be very funny and, in the mysterious 'Trumpet of the Graveyard' segments that open most chapters, quite beautiful and poignant too. as an Irish novel inaccessible to even the broad majority of Irish people themselves, elements of it are remarkably relatable in the broader view of Irish culture.
so there are valid reasons to appreciate this novel and to recommend it to others; why the one-star review, then? something about the novel didn't sit at home with me. yes, parts of it were very funny, but larger swathes of comedy wore thin quite quickly. the characters have energy and life and remind me of people in my home village, true - but they were as dull to listen to in prose than the living around me can be in trivial conversation. despite overtly concerned with death and the afterlife with the kind of morbidity i find fascinating, everyone is completely inane, without a degree of introspection; there is something about being dead in this novel which absolves all characters from any sort of existential angst - once i realised no-one was going to look at the reality of their demise and purgatoric circumstances, the book lost a major layer of depth or intrigue to me. it became simply an exploration of old-irish banter, which isn't awful, and possibly very interesting to people who aren't irish, but nothing more.
the praise heaped upon it seemed more a result of its obscurity rather than its thematic value. i don't regret reading it, and think there's a lot to appreciate, but it really wasn't for me.
April 22, 2018
Opravdu nezvyklé, vedené celé v přímé řeči umrlců na hřbitově a tímto zvláštním způsobem objevuje čtenář radosti i strasti života na irském venkově, propletenost vztahů, kastování, závist, osobní posedlosti, lásku i válku. Uzavřenost a bezvýchodnost komunity mrtvých, čekání na novinky ze světa „tam nahoře“, snaha najít alespoň chvilku klidu a únik před pokřikem ostatních, to lze aplikovat i na jiná místa, než je hřbitov. Zvláštní je i stavba celého díla. Je složeno z interludií (meziher) a zaujalo mě v závěrečných poznámkách, že „uspořádání nejvíce připomíná hudební kompozici: interludia uvádí fanfára polnice, poté v různém pořadí následují sólové árie (monology hlavní postavy), duety (dialogy) i poněkud kakofonické sborové pasáže.“ Myslím, že to je opravdu tak. Jednotlivé linie se neustále prolínají a promluvy postav různě gradují podle okamžitých pocitů. K tomu využívá autor jazyka, vulgárních výrazů i odkazů do historie a literatury. Není to čtení na chvilku a možná by bylo dobré to přečíst ještě jednou, ale určitě to není ztracený čas. Protože Hřbitovní hlína je zdrojem informací, zábavou a je to prostě „hlína“. Obdivuji překladatele a doporučuji.
December 11, 2024
so hard to read, so compelling, so mad
June 12, 2016
The key things to know about this book, which was originally published in Irish in 1949, are explained by Alan Titley in his Translator's Introduction. First: "In The Dirty Dust everyone is dead" (vii). And next: "It is a novel that is a listening-in to gossip and to backbiting and rumours and bitching and carping and moaning and obsessing about the most important, but more often the most trivial, matters of life, which are often the same thing. It is as if, in an afterlife beneath the sods, the same old life would go on, only nothing could be done about it, apart from talk" (ibid.).
So, right: it's set in a cemetery, under the ground, and opens with a newly-buried woman, Caitriona Paudeen, wondering whether she's been put in one of the expensive plots or one of the cheaper ones. "Say the same things here as you said at home," says a woman in a neighboring plot, and Caitriona does (and so does everyone else) (6). Caitriona is bitter about having died before her sister Nell, and isn't at all pleased about being buried near Nora Johnny, her son's wife's mother (she clearly sees her son as having married down). Other people go on about the things they've always gone on about; everyone is at the center of his or her own world. There's a French pilot whose plane crashed; he doesn't speak Irish and mutters in French. There's the schoolmaster, who tells Nora Johnny stories from romance novels, and is enraged when he hears that his younger wife has gotten remarried. There's a guy who's convinced that his favorite team won the All-Ireland football match the year he died, and someone else who died later who keeps trying to tell him that they didn't. People go on about how they died—the guy who was stabbed, the guy who fell from something, the guy whose heart gave out. The book is nearly all dialogue, snippets of conversation, and there are parts where everyone's talking about the same thing, communal fixations rather than individual ones—thievery/things that got stolen, or how the postmistress steamed open everyone's letters, or competitive banter about whose death notice/wake/funeral was more impressive, or what they would have done if they'd "lived a bit longer" (281). The graveyard has elections, and there's talk of starting a Rotary (with a hilarious proposed list of talks, with each speaker going on about his/her personal fixation), but mostly it's a free-for-all of conversation and argument.
While I was reading this, I kept interrupting my boyfriend to tell him about various funny bits, and at one point he said the book sounded interesting but that he doubted he would read it. I'm not really surprised: in general, he cares more about plot than I do, and this book is definitely not plot-driven. As a character-driven/atmospheric read, though, it's a lot of fun.
So, right: it's set in a cemetery, under the ground, and opens with a newly-buried woman, Caitriona Paudeen, wondering whether she's been put in one of the expensive plots or one of the cheaper ones. "Say the same things here as you said at home," says a woman in a neighboring plot, and Caitriona does (and so does everyone else) (6). Caitriona is bitter about having died before her sister Nell, and isn't at all pleased about being buried near Nora Johnny, her son's wife's mother (she clearly sees her son as having married down). Other people go on about the things they've always gone on about; everyone is at the center of his or her own world. There's a French pilot whose plane crashed; he doesn't speak Irish and mutters in French. There's the schoolmaster, who tells Nora Johnny stories from romance novels, and is enraged when he hears that his younger wife has gotten remarried. There's a guy who's convinced that his favorite team won the All-Ireland football match the year he died, and someone else who died later who keeps trying to tell him that they didn't. People go on about how they died—the guy who was stabbed, the guy who fell from something, the guy whose heart gave out. The book is nearly all dialogue, snippets of conversation, and there are parts where everyone's talking about the same thing, communal fixations rather than individual ones—thievery/things that got stolen, or how the postmistress steamed open everyone's letters, or competitive banter about whose death notice/wake/funeral was more impressive, or what they would have done if they'd "lived a bit longer" (281). The graveyard has elections, and there's talk of starting a Rotary (with a hilarious proposed list of talks, with each speaker going on about his/her personal fixation), but mostly it's a free-for-all of conversation and argument.
While I was reading this, I kept interrupting my boyfriend to tell him about various funny bits, and at one point he said the book sounded interesting but that he doubted he would read it. I'm not really surprised: in general, he cares more about plot than I do, and this book is definitely not plot-driven. As a character-driven/atmospheric read, though, it's a lot of fun.
February 22, 2017
petty squabbles and town feuds dragged from terrestrial life into the afterlife of the 15-shilling cemetery. a unique narrative of voices that would probably work really well as a play, with lots of humor and culture and even irish history to be gleaned from these irritable deceased villagers. i'll remember it well, i twisted my ankle.
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January 8, 2019Hrozně těžko se mi Hřbitovní hlína hodnotí. Chápu, v čem je její úspěch (v čem i byl v době, kdy vyšla), je perfektně napsaná, jazykově vážně skvost, je vtipná, má nápad, ... Ale za mě by se to dalo zvládnout i na polovičním prostoru. A teď nemyslím, že se tam spoustu věcí opakuje, i to k příběhu patří a vytváří to jeho humor, jen už to prostě bylo moc stejné.
January 19, 2022
"Kultura, Muraed. Pozvedá ducha až na majestátní vrcholky hor a otvírá mu zacarovaný zámky, skrývající pralátku všech barev a zvuků, jak praví Šťoural v Rusovlásce. Člověk ztratí veškerej zájem o pomíjivý záležitosti běžnýho života. V duši už nějakou chvíli cítim skvostnej chaos z tý nezměrný kulturní záplavy...."
Po prečítaní tejto knihy naozaj ľutujem, že neovládam írčinu. Román od írskeho autora Maírtina Ó Cadhaina vyšiel ešte v roku 1949, a je zaujímavý práve tým, že autor v ňom použil veľmi konkrétne nárečie z oblasti Connemara v západnom Írsku.
Príbeh je značne jednoduchý, odohráva sa na cintoríne a pojednáva o rozhovoroch nebožtíkov. Čitateľ sa tak ocitá uprostred susedských drbov a svárov.
Čo však robí román zaujímavým je, že takmer celá kniha je prakticky prúd priamej reči, ale nie je označené, ktorý z nebožtíkov práve hovorí- toto musí čitateľ vydedukovať na základe prejavov jednotlivých postáv.
Pomerne vydarený preklad do češtiny priniesol Radvan Markus a tak sú v knihe zachované slovné hračky a iné zaujímavosti. Kniha je tiež plná literárnych narážok, ktoré sú na konci knihy vysvetlené a zoradené v zozname podľa strán, na ktorých sa vyskytli.
Zaujímavými sú aj skutočne originálne nadávky, ktorými sa postavy častujú- nedá mi nespomenúť lajdu osoplenú, kurvu kapradní či bramborovú babiznu.
Po prečítaní tejto knihy naozaj ľutujem, že neovládam írčinu. Román od írskeho autora Maírtina Ó Cadhaina vyšiel ešte v roku 1949, a je zaujímavý práve tým, že autor v ňom použil veľmi konkrétne nárečie z oblasti Connemara v západnom Írsku.
Príbeh je značne jednoduchý, odohráva sa na cintoríne a pojednáva o rozhovoroch nebožtíkov. Čitateľ sa tak ocitá uprostred susedských drbov a svárov.
Čo však robí román zaujímavým je, že takmer celá kniha je prakticky prúd priamej reči, ale nie je označené, ktorý z nebožtíkov práve hovorí- toto musí čitateľ vydedukovať na základe prejavov jednotlivých postáv.
Pomerne vydarený preklad do češtiny priniesol Radvan Markus a tak sú v knihe zachované slovné hračky a iné zaujímavosti. Kniha je tiež plná literárnych narážok, ktoré sú na konci knihy vysvetlené a zoradené v zozname podľa strán, na ktorých sa vyskytli.
Zaujímavými sú aj skutočne originálne nadávky, ktorými sa postavy častujú- nedá mi nespomenúť lajdu osoplenú, kurvu kapradní či bramborovú babiznu.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 17, 2022
Auf dem Friedhof treffen sie sich wieder, die Verstorbenen, die sich schon zu Lebzeiten nicht ausstehen konnten, die sich bestohlen, betrogen, ausgerichtet, verleumdet oder gar ermordet haben. Es scheint ihr Schicksal zu sein, all ihr großes und kleines Hickhack auch noch als Leichen unter der Erde auf ewig weiterspinnen zu müssen. So lamentieren und schimpfen und fluchen sie in einem 550 Seiten langen Stimmengewirr ohne Ende.
Wer auf jegliche Handlung verzichten kann und ein offenes Ohr für schrägen Witz und schwarzen Humor hat, wird das Buch mögen, obwohl es herausfordernd ist. Es besteht ausschließlich aus direkter Rede, und erst mit der Zeit und mit viel Aufmerksamkeit lernt man, die verschiedenen Sprecherinnen und Sprecher an ihrer persönlichen Ausdrucksweise wiederzuerkennen, ihnen Namen zuzuordnen und ihre Verstrickungen zu Lebzeiten zu verstehen. Die Namen allerdings sind eine weitere Herausforderung. Die irische Schreibweise und ihre Aussprache blieben mir trotz einer kurzen Anleitung im Anhang ein Rätsel, und auch die Varianten und Verkleinerungsformen trugen zu meiner Verwirrung bei.
Mit diesem ganzen unteridischen Geschwätz werden die Komplikationen menschlichen Zusammenlebens in ihrer ganzen Bandbreite trefflich vorgeführt, was eine durchaus allgemeingültige Sicht auf ein Dasein eröffnet, das man nur mit Humor ertragen kann. Die vielen Anspielungen allerdings, auf die speziell irische Kultur und Politik, auf Lieder, Gedichte, Nationalhelden und Volksgut sind für den Kontinentaleuropäer nur schwer einzuordnen, deshalb dürfte der volle Spaß nur autochthonen Lesern vorbehalten sein.
Wer auf jegliche Handlung verzichten kann und ein offenes Ohr für schrägen Witz und schwarzen Humor hat, wird das Buch mögen, obwohl es herausfordernd ist. Es besteht ausschließlich aus direkter Rede, und erst mit der Zeit und mit viel Aufmerksamkeit lernt man, die verschiedenen Sprecherinnen und Sprecher an ihrer persönlichen Ausdrucksweise wiederzuerkennen, ihnen Namen zuzuordnen und ihre Verstrickungen zu Lebzeiten zu verstehen. Die Namen allerdings sind eine weitere Herausforderung. Die irische Schreibweise und ihre Aussprache blieben mir trotz einer kurzen Anleitung im Anhang ein Rätsel, und auch die Varianten und Verkleinerungsformen trugen zu meiner Verwirrung bei.
Mit diesem ganzen unteridischen Geschwätz werden die Komplikationen menschlichen Zusammenlebens in ihrer ganzen Bandbreite trefflich vorgeführt, was eine durchaus allgemeingültige Sicht auf ein Dasein eröffnet, das man nur mit Humor ertragen kann. Die vielen Anspielungen allerdings, auf die speziell irische Kultur und Politik, auf Lieder, Gedichte, Nationalhelden und Volksgut sind für den Kontinentaleuropäer nur schwer einzuordnen, deshalb dürfte der volle Spaß nur autochthonen Lesern vorbehalten sein.
March 28, 2019
Deirtear faoin leabhar seo go bhfuil sé deacair agus nach féidir é a thuiscint ach ar éigean. Ní dóigh liom gur fíor sin in aon chor. Ní raibh deacracht ar bith agam an leabhar a léamh agus a thuiscint, ach amháin nár thuig mé gach uile fhocal. Ach ní ábhar imní é sin.
Thaitin an leabhar go mór liom mar go bhfuil an teanga agus an scríbhneoireacht saibhir. Den chuid is mó, bíonn nua-litríocht na Gaeilge simplí go leor chun go bhféadfadh páiste é léamh. Níl taitneamh rómhór ag baint leis na leabhair sin dá dhroim sin. Ach ní amhlaidh atá an leabhar iontach iomráiteach seo.
Tá clú agus cáil bainte amach aige cheana le fada an lá agus tuigim an fáth. Cé nach bhfuil aon phlota nó snáth scéil traidisiúnta i gceist sa leabhar seo, fós féin tarraingíonn sé isteach thú agus cuireann tú suim i saol agus i dtaithí na gcarachtar éagsúla. Cuireann tú aithne cheart orthu de réir a chéile.
Is féidir agus is fiú léamh criticiúil acadúil a dhéanamh ar an leabhar seo ach ní gá. Is féidir é a léamh mar ábhar siamsa nó mar ábhar staidéir araon. Bhí eagla orm roimhe de bharr a iomráití is atá ach tuigim anois gur míthuiscint atá ann. Ní bheidh an leabhar seo deacair ach don té nach bhfuil Gaeilge ar a thoil aige. Don duine ar féidir leis an leabhar a léamh i dtosach báire ní bheidh sé casta ná deacair dó siúd.
Thaitin an leabhar go mór liom mar go bhfuil an teanga agus an scríbhneoireacht saibhir. Den chuid is mó, bíonn nua-litríocht na Gaeilge simplí go leor chun go bhféadfadh páiste é léamh. Níl taitneamh rómhór ag baint leis na leabhair sin dá dhroim sin. Ach ní amhlaidh atá an leabhar iontach iomráiteach seo.
Tá clú agus cáil bainte amach aige cheana le fada an lá agus tuigim an fáth. Cé nach bhfuil aon phlota nó snáth scéil traidisiúnta i gceist sa leabhar seo, fós féin tarraingíonn sé isteach thú agus cuireann tú suim i saol agus i dtaithí na gcarachtar éagsúla. Cuireann tú aithne cheart orthu de réir a chéile.
Is féidir agus is fiú léamh criticiúil acadúil a dhéanamh ar an leabhar seo ach ní gá. Is féidir é a léamh mar ábhar siamsa nó mar ábhar staidéir araon. Bhí eagla orm roimhe de bharr a iomráití is atá ach tuigim anois gur míthuiscint atá ann. Ní bheidh an leabhar seo deacair ach don té nach bhfuil Gaeilge ar a thoil aige. Don duine ar féidir leis an leabhar a léamh i dtosach báire ní bheidh sé casta ná deacair dó siúd.
October 6, 2017
Thank God I finished it . I really wanted to like this novel but for the most part it was extremely boring. I really got tired of dead people still complaining about the the things they complained about when they were alive . Not a nice outlook about the afterlife and I don't believe there was a point to novel at all ...
March 26, 2019
Knjiga se isplati proćitati
Ljudi mogu da tračaju svuda, čak i kad su mrtvi i "odmaraju u grobu "....
Interesantno štivo
Ljudi mogu da tračaju svuda, čak i kad su mrtvi i "odmaraju u grobu "....
Interesantno štivo
February 11, 2020
A little hard to always know which of the characters are speaking but a fabulous book. Considered by experts to be the greatest masterpiece originally written in the Irish language. The translation by Alan Titley is amazing.
November 16, 2023
A little difficult to read at times but once you get into the flow absolutely brilliant. So funny at times and really enlightening - a triumphant anthropological piece of literature that deserves its place among the classics.
July 19, 2024
The Real Housewives of Graveyard Clay
February 27, 2024
This classic work translated from the Irish language is a dark comedy masterpiece. This is a story about the dead. Those long buried and new arrivals. Despite their deathly status...each cadaver has a voice. A voice that is heard in the graveyard and not beyond. Petty squabbles, prejudice, and even hatred, for both the living and the dead are rife underground and expressed in wonderful dialogue. In O'Cadhain's narrative death is merely a portal for moving from one phase of insular existence to another. And each new arrival feeds the waiting host with the latest news and gossip. A wonderful read.
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