Ó Bruadair's 17th Century Critique of Capitalist Globalism and Rootlessness
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I mBéarla: Alienation in early-modern Ireland
the great political parties nevertheless cease to be more than reputed centres of decision. A small number of superior heads, whose names are very likely not the best-known, settle everything, while below them are the great mass of second-rate politicians-rhetors, tribunes, deputies, journalists-selected through a provincially-conceived franchise to keep alive the illusion of popular self-determination (Spengler, p. 35)
Irish people who wish to defend Capital, and the supposed qualities of financial elites, really have no historical grounding whatsoever. I often think how strange it is, that there really can be a single Irish-Ireland advocate who holds to ‘free-market’ ideology. Liberating the ‘free-market’ has always entailed the privileging of land speculators, usurers and all-round gombeens like we see it today. Nowhere was that clearer than in the case of the plantations, as Dáibhí Ó Bruadair recounts, in his poem NACH AIT AN NÓS (How Queer This Mode).
He begins the poem with a harrowing lament, noting Nach ait an nós (How queer this mode) is, where one is more secure, celebrated and wealthy if they sell out their country to those who wish its destruction:
Better than any document recovered from that time, the poetry teaches us what might have happened had Talbot, as well as Catholic, been also Gaelic, so understanding what the soul of Ireland secretly craved for. But the Gaelic vigour of this short period, 1685-1691, collapses, and O Bruadair laments. The voice of the lonely years that followed the sailing of Sarsfield’s army from Cork in 1691 is to be heard (Corkery, p. 141)
This foreign interlinking came to deominate mórchuid d'fhearaibh Éireann (many men of Erin). The British plantation was a clear boon for native financial parasites and hucksters, initiating an economic revolution of sorts. It is what Spengler refers to as ‘the money-spirit’ which permeates all decrepit civilisations. A cannibalising force, which will eviscerate great forests, rewrite borders and drain out luscious rivers all in the name of profits.
Nothing could be further than the aristocratic and rooted order of Gaeldom, under the guidance of the Brehon Laws. The plantations were not only an ethnic and cultural invasion, but a political revolution too. This revolution established a new economic order over Ireland — that of the dictatorship of money-power, or as it is often referred to, the ‘market-driven economy’:
Of equal importance in breaking down particularism would have been the presence in every town in Ireland of significant communities of artisans, merchants, and moneylenders or their agents, as well as chapmen and other itinerant pedlars who collectively introduced people in all parts of the country and at all social levels to a market-driven economy. (Canny, ‘Making Ireland British’, p, 78)
Those with ‘mórtus maingléiseach’ (upstart ostentation) followed the ‘chódaibh gallachléire’ (codes of foreign clerks). These were not the traditional European knights of the medieval era. Even the Normans had more honour. What Cromwell and the Elizabethan era had unleashed was an altogether new, mechanical order of things. Gombeenism does not even begin to describe the treachery of this order.
Always the cultural aesthete, Ó Bruadair particularly emphasised the vulgarity of this new reign. In a sense, he suggested that their offense to beauty was perhaps even worse than the economic and political ramifications: ‘he goes on to complain that knowledge is now so corrupt in Corc’s land (Munster) that nothing but vulgar poetry is understood’ (Corkery, p. 105).
In this sense, one can see the inherent tension between cultural traditionalism, and the revolutionary depravity of Capital, which requires constant expansion, gigantism and growth — regardless of ecological and cultural deficit:
All newcomers, as well as the Irish people who had benefited from association with them, were consistently portrayed as uncouth people of mean breeding and low social standing sometimes linked to a trade, who, by an unhappy accident of fate, had been elevated to take the position of the generous patrons of music, poetry, and religion who had ruled benevolently over their patrimonies for centuries… their qualities were contrasted with the base mercenary instincts of the upstarts who had come to domineer over those who rightfully belonged within Irish society. (Canny, p. 575)
This new revolution from below, saw the rise of those who were most craven, cultureless and vapid. Marking a shift from a high-culture of Gaeldom to the provincialized slop of the British empire, where ní chanaid glór acht gósta garbhbhéarla (They utter nothing but a ghost of strident English).
In Spenglerian terms, this marked the shift toward the Winter-civilisation of the world city, where natives are made to feel like foreigners in their own home, all while cosmopolitan elites swindle the land’s resources:
In place of a world, there is a city, a point, in which the whole life of broad regions is collecting while the rest dries up. In place of a type-true people, born of and grown on the soil, there is a new sort of nomad, cohering unstably in fluid masses, the parasitical city dweller, traditionless, utterly matter-of-fact, religionless, clever, unfruitful, deeply contemptuous of the countryman and especially that highest form of countryman, the country gentleman. This is a very great stride towards the inorganic, towards the end (Spengler, p. 48)
In this sense we see the close-mindedness and provinciality of Ireland under anglicisation. One would be mistaken for thinking Ó Bruadair and others’ opposition to this new imperial mode emanated from mere localism, but this is clearly mistaken. The new Anglo-Irish order, instantiated by the plantation of a rabble of Scots, Anglo underclass and others was not an attempt at building a proud European nation or civilised political order.
Instead, it was a modernistic, a-historical and barren endeavour, solely for the interest of imperial and economic control. Ó Bruadair expresses this best in his disdain for the lowly language of this new rabble, where those who are of the cultured and poetic class, like himself, are shunned: Mairg atá gan béarla binn (Woe to him who cannot simper English):
Apparently, it was after the Restoration and the return of Ormonde to Ireland in 1662, that O’ Bruadair made the oft-quoted lines: ‘Mairg atá gan béarla binn’… The spread of English in Ireland may be said to have begun after the Restoration. Late in life, O’ Bruadair complained that ignorance of English had injured him in this new Ireland; yet he left droll verses in the foreign tongue (de Blácam, p. 266)
Thinking of Ireland today, controlled by landlords, elites and vultures who care nothing for this nation’s native soul and spirit, right-thinking people must still be asking: Nach ait an nós…
I nGaeilge: Coimhthiú sna plandálacha
the great political parties nevertheless cease to be more than reputed centres of decision. A small number of superior heads, whose names are very likely not the best-known, settle everything, while below them are the great mass of second-rate politicians-rhetors, tribunes, deputies, journalists-selected through a provincially-conceived franchise to keep alive the illusion of popular self-determination (Spengler, p. 35)
Is beag bunús stairiúl atá ag Éireannaigh a bhfuil fonn orthu Caipiteal a chosaint, nó tréithe lucht airgid a mhaíomh. Is minic a smaoiním ar a aisteach atá sé go bhféadfadh tacadóir Gaeil-Éireannach a bheith ann a sheasann don idé-eolaíocht ‘margaidh shaor’. Is éard a bhí i gceist riamh le ‘margadh saor’ a shaoradh ná toirmeasc a thabhairt do speicúlaithe talún, do lucht úis agus do ghaimbíní ar nós na ndaoine a fheicimid inniu. Ní raibh sé níos soiléire ná i gcás na bplandaíl, mar a insíonn Dáibhí Ó Bruadair ina dhán NACH AIT AN NÓS.
Tosaíonn sé an dán le caoineadh cráite, ag tabhairt faoi deara Nach ait an nós é, nuair is fearr atá duine dá ndíolann sé a thír leo siúd ar mian leo a scrios:
Better than any document recovered from that time, the poetry teaches us what might have happened had Talbot, as well as Catholic, been also Gaelic, so understanding what the soul of Ireland secretly craved for. But the Gaelic vigour of this short period, 1685-1691, collapses, and O Bruadair laments. The voice of the lonely years that followed the sailing of Sarsfield’s army from Cork in 1691 is to be heard (Corkery, p. 141)
Tháinig an t-idirnascadh eachtrannach seo chun mórchuid d’fhearaibh Éireann a smachtú. Ba mhór an chabhair é plandáil na Breataine do pharasaithe dúchasacha agus do ghaisteoirí, ag cur tús le réabhlóid eacnamaíoch de chineál. Is é an rud é a dtugann Spengler ‘spiorad an airgid’ air, a threáitheann gach uile chivilisacht lag. Fórsa cannábálach, a scriosfaidh foraoisí móra, a athscríobhfaidh teorainneacha agus a thriomaidh aibhneacha loma, uile ar mhaithe le brabús.
Ní fhéadfadh a bheith níos faide ó ord uasaicmeach fréamhaithe na nGael, faoi threoir Dlí na mBreithiún. Ní ionradh eitneach agus cultúrtha amháin a bhí sna plandaíla, ach réabhlóid pholaitiúil freisin. Chuir an réabhlóid seo ord eacnamaíoch nua i bhfeidhm in Éirinn — ord an deachtóireachta chumhachta airgid, nó mar a thugtar air go minic, an ‘geilleagar margadh-dhírithe’:
Of equal importance in breaking down particularism would have been the presence in every town in Ireland of significant communities of artisans, merchants, and moneylenders or their agents, as well as chapmen and other itinerant pedlars who collectively introduced people in all parts of the country and at all social levels to a market-driven economy. (Canny, ‘Making Ireland British’, p, 78)
Lean na daoine le ‘mórtas maingléiseach’ na ‘códaibh gallachléire’. Ní ridirí meánaoiseacha traidisiúnta na hEorpa a bhí iontu. Bhí níos mó honóra fiú ag na Normannaigh. Is ord nua meicniúil ar fad a scaoil Cromail agus ré Eilíse, nach dtugann ‘gaimbíneachas’ fiú cur síos air.
Mar dhuine a bhí i gcónaí aestheiteach cultúrtha, leag Ó Bruadair béim ar leith ar an bhfarraige ghrannda a bhain leis an ré nua. Sa chaoi sin, mhol sé gur b’fhéidir gur bhain an locht a bhí acu ar an áilleacht níos measa fós ná na hiarmhairtí eacnamaíocha agus polaitiúla: ‘he goes on to complain that knowledge is now so corrupt in Corc’s land (Munster) that nothing but vulgar poetry is understood’ (Corkery, p. 105).
Sa chaoi seo, feictear an teannas inniúil idir traidisiún cultúrtha agus an urchóid réabhlóideach atá ag baint le Caipiteal, a éilíonn leathnú, ollmhéadú agus fás i gcónaí — beag beann ar an díobháil éiceolaíoch agus chultúrtha:
All newcomers, as well as the Irish people who had benefited from association with them, were consistently portrayed as uncouth people of mean breeding and low social standing sometimes linked to a trade, who, by an unhappy accident of fate, had been elevated to take the position of the generous patrons of music, poetry, and religion who had ruled benevolently over their patrimonies for centuries… their qualities were contrasted with the base mercenary instincts of the upstarts who had come to domineer over those who rightfully belonged within Irish society. (Canny, p. 575)
Ba é an réabhlóid nua seo ‘ón íochtar’ a chonaic ardú na ndaoine ba chladaí, ba neamhchultúrtha agus ba shuaracha. Comhartha aistrithe ó ardchultúr na nGael go dtí an bharraíocht chúigíochta de chuid impireacht na Breataine, áit ní chanaid glór acht gósta garbhbhéarla.
I dtéarmaí Spengler, ba é seo an t-aistriú i dtreo sibhialtacht an gheimhridh sa chathair dhomhanda, áit a mothaíonn muintir na tíre gur eachtrannaigh iad féin sa bhaile, agus lucht an chosmhuintir ag caitheamh acmhainní na tíre:
In place of a world, there is a city, a point, in which the whole life of broad regions is collecting while the rest dries up. In place of a type-true people, born of and grown on the soil, there is a new sort of nomad, cohering unstably in fluid masses, the parasitical city dweller, traditionless, utterly matter-of-fact, religionless, clever, unfruitful, deeply contemptuous of the countryman and especially that highest form of countryman, the country gentleman. This is a very great stride towards the inorganic, towards the end (Spengler, p. 48)
Sa chaoi seo, feicimid an cúngaigeantacht agus an chúigiúlacht a bhain le hÉireann faoi ghallú. Ba mhícheart a shíleadh gur ó áitiúlacht amháin a tháinig freasúra Uí Bhruadair agus daoine eile i gcoinne an mhoda impiriúil nua, ach tá sé soiléir go bhfuil an smaoineamh sin mícheart. Ní iarracht í an t-ord nua Angla-Éireannach, a cuireadh ar bun le plandáil rabble Albanach, fo-aicme Angla agus daoine eile, chun náisiún Eorpach bródúil nó ord polaitiúil sibhialta a thógáil.
Ina áit sin, ba iarracht nua-aoiseach, neamhstairiúil agus gan toradh í, ar mhaithe le smacht impiriúil agus eacnamaíoch amháin. Cuireann Ó Bruadair an disdain is fearr in iúl don teanga íseal a bhí ag an rabble nua seo, áit a ndéantar daoine den aicme chultúrtha agus fhilí, mar é féin, a sheachaint: Mairg atá gan béarla binn:
Apparently, it was after the Restoration and the return of Ormonde to Ireland in 1662, that O’ Bruadair made the oft-quoted lines: ‘Mairg atá gan béarla binn’… The spread of English in Ireland may be said to have begun after the Restoration. Late in life, O’ Bruadair complained that ignorance of English had injured him in this new Ireland; yet he left droll verses in the foreign tongue (de Blácam, p. 266)
Ag smaoineamh ar Éirinn inniu, atá faoi smacht tiarnaí talún, lucht élite agus bhultúir nach bhfuil meas acu ar anam ná spiorad dúchasach na tíre, ní mór do dhaoine a bhfuil ciall acu fós a bheith ag fiafraí: Nach ait an nós…
NACH AIT AN NÓS
I
Nach ait an nós so ag mórchuid d'fhearaibh Éireann,
d'at go nó le mórtus maingléiseach,
giodh tais a dtreoir ar chódaibh gallachléire,
ní chanaid glór acht gósta garbhbhéarla.
II
Mairg atá gan béarla binn
ar dteacht an iarla go hÉirinn;
ar feadh mo shaoghail ar chlár Chuinn
dán ar bhéarla dobhéaruinn.
HOW QUEER THIS MODE
I
How queer this mode assumed by many men of Erin,
With haughty, upstart ostentation lately swollen,
Though codes of foreign clerks they fondly strive to master,
They utter nothing but a ghost of strident English.
II
Woe to him who cannot simper English,
Since the Earl hath come across to Erin;
So long my life upon Conn's plain continues,
I'd barter all my poetry for English.