I mBéarla: Late Bardic Poetry as an Antidote to AI Timelines
From the ancient poetry of the Fianna to the refinement of the filí and many Ollúna Érenn of the 1300s Gaelic renaissance, all the way through the Hedge Schools and Irish Colleges abroad—one thing is clear: intellectualism is uniquely interwoven in Irish DNA. In terms of modern emanations of this, I’m guessing many would naively point to the Irish side of X, often referred to as ‘Gaeltwitter’. Certainly, one can find a vast supply of intoxicating archival, cultural, and historical content of a Gaelic type, seemingly continuing this ancient line of Irish intellectualism.
However, the problem begins in its lack of end product. Accounts far more intelligent than the author of this piece will provide earth-shattering, multi-thread-long analyses about the civilisational apocalypse that is generative AI—without anything so much as an article or short essay written. They will assemble vast tomes, like a digital seanchas of PDFs—without them going to use other than for novelty posts. Accounts will boast of futurist manifestos and Gaelic developmentalism—despite not being able to name a single policy proposal. This is a grave tragedy of Irish intellect.
While many of them no doubt have other lives and are contributing in many ways outside of X, the fact is that the digital footprint of Gaeltwitter starts and ends in the isolated whispers of a virtual otherworld. To inform older and less-initiated Gaels about this world requires one to figuratively drag them into an enchanted path of techno-sídhe, a journey not everyone is willing to go down. Even if it means being enlightened to the Irish control of French vineyards in the 1770s under the Wine Geese, or the diffusionist hypothesis about the Irish role in founding antediluvian Atlantis—the question remains: what is it all for?
While endlessly intellectually stimulating, informative, and funny, I can’t help but come to the conclusion that Gaeltwitter acts as an incredibly pernicious release valve or playpen for Ireland’s greatest minds. Without any sort of end product—whether that be a compendium of posts, the creation of a few Substacks, etc.—all this wonderful work feels like nothing more than a type of limited hangout.
To put it another way: what is the Periphyseon of Gaeltwitter? What is their Foras Feasa ar Éirinn? Their Querist, even? If one thinks these anonymous accounts are incapable of producing such feats, one is not paying attention. It is precisely that they are capable of such excellence that makes their inaction such a greater tragedy. I demand that there is something by way of longform content from these figures—anything to cleanse our minds from the usual Anglicised slop which dominates Irish discourse, from the mainstream to the radical fringe.
If I meant anything in my post at the beginning of the year, I—and anyone who affirms An Ghluaiseacht Nua—should demand from Gaeltwitter some longform essays, articles, etc.
Dáibhí Ó Bruadair on Gaeltwitter
If people are uninterested in hearing this from me, I then hope they will listen to one of the true greats of Irish literature, Dáibhí Ó Bruadair. In his scathing satirical poem Is Mairg Nach Fuil, he laments the civilisational crisis that it was to have Gaeldom’s intellectuals isolated and underutilised.
The poem begins by chastising the barren state of Anglicised dialogue and literature, with ‘sullen men around on every side’. With the coming of the Cromwellian invasions and the decline of Gaeldom in the 17th century came a decline in civilisational excellence. The cultivated and supremely classical dialogue and tongue of the Gael was replaced with the barren pedantry of British mercenaries and now Anglicised younger natives. While it may be bad to fall into despair, the true concern is those ‘who are not gloomy boors’ at the collapse of communicative standards.
As was often the case with Jacobite-era reaction, the greatest tragedy in Ireland was seen as the loss of the intellectual voice and tongue of its people. While ‘good folk’ were blocked out and unlistened to, those foreigners of mind and tongue, ‘destitute of sense and wit’, were welcomed with open arms. Since the era of the monks to the poet’s time, the mind of the Irish was the mental heartbeat of European intellect.
To promote the voice of Irish dissidents—to seriously put forth one’s ideas as a Gael—is exactly to save civilisation once more. While we are plagued and oversaturated by slop, curated feeds to appeal to our most base impulses, the Gael can offer classical wisdom and guidance. For Ó Bruadair, offering his poetry and tongue would be to cut through ‘obtuse stolidity’. It was simply a public service.
Of course, intellectualism and learning are not a life of material luxury and abundance. Especially in the era of modernity, where jesters and jackals have replaced the refinement of the bardic and druidic classes, it is likely that intellectuals will suffer isolation. In Ó Bruadair’s words, all the time ‘spent in learning’s quest / Is not upon me in the shape of dress’. This is the Cross the Gael has always been asked to bear. For one to have this learning and not put it to use—one is betraying their ancestral responsibility.
To isolate one’s thought and intellect from the rest of the Irish nation, to conceal and abdicate from articulating oneself, is to concede room for the boors. One can no longer complain of slop, AI, and base verbiage if there is never a clear articulation of their own. You are letting the dregs occupy all the oxygen in the world of Irish ideas—those who are ‘devoid of all harmony, humour, and freshness of wit is their talk’.
Gaeltwitter must ask themselves: are they content to let Ó Bruadair and Gaeldom down?
WOE TO THOSE WHO ARE NOT GLOOMY BOORS - Dáibhí Ó Bruadair
I
Woe to those who are not gloomy boors
Though bad it be for one to be a boor,
Yet better were it than that I should live
With sullen men around on every side.
II
Woe to him, good folk, who lives with you,
Unless he stammer dully like yourselves,
For such are welcomed, more than all, by you,
O people destitute of sense and wit.
III
Could I only find a bargainee,
To him my pleasant wit I'd freely sell
I thus would interpose a mantle's price
Between him and obtuse stolidity.
IV
Fine clothes procure a man far more respect
Than all the fame refinement wins for him,
Alas, that all I spent in learning's quest
Is not upon me in the shape of dress.
V
Since nought but the speech and the actions of stolid boors favour finds now,
Though devoid of all harmony, humour, and freshness of wit is their talk,
Would that the money, I wasted in struggling with difficult print,
From the start of my life had been spent on acquiring the rudeness of boors.
---
Paid Article :< / Substack paywalls resist my attempts to archive them
From the ancient poetry of the Fianna to the refinement of the filí and many Ollúna Érenn of the 1300s Gaelic renaissance, all the way through the Hedge Schools and Irish Colleges abroad—one thing is clear: intellectualism is uniquely interwoven in Irish DNA. In terms of modern emanations of this, I’m guessing many would naively point to the Irish side of X, often referred to as ‘Gaeltwitter’. Certainly, one can find a vast supply of intoxicating archival, cultural, and historical content of a Gaelic type, seemingly continuing this ancient line of Irish intellectualism.
However, the problem begins in its lack of end product. Accounts far more intelligent than the author of this piece will provide earth-shattering, multi-thread-long analyses about the civilisational apocalypse that is generative AI—without anything so much as an article or short essay written. They will assemble vast tomes, like a digital seanchas of PDFs—without them going to use other than for novelty posts. Accounts will boast of futurist manifestos and Gaelic developmentalism—despite not being able to name a single policy proposal. This is a grave tragedy of Irish intellect.
While many of them no doubt have other lives and are contributing in many ways outside of X, the fact is that the digital footprint of Gaeltwitter starts and ends in the isolated whispers of a virtual otherworld. To inform older and less-initiated Gaels about this world requires one to figuratively drag them into an enchanted path of techno-sídhe, a journey not everyone is willing to go down. Even if it means being enlightened to the Irish control of French vineyards in the 1770s under the Wine Geese, or the diffusionist hypothesis about the Irish role in founding antediluvian Atlantis—the question remains: what is it all for?
While endlessly intellectually stimulating, informative, and funny, I can’t help but come to the conclusion that Gaeltwitter acts as an incredibly pernicious release valve or playpen for Ireland’s greatest minds. Without any sort of end product—whether that be a compendium of posts, the creation of a few Substacks, etc.—all this wonderful work feels like nothing more than a type of limited hangout.
To put it another way: what is the Periphyseon of Gaeltwitter? What is their Foras Feasa ar Éirinn? Their Querist, even? If one thinks these anonymous accounts are incapable of producing such feats, one is not paying attention. It is precisely that they are capable of such excellence that makes their inaction such a greater tragedy. I demand that there is something by way of longform content from these figures—anything to cleanse our minds from the usual Anglicised slop which dominates Irish discourse, from the mainstream to the radical fringe.
If I meant anything in my post at the beginning of the year, I—and anyone who affirms An Ghluaiseacht Nua—should demand from Gaeltwitter some longform essays, articles, etc.
Dáibhí Ó Bruadair on Gaeltwitter
If people are uninterested in hearing this from me, I then hope they will listen to one of the true greats of Irish literature, Dáibhí Ó Bruadair. In his scathing satirical poem Is Mairg Nach Fuil, he laments the civilisational crisis that it was to have Gaeldom’s intellectuals isolated and underutilised.
The poem begins by chastising the barren state of Anglicised dialogue and literature, with ‘sullen men around on every side’. With the coming of the Cromwellian invasions and the decline of Gaeldom in the 17th century came a decline in civilisational excellence. The cultivated and supremely classical dialogue and tongue of the Gael was replaced with the barren pedantry of British mercenaries and now Anglicised younger natives. While it may be bad to fall into despair, the true concern is those ‘who are not gloomy boors’ at the collapse of communicative standards.
As was often the case with Jacobite-era reaction, the greatest tragedy in Ireland was seen as the loss of the intellectual voice and tongue of its people. While ‘good folk’ were blocked out and unlistened to, those foreigners of mind and tongue, ‘destitute of sense and wit’, were welcomed with open arms. Since the era of the monks to the poet’s time, the mind of the Irish was the mental heartbeat of European intellect.
To promote the voice of Irish dissidents—to seriously put forth one’s ideas as a Gael—is exactly to save civilisation once more. While we are plagued and oversaturated by slop, curated feeds to appeal to our most base impulses, the Gael can offer classical wisdom and guidance. For Ó Bruadair, offering his poetry and tongue would be to cut through ‘obtuse stolidity’. It was simply a public service.
Of course, intellectualism and learning are not a life of material luxury and abundance. Especially in the era of modernity, where jesters and jackals have replaced the refinement of the bardic and druidic classes, it is likely that intellectuals will suffer isolation. In Ó Bruadair’s words, all the time ‘spent in learning’s quest / Is not upon me in the shape of dress’. This is the Cross the Gael has always been asked to bear. For one to have this learning and not put it to use—one is betraying their ancestral responsibility.
To isolate one’s thought and intellect from the rest of the Irish nation, to conceal and abdicate from articulating oneself, is to concede room for the boors. One can no longer complain of slop, AI, and base verbiage if there is never a clear articulation of their own. You are letting the dregs occupy all the oxygen in the world of Irish ideas—those who are ‘devoid of all harmony, humour, and freshness of wit is their talk’.
Gaeltwitter must ask themselves: are they content to let Ó Bruadair and Gaeldom down?
WOE TO THOSE WHO ARE NOT GLOOMY BOORS - Dáibhí Ó Bruadair
I
Woe to those who are not gloomy boors
Though bad it be for one to be a boor,
Yet better were it than that I should live
With sullen men around on every side.
II
Woe to him, good folk, who lives with you,
Unless he stammer dully like yourselves,
For such are welcomed, more than all, by you,
O people destitute of sense and wit.
III
Could I only find a bargainee,
To him my pleasant wit I'd freely sell
I thus would interpose a mantle's price
Between him and obtuse stolidity.
IV
Fine clothes procure a man far more respect
Than all the fame refinement wins for him,
Alas, that all I spent in learning's quest
Is not upon me in the shape of dress.
V
Since nought but the speech and the actions of stolid boors favour finds now,
Though devoid of all harmony, humour, and freshness of wit is their talk,
Would that the money, I wasted in struggling with difficult print,
From the start of my life had been spent on acquiring the rudeness of boors.
---
Paid Article :< / Substack paywalls resist my attempts to archive them
