Ultimately, as we know, there is no easy equivalence between languages. It is not the meaning itself which is the problem but the tone, and feel, and echo. I have no idea whether this works or not in this translation. It may do so for some, and not for others. There is no such thing as a literal translation, as the simplest small word beyond “cat” and “dog” expands into a foliage of ambiguity. Even a fairly direct word like baile in Irish throws up difficulties. It appears all over the country, most usually as “Bally” in place-names, and usually refers to a town or a village. This, however, is a more recent growth, as the original Irish most probably refers to a cluster of houses, not quite “settlement,” not quite “town land,” more like “just around here where I live.”
The title itself raised some problems, but also some mirth. The most literal translation of Cré na Cille might be “The earth of the graveyard,” but this doesn’t have any sense of the ring of the original. I must presume that Ó Cadhain put in the alliteration for his own purposes as he had done with other titles. On the other hand, Cré can also mean “creed,” or “belief”—perhaps a pun for the discerning reader, to whom “The Common Creed” might come to mind. “Cemetery Clay” certainly also gives the necessary consonants, but I just don’t like it. If I was determined to stick with those lovely Cs, there was always “Cemetery Chatter,” “Crypt Comments,” or “Coffin Cant.” I toyed with a title such as “Six Feet Under,” which would be a normal colloquialism for being buried, and it does retain a certain aptness. Once I was on this road, however, many suggestions rose up from the deep: “Graveyard Gabble,” “Talking Deads,” “The Last Words,” “The Way of All Trash,” “Undercurrents,” “Tomb Talk,” “All the Dead Voices,” “Beneath the Sods,” “Deadly Breathing,” “Biddies in the Boneyard,” and much more, culminating in “A Hundred Years of Verbitude.” Ó Cadhain’s first book of stories is entitled Idir Shúgradh is Dáiríre (Between joking and seriousness), and he once observed that if there ever was a single particular Irish trait it was the ability, even the necessity, to mix fun with solemnity. He might have preferred some of the above to The Dirty Dust, which I finally settled on in order to maintain some sense of the rhythm of the original, along with the biblical echoes that dust we are and “unto dust we shall return,” while not forgetting that what goes on below amongst the skulls and cross words is certainly dirty.
I have taken some liberties with this translation, but not many. Certainly not as many as those which Máirtín Ó Cadhain took in his very first work of translation. His first manuscript version of that bad Charles J. Kickham novel Sally Kavanagh was returned to the publisher with nearly twice as many words as the original! There was always a tradition in translation in Ireland of taking some freedoms, and it would have been untraditional of me not to do likewise.
The main reason that Máirtín Ó Cadhain was so profligate with words was that he couldn’t help it. His supreme gift was his torrent of words which gushed and laughed and overflowed in a flush of excess. Not only was this the way he wrote, it was also the way he spoke. But every writer’s supreme gift is also his weakness, as he cannot be everything. The writer Liam O’Flaherty once advised him to take a scissors to his prose, although he probably meant a bill-hook. If he had, he would not have been Máirtín Ó Cadhain, but only an anaemic version of him.
His inability to be unable not to let fly meant that although he tried his hand at drama, he was singularly unsuccessful. Drama demands some sense of structure and control of time, traits which he lacked. While The Dirty Dust does have a definite structure, it is big and baggy enough for him to dump everything into. Readers therefore might find it odd that in this graveyard there are elections, and Rotary clubs, and writers, and even a French pilot who was washed up on the shore and interred with the others. If you are wondering what they are doing there, it is quite simply that Ó Cadhain as a public polemicist could not resist the temptation of taking subtle and not-so-subtle swipes at colleagues and at issues which intrigued or pissed him off. Much of the novel is satire, not only on the easy pieties of country life but on the snobbery, pretence, and charlatanry which were as much a part of his country then as they are now.
This satire goes deep in Irish literature and links it with texts at least as far back as the eighth-century
Fled Bricrenn
(The feast of Bricriu) and the twelfth-century
Aislinge meic Conglinne
(The vision of Mac Conglinne), but you don’t have to know anything about this to enjoy Caitriona Paudeen’s poison tongue, the Old Master’s abiding jealousy, Nora Johnny’s whoring after “culture,” and the entire inter-locking spite that gives them life while they are dead. There have only been about three hundred novels written in Irish since the start of the twentieth century, and if there were a typical mould, this certainly wouldn’t be it. Like all great novels it is unique and is to be enjoyed as a feast of language, the kind of language you might hear outside a door when everybody inside is tearing themselves apart; or in a country graveyard in the dark light of day.
I would like to thank both Garry Bannister and the late David Sowby for their interest in this translation, and for their many helpful and often invaluable suggestions, which were a great assistance to me.
CHARACTERS AND DIALOGUE CONVENTIONS
Primary Characters
CAITRIONA PAUDEEN Newly buried
PATRICK CAITRIONA Her only son
NORA JOHNNY’S DAUGHTER Wife of Patrick Caitriona. Living in Caitriona’s house
MAUREEN Patrick Caitriona and Nora Johnny’s Daughter’s young girl
NORA JOHNNY Toejam Nora. Patrick Caitriona’s mother-in-law
BABA PAUDEEN A sister of Caitriona and of Nell. Living in America. Her will expected soon.
NELL PAUDEEN A sister of Caitriona and of Baba
JACK THE LAD Nell’s husband
PETER NELL Nell and Jack’s son
BLOTCHY BRIAN’S MAGGIE Peter Nell’s wife
BLOTCHY BRIAN JUNIOR Peter Nell and Blotchy Brian Maggie’s son. Going for the priesthood.
BLOTCHY BRIAN Maggie’s father
FIRESIDE TOM Relation of Caitriona and Nell. The two of them vying for his land.
MAGGIE FRANCES Neighbour and bosom friend of Caitriona
Other Neighbours and Acquaintances
BIDDY SARAH Keening woman, but fond of the drink
COLEY Traditional storyteller. Can’t read.
KITTY Neighbour of Caitriona’s who claimed to have lent her a pound but never got it back.
DOTIE A sentimental woman
MARGARET A friend of Kitty’s
CHALKY STEVEN He didn’t go to Caitriona’s funeral because he “hadn’t heard” about it
PETER THE PUBLICAN Pub owner. Still alive.
HUCKSTER JOAN Shopkeeper
MICHAEL KITTY Lying on top of Huckster Joan
TIM TOP OF THE ROAD Lives in a hovel at the end of the town land. Accused of stealing by neighbours.
MANNIX Lawyer who dealt with Caitriona and her family