All language subtitles for song.of.granite.2017.limited.dvdrip.x264-cadaver[EtMovies]

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They were the first people
to settle in Ireland.

They had tremendous insight

and hidden knowledge
of many things.

They had knowledge

of the future.

They could speak the language
of the birds.

They could see as the birds can see
from the sky above.

They could look over the whole land.

Sweeney -

was cursed by St. Rénén because
he killed one of his clerics.

From a vision he saw in the sky,

he heard the noise of
the upcoming battle and fled.

Part of the curse was that he could
not endure sharp sounds.

He flew from the scene of battle
in a frenzy.

He spent years
hopping from tree to tree

for he couldn't set foot
on land again.

And, like the birds,
he could never again trust humans.

Gloomy this life

to be without a soft bed.

Abode of cold frost.

Roughness of wind driven snow.

Cold, icy wind

shadow of a feeble sun

shelter from a single tree

on the summit of a high plateau.

Very good.

Good work.

We'll do another bit tomorrow.

NOW:

You were all to learn a song
from home.

Who will go first?

Darach?

Joseph.

Come up and sing the song
you learned at home,

good man.

I know you're dying to sing for us.

Stir yourself.

Well done. Good boy.

Didn't he sing well?

Now, from now on,

when you're singing,
open your mouth.

Like this.

Open wide.

Very good.

And sing out every note clearly.

Imagine you had to get a hen's
egg into your mouth,

open it up.

Good man. Now, sit down.

This one won't budge.

Neither will this one.

There are loads of periwinkles.

Good lad.

That's it.

Throw it out quick.

Good lad.

Good man.

Now, haul it in.

Haul it in.

That's it.

Good man yourself - that's it.

Use both hands.

Good man.

Do you have it?

- Need a hand?
- Maybe.

Hold on.

That was good.

Is it getting the better of you?

I can't do it.

Let's see now.

Hold the potato like so...

Place the potato between
your thumb

and the knife like that.

Hold it with two fingers,
either side,

and cut through it
nice and easy.

Don't do it too hard

or it'll catch your thumb.

See that?

Good man.

Let's see you try that.

Don't be worried.

It'll come with age, child.

Nice and easy, in your own time.

Mind the fingers.

Good man yourself.

Have you many left?

A few.

Joe!

Hey Joe! Stop your carry-on!

For God's sake!

Isn't your father a fine singer?

Would you sing me a song?

I could record your voice
with this device.

What do you say?

I only sing at home.

Isn't this your home?

Which songs do you like anyway?

I like “An tAmhrén Bréagach.”

And “Amhrén Rinn Mhaoile.”

“Amhrén Rinn Mhaoile”?

That's quite a difficult song
for a young lad, isn't it?

Do you know where they come from?

My dad sings them

and Calm an Bhlécaigh.

And where did they get them?

I suppose they go way back

to the poets who wrote them
long ago

but we still sing them.

Now, what would you say to that!

Here you are,

you may as well...

Here, finish it!

May as well finish it!

Throw it back, son.

- We haven't another bottle?
- No!

We're ready, Joe.

Micheél Thaidhg bought
a new boat recently,

a trawler.

He'll do well around these parts.

You might never come back, Joe.

There's nothing left for me here.

I don't know...

I miss this place...

You always had your eye on
the horizon.

I am the age of the Old Hag
of Beara.

The age of Newgrange.

The age of the Great Deer.

I have two thousand years of that
stinking sow that was Ireland

resonating in my ears

in my mouth

in my eyes

in my head

in my dreams.

These horses, each with the
hammer and sickle on their flanks,

they were the horses
of the Emir of Bokhara,

they were the Golden Horde,

Genghis Khan's cavalry.

They were also the slender
brown horses

in my father's and grandfathers
stories.

And who truly knows
that they were not?

Do you feel homesick here, Joe?

Sometimes.

Sometimes not.

Why do you feel homesick?

It's hard, leaving your native land
and forgetting it.

Have you forgotten it?

That's not what I mean,
but forgetting the fun

and the people and the songs

the music and the festivities,
the races, things like that.

I'm only here a little
under three years.

But I was at the Newport Folk
Festival in 1966.

But I must say now,
and back then too,

that the Clancy Brothers gave me
great help in getting those things.

- When you started here?
- Yes, when I first started.

Well, we didn't know where he was.

No, the first we'd heard about him,

I was at a Clancy Brothers' concert

and I used to hear Joe talking
about the Clancy Brothers

so, I made it a point to meet
one of them, which I did,

and asked if he knew Joe
and he said,

“Oh yes, very much so, actually he's
over in New York, we just left him

to come over here
and we're going back there.”

So, I said, “Will you tell him
his wife's dead

and to contact his children,”

which he didn't do.

You know that it's never too late,
Joe, to go back.

They might be happy to see you.

I know that, I know that...

But I think that too much water
has passed under the bridge.

I went to England last year

and met my father.

I was going to write to tell you
but I changed my mind.

I hadn't seen him since I was
five years old,

you know that.

Myself and my grandmother went
over to search for him

and we finally found him.

He was in London.

He plays music himself
from time to time.

Do you know what he said to me
when we found him?

He said:

“I always knew

that you'd find me.”

Do you know

in all the old stories

why it is that the warrior
always kills the beast?

I don't know.

Because it is the warrior
who tells the story.

How do you mean?

Sometimes I don't know

if I'm the warrior

or the beast.

There were fish
in the rivers of Ireland.

There were animals
in her hollows.

Wild, shy, monstrous creatures
roamed her plains and forests.

Creatures that one could see
through and walk through.

We lived in ease and saw
new animals grow

the bear, the badger, the boar,
the deer and the wolf.

Then, sudden as a rising wind,
between night and morning,

there came a sickness

and on the seventh day, all of
the race of Parthalon were dead,

all except one single man.

"I am that man,” his companion
affirmed."

Tuan shaded his brow
with his hand

and he remembered back
through incredible ages

to the beginning of the world

and to the beginning of time
in Ireland.

Listen, Méire.

I've a list of songs I haven't yet
recorded anywhere

and I believe it would be good
to record them.

Look, Méire, I have to find some
way out of this country.

I don't want to die
amongst strangers.

There are fine people here,
but they are not my own people.

If there was some way I could...

Maybe you could ask around
and see...

Look, Méire, I'd better go now.

There are people here waiting
to use the phone.

We'll talk about it again.
Goodbye.

I haven't seen you here before.

How long have you been here?

Seven years.

That's a long time.

I would wait twice as long
for a poem.

Have you caught good poems?

The poems I am fit for.

No person can get more than that

for a man's readiness is his limit.

It was foretold by a man
of knowledge

that I should receive All Knowledge
by the bank of this river.

And then?

And then,

I would have All Knowledge.

And after that?

What should there be after that?

I mean,

what would you do with
All Knowledge?

A question

of great weight.

I could answer it if I had All
Knowledge, but not until then.

What would you do, young man?

I would make a poem.

I was born at night.

That's why I was always so shy,
they said.

My mother told me stories.

My father taught me to sing.

And when I had grown

and had listened to the
world's song,

I felt that there could be
no greater happiness

than to return to that song.

In song dwelled the most precious

and the most incomprehensible
dreams of mankind.

The mountains stretched into
the heavens in those days.

The songbirds of the air listened
in wonder to this song,

the most beautiful song in life.

Birds don't sing songs of glory.

Ice wrapped wings
That's my story

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