T. H. Parry-Williams: "Barrenness" (From Welsh)

Barrenness
By T. H. Parry-Williams 

Translated by A.Z. Foreman

It was a treeless world of weather-swept
wilds in Snowdonia around my birth,
bare as if giants had forever kept
smoothing out every slanting slope of earth;
and as I grew up, through boyhood's amazing 
years in our upland home among my own,
those mountains' primal forms would press in, bracing
me till their barrenness became my bone.
And should something of me survive my end

without completely vanishing away

and be discovered by some heart-matched friend

by chance near Snowdon in the dusky day,
he'll see in it no image, no design,
just long-drawn barrenness' bleak outline.

Me reading the original:

A. Z. Foreman · "Moelni" by T. H. Parry Williams read in Welsh and in my English translation

The Original:

Moelni

Nid oedd ond llymder anial byd di-goed 

O gylch fy ngeni yn Eryri draw,

Fel petai’r cewri wedi bod erioed

Yn hir lyfnhau’r llechweddau ar bob llaw; 

A thros fy magu, drwy flynyddoedd syn 

Bachgendod yn ein cartref uchel ni, 

Ymwasgai henffurf y mynyddoedd hyn, 

Nes mynd o’u moelni i mewn i’m hanfod i. 

Ac os bydd peth o’m defnydd yn y byd 

Ar ôl yn rhywle heb ddiflannu’n llwyr,

A’i gael gan gyfaill o gyffelyb fryd

Ar siawns wrth odre’r Wyddfa ’mrig yr hwyr, 

Ni welir arno lun na chynllun chwaith, 

Dim ond amlinell lom y moelni maith

Dafydd ap Gwilym: The Seagull (From Welsh)

The Seagull

By Dafydd ap Gwilym

Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Seagull floating　on the seething tideflow,
White as moonlight　or wild snow,
Moving in beauty　immaculate, 
As a sunbeam-shard　or sea-gauntlet,
Lightly skimming 　the swell windward,
Swift fish-eating　stately bird
Wont to angle　at anchor with me
Side by side there,　a sea-lily,
Shining letter 　in silvered text,
A nun atop　the sea-tide's crest. 

Perfect girl-symbol 　worth praise in art,
Go for the curves　of castle and rampart.
Keep looking, seagull, 　till you light on her
Gorgeous as Igraine, 　 on the grand tower.
Speak my words 　in sweet concord.
Let her choose me 　and love my word.
If you see her alone 　(since success
With so rare a girl　 takes real deftness)
Then get some nerve　to greet her. Say I,
A well-bred lad,　must win her or die. 

I love that girl, 　my guard of vigor.
No lover has loved 　a lovelier
I'm telling you, men. 　Not Taliesin
Nor flattery-lipped　lusty Merlin.
Such a man-stopper　with copper hair
And superlative form　far too proper.

Oh yes, good gull 　if you do come
To that most charming cheek　 in Christendom,
Unless she answers 　my love kindly
That girl will mean　the end of me.

Audio of me reading the original Welsh:

A. Z. Foreman · "Yr Wylan" by Dafydd ap Gwilym read in Welsh and English translation

The Original:

Yr Wylan

Yr wylan deg ar lanw, dioer,

Unlliw ag eiry neu wenlloer,

Dilwch yw dy degwch di,

Darn fel haul, dyrnfol heli.

Ysgafn ar don eigion wyd,

Esgudfalch edn bysgodfwyd.

Yngo'r aud wrth yr angor

Lawlaw â mi, lili môr.

Llythr unwaith lle'th ariannwyd,

Lleian ym mrig llanw môr wyd.

Cyweirglod bun, cai'r glod bell,

Cyrch ystum caer a chastell.

Edrych a welych, wylan,

Eigr o liw ar y gaer lân.

Dywaid fy ngeiriau dyun,

Dewised fi, dos hyd fun.

Byddai'i hun, beiddia'i hannerch,

Bydd fedrus wrth fwythus ferch

Er budd; dywaid na byddaf,

Fwynwas coeth, fyw onis caf.

Ei charu'r wyf, gwbl nwyf nawdd,

Och wŷr, erioed ni charawdd

Na Merddin wenithfin iach,

Na Thaliesin ei thlysach.

Siprys dyn giprys dan gopr,

Rhagorbryd rhy gyweirbropr.

Och wylan, o chai weled

Grudd y ddyn lanaf o Gred,

Oni chaf fwynaf annerch,

Fy nihenydd fydd y ferch.

T.H. Parry Williams: This (From Welsh)

This
By T.H. Parry Williams
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

So why give a toss about Wales? It's a fluke that I got

Born in her boundaries. On a map she is not

More than a scrap of earth in on a backend border

And a bit of a nuisance to those who believe in order.

And pray tell who is it that lives out in this spot.

Only the dregs of a people? Please do not

Go rambling of race and nation and unity.

The world's had plenty of that, believe you me.

I've long been fed up with the wails and hullabaloo

Of Wales' proud Nothings making much ado.

I'll take a trip, be rid of their whole word-war,

Ride the train of mind back where I lived before.

And here I am then. Thank God for the loss.

Away from the fanatics chattering fuss.

Here's Snowdon and crew, the landscape jagged and bare,

Here's the lake and river and crag and there — right there —

Is where I was born. Between earth and sky always

There are voices and apparitions all over the place.

I'm tottering a little now. Let me tell you

Some wooziness comes upon me out of the blue

And claws of Cymreictod cut at my chest. So it is.

God help me. I cannot get away from this.

The Original:

Hon

Beth yw’r ots gennyf i am Gymru? Damwain a hap
Yw fy mod yn ei libart yn byw. Nid yw hon ar fap

Yn ddim byd ond cilcyn o ddaear mewn cilfach gefn,
Ac yn dipyn o boendod i’r rhai sy’n credu mewn trefn.

A phwy sy’n trigo’n y fangre, dwedwch i mi.
Dim ond gwehilion o boblach? Peidiwch, da chwi

 chlegar am uned a chenedl a gwlad o hyd;
Mae digon o’r rhain, heb Gymru, i’w cael yn y byd.

Rwyf wedi alaru ers talm ar glywed grwn
Y Cymry bondigrybwyll, yn cadw swn.

Mi af am dro, i osgoi eu lleferydd a’i llên,
Yn ôl i’m cynefin gynt, a’m dychymyg yn drên.

A dyma fi yno. Diolch am fod ar goll
Ymhell o gyffro geiriau’r eithafwyr oll.

Dyma’r Wyddfa a’i chriw; dyma lymder a moelni’r tir;
Dyma’r llyn a’r afon a’r clogwyn; ac, ar fy ngwir,

Dacw’r ty lle’m ganed. Ond wele, rhwng llawr a ne’
Mae lleisiau a drychiolaeth ar hyd y lle.

Rwy’n dechrau simsanu braidd; ac meddaf i chwi,
Mae rhyw ysictod fel petai’n dod drosof i;

Ac mi glywaf grafangau Cymru’n dirdynnu fy mron.
Duw a’m gwaredo, ni allaf ddianc rhag hon.

Dafydd ap Gwilym: The Ruin (From Welsh)

The Ruin
By Dafydd ap Gwilym
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Battered hovel 　bare-holed you stand
Between the moor 　and meadowland
They sorrow who once 　saw your prime
As a comely little 　cottage of pastime
To see you a shattered　 shack today
With ramshackle roof　 and rafters agley.

Near your cheerful wall　 there was a day　
I do recall — rebuke of pain —　
When you were more 　merry inside
Than now, unsightly 　little sty,
When I caught sight　 (and sang bright praise)
In your good corner　 of her gorgeous face.　
As lovely and noble 　a lady as could be,
Shapely and lively 　she lay with me
Each one's arm 　 (oh did I love her)
Knotted a bond 　 about the other
Her svelte arm fine 　as snowflurry lingered 
To pillow the ear　of her praise-singer
And (simplest of tricks)　my own arm lay
At the cute left ear 　of that courtwise maid.
Good times we had 　in your greenwood heyday
But no, today 　is not that day.

The Ruin Speaks: 　

"With shelter's magic 　moan I do 
Bewail the way 　the wildwind blew.
Spawned of the east 　a stormwind squall
Smacked the stones 　of my slender wall.
On its wrathful path　grim wind groaned 
From the south and turned me 　out of a home."

The Poet Speaks 　

"So it was the late wind　wrought such riot?
Well, it gnashed the thatch 　of your roof all night.
Ripped your lathing 　like a leaf.
The world is always　illusion and grief. 
Your corner which gives 　me cause to cry
Was once our bed.　Not a wildhog sty.
You stood that day 　sturdy and stalwart
Snug above 　my noble sweetheart
But clear and true 　 by Christ today 
You are ravished　 of roof and doorway.
Some things cause instant 　insanity
Is this smashed shack 　sheer fantasy?"

The Ruin Speaks:　

"The household is gone with their livelihood 　
To the grave, Dafydd. Their lives were good."　

The Original:

Yr Adfail

'Tydi, y bwth tinrhwth twn
Rhwng y gweundir a'r gwyndwn,
Gwae a'th weles, dygesynt,
Yn gyfannedd gyntedd gynt,
Ac a'th wŷl heddiw'n friw frig,
Dan dy ais yn dŷ ysig.

A hefyd ger dy hoywfur
Ef a fu ddydd, cerydd cur,
Ynod ydd oedd ddiddanach
Nog yr wyd, y gronglwyd grach,
Pan welais, pefr gludais glod,
Yn dy gongl, un deg yngod,
Forwyn, foneddigfwyn fu,
Hoywdwf yn ymgyhydu,
A braich pob un, cof un fydd,
Yn gwlm amgylch ei gilydd:
Braich meinir, briw awch manod,
Goris clust goreuwas clod,
A'm braich innau, somau syml,
Dan glust asw dyn glwys disyml.
Hawddfyd gan fasw i'th fraswydd,
A heddiw nid ydiw'r dydd'.

   'Ys mau gŵyn, gwirswyn gwersyllt,
Am hynt a wnaeth y gwynt gwyllt.
Ystorm o fynwes dwyrain
A wnaeth cur hyd y mur main.
Uchenaid gwynt, gerrynt gawdd,
Y deau a'm didyawdd'.

    'Ai'r gwynt a wnaeth helynt hwyr?
Da nithiodd dy do neithwyr.
Hagr y torres dy esyth.
Hudol enbyd yw'r byd byth.
Dy gongl, mau ddeongl ddwyoch,
Gwely ym oedd, nid gwâl moch.
Doe'r oeddud mewn gradd addwyn
Yn glyd uwchben fy myd mwyn.
Hawdd o ddadl, heddiw 'dd ydwyd,
Myn Pedr, heb na chledr na chlwyd.
Amryw bwnc ymwnc amwyll.
Ai hwn yw'r bwth twn bath twyll?'

'Aeth talm o waith y teulu,
Dafydd, â chroes. Da foes fu'.

Gwenallt Jones: Wales (From Welsh)

Wales
By Gwenallt Jones
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Why give us all this misery? The wrack
Of pain on flesh and blood like leaden weight,
Your language on our shoulders like a sack,
And your traditions fetters round our feet?
The canker rots your colors everywhere.
Your soul is scabbed with boils. Your song a scream.
In your own land you are but a nightmare
And your survival but a witch's dream.
Still, we can't leave you in the filth to stand
A generation's laughing-stock and jest.
Your former freedom is our sword in hand,
Your dignity a buckler at our breast.
We'll grip our spears and spur our steeds: go brave
Lest we should shame our fathers in their grave.  

The Original:

Cymru
Gwenallt Jones

Paham y rhoddaist inni'r tristwch hwn,
A'r boen fel pwysau plwm ar gnawd a gwaed?
Dy iaith ar ein hysgwyddau megis pwn,
A'th draddodiadau'n hual am ein traed?
Mae'r cancr yn crino dy holl liw a'th lun,
A'th enaid yn gornwydydd ac yn grach,
Nid wyt ond hunllef yn dy wlad dy hun,
A'th einioes yn y tir ond breuddwyd gwrach.
 Er hyn, ni allwn d'adael yn y baw
Yn sbort a chrechwen i'r genedlaeth hon,
Dy ryddid gynd sydd gleddyf yn ein llaw,
A'th urddas sydd yn astalch ar ein bron,
A chydiwn yn ein gwayw a gyrru'r meirch
Rhag cywilyddio'r tadau yn eu heirch.

Waldo Williams: Wales and Welsh (From Welsh)

Wales and Welsh
By Waldo Williams
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Here are the mountains. One language alone can raise them
And set them in freedom against a sky of song.
Only one pierced the riches of their poverty,
Through the dream of ages, visions of moment, come and gone.
When through thin air the sun cuts carvings on the rocks,
Strong over a chasm, sure over playgrounds of chance,
I know not how they endure, unless the bounds of time
Bound them in turn, in an eternity of dance. 
Fit home for her, their interpreter! No matter what,
We must claim the place and never ask the price.
She's danger's daughter. Wind whips her path, her foot
Where they of the lower air fell and failed to rise.
Till now she's seen her way far clearer than prophets see.
She'll be as young as ever, as full of devilry.  


This poem alludes obliquely to a poem Aros mae'r mynyddoedd mawr (Still the mighty mountains stay) by the lyricist and poetaster John 'Ceiriog' Hughes. It begins

Still the mighty mountains stay
Still the winds about them roar
Still we hear at break of day
Songs of shepherds as of yore....

The Original:

Cymru a Chymraeg

Dyma’r mynyddoedd. Ni fedr ond un iaith eu codi
A’u rhoi yn eu rhyddid yn erbyn wybren cân.
Ni threiddiodd ond un i oludoedd eu tlodi.
Trwy freuddwyd oesoedd, gweledigaethau munudau mân
Pan ysgythro haul y creigiau drwy'r awyr denau,
Y rhai cryf uwch codwm, y rhai saff ar chwaraele siawns
Ni wn i sut y safant onid terfynau
Amser a'u daliodd yn nhro tragwyddoldeb dawns.
Tŷ teilwng i'w dehonglreg! Ni waeth a hapio
Mae'n rhaid inni hawlio'r preswyl heb holi'r pris.
Merch perygl yw hithau. Ei llwybr y mae'r gwynt yn chwipio,
Ei throed lle diffygiai, lle syrthiai, y rhai o'r awyr is.
Hyd yma hi welodd ei ffordd yn gliriach na phroffwydi.
Bydd hi mor ieuanc ag erioed, mor llawn direidi.

Grahame Davies: Berlin (From Welsh)

Berlin
By Grahame Davies
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Sgt. Nikolai Masalov saved a girl's life on April 28, 1945, during the Battle of Berlin. After the war, a statue recording the event was erected in Treptower Park.

We heard her voice amid the sound of guns
As we were advancing on the Reichstag,
With Nazi bullets chewing up the bridge's statues and our company's cover. 
Then, through the smoke, we saw her, a three-year-old German girl
crying out amid the troops, beside her mother's corpse.

I was not a bronze man at the time
when I jumped off that bridge into the river,
with Fascists' bullets thrashing up the water around me.
I was much uglier than the dapper statue
After I'd dragged back through the mud and oil of the river Spree
With the girl in my arms.

Many times I've been asked: why.

At the time, it was instinct:
Rescuing a child was as natural as killing an enemy.

Now that both Reich and Soviets have receded like the smoke of battle, 
I see that succor and corpses aren't equivalent,
And that the moment, selfless, remains as bronze:
The killer still gun-free, his own salvation in his arms.

The Original:

Berlin
Grahame Davies

(Y Rhingyll Nikolai Masalov. Achubodd Masalov fywyd yr eneth ar. Ebrill 28, 1945, yn ystod y frwydr am Berlin. Wedi’r rhyfel, codwyd cerflun ym Mharc Treptower i gofnodi’r digwyddiad.)

Clywsom ei llais rhwng sŵn y gynnau,
wrth inni nesau at y Reichstag,
a bwledi’r Natsïaid yn cnoi cerfluniau’r bont a lochesai’n cwmni.
Wedyn, drwy’r mwg, fe welsom hi, Almaenes deirblwydd oed
yn llefain rhwng y lluoedd, wrth ochr celain ei mam.

Nid dyn o efydd oeddwn ar y pryd,
wrth neidio’r bont i’r afon,
a bwledi’r Ffasgwyr yn ffustio’r dwr o’m hamgylch.
A llawer mwy diolwg oeddwn na’r cerflun trwsiadus
wedi imi lusgo ‘nôl drwy laid ac olew’r Spree
a’r ferch yn fy mreichiau.

Droeon fe ofynnwyd imi, pam.

Ar y pryd, greddf ydoedd:
roedd achub plentyn mor naturiol â lladd gelyn.

Erbyn hyn, a Reich a Sofiet wedi cilio fel mwg y frwydr,
fe welaf nad cyfwerth celanedd ac ymgeledd,
ac mai’r ennyd anhunanol a erys fel efydd:
y lladdwr di-ddryll yn dal, yn ei freichiau, ei achubiaeth ef ei hun.

Hedd Wyn: Black Spot (From Welsh)

Black Spot
By Hedd Wyn (Ellis Evans)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

We have no claim upon the stars
Nor the moon in homesick view,
Nor yet the clouds contoured in gold
Amid the unending blue.

We have no claim on anything save
This old earth's moldered façade,
And the things that come apart in chaos
Amid the glory of God.

The Original:

Y Blotyn Du

Nid oes gennym hawl ar y ser,
Na'r lleuad hiraethus chwaith,
Na'r cwmwl o aur a ymylch
Yng nghanol y glesni maith.

Nid oes gennym hawl ar ddim byd,
Ond ar yr hen ddaear wyw;
A honno sy'n anhrefn i gyd
Yng nghanol gogoniant Duw

T.H. Parry-Williams: Ty'r Ysgol (From Welsh)

Ty’r Ysgol (Welsh for "School-house") refers to the schoolhouse where Parry-Williams was brought up in the village of Rhyd-ddu at the foot of Mt. Snowdon. His father was a schoolmaster.

Ty'r Ysgol
By T.H. Parry-Williams
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

The chimneys smoke despite contrary winds,
And someone comes, at times, to sweep the floor
And open windows out, though no one since
The great dispersal lives there anymore
Save on vacation for a month of rest
From city life in rural August air,
To stroll around till people are perplexed
To see us back in town, and start to stare;
And everybody wonders why, today,
We, who lost mom and dad in years gone by,
Hold on to this old home a world away.
That's how it is, and I do not know why,
Unless for fear the buried parents might
Sense somehow that the doors had been locked tight.



The Original:

Ty'r Ysgol

Mae’r cyrn yn mygu er pob awel groes,
A rhywun yno weithiau’n‘sgubo’r llawr
Ac agor y ffenestri, er nad oes
Neb yno’n byw ar ôl y chwalfa fawr;
Dim ond am fis o wyliau, mwy neu lai,
Yn Awst, er mwyn cael seibiant bach o’r dre
A throi o gwmpas dipyn, nes bod rhai
Yn synnu’n gweld yn symud hyd y lle;
A phawb yn holi beth sy’n peri o hyd
I ni, sydd wedi colli tad a mam,
Gadw’r hen le, a ninnau hyd y byd,-
Ond felly y mae-hi, ac ni wn pam,
Onid rhag ofn i’r ddau sydd yn y gro
Synhwyro rywsut fod y drws ynghlo.

Hedd Wyn: War (From Welsh)

Ellis Evans (1987-1917), the eldest of eleven children (that's right, eleven) was a Welsh sheep-farmer (because no biography is complete without instantiating a stereotype or two) who began writing poetry at an absurdly young age under the pen-name of "Hedd Wyn" (White Peace.) In 1917 he was called up for military duty, and was summarily killed in action that year at Pilckem Ridge during the Battle of Paschendale. He was then posthumously awarded the Welsh National Eisteddfodd Chair, the highest honor a Welsh poet could be granted, for his poem "Yr Arwr" (the Hero.) The chair was draped in black following the announcement of his win.

(this translation was previously published in Barefoot Muse)

War
By Hedd Wyn (Ellis Evans)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click here to hear me recite the Welsh

Woe that I live in bitter days,
As God is setting like a sun
And in his place, as lord and slave,
Man raises forth his heinous throne.

When he thought God was gone at last
He put his brother to the sword.
Now death is roaring in our ears,
Shadowing the shanties of the poor.

The old and silenced harps are hung
On yonder willow trees again.
The bawl of boys is on the wind.
Their blood is blended in the rain.


The Original:


Rhyfel

Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng
A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell;
O'i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng,
Yn codi ei awdurdod hell.

Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw
Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd;
Mae swn yr ymladd ar ein clyw,
A'i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd.

Mae'r hen delynau genid gynt
Ynghrog ar gangau'r helyg draw,
A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt,
A'u gwaed yn gymysg efo'r glaw.

Gwyneth Lewis: The Present (From Welsh)

The Present

By Gwyneth Lewis
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Click to hear me recite the original Welsh

"A watch as a gift? My husband's given me time?

How could you give me a gold bracelet that would wind

up wounding my wrist so deeply? Be sure,

The shifty wheel in these entrails will turn

into our enemy, be the tick of the time-

-bomb set to blow all love between us right

to smithereens someday. No, not today

but the sharp teeth of the clock will stay

precise enough for their trek to eat 

through all our life, and tear our pieces

to nothingness." "Time is my own present

For you. And not its mechanisms (it's unpleasant

to watch hair whiten) but its breadth

and depth, true ardor with its hard shadows

and awareness of death. No, a couple's love is warm

as a bonfire, and the seconds swarm

like frail moths through dead night,

drawn to it, to admire the light

before we die. For the moment, though, 

just wear your gold watch like an O

to remind you we're a wheel that spins upon

a fertile void to come when we are gone."

The Original:

Rhodd

‘Oriawr yn anrheg? Amser gan fy ngwr?

Sut allet ti roi breichled aur yn glwyf

mor ddwfn am fy ngarddwrn? Y mae troi

y rhod ddyfeisgar ym mherfeddion hom

yn elyn inni, mae fel ffiws ar fom

a fydd yn chwythu pob cariad rhyngom

yn deilchion ryw ddydd. Na, nid heddi chwaith,

ond er mor gwyrain ydyw’r gwaith

ar ddanedd yr olwynion, mae eu taith

yn llyncu’n bywyd, yn ei rwygo’n rhacs

i ebargofiant.’ ‘Amser yw fy rhodd

i ti. Nid ei beirianwaith — y mae’n anodd

gweld gwallt yn gwynnu — ond ei led

a’i ddyfnder, serch â’i gysgodian caled

a’r gwybod am angau. Na, mae cariad dau

fel coercerth a daw’r eiliadau

ato yn wyfynnod brau

mewn heidiau i edmygu’r golau

cyn i ni farw. Ond, am y tro,

gwisg dy oriawr aur fel O

a chofia ein bod yn gylch, ac yn ei ganol

y gwacter ffrwytholon a fydd ar ein hôl.’

Emyr Lewis: From "Freedom" (From Welsh)

From "Freedom"

By Emyr Lewis
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

This is the city of things lost
in the gap between Sunday afternoon
and all the rest of time, things that had stamps
of souls upon them once, now lost

in gutters, or beneath the railway bridge,
ensconced in the peripheries of parks,
preserved from shades of meaning and remembrance:
old passport photographs, a watch or two,

and whiskey bottles filling up with dew,
house keys, a left hand glove, loose change, the grime
that lathers them when dog-day winds return,
and rain that pummels them in wintertime.

Unburied and unelegized they lie:
we have no ritual for what we lose,
only a little cussing now and then,
then lose all cause to think of them again. 

The Original:

Emyr Lewis

Hon yw dinas y pethau coll
‘ddaliwyd yn y bwlch rhwng pnawn dydd Sul
a gweddill amser; pethau y bu stamp
eneidiau arnynt unwaith; nawr ar goll

Mewn cwteri, o dan bontydd trên,
ym morderi’r parciau’n llechu’n saff
o afael atgof ac arwyddocâd,
ffotograffau pasport, menyg chwith,

poteli whisgi hanner-gwag o wlith,
allweddi cartref, arian mân; â’r baw,
sy’n lluwchio pan ddaw’r gwynt yn nyddiau’r cwn
yn bwrw arnynt am yn ail â’r glaw.

Heb eu claddu, heb eu marwnadu’n iawn:
nid oes defodau cymwys i bethau coll,
dim ond bytheirio byr o dro i dro
cyn ymryddhau, a’u gollwng nhw dros go’

Grahame Davies: Tomb Raider (From Welsh)

Tomb Raider
By Grahame Davies
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Welsh

Lets challenge every empire
Lets challenge Microsoft:
Rewrite the code controlling
The moves of Lara Croft.

She'll come from our cyber ghetto
On a mission even greater,
No pillager of temples
But a museum-raider.

Not swiping ancient treasures,
No English lordship's spawn
But a daughter of oppression
Shouting like a gun.

From every ancient culture
And every ravaged race
She's coming to the capitals,
A fist in the first world's face.

She's blasting through the bookshelves
To take our legends back
With guns of endless ammo,
Fluent in Welsh...and black.

Relics of ancient Egypt
Of Celts and Navajo-
She'll smash each glass display-case
To steal back what you owe.

She'll blow away the watchmen,
Blast down the iron doors.
Yo white boy! Here comes Lara
To take what isn't yours.


The Original:

Tomb Raider

Fe heriwn ymerodraethau;
fe heriwn Microsoft:
fe ail-'sgrifennwn raglen
rheoli Lara Croft.

O'n geto electronaidd
fe ddaw ar newydd wedd,
nid rheibiwr beddi mwyach
ond rheibiwr amgueddfeydd!

Nid lleidr beddi'r llwythau,
nid epil lord o Sais,
ond merch y gorthrymedig
â'u llafnau yn ei llais.

Ar ran pob hen ddiwylliant
a phob lleiafrif gwan,
fe ddaw i'r prifddinasoedd
i ddial ar ein rhan.

Mae'n dod i gipio'n chwedlau
o ffeiliau'r ysgolhaig.
Mae'n cario dryll dihysbydd.
Mae'n groenddu; mae'n Gymraeg.

Creiriau'r Celt a'r Eifftiaid,
trysorau'r Navaho;
chwelir eu cistiau gwydr,
dygir nhw yn ôl i'w bro.

Fe ddrylliai'r drysau haearn;
fe loriai filwyr lu.
Hei, Honci! Dyma Lara
i hawlio'n heiddo ni!

Ann Griffiths: "Since I am corruptly fallen" (From Welsh)

"Since I am corruptly fallen"
A Hymn by Ann Griffiths
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Since I am corruptly fallen,
Straying from you constantly,
To ascend your sacred mountain
Is the right of rights for me.
There on high your veils are riven,
Every cover nullified,
There above all worldly nothings
Is your glory magnified.

Oh to drink on high forever
Where redemption's waters flow,
Drink until I thirst no longer
For the fading world below,
Live in wait for my Lord's coming,
Wakeful for the coming night
When I swiftly open to him
In his image, in his sight.


The Original:

Am fy mod i mor llygredig,
Ac ymadael ynddwy' i'n llawn,
Mae bod yn dy fynydd sanctaidd
Imi'n fraint oruchel iawn;
Lle mae'r llenni yn cael eu rhwygo,
Mae difa'r gorchudd yno o hyd,
A rhagoroldeb dy ogoniant
Ar ddarfodedig bethau'r byd.

O! am bara i uchel yfed
O ffrydiau'r iechydwriaeth fawr
Nes fy nghwbwl ddisychedu
Am ddarfodedig bethau'r llawr;
Byw dan ddisgwyl am fy Arglwydd,
Bod, pan ddêl, yn effro iawn
I agoryd iddo'n ebrwydd
A mwynhau ei ddelw'n llawn.

Grahame Davies: "Creator" (From Welsh)

Davies' original introduction to this poem reads thusly:

While walking near Offa’s Dyke in his home village of Coedpoeth one Sunday morning in early 1945, Harold Tudor heard a young delivery boy singing a Welsh song to himself. In that instant, he was inspired to establish the International Eisteddfod as a means of healing the divisions of war.

The above-mentioned Offa's Dyke is a massive linear earthwork, built in the 8th century as a delineation of the boundary between Anglo-Saxon Mercia and the Welsh kingdom of Powys. Today, the England-Wales border still mostly follows the dyke through the Welsh Marches. It is of cultural and historical significance, symbolically separating what is English, Saxon and of the Crown from what is Welsh, Celtic, and under the Crown. The symbolism is in many ways reminiscent of Hadrian's Wall which runs between England and Scotland through the Scottish Marches.

Creator
By Grahame Davies
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Borders can close us off or bring us close.
With Offa's Dyke that cleaves one land in two,
Each living soul must soon choose one of those.

A Sunday stroll alone; the lane that goes
Between the many Them and Us the few.
Borders can close us off or bring us close.

The voice of guns in a fraught nation's throes.
The voice of children with no rage or clue.
Each living soul must soon choose one of those.

And in the end the picture that it shows:
A world with nothing left for guns to do.
Borders can close us off or bring us close.

Dry acres, greened by tears, where healing grows-
Or wounds endeared to rage that wants its due.
Each living soul must soon choose one of those.

The birthright of song shared like wine that knows
Nothing at all of why, or where, or who.
Borders can close us off or bring us close.
Each living soul must soon choose one of those.



Audio of the original Welsh:

A. Z. Foreman · "Creawdwr" by Grahame Davies, read in Welsh

The Original:

Creawdwr

Man cwrdd, neu fan cau allan ydyw’r ffin;
â chraith Clawdd Offa’n hollti’r fro yn ddwy,
eiddo pob enaid byw yw dewis p’un.

Ar fore Sul, cael tro ar ben dy hun
ar hyd y lôn sy’n derfyn gwlad a phlwy’;
man cwrdd, neu fan cau allan ydyw’r ffin.

Llais gynnau pell y grymusterau blin.
Llais plentyn na ŵyr ddim o’u dicter hwy;
eiddo pob enaid byw yw dewis p’un.

Ac yn y fan, gweld popeth megis llun:
y byd lle na fydd codi arfau mwy,
man cwrdd, neu fan cau allan ydyw’r ffin.

Dagrau iachâd sy’n glasu’r erwau crin,
neu’r dicter cyfiawn sy’n coleddu’r clwy’,
eiddo pob enaid byw yw dewis p’un.

Y cenedlaethau’n rhannu’r gân fel gwin,
heb feddwl gyntaf pam, na ble, na phwy;
man cwrdd, neu fan cau allan ydyw’r ffin,
eiddo pob enaid byw yw dewis p’un.

Huw Meirion Edwards: Lullaby (From Welsh)

Lullaby
By Huw Meirion Edwards
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Rock-a-bye baby. It's us and the night.
Rock-a-bye stars and rock-a-bye light.
Now there is nothing left in our reach
Except for the waves that cleanse this beach.

It's us and stars and the miles of sea
Calling up at you and me,
And the lullaby that I recite
Like one long elegy tonight.

It's us and stars that freeze and scrape
And the night of frigid rape
In your blood and in your face:
A yesterday that stays and stays.

Yesterday has locked today.
The womb must seal its scars away.
The cradle of your mother's womb
Must soon become your comfy tomb.

In all your fragility
Child of error, pardon me.
Pardon the sin whose weight I bear
In the name of the flesh we share.

Hush little baby, don't say a word.
It's too late, too cold to be heard.
Tonight we're nobody. A wave
Shall be our cradle and our grave.

The Original:

Hwiangerdd

Si hei lwli, ni a'r nos
Sy rhagor, a'r sêr agos,
A dim o'n blaenau ni'n dau
Ond atyniad y tonnau.

Ni a'r sêr, a'r dyfnder du
Odanom yn ein denu
Suo-gân ei drwmgwsg o
Yn un alargan heno

Ni a'r sêr bradwrus, oer,
A nos y treisio iasoer
Yn dy waed ac yn dy wedd,
Yn ddoe heb iddo ddiwedd.

Ddoe'n y cof am heddiw'n cau,
A chroth yn cuddio'i chreithiau.
Hon, y groth sydd heno'n grud,
Fydd havan dy fedd hefyd.

Yn dy holl eiddilwch di,
Yn ddamwain, maddau imi.
Maddau im y camwedd hwn
Yn enw'r cnawd a rannwn.

Si hei lwli, 'mabi, mae'n
Rhy oer, rhy hwyr i eiriau.
Heno'n neb yr hunwn ni
A'r don yn feddrod inni.