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.

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!

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.