• Hywel Griffiths in translation- 3 poems

Hywel Griffiths in translation- 3 poems

Penrhyn Deuddwr

Mae’r dŵr yn Neuddwr yn oer,
A lliw bron yn hŷn na’r lloer
Sydd i’w lais eiddil, iasoer.

Dŵr gwahanol, oesol yw,
Direidi gwydyr ydyw,
Dihareb oes mewn dŵr byw.

Dŵr ffynhonnau seintiau’n sôn
Am wen brin pererinion,
Dŵr y wlad ym mhen draw’r lôn

Yw’r ddwy afon aflonydd
Sy’n ffiniau i’m seiliau sydd
 hyder iaith y dŵr rhydd.

Penrhyn Deuddwr

(the Deuddwr peninsula, west Wales)

The water in Deuddwr is cold,
its chill, slender voice
has a colour almost older than the moon.

It is a different, ancient water,
the mischievousness of glass,
a proverb of the ages in rippling waves.

It is the water of the saints’ wells
speaking of the pilgrims’ rare smile
the water of the country at the end of a lane

In two uneasy rivers
That are the border of my foundations,
That have the free water’s confident language.

Atgof

(fy atgof cyntaf yw fy nhaid, Dat, yn mynd a fi am dro o gwmpas y fferm i geisio fy suo i gysgu)

Ŵyr a’i daid yn hwyr y dydd,
Y sêr mas ar y meysydd,
A’r nos drwy’r clos yn culhau
I led yr adeiladau,
Taid, o raid, yn creu wedyn
Wên o gwsg i’r bachgen gwyn.

Pan fo anhunedd heddi’
A nos faith dros fy haf i,
Fe af yn ôl o’r fan hyn
I’w ofalaeth hirfelyn,
I wlad cwsg drwy glwyd y co’,
A gweld Dat drwy’r glwyd eto.

Memory

(my earliest)

A grandson and his grandfather, late in the day,
stars over fields,
a narrowing night closing the yard
to the buildings’ breadth,
a grandfather, dutifully creating
a sleep of smiles for the innocent child.

When today’s sleeplessness
and the long night lies over summer
I will return
to his long, warm care,
to the land of sleep through memory’s gates
to see, through it, his face once more.

Trioedd Pwll y Tŵr

Mae traean cyntaf hanes yn y cefndir,
daeareg ideoleg, egwyddor ein brawdgarwch
digyfaddawd er pan y’i fowldiwyd gan y tân,
disymud er pob newid yn ei orchudd,
er torri coed a thyfu gwair a brwyn
mae gogwydd y syniadaeth yn ei le.

Mae’r strwythurau yn y pellter canol,
patrymau haearn dyn ar greigiau’r syniad.
Y tŵr a blannwyd yn y ddaear fel planhigyn
a flodeuodd yn egni du ac yn faner goch
cyn iddo wywo.
Y tŵr talsyth fel hen areithiwr
sy’n dechrau ffwndro’i eiriau, colli’i gof,
a drysu’i nodiadau yn yr awel lem.

Flaenaf yn y llun mae’r annibendod,
a rhwd ein profiad dros yr haearn cry’,
sbarion bywyd wedi’u taflu ymaith,
olwynion, peiriannau, pibelli a hoelion
a fu’n dal mecanwaith bywyd ynghyd,
yn hawlio’r lle,
Yn llenwi’r llun
â’u pentyrrau onglog,

blith-draphlith
fel teganau plant drwg ganol nos.

Ar y domen hon mae heddiw, yr heddiw dros dro
a godwn ac a daflwn ymaith,
ein heddiw di-wreiddiau, di-wifr,
sy’n darfod cyn dechrau
heb na sail na strwythur
uwch craig egwyddor, sydd eto’n disgwyl
Am sŵn y morthwyl eilwaith ar y ffas.

Tower Triad

(a response to a photograph of the Tower Colliery, the last deep mine in South Wales)

The first third lies in the background,
ideology’s bedrock, the fraternal principle,
uncompromising since its moulding by fire,
unmoving, despite it’s changing face,
despite the felling of trees and the growing grass and reeds,
ideas’ inclination are in place.

The structures are in the middle distance,
man’s iron pattern on the rock of ideas.
The tower planted like a leaf in the earth,
flowering with black energy and a red flag
before wilting.
The upright tower that is like an old orator,
beginning to mix his words and forget,
muddling his notes in the biting wind.

Nearest is the disordered and untidy,
the rust of experience over the strongest steel,
life’s leavings thrown aside,
wheels and machines, pipes and nails
that held life’s mechanisms together,
claiming the space,
filling the picture
in angular piles

across each other,
like naughty children’s toys in the middle of night.

On this heap lies today, our passing today
which we grasp and cast aside,
our wireless, uprooted today
where the beginning’s end is immediate,
with no structure or foundation,
above the rock that waits again
for the sound of another hammer on the coalface.

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