Genocide of the Welsh
Oh no, there’s no need to choose gas for us
We’re not like the Jews
Not murder, murders our fuse
No jackboots but English shoes.
Holiday Home
It’s beautiful but in spite of the walls
All painted shining white
I find more hope in the site
Of ruins than this gleam of light.
Y Fro Gymraeg
To go there is to dream on, to follow
After the heart has gone;
A land on the horizon
Betrayal never spat on.
Gwawr (a student who ended her life)
With herself she shared her pain in the depths
And one day in Dwyran
Her grief rose where the tide ran
Beached her body on the sand.
The Unconscious
The still and bottomless sea; dark waters
Always seeming empty
In its hidden deposits we
Find our forgotten memory.
Ruin
Though leaves stitch its roof seam, though the thorns
Close the empty door frame
One man’s thoughts will not refrain
From the urge to keep it tame.
Dublin Remembrance Garden
Bullets made this, not flowers – and what grows
In its soil are martyrs;
Their sacrifice its hedges,
Red with blood, though green, it is.
An Ancient Nation
An ancient nation, a long memory;
An ancient memory, verity.
An ancient soil, roots that are safe;
Ancient roots, a stout base.
An ancient language, short of breath;
Ancient breath, a test.
These translations attempt to reflect the form and structure of the englynion, but cannot re-produce the cynghanedd, or word-music, of the originals.
awenydd.cymru 