| CYMRU '99 | WALES '99 |
| Donald Evans | trans. Gillian Clarke (from Welsh) |
|
(O gofio marwolaeth Ted Hughes) Gofynnaist, ar gof, unwaith i'r fam-ddaear, dy gariad, ystyried y ddistaw awr pan lechit yn gnepyn o lwch. Unaist iaith dy genedl â nerthoedd y rhostiroedd du, ei hasio mewn canrif ysol ag ysbryd y cudyll, pysgod gwern a llydnod y gwynt - hen hil d'anwylyd. Arglwyddes y pridd a'r goleuddwr, rhaid iddi hithau yng ngwacterau'r dydd fod heb neb yn awr i ailieuo cenedl a hi, ac i ganu'i gogoniant yn hafnos Dyfnaint a niwlen y Pennines. Heno, roedd nudden lonawr fel rhith yn bendithio â'i bysedd y bae asur o rynnau Cilie i benrhyn Cilan. Hi eleni'n wlych o gynnar, a rhyw hanner gwên, yn rhagwysio Cymru ag iasau'r wennol a chyffro ŵyn. Bwrw'i naws o wybren asid yn rym saffrymau, yn olygon cnapiau blagur dros dirwedd y carnfeddau. Yna'i rhew ag ewinedd rhos yn disgyn o'r machlud i asgwrn yr henwaun yn y rhynwyll i ryddhau ei phridd hi. |
(in memory of Ted Hughes) You once asked, it's said, your beloved mother-earth, to consider the quiet hour when you skulked in a speck of dust. You stitched your mother tongue to the power of the black moors, soldered it in a restless century to the spirit of the hawk, fish of the alder, creatures of the wind, ancient offspring of the loved one. Lady of earth and bright water, she so much in the day's emptiness must be left alone now to bind again her people to herself, and to psalm in praise in the Devon summer night and the Pennine mist. Tonight, January fog was like a mirage, blessing the blue bay with its fingers from the ravines of Cilie to the headland of Cilan. This year wet from the start, with a half smile forewarning Wales with the thrill of the swallow and bustle of lambs. Soft rain from an acid sky brought the power of crocus, buttons of buds over the land of the long cairns. Then her ice and the nails of the moor fall from the sunset to the bone of the bog in the bitter night to release her earth. |
Copyright © Donald Evans; Trans. Copyright © Gillian Clarke.