FOR POSTING: Ail Lyfr Barddoniaeth / Second Book of Poetry

I decided to rescan my second book of poetry and will probably publish it this autumn (fall). If anyone would like me to read out a particular work tomorrow please indicate. Here is the first stanza of a triban Morgannwg I wrote to Mynydd y Gwair

Mae’r haul are Fynydd y Gwair,
Miloedd o leiniau disglair,
Mi a gymeraf wres i’w wydd,
Gwae ef bridd yn frethin aur.

This one scans as follows:

The sun on Mynydd y Gwair,
Thousands of shining measures,
To his loom I’ll take day’s warmth,
Of soil he’ll weave the wool cloth gold.

This is the sonnet “Lluest Treharne” I wrote in protest at the tremendous damage to Mynydd y Gwair by a gas pipeline driven right up the most beautiful shoulder of country in the whole area. It is also in memory of Jan Moseley, who died of cancer while fighting the vandals.

Pines of Lluest Treharne give sound to time,
For history would have broken step,
And there would be no reason for this rhyme.
Why let this ruin irritate? The strep
In the thoat. The farmhouse is a pile
Of old stone, that is all. Centrally arranged.
To sell it all let’s spit it out in style,
A poisoned well and a caved in roof deranged
At an angle to the pterodactyl
Clawing at ten thousand years of pure land
To make a pipeline full of human bile,
And dissolving the hourglass in its sand.
Around the pines, around this ruin blows
The rage of time: the blood of people flows.

This is the sonnet “Gelliwastad” in protest at the horrendous arson that occurred there last year and in protest at lawless biker and horse riding vandals who tear up the ecology, a hundred percent protected ecology which I helped save from “development” (MA007) this year.

The machine has stopped, the earth is trembling,
Individuals descend towards the ground,
Tinged and sudden, a laboratory
In which green is worked to desolation
Is all that is left of Gelliwastad.
The bones of being lie on stony ground
Torn up by bikers burning randomly
Millennia made of heather, gorse and trees.
Authorities cower in many lies
And search among charcoal for inertia.
They are there on paper but tyre tracks
Write history with roaring dust and flame.
Now the green coming of humankind sees
An inferno of copper coloured trees.

Finally on an optimistic note, the englyn to Gelliwastad just written after Beaufort’s MA007 was thrown out.

Y ddoe a ddaw hedd ei ddydd – newydd clir,
Nawdd clyd o law deunydd,
Heddwch yn gwawrio o’r hudd,
A mwynaidd yw y mynydd.

This scanned literally as follows

Yesterday brings a peaceful, new and clear day,
A sheltered refuge from exigency’s hand,
Peace dawning from deep shadow,
Amid the gentle mountain.


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