Gillian Clarke
Translator
on Lyrikline: 2 poems translated
from: galês to: inglês
Original
Translation
Catrin Glyndwr: Colli Amser
galês | Menna Elfyn
Cyfri’r amser yr wyf yma
gyda chydunnau fy mhlant,
gweithio dolen o bleth yn foreuol
yna’n wythnosol.
Nodi marc ar y mur
gyda’r gwaed a wasgaf
o gnoi ewinedd i’r byw.
Dathlu taldra hefyd
er mor llwyd eu mebyd
bu dyddiau trugarog.
ac adrodd a wnaf am gario llestr o’r ffynnon,
am edrych i’r wybren trwy’r coed,
am gasglu cennin y brain,
am gyfri lliwiau’r dail,
yn efydd ac ambr, ysgarlad gloyw.
Aur llathrog atgof yw.
Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2012
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Lost Time
inglês
I’m counting time
with strands of my children’s hair,
twisting one link from a braid
each morning. Every week
I mark the wall with blood
squeezed from my nail
bitten to the quick.
It’s how we used to mark their height.
However grey their childhood
they were kindly days
and I recite again and again
how we’d carry a pitcher to the well,
how we watched the sky through the trees,
how we gathered bluebells,
how we counted the colours of leaves,
copper, amber, radiant scarlet.
The golden glow of memory.
Catrin Glyndwr: Cyrraedd
galês | Menna Elfyn
Ym min yr hwyrnos
y deuthum yma
o’r gefnen o dir
i lwydni cell,
pilen llygad
yn ffenest gron.
Murmuron
tu ôl i’r muriau
Hwyl a helynt
yn ymwau.
Blinedig ydwyf,
eto ni ddaw cwsg,
a chrasboer y ceidwad
ar fy anadl o hyd.
‘Oherwydd eich llinach
y dygwyd chi yma.
Eiddo o ran,
a’ch tad yn rhydd.’
Llygadfrith a llawgaled
fy holi’n ulw.
Ond meddyg da yw’r anwybod
rhag heigio celwyddau.
Yn ddu-las, yngan yn isel,
‘teg yw’r nos i ŵr llwfr.’
Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2012
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Arrival
inglês
We came at owl-light
from the back of beyond
to the world’s end,
my round window
a clouded eye.
Through the walls
one murmur,
merriment and mayhem.
Though I’m dead tired
sleep won’t come,
my jailor’s sour spittle
still on the air.
‘You’re here
for your breed.
We take you hostage,
your father free.’
Squint-eyed, calloused hands,
he grills me to ash.
Ignorance my defence
against a swarm of lies.
Puce-faced he utters
under his breath,
‘Cowards are fair weather friends.’