Geraint Løvgreen
Translator
on Lyrikline: 3 poems translated
from: galês to: inglês
Original
Translation
Ceiliog mwyalchen
galês | Ifor ap Glyn
Yng nghefn y tŷ, wrth bwyso ar fy rhaw,
mae deryn du yn addo paradwys,
yn garglo heulwen yr hwyr yn ei wddf;
mi ganith, am fod rhaid iddo;
byrlymu’r nodau croyw...
Ei delori sy’n fy ngalw at fy ngwaith,
i greu chwyldro gyda gwên;
am fod y byd yn gân i gyd,
a bwlch enbyd yn ei harmoni
heb nodau ein halaw ninnau.
from: Waliau'n Canu
Gwasg Carreg Gwalch, 2011
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Blackbird
inglês
In the back yard, leaning on my spade,
a blackbird gives a promise of paradise,
gargling the evening sunshine in his throat;
he’ll sing, because he has to;
bubbling those eloquent notes ...
His warbling calls me to my work,
to croon revolution with a smile;
because our world is one of song,
with a huge gap in its harmony
without the line of our own melody.
Hen gapel
galês | Ifor ap Glyn
‘Cysgant mewn Hedd’ meddai cofeb y colledigion,
ond ar y jiwcbocs heno, nid oes emynau,
ddim hyd yn oed Rhys
nac Ebenezer,
wnaeth gathrain y milwyr o’r ffos...
Codaf beint wrth y bar lle ces i medyddio.
Mae’n amser cwrdd;
mae merch yn hel gwydrau cymun y p’nawn;
mae’n rhoi gwên yn adnod i’r barman.
Cyfodaf fy llygaid tua’r oriel chwil
lle bu nhad yn hel casgliad,
lle cyfarfu gyntaf â llygaid fy mam
a hithau’n rhoi einioes gyda’r swllt yn ei blât.
‘O ba le y daw fy nghymorth?’
Plethaf ddwylo am fy nghwrw.
Cau llygaid. Plygu pen.
Cyfri bendithion....
ond methu â mwynhau
fy mheint cableddus.
from: Cuddle Call?
Gwasg Carreg Gwalch, 2018
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
An old chapel
inglês
‘They Rest in Peace’, says the plaque to the fallen,
but there are no hymns, on the jukebox tonight,
not even Rhys
or Ebenezer,
that exhorted those troops from the trench...
I lift a pint at the bar where I was baptized.
It’s time for the service;
a girl collects the communion glasses;
she gives the barman a sermon smile.
I will lift up mine eyes to the vertiginous gallery
where my father took the collection,
where he first met my mother’s glance,
her lifelong commitment
with the shilling in his plate.
‘From whence cometh my help?’
I fold my hands around my beer.
Close my eyes. Bow my head.
Count my blessings ...
but cannot enjoy
my blasphemous pint.
Hydref eto
galês | Ifor ap Glyn
Ar ael y bryn,
lle mae’r llwyni lletraws
a’r gwrychoedd gwargam
yn edliw’r gwynt i’r gwyll,
yno mae’r hydref
yn tynnu wynebau watsus y coed...
y dail fel cocos
yn chwyrlïo yn y gwynt,
fel llythrennau’n hedfan,
a’r wyddor yn datod.
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange
Autumn again
inglês
On the brow of the hill,
where bent bushes
and hunched hedgerows
complain of the wind to the dusk,
this is where autumn takes down
the watch-faces of the trees...
the leaves are like cogwheels
twirling in the wind,
like letters flying,
as the alphabet disintegrates.