Clare E. Potter 
Translator

on Lyrikline: 2 poems translated

from: 威尔士文 to: 英文

Original

Translation

Y tŷ hwn

威尔士文 | Ifor ap Glyn

‘If we want Wales, we will have to make Wales’     

(Gwyn Alf Williams)

Daeth gwanwyn yn hwyr i’n gwlad;
y gaea wedi cloi ein huchelgais
a gwydro ein dyheadau,
cyn y dadmer mawr,
a barodd i’r gwteri garglo
a’r landeri garlamu.
 
Boed felly, haul, ar y tŷ hwn heddiw;
dyma bair ein dadeni; a llwyfan i’n llais;
lle canwn ein gweledigaeth i fodolaeth...
 
A down yma o sawl cwmwd, megis cynt – 
wrth droedio’r llwybr dreiniog cul
sydd â gwlan fel trimins Dolig ar ei hyd;
neu wrth heidio lawr y lôn wleb
sy’n ddrych i sglein yr awyr – 
down yma, i gyffwrdd  â’r gorwel
a’i blygu at iws gwlad.
 
Ac wrth ddynesu
o’n cymoedd a’n mynyddoedd
at ein dinas barhaus,
 
diolchwn nad oes tyllau bwledi
ym mhileri’r tŷ hwn,
dim ond cwmwl tystion wrth ein cefn
ym mhob plwraliaeth barn.
 
Ac wrth gael ein tywys 
i gynteddau’r tŷ,
boed angerdd i’n trafod
a phwyll ymhob cymod;
 
boed i anodd ddod yn syml,
a’r heriol ddod yn hwyl;
a boed i ni gofio’r wireb hon beunydd:
‘cynt y cyferfydd dau ddyn
na dau fynydd'

"Y tŷ hwn" - ar achlysur agor sesiwn newydd Senedd Cymru, Mehefin 2016

© Ifor ap Glyn
from: Waliau'n Can
Gwasg Carreg Gwalch, 2011
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange

This house

英文

‘If we want Wales, we will have to make Wales’    

(Gwyn Alf Williams)


Spring came late to our country;
the winter locked down ambition
and put our aspirations on ice,
before the big thaw
which made the drains gargle
and the downpipes gush.
 
And so, may the sun shine bright on this house today;
This cauldron of our rebirth; the platform for our voice,
where we sing our vision into being . . .
 
We come here from many commotes, as before –
treading the overgrown path, barbed
with wool like Christmas trimmings;
and crowding down the wet lane
which mirrors the sky’s shine –
we come here, to touch the horizon
and bend it for common good.
And as we,
from our valleys and mountains,
approach our perpetual city,
 
we give thanks there are no bullet holes
in the pillars of this house,
just a cloud of witnesses
who’ll maintain us in all manner of beliefs.
 
And as we are led
to the halls of this house,
may there be passion in our debate;
prudence in conciliation;
 
let ‘difficult’ become simple, and ‘challenging’ become fun;
and let us each day repeat these maxims:
that ‘sooner will two men come together
than two mountains.'

"This house" - on the occasion of the state opening of a new session of the Welsh Senedd, June 2016

Translated by Clare E. Potter

Gwers

威尔士文 | Ifor ap Glyn

Trwy hedfan dros Gymru
mae dysgu ei charu;
hongian yn araf uwch ei phen,
ei hadnabod o onglau anghyfarwydd.

Ac rhwng cellwair y cymylau blew geifr,
dyma benrhyn Llŷn,
fel llawes a dorchwyd ar frys.

Dyma gaeau’n gotymau blêr
am ddirgelwch y mynydd,
wedi’u pwytho’n gain gan y cloddiau.

Dyma lechi’n domenni
wedi’u cribo o’r tir
fel ôl bysedd drwy’r tywod,

a llynnoedd bychain llachar
fel mannau geni cyfrin
yn haul yr hwyr. 

Ac wrth drwyno ffenest yr awyren heno
mae’r gwefusau’n mynnu adrodd
pader yr enwau,

“Dyfi Junction, Cors Fochno...”
a’th anadl fel siffrwd carwr dros ei chorff,
“Dowlais, Penrhys, Gilfach Goch...” 

Ac wrth iddi gau’i swildod dan len,
mae cysgod yr awyren
yn symud fel croes dros y cymylau gwynion, 

yn sws ar lythyr caru’r oesau,
yn bleidlais betrus dros ei pharhad...

© Ifor ap Glyn
from: Waliau'n Canu
Gwasg Carreg Gwalch , 2011
Audio production: Wales Literature Exchange

ELEVATION

英文

Flying over Wales, suspended
high above, is to learn
how to love her; gliding slow,
knowing her from this new angle.

Between the tease of mare-tail clouds,
her peninsula arm exposed,
sleeve eager, rolled-ready.
 And look, beneath her collage of a dress,
the mystery of the mountain
elegantly stonewall-stitched.

And there, the furrows of unearthed slate
combed like the drag
of fingers through sand,
 
and the small bright lakes
like enigmatic birth marks
glimpsed while lovers lock.

Tonight, nose wedged against the window,
your lips insist on reciting
the litany of place names,

‘Dyfi Junction, Cors Fochno. . .’
your breath a sacred shuffle across her body,
‘Dowlais, Penrhys, GilfachGoch . . .’

And as she wraps her shyness with a veil of cloud,
the plane’s shadow
casts a cross below,
 
a timeless kiss on this love letter,
a hesitant vote for her future.

Translated by Clare E. Potter