Transcript Slide 1

Photo: Mawddach Estuary, Gwynedd
Foam - T. Arfon Williams
Pan chwery chwa oddi uchod – â’r môr
Mae hen angenfilod
Y dwfn i’r wyneb yn dod
I’w haileni’n wylanod.
Each day when the spray blows bright, from the deep
Monsters rise and surface;
They sweep and leap into light,
A saga of white seagulls.
Christmas- Gerallt Lloyd Owen
Wyf heddiw yn rhyfeddu, - wyf ar daith
Efo’r doeth i’r beudy,
Wyf y sant tyneraf sy’,
Ond wyf Herod yfory.
Today, in His way I walk, - to the crib
Of the Christ I follow;
Though I kneel, within I know
I am Herod tomorrow.
Dacw long yn hwylio’n hwylus
Heibio i’r trwyn ac at yr ynys,
Os fy nghariad i sydd ynddi,
Hwyliau sidan glas sydd arni.
There beyond that nose of headland
The ship sails on towards the island;
If my darling is aboard her
There are blue silk sails upon her.
Pan fo seren yn rhagori,
Fe fydd pawb â’i olwg arni;
Pan ddêl unwaith gwmwl drosti,
Ni fydd mwyach sôn amdani.
People point and marvel nightly
When a star is shining brightly.
But should a cloud once hide its radiance
They soon forget the former brilliance.
MEETING IN A LIFT
– Vladimir Holan,
translated from the Czech
We stepped into the lift. The two of us, alone.
We looked at each other and that was all.
Two lives, a moment, fullness, bliss.
At the fifth floor she got out and I went on up
Knowing that I would never see her again,
That it was a meeting once and for all,
That if I followed her I would be like a dead man
in her tracks
and that if she came back to me
It would only be from the other world.
COULD HAVE -
Wislawa Szymborska
It could have happened.
It had to happen.
It happened earlier. Later.
Nearer. Farther off.
It happened, but not to you.
You were saved because you were the first.
You were saved because you were the last.
Alone. With others.
On the right. On the left.
Because it was raining. Because of the shade.
Because the day was sunny.
You were in luck - there was a forest.
You were in luck - there were no trees.
COULD HAVE
- Wislawa Szymborska
You were in luck - a rake, a hook, a beam, a brake,
A jamb, a turn, a quarter-inch, an instant...
You were in luck – just then a straw went floating by.
As a result, because, although, despite.
What would have happened if a hand, a foot,
Within an inch, a hairsbreadth from
An unfortunate coincidence.
So you're here? Still dizzy from
another dodge, close shave, reprieve?
One hole in the net and you slipped through?
I couldn't be more shocked or speechless.
Listen,
how your heart pounds inside me.
Un noswaith ddrycinog
Un noswaith ddrycinog mi euthum i rodio
Ar lannau y Fenai gan ddistaw fyfyrio;
Y gwynt oedd yn uchel a gwyllt oedd y wendon,
A'r môr oedd yn lluchio dros waliau Caernarfon.
Ond trannoeth y bore mi euthum i rodio
Hyd lannau y Fenai, tawelwch oedd yno;
Y gwynt oedd yn ddistaw, a'r môr oedd yn dirion,
A'r haul oedd yn t'wynnu ar waliau Caernarfon.
Un noswaith ddrycinog
The Walls of Caernarfon - W J Gruffydd
One rainswept eventide I went a-walking
On the shores of Menai in silent meditation:
Loud was the wind and wild was the white billow,
And the sea was hurling over the walls of Caernarfon.
But on the morrow morn I went a-walking
On the shores of Menai, and stillness was on them;
Silent was the wind, and kindly was the sea,
And the sun was shining on the walls of Caernarfon.
Night and Day - R S Thomas
One night of tempest I arose and went
Along the Menai shore on dreaming bent;
The wind was strong, and savage swung the tide,
And the waves blustered on Caernarfon side.
But in the morrow, when I passed that way,
On Menai shore the hush of heaven lay;
The wind was gentle and the sea a flower,
And the sun slumbered on Caernarfon tower.
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
– Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
The Road not Taken - continued
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.
LOSS – Wendy Cope
The day he moved out was terrible –
That evening she went through hell.
His absence wasn’t a problem
But the corkscrew had gone as well.
BLOODY MEN – Wendy Cope
Bloody men are like bloody buses You wait for about a year
And as soon as one approaches your stop
Two or three others appear.
You look at them flashing their indicators,
Offering you a ride.
You’re trying to read the destinations,
You haven’t much time to decide.
If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
Jump off, and you’ll stand there and gaze
While the cars and the taxis and lorries go by
And the minutes, the hours, the days.
THOUGH THERE ARE TORTURERS - Michael Coady
Though there are torturers in the world
There are also musicians.
Though, at this moment, men
Are screaming in prisons
There are jazzmen raising storms
Of sensuous celebration
And orchestras releasing
Glories of the spirit.
Though the image of God
Is everywhere defiled
A man in West Clare
Is playing the concertina,
The Sistine Choir is levitating
Under the dome of St Peter’s
And a drunk man on the road
Is singing for no reason.
YOUNG GIRL – Jarkko Laine
Have you seen
a girl,
standing in front of
the rubbish bin,
with a plastic flower in her hair,
admiring the rainbow
on an asphalt road?
SO WE’LL GO NO MORE A ROVING Byron
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the hearth must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the days return too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
MESSAGE TO THE EDITOR - Patrick Galvin
Sir –The Lord pardon the people of this town
Because I can’t.
When I dropped dead in the street Three weeks ago
I thought they’d bury me in style.
A state funeral was the least of it
With Heads of Government and the Nobility In attendance.
I even looked forward to the funeral oration- In Irish
With a few words on my past achievements:
Our greatest poet, a seat in heaven to the man
And how I deserved better. But did I get it?
My corpse lay in Baggot Street For a fortnight
Before anyone noticed it.
And when I was finally removed To the mortuary
I was abused by a medical student
Who couldn’t open a bag of chips
Let alone the body of your greatest poet.
Then, to add to the indignity I was pushed into an ice-box
And some clod stuck a label on my foot
Saying: unknown bard – probably foreign.
If it wasn’t for a drunken Corkman
Message to the Editor - Patrick Galvin
Who thought I was his dead brother
I’d still be lying there unclaimed. At least
The man had the decency to bury me.
But where am I? Boxed in some common graveyard
Surrounded by peasants
And people of no background.
When I think of the poems I wrote And the great prophecies I made
I could choke. I can’t write now
Because the coffin is too narrow And there’s no light.
I’m trying to send this Through a medium
But you know what they’re like –
Table-tapping bastards
Reeking of ectoplasm.
If you manage to receive this
I’d be glad if you’d print it.
There’s no point in asking you
To send me a copyI don’t even know my address.
REMEMBER ME - Christina Rossetti
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
SPRING – Dic Jones
May Day! send me a dove so peaceful,
Bearing leaves o’er tempest tearful,
Bring beams of sunshine swallow cheerful,
To shine on Daisy’s collar wintral,
Sing me a negro spiritual – yellow flautist,
My concert artist, with notes delightful.
A MARRIAGE
- R S Thomas
We met
under a shower
of bird-notes.
Fifty years passed,
love’s moment
in a world in
servitude to time.
She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
‘Come,’ said death,
choosing her as his
partner for
the last dance. And she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird’s grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.
‘THE ECHOES RETURN SLOW'- R S Thomas
I look out over the timeless sea
over the head of one, calendar
to time's passing, who is now open
at the last month, her hair wintry.
Am I catalyst of her mettle that,
at my approach, her grimace of pain
turns to a smile? What it is saying is:
'Over love's depths only the surface is
wrinkled.'