I’ve been at it again, thinking I write poetry, when all I do is make some words rhyme…
Part of our “her” (challenge) for last Saturdays CACEN meet in Sussex was to write a four-line (or more) poem, using a given first-line.
Mark Watkin-Price (good man, I didn’t listen to anything the others said about him ) sent us a lovely link to try if we fancied it. Yr Odliadur (http://www.cs.ox.ac.uk/people/geraint.jones/rhydychen.org/gwasg.aredig/odliadur/) proved to be a fascinating tool. It gives a list of words that end in the same sound eg “allt” gave dallt; bronallt; broniallt; anystywallt. I decided to make a list of words and their meanings in my little book and start with those and work backwards. I would try to imagine a link between them by asking what kind of circumstances might be common to those words. Chances are it’s anathema to real poets, who would probably start with an idea of a subject and work with that, but I think I produced something coherent… Remember this is me talking….
Anyway, here is my effort and I’d really like you to tell me why it’s so bad, please. Ta.
Pan on i’n mynd i’r ysbyty ddoe
Roedd fy llygaid on i’isio cloi,
Ag i adra on i’isio gwrth-droi,
‘Chos arna’i ofn yn codi ag fy’nghnoi.
When I went to the hospital yesterday,
I wanted to close my eyes,
And towards home I wanted to turn,
Because fear was rising in me and biting/chewing me
Y rheswm am siglo? Trio dallt…
Rheswm fel drain aeth fy ngwallt.
Atgofion ieuanc, anystywallt,
Rhedeg, methu aros, ‘lawr broniallt…
The reason for my quaking? I’m trying to understand…
(The) reason why my hair is now like thorns,
(These) youthful memories, deep-seated (intractable)
(Of) running, not being able to stop, down a wooded slope…
Daw dychryn:- cam gwag a ddaw niwed.
Niwed o goeden sy, pengaled
Rhyfela’r gwynt, tyfu croengaled,
‘Barhau trwy popeth, ei adduned.
Fear comes:- one wrong step and an injury (would) come.
An injury from a tree that was, stubbornly
Warring with the wind, growing thick skinned,
To survive everything (being) it’s (“her” yn y Gymraeg) vow.
‘Run teimlad ffôl tu ôl ‘rysbyty,
‘Run diffyg hyder:- dwi’n aeddfedu
Methu’r drychfeddwl f’aflonyddu,
Bydda i’n holi’r staff, llawn tosturi.
The same mad (perhaps stupid) feeling outside the hospital,
The same lack of confidence:- (although now) I am maturing,
The thought can not disturb me,
I’ll ask the staff, (who are) full of mercy.
Well done if you got through all of that!