Hedd Wyn Poet
Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng, A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell; O'i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng, Yn codi ei awdurdod hell. Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd; Mae swn yr ymladd ar ein clyw, A'i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd. Mae'r hen delynau genid gynt, Ynghrog ar gangau'r helyg draw, A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt, A'u gwaed yn gymysg efo'r glaw |
Bitter to live in times like these. While God declines beyond the seas; Instead, man, king or peasantry, Raises his gross authority. When he thinks God has gone away Man takes up his sword to slay His brother; we can hear death's roar. It shadows the hovels of the poor. Like the old songs they left behind, We hung our harps in the willows again. Ballads of boys blow on the wind, |
Original Welsh
Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng,
A Duw ar drai ar orwelpell;
O'i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng,
Yn codi ei awdurdod hell.
Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw
Cyfododd gledd i ladd eifrawd;
Mae sŵn yr ymladd ar ein clyw,
A'i gysgod ar fythynnodtlawd.
Mae'r hen delynau genid gynt
Ynghrog ar gangau'r helygdraw,
A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt,
A'u gwaed yn gymysg efo'rglaw.
Word-for-word Translation (trans. Wade Dowdell) |
Poetic Translation (trans. Louis Flint Ceci) |
|
Ellis Evans (Hedd Wyn) 1887 - 1917 |
Woe is me that I live in an age so boorish*,
And God at ebb on adistant horizon;
After him, man, (both) lord and commoner,
Raising his uglyauthority.
When he felt God's going away
He raised a sword to killhis brother;
The sound of battle is on our ear,
And its shadow on poorcottages.
The old harps that were played before are
Suspended on the branchesof yonder willows,
And the scream of the boys filling the wind,
And their blood mixedwith the rain.
*perverse/churlish/peevish/morose
Poetic Translation (trans. Louis Flint Ceci) |
|
Ellis Evans (Hedd Wyn) |
Alas, this is an age so mean
That everyman is made aLord,
For all authority's absurd
When God himself fades from the scene.
As quick as God is shown the door
Out come the cannons andthe sword:
Hate on hate on brotherpoured
And scored the deepest on the poor.
The harps that once could help our pain
Hang silent, to thewillows pinned.
The cry of battle fillsthe wind
And blood of lads--it falls like rain.
War
By Hedd Wyn (Ellis Evans)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click hereto hear me recite the Welsh
Woe thatI live in bitter days,
As God is setting like a sun
And in his place, as lord and slave,
Man raises forth his heinous throne.
When he thought God was gone at last
He put his brother to the sword.
Now death is roaring in our ears,
Shadowing the shanties of the poor.
The old and silenced harps are hung
On yonder willow trees again.
The bawl of boys is on the wind.
Their blood is blended in the rain.
TheOriginal:
Rhyfel
Gwae fi fy myw mewn oes mor ddreng
A Duw ar drai ar orwel pell;
O'i ôl mae dyn, yn deyrn a gwreng,
Yn codi ei awdurdod hell.
Pan deimlodd fyned ymaith Dduw
Cyfododd gledd i ladd ei frawd;
Mae swn yr ymladd ar ein clyw,
A'i gysgod ar fythynnod tlawd.
Mae'r hen delynau genid gynt
Ynghrog ar gangau'r helyg draw
