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Dwi am fynd a thi i Far Rockaway;

Far Rockaway. Mae enw'r lle'n 

gitâr yn fy mhen, yn gôr

o rythmau haf a llanw môr,

yn sgwrs cariadon dros goffi cry'

ar ôl taith trwy'r nos mewn picyp du,

yn ogla petrol ar ôl glaw,

yn chwlio'r lleuad law yn llaw, 

yn hela brogaod ar gefnffordd wleb,

yn wefr o fod yn nabod neb...

 

Dwi am fynd a thi i Far Rockaway;

Far Rockaway, lle mae cwr y ne'n 

golchi'i thraed ym mudreddi'r traeth

ac yn ffeirio hwiangerddi ffraeth,

lle mae enfys y graffiti'n ffin

rhwng y waliau noeth a'r haul mawr blin,

lle mae'r trac yn teithio'r llwybr cul

rhwng gwen nos Sadwrn a gwg y Sul

a ninnau'n dau yn rhannu baich 

ein cyfrinachau fraich ym mraich...

 

Dwi am fynd a thi i Far Rockaway;

Far Rockaway, lle mae heddlu'r dre'n

sgwennu cerddi wrth ddisgwyl trên

ac yn sgwrsio hefo'u gynnau'n glên;

lle mae'r beirdd ar eu hystolion tal

yn cynganeddu ar bedair wal,

yn chwarae gwyddbwyll â'u llaw chwith

ac yn yfed wisgi hefo gwlith.

Mae cusan hir yn enw'r lle;

Far Rockaway, Far Rockaway.

 

Iwan Llwyd

GWAITH NEWYDD: llwybrau a lleoedd i'w gweld a'u profi; lle mae'r byd hwn a'r byd arall yn cymuno

NEW PROJECT: paths and places to be found and experienced; where this world and the other world commune

NEUE PROJEKT: Wege und Orte zu finden und zu erfahren; wo diese Welt und die andere Welt sich verbinden

Yr Eiliad

Nid oes son am yr Eiliad

Yn llyfr un ysgolhaig.

Peidia'r afon â rhedeg 

A gwaedda'r graig

Ei bod hi'n dyst

I bethau ni welodd llygad

Ac ni chlywodd clust.

 

Awel rhwng yr awelon

Haul o'r tu hwnt i'r haul,

Rhyfeddod y gwir gynefin

Heb dro, heb draul

Yn cipio'r llawr -

Gwyddom gan ddyfod yr Eiliad

Ein geni i'r Awr

 

Waldo Williams

 

The Moment (literal translation)

 

There is no mention of the Moment

in any scholar's book.

The brook stops flowing

and the rock proclaims

that she is witness

to things not seen by eye

or heard by ear.

 

A breeze between the breezes

A sun between the suns

The wonder of the true habitat

undisfigured, unworn

taking the floor -

We know from the coming of the Moment

That we are born to the Hour.

Bright Field

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl 

of great price, the one field that had 

the treasure in it. I realize now

that I must give all that I have
to possess it. Life is not hurrying

 

on to a receding future, nor hankering after

an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness

that seemed as transitory as your youth

once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

 

R.S.Thomas

Kafka's Castle

Kafka’s castle stands above the world

like a last bastille

of the Mystery of Existence

Its blind approaches baffle us

Steep paths

plunge nowhere from it

Roads radiate into air

like the labyrinth wires

of a telephone central

thru which all calls are

infinitely untraceable

Up there

it is heavenly weather

Souls dance undressed

together

and like loiterers

on the fringes of a fair

we ogle the unobtainable

imagined mystery

Yet away around on the far side

like the stage door of a circus tent

is a wide wide vent in the battlements

where even elephants

waltz thru

 

Lawrence Ferlenghetti

I will take you to Far Rockaway,

Far Rockaway,

where the city police

are sketching poems as they await the train,

and swap stories with their submachine guns,

and the poets on their high rise ladders

are daubing cynghanedd on four walls,

drinking whisky and dew,

playing left-handed chess;

the name is one long drawn out kiss--

Far Rockaway, Far Rockaway.

I will take you to Far Rockaway,

Far Rockaway,

the name strums 

a guitar in my head, sings a choir

of summer and sea-tide rhythms:

talks of lovers over black coffee

on a night-ride in a pick-up truck,

smells of gasoline after rain, 

hand in hand on the trail of the moon,

hunting bullfrogs on a wet lane,

the thrill of that half-remembered tune:

 

I will take you to Far Rockaway,

Far Rockaway,

where the heavens' hem

trails in the muddied seashore, 

and trades witty lullabies,

where the graffiti rainbow is a frontier

between the naked walls and the simmering sun,

where the track follows the narrow path

between Saturday's smiles and Sunday's scowl,

as we both share our secret burdens

arm in arm: