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As I’m sure most of you will know, the Welsh, when they emigrated to the United States, brought with them their language and their culture, and very often built chapels in order to maintain them. If you look around the graveyards you will quite often find brief four-lined stanzas, commemorating the deceased. Unbeknown to most, this represents a tradition stretching back in to the Middle Ages and quite possibly further, into the mists of early Celtic poetry.
These little poems may look quite innocuous but, in fact, they are composed on one of the most demanding metrical systems of the world, a craft which can often take years to master. Each line of this 30-syllable stanza is composed of closely alliterating or rhyming phrases, and this is simply a summary of the most basic rules of cynghanedd (harmony). These aren’t strict rules meant to pretentiously elevate the poem to some idealised level of complexity – they are all about playing with sound so that a piece appeals not only to the mind but to the ear as well. It is only the better poets who master this. This meter is commonly known as an englyn , with englynion as the plural. Our earliest good examples are from about the twelfth century, where they formed parts of a much longer poem, an awdl . By the fourteenth century at least these englynion were being used as independent poems, often for lighter issues than the elegy and praise of the great court poets.
In 1654, in the middle of the Cromwellian interregnum we our first known example on a gravestone, from Llanigon in south-east Wales, very close to the English border, composed to a young student of the law at London. This tradition grows slowly for the next centuries, as the traditional poetic order declined and the was maintained by the lesser gentry, priests and other enthusiasts. Nevertheless the tradition is unbroken. About the 1830s, with the growth of chapels, increase in literacy the proliferation of Welsh journals and newspapers and books the number appearing on graves increases dramatically. The content is quite often a stark warning about the briefness of life, a statement of the hope for resurrection but quite often we find poems to important figures or ones commemorating murders or deaths in battle, tragic accidents, midwives, surgeons, a British prime-minister and so on.
One could confidently estimate that we have at least 25,000 of these with great numbers not having been recorded from large parts of Wales. We have many in England too, especially in Liverpool which sported an immensely Welsh-speaking community a little over a century ago. There are many on the graves of the war-dead, especially from the First World War, in Belgium, France and Palestine for example. More relevant is that we know of many from the United States but it seems that few have been recorded and we are rapidly losing the local knowledge about the deceased and the poets, as the language has receded and the stones are deteriorating with time. We desperately need to find volunteers willing to search the graveyards where the Welsh were buried, record the inscriptions and ask for further information.
The earliest known to me is from 1852, dedicated to the 23 year-old Mary Thomas, 1852 and is in Paddy’s Run (Ohio). The poet is her father.
...
Tiroedd a moroedd mawrion – a deithiais,
Nes deuthum at estron,
I geisio hawl o’r gŵys hon
I orwedd gyda’i feirwon.
Bardd Horeb
...
Vast lands and seas did I travel
Until I came to a foreign land.
To seek my rights from this furrow
To lie with its deceased.
...
The highest known englyn in the world is from Russel Gulch (at 9,150 feet) in the Colorado Rockies. Owen Jones died in 1856 at 56 years. Many coalminers had emigrated, having the necessary skills to work in the industry. Owen died from complications after a ball of dynamite exploded in his hand, blowing off one of them and many fingers from the other.
...
O afiachus wael fuchedd – o afael
Pob gofid a llygredd,
Aeth at ei Dad i wlad y wledd
Y nwyfiant a’r tangnefedd.
...
From an unhealthy poor life – from the grasp
Of every misery and corruption,
He went to his Father to the land of the feast
Of passion and peace.
...
There is a shorter couplet, to John Tyson, 1857 (52), in Slateville (Pennsylvania). This is where many north-walian slate quarrymen emigrated.
...
Dirymwyd edau’r einioes
Yn grwn gan yr hwn a’i rhoes.
...
Life’s thread was undone
Completely by he who gave it.
...
Sometimes, the deceased is commemorated on the family grave in Wales, such as Barbara Owens, Tre’rgarth, 1859 (22), Eglwys y Santes Fair; MW.
...
Er marw yn nhir Amerig – ac aros
Mewn goror bellenig
Byr hanes Barbara unig,
Huna draw, y fan hon drig.
...
Despite dying in the land of America – and tarrying
In a faraway land,
Brief was the life of lonely Barbara
Far away she slumbers, but here she lives.
...
The inscriptions are largely in Welsh, something which might present a challenge to the survival of local knowledge. The following is to Henry Williams in Slateville, from Nant y Graean by Bangor. He died in an accident on January 4 th , 1868.
...
Y gwir Oracl ef a garai – gair Iôn,
Yn gywir gyhoeddai,
Ac i’w fedd mewn hedd ydd ai
A dir ei ofn a derfynai.
...
The true Oracle he loved – the word of the Lord
Correctly he would announce,
And to his grave in peace he went
And the hardship of his fear ended.
...
The following is to a noted poet, preacher and writer, Richard Foulkes Edwards (Rhisiart Ddu o Wynedd), 1836- 1870 (34) Oskosh, Wisconsin. He was originally from north-east Wales and had won the chair in the 1864 Eisteddfod in Llandudno. This is the one attended by the great English poet Mathew Arnold, who so fervently wished to see the end of the Welsh language and culture.
Mawr gwyn fu rhoi mor gynnar – weinidog
O nodwedd mor lachar,
At feirwon mewn estron âr,
Y Bardd Du i bridd daear.
Hywel Tudur
...
Great was the grievance of placing so young – a minister
Of shining qualities.
To the dead in a foreign field
The Black Poet to the soil of the earth.
...
I guro, daeth llaw trugaredd – at ddôr
Risiart Ddu o Wynedd;
Am hyny’r sant, o bant bedd,
Waredir i anrhydedd.
...
Llonydd yw’r bardd a’r llenor – a dyn Duw
O dan dalp o farmor;
Bydd gwae dwfn i’r bedd gae dôr
A throi dros y fath drysor.
Eos Glan Twrch
...
The hand of mercy came to beat upon the door
Of Richard the Black from Gwynedd.
For that the saint from the valley of death,
Will be saved to glory.
...
Motionless is the bard and writer – a man of God
Under a slab of marble;
Great, deep woe that the grave closed a door,
And turned over such a treasure.
...
I have yet to ascertain where the following is located, the details not having been noted in the online site. Margaret Williams, 1875, 58 years old.
...
Fy mhriod hynod sy’n huno – yma
Wiw mwyach ei cheisio.
Ataf ni ddychwel eto
Gwael ei grym mewn gwely gro.
...
My remarkable spouse sleeps here
Futile now is to seek her.
Never again will she return to me
Feeble is her strength in a bed of shale.
Another commemorated in Wales is Thomas J. Williams, 1908 (34) in the graveyard of the church of Llanfihangel-y-pennant; He was buried in Boulder, Colorado.
...
Pell o’i wlad yn Colorado – hunodd
Tom heinyf ei osgo;
Ond, o unfryd ei hen fro,
Cu hafan, car ei gofio.
...
Far from his country in Colorado – he fell asleep
Tom the vigorous his bearing.
But with one voice in his old land
A fair haven, will remember him.
...
Occasionally the englynion are noted in Welsh journals. We need to search Y Drych, at some point. The following occurs in Y Gwladgarwr (The Patriot, 1839), but states that the poem is on the gravestone. Gabriel Davies, Cincinnati, Ohio:
...
I'w gorph gwan wele'r anedd , - ac obry
Mae Gabriel yn gorwedd ;
Trueni troi o Wynedd
I chwilio byd , a chael bedd.
Pedr
...
See the abode of his feeble body – but above
Does Gabriel like;
Tragic was turning from Gwynedd
To explore the world but to find a grave .
...
These are but a brief selection of the dozens currently known to us, but works in journals and comments from the United States indicate that we may have a far larger corpus of important poetry waiting to be recorded. If anyone can help in visiting graveyards and just asking around this would be hugely appreciated. It is already late to be embarking on this work, but hopefully not too late. Please do snap away with your smartphones and take pictures of the gravestones, the chapels and the cemeteries. All information is important. There is an urgency to this work. You can either contact me directly at gutorhys@yahoo.com or otherwise upload photos and comments to the Facebook group Englyn Bedd . In advance I’d like to say diolch yn fawr .
Dr Guto Rhys
A disease that largely affects the elderly
now they're targeting the young
as they too are succumbing to the virus
and could pass it on to old people
as they enjoy newly relaxed freedoms
"don't kill Granny"
the latest deadly catchphrase
in a whole literature of them
and on the subject of our grandparents
over 20,000 people died of Covid-19
in care homes in the UK
despite Public Health England
stating in February 2020 that
the pandemic was unlikely to affect
that sector and despite the "ring of steel"
the Secretary of State for Health
claimed had been installed in order
to safeguard our most vulnerable
those who could not escape
and who deserved every respect
and every layer of protection
we needed lions
we got chocolate fireguards
and as for face masks
does my bum look big in mine?
it's getting harder to choose
as at least two industries
have developed alongside
the possible need to wear them
one is the creative attempt
to inject jazz into accidental genocide
through a multitude of designs
in an effort to turn a feel bad time
into something like a feel a little better time
the other industry is somewhat older
it's the one that's lining the pockets
of friends of the Tory party who laughably
describe themselves as a Government
you know the same ones who ordered
55 million masks that were not
suitable for use by the NHS
I don't suppose they even tried
to get a refund on our tax-payers' money
The camera pans to the grey-haired Welshman sat behind his desk.
“Good Evening and welcome to this special BBC edition of Celebrity ‘Evil’ Mastermind!” said presenter John Humphreys.
“On tonight’s edition – my last ever for reasons that will become apparent later – we have a special show lined-up for you and in order to show balance we have three Right Wing narcissists and one Commie here to answer a series of questions in the allotted time of two minutes!”
“Let’s meet them!” continued the former newsreader.
“From the USA- President Donald Trump!”
The POTUS turns and smiles at the wrong camera.
“From Islington London – former Leader of the Opposition – Comrade Jeremy Corbyn!” said the presenter.
The Cameraman adds a special Newsnight filter to make it look like he is wearing a Red Ushanka hat complete with hammer and sickle on the front.
It is plainly visible as an add-on- as Corbyn nods towards the viewers at home.
“Liberty Peace Prize Winner and former Prime Minister Tony Blair!” announces Humphreys.
His Royal Tonyness, smiles cheesily, just like a ‘Cheshire Pony’ at the little screen whilst looking around for the autocue.
“And last and by all means least- current Prime Minister of the United Kingdom but mainly England- Boris Johnson!”
Boris is slouched in his chair, dishevelled blonde hair pointing in all directions, just like a schoolboy who hasn’t been dressed by his Mother/Nanny that Morning.
“Who Me?” replies Johnson as the studio goes quiet – all the time looking around for Dominic Cullings.
“So first up, we have the Leader of the Western World, President of the United States of America, Donald John Trump- if you would like to take the chair?” invited the presenter.
“Take it where?” replied Trump.
“It looks GREAT (showing all of someone else’s teeth in his mouth) but I have better one back in the White House in Washington back home in the US of A- it is probably made in China anyway….!” He continued unabated.
After a hand gesture from Humphreys towards the Hot Seat- Trump made his way slowly – just like a bear nurturing a ten pound turd but unable to find any woods close by- .
No sooner than he had sat down heavily breaking the thing than he uttered –
“Definitely China… look how easy it broke under my nine stone frame- Do I have to raise my right hand for the Holy Book like the Grand Jury?” asked Trump.
“‘No-there is no book for you to swear on!” replied Humphreys.
“Good-not a bigly fan of books anyway-don’t colour or read them anymore!” replied the President.
“So, your chosen subject is?” asked Humphreys.
“Me!” replied Trump
“Okay -you have two minutes on your specialist subject starting now!” said the Presenter speeding up towards the end of the sentence.
“ You were born on 14 th June 1946, what sign are you?”
“Cancer!” replied the POTUS.
“Incorrect- you are Gemini- the Twins” said the Presenter.
“Fake news….there is only one Donald J Trump!” replied Trump.
“What number President are you?” asked Humphreys.
“Number One- better than Osama- less impeachable than Nixon!” said the Don.
“Incorrect- 45 was the answer!” continued Humphreys.
“Fake news- 45 was the answer I gave to the N.R.A to stop the school shootings- I told them to arm the teachers and the children too, that way they would have a fighting chance if the terrorists attack- it’s the in the American Constitution – the pursuit of happiness- Will Smith or Kayne West told me- I can never tell them apart-!” replied Trump.
“Are you referring to the second amendment and the right to ‘bear arms’? “replied the quiz host getting all confused by the replies.
“Who wants bear arms?- there’s nothing wrong with these human ones I got!”
Humphreys shook his head- half of the allotted time was up and he had concluded that this President’s head was more shot than JFK.
“Which political party do you represent?” asked the interviewer.
“Is this a trick question? Oh KKK… because I am tempted to say I was ‘Putin Power” by my good friend and good friend to America….to help turn back the clock…return to the use of fossil fuels and that fake global watering ….install coal burning fires and surrounds and make America ‘Grate’ again!”
Humphreys just shook his head and ploughed on.
‘So, what excuse did you give to dodge the Vietnam War Draft?” asked Humphreys.
“It WASN’T an excuse… said Trump glaring at the Welshman….”I had bone spurs…if you don’t believe me ….ask Stormy Daniels ‘She will confirm… I had them on when riding her dressed as a Dallas cowboy!”
“‘I’ll accept!” said Humphreys.
“What did you claim was your favourite rock album on Radio Station Minneapolis Burning?” asked Humphreys.
“Houses of the Holy by Led Zeppelin!” replied the Orangeman.
“Incorrect- it was the Wall by Pink Floyd!” said the presenter.
“Fake news- I don’t like any rap music by protesters from Dixieland or is that Disneyland?” replied the walking Tango Advert.
The end of round claxon sounded.
“Congratulations Mr Trump you scored one and pissed on two -Russian Prostitutes that is-!”
Trump smiled to himself- remembering that experience warmly- whilst sleeping in the shallow end of that impromptu Moscow waterbed.
He had beaten his own high score and now deserved a UK tax-free Costa Cofefe for his efforts.
As he had been sat in the Hot Seat under the BBC studio lights- there was a pool of orange liquid underneath the chair and a familiar stain on the back of his fawn golfing trousers.
“Second Contestant would you please come to chair!” asked Humphreys.
‘Please state your full name for the record….I would remind you that anything you say will be taken down and used in evidence against you probably out of context and to our own ends…do you understand?” asked the BBC Griller.
“I understand…Jeremy Bernard Corbyn… but known to my followers simply as JC!” said the former Leader of the Opposition.
“ Bernard!” sniggered Humphreys.
“As in Bernardo O’Higgins, the Chilean Communist Guerrilla Leader?”
“Yes but No but he was a Freedom fighter!” replied Corbyn made to sound like Little Britain character Vicki Pollard.
“And your chosen specialist subject is?” asked the questioner.
“Allotments that changed the World” replied Corbyn.
“Okay!” sniggered Humphreys once again.
“You have two minutes starting now!”
“How do they arrange the ‘radishical’ movements of root vegetables in the Moscow State Allotment Society?”
“In Red Squares!” replied Corbyn.
“Correct!” announced Humphreys.
“Which vegetable was King of the Hippies, John Lennon promoting with his bed lie in protest with Yoko Ono in Amsterdam in 1969?” asked the presenter.
“Peas!” – replied Corbyn.
“Give peas a chance!” he said quoting the dead Beatle.
“Correct!” said Humphreys.
“He is giving him the easy ones!” moaned Trump as he put his tiny ‘GI JOE’ sized hand up and whispered behind the back of it at the other two contestants.
“What luminous vegetables did the Conservative UK Government import in bulk from Mother Russia in 1986 because they were cheap to supply to the poor?” asked Humphreys glaring at a different kind of luminous vegetable for the interruption.
“Chernobyl Carrots- they came with a ‘glowing reference’ and a shelf life of 1-5 years!” replied Corbyn.
“Correct!” said Humphreys.
“A bit like his chlorinated chicken then!” said Corbyn nodding at the Political Oompa Loompa.
“Fake News!” came the broken record reply.
“What was the name of your Palestinian cook book about your fresh allotment produce penned in 2016?” asked Humphreys.
“From Hummus to Hamas!” replied the weirdy beardy.
“Which record did you say you would take with you if you were castaway on a deserted atoll off Cuba on Radio Four’s Desert Island Discs?” asked Humphreys.
“Rhapsody in Blue by the Gershwin Brothers” replied Corbyn.
“George always stole the limelight from his elder brother so I felt a little sorry for him!” he continued.
“Correct-so, we can confirm on the BBC that you are now an admitted IRA sympathiser?” said Humphreys seizing on the slip.
“Do you know -there are thousands of women in this Country on NHS waiting lists and I am always the first to get smeared!” replied Corbyn- red smoke then liquid emanating from his ears- just like a poisoned Communist Pope.
“What group are Angel of Islington blood oranges?” asked the interviewer.
Corbyn shook his head and looked doubtful for the first time.
“Blood Group A Positive- as they contain a red wedge?” said the fairest Prime Minister this Country never had.
“Incorrect- it was O-Jeremy Corbyn- O- Jeremy Corbyn!”- sang Humphreys in a Pre-Covid-19 Glastonbury 2017 White Stripes tune….”But your Trotskyist Red Blood Group is noted!”
As the claxon sounded- Humphreys announced that Corbyn had scored 5 out of a possible 6 and not passed on any questions- unlike the current Prime Minister Boris Johnson in his time at the Despatch Box in Parliament.
“Fair play- the many and not the few!”
Corbyn flicked a V at Humphreys before turning and heading for his vacant seat.
“Next up- we have former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom Anthony Charles Lynton Blair!” said Humphreys.
The darkened BBC studio was lit up by the most enormous set of gnashers to grace the place since Esther Rantzen had a ‘sausages’ face- off with Theo the Poodle.
“Hi, I’m Tony!” announced the politician.
“Well would you like to tell the audience at home what your specialist subject is tonight?” asked Humphreys.
“Spin Doctoring, manipulating the media and how to win elections!” replied the former PM, whilst continuing to smile at the camera the whole time just like a ventriloquist dummy.
“Okay , Mr Blair you have two minutes on the subject starting….NOW!” Said Humphreys.
“Can’t I have three?” asked His Royal Tony-ness.
There was a pregnant pause before John Humphreys replied
“Okay- because you put it so nicely, you can have three!”.
There were howls of outrage from the previous two contestants who were busy muttering the phrase ‘BBC Bias’.
“That’s spin for you!” Blair said smiling all the while.
“Question one- Who did you recommend to be your successor in the Labour Party in 2010?” asked Humphreys.
“Anyone BUT him!” said Blair pointing a manicured finger with painted nails with a red rose on each one in the direction of Corbyn.
“Correct!” said Humphreys to howls of protest from his Left Wing.
“The Momentum is really with you now Tony!”
“Who do you think will lead the party to victory in the 2023 General Election?” asked Humphreys.
“Someone in my own non-spitting image- a fellow barrister- someone with a Christian Name of a famous Labour politician to sound like a convincing socialist but in actual fact is further on the right wing of the party than Charles Lindbergh!” continued the Blair Rich Project.
“As a politician are you going to give me a straight answer or what?” asked Humphreys.
“Keir Starmer!” announced Blair.
“Correct….at least he can eat a non-antisemitic bacon sandwich correctly!” replied Humphreys.
“What is the difference between WKD and WMD?” continued Humphreys.
“They found WKD in a bar in Iraq- but no WMD?” replied the Blair faced bliar.
“Correct!”- said the presenter.
“Phew….!” replied Blair with a noticeable single bead of sweat added by the BBC make-up department to give the impression he was under pressure.
“What is the difference between Bosnian Serbian leader Dragomir Milosevic, Rudolf Hess, Hermann Goring and Tony Blair?”
“Pass!” said Blair as quickly as possible.
“Who was responsible for securing the Belfast Agreement ‘Good Friday Peace Process in Northern Ireland?” asked Humphreys.
“It was me- I should have got a ‘Tony Award’ for it!” Blair said modestly- nose enlarging slowly.
“Fake news!” came a shout from the dark- but not from the USA Orange State but from Corbyn instead.
“It was ME that met with Sinn Fein over a couple of McGuinnesses!” protested the Allotment King.
“John Hume would be turning in his grave if he heard THAT!” replied Blair.
“Conveniently- you would have to EX-HUME him to validate that- and that would take some special SPIN DOCTOR to boot!” said Corbyn.
“I Trimble at the very thought!” replied Blair.
“Correct!” said Humphreys much to the bemusement of Corbyn.
“It would appear for a man who believes in unilateral disarmament, you have a strong militant tendency -any more interruptions Mr Corbyn and I will have you removed from the studio and your gulags sent to the four corners of the former United Kingdom!” threatened Humphreys.
“I will have you know that Saint Blair of Edinburgh here has a history of receiving Peace Prizes- he won a Liberty Medal for his ‘commitment to conflict resolution’ in 2010.!” Said the BBC presenter.
“Which immigration barrister is set to defend the Shamina Begum appeal case?” asked Humphreys.
“My Cherie Amour!” sang Blair just like Stevie Wonder.
“Correct!”
The Claxon sounded and the presenter announced.
“At the end of that round Mr Blair, you have scored five and passed on one-what is the difference between Bosnian Serbian leader Dragomir Milosevic, Rudolf Hess, Hermann Goring and Tony Blair?”
“The answer to that is you were all born under the star sign Taurus and capable of talking a lot of bull!”.
“I can think of a different one!” shouted Corbyn- as he was dragged away with his arms restrained by two burly undercover policemen wearing Rachel Riley tee-shirts marked ‘Taking the Countdown!’
“And to think you Guys are part of the same Labour Movement!” chortled Humphreys.
“Of course- we are!” smiled the Grinch that stole a Party.
“Next up we have Prime Minister Johnson!” announced Humphreys.
Boris was slumped in his chair, lolling like he was Jacob Rees-Mogg, lying across the front benches of Parliament.
At the sound of his name, Boris put on a smirk across his face that Stephen King Horror Clown character IT would have been proud.
As Bozo the Buffoon, slid his way towards the chair Humphreys’ manner seemed to change somewhat.
“Please would you fasten your seatbelt Mr Johnson- it is a conditional requirement by the BBC Director General in your case!” ordered the wily Welshman.
“Bloody EU Health & Safety!” mumbled Johnson under his alcohol enhanced breath.
Boris did as he was told.
No sooner than the seatbelt was clicked shut- Humphreys ducked down behind the desk just like the bar tender in the custard pie throwing scene of Bugsy Malone.
And in his place appeared BBC News Presenter Andrew Neil.
“Crikey….I have walked into a giant elephant trap!” Boris spluttered.
“Good afternoon Boris….it seems like you won’t get away from me after all!” said Neil.
“Yikes- why do I get the feeling I am about to be scoured by a Brillo and his I-Pad?” gulped the PM.
“So, please state your full name for the audience and chosen specialist subject!” asked Neil.
“Boris Johnson….sex. lies and the odd videotape!” said the blonde former Etonian whose hair made him look as if he had been dragged through a hedge fund backwards.
“Incorrect!” said Andrew Neil.
“It’s Alexander Boris De Pfeffel Johnson!” came the reply.
“I say old boy that’s a bit below the belt!” mumbled the man of the people.
“So why did you give the home address of a journalist from the News of the World to your friend Darius Guppy in 1993?” asked Neil.
“Uhhh….I thought he wanted to send him a ‘Get Well Card’…!” stuttered Boris.
“But he wasn’t unwell at the time- now was he?” countered Neil.
“Well he was about to be- I was just a little ahead of time on that one!” said the PM.
“So- an easy one next- How many biological children have you spawned so far?” asked Neil.
“Pass!” said Johnson.
“When you were Mayor of London you made more U-Turns than Dick Whittington but did you try to erect your own version of a ‘garden’ bridge whilst trying to ‘remain’ at the top of the poles?” interrogated Neil.
“Let’s just say it is not just Britain and America that has a special relationship!” replied Bojo.
“Unless you give me a straight answer… I can’t award you the point!” said Neil.
“Granted!” replied the PM.
“I’ll take that as a different kind of ‘pass’ then!” replied the interviewer.
“ Can’t I get Philip Schofield and Holly Willoughby instead?” asked Boris trapped in the hot seat like an inadequate stunt man in the movie Fifty Shades of Grey.
“Wrong channel!” replied Brillo off the top of his head.
“Nigel Farage keeps going on about that!” replied the Eton Mess trying like all politicians to witter on about nothing to run down the airtime.
“Tubby, what Planet are you on?- You can’t hide in a fridge this time!” replied the former Hard Times man.
“Zanuzzi?” mumbled the buffoon.
“So, why did you grant permission for Dominic Cullings suffering from the coronavirus to drive five hours to Durham at the height of a pandemic?” barked Neil.
“Or allow Pa Churchill to fly off to Greece when everyone else is stuck with quarantine?
Boris placed his fingers in his ears and started to make ‘la- la noises’ to override the tough questions.
“This isn’t PMQ’s!” shouted Andrew Neil as he administered a 15- volt electric shock direct to the PM.
Boris’ eyes widened for the first time and his blonde hair suddenly went like it had been combed and immaculately groomed- just like Max Headroom or the new Keir Starmer look.
“You can’t torture people…. this is England not Saudi Arabia!” protested Boris.
“Don’t you remember your 60 MP majority voted through to repeal the Human Rights Act when you left the European Union!” replied Andrew Neil evilly.
“I don’t remember that!” said the shocked laboratory monkey.
“It was just after Christopher Chope vetoed the up-kilting mobile phone ban in Scotland !” recalled Brillo.
“Is that the one that upset Nicola Sturgeon and made her a little Krankie?” asked Boris horrified.
“Here is a Presidential Order signed by Donald Trump that as part of the US/UK trade deal negotiated by Pork Baron Liz Truss that this studio is now controlled by the Walt Disney Corporation of Florida and thereby all Federal Laws of that Orange County State now apply in this Studio!” continued Neil.
“To include the electric chair and death penalty for failure!”
“So Boris, you REALLY are in the Hot Seat!”
“But answer me one last request before you push that button and fry my brain what did the UK get in return?” asked Boris.
“Silk stockings and chocolate!” came the reply.
“Nothing changes!”
(Jeff Bezos
Mark Zuckerberg
Tim Martin
Sir Phillip Green
Sir Richard Branson
Sir Alan Sugar)
he sees them on the TV
reads about them in news apps
he declines to subscribe to
he thinks they're contemptible
and wouldn't urinate on them if they caught fire
all vocal
all opinionated
all money grabbing modern style barons
with no shame or few scruples
the unacceptable faces of capitalism
the unacceptable faces of humans
three of them are titled
wonder what the Queen really thinks about that
when he’s tired he thinks “titles”
reads a little like “titties”
maybe he needs new spectacles
maybe he needs a new world
where wealth and health
are distributed more equally
AmeriCymru: Hi Ian and many thanks for agreeing to this interview. What are the plans for the NAFOW Eisteddfod this year?
' SWITCH' - The brand new single by Welsh singer-songwriter SERA (Sera Zyborska).Once again working with acclaimed producer Andi Crutwell-Jones, plus the notable contribution of Nico CJ on violin and Len Whitehead on Electric guitar makes a full-sounding, statement of a song that again blends all SERA's favourite parts of Americana, folk and pop with her storytelling and folklore album theme.
'SWITCH' is a bolt out of the dark, a harsh awakening. Empowerment.
Her album songs are all drawn from folklore and SWITCH is no different, drawing inspiration from Steam-punk, Frankenstein and the 'Freak Lab-accident' trope of the comic superhero.
SERA's music is rooted in folk, Americana, singer-songwriter, with this track taking a further leap into energetic pop.
Praise for 'Switch'
'Switch' has been recently added to BBC Radio Wales A-List Playlist.
'Switch is full of dark magic, bold and energetic, Bewitching and full of surprises'
- Voidd Music Blog
SERA 'When I Wake Up' Album The brand new album by SERA is out on CD July 31st (pre-orders from July 17th) and on digital and streaming platforms from August 14th. The album is a collection of 11 tracks, all inspired by folklore. This album takes a little bit of folk, Americana, singer-songwriter and pop and mixes it in a musical cauldron!
Physical Copies of 'When I Wake Up' (Available 31st July)
https://sera-songs.bandcamp.
'When I Wake Up' Released Digitally on 14th August.
Virtual Album Launch Party: 14th August Facebook LIve
https://www.facebook.com/
SERA BIO
A pianist, guitar player and a singer-songwriter, SERA (Sera Zyborska) has been writing, recording and performing in both English and Welsh for a while. Over the last couple of years, SERA has spent time in the studio working and writing with producer Andi Crutwell-Jones, looking at the real stories she wanted to tell with a sound that matched her ambition. The result is a collection of songs inspired by anxiety, love, nostalgia, ancestry, witches, ships and lost worlds. It's all there.
Having grown up in Caernarfon, North Wales, a place steeped in history, culture, between the Snowdonia Mountains and the Irish sea, you could understand her love of folklore and how landscape is a big source of inspiration behind her music.
SERA was selected as a BBC Horizons artist for 2019-2020, and played a live session in the legendary BBC Maida Vale Studios . SERA is also a part of new Americana band TAPESTRI with Lowri Evans and folk duo EVE & SERA with Eve Goodman. She has a band in Cardiff as well as a function band in North Wales called SUSPECTS
'SERA is clearly proven to be a sheer multi-talent with her new upcoming release.
With a clever Welsh hook and angelic voice combined to give a sing-and-dance-along musical audacity to every chord progression' – Jammerzine
'....distinctive and powerful' - Folk Radio
'SERA has been weaving together stories with an Americana rootsy twang which has so far earned her comparisons to Amanda Palmer and Joni Mitchell'. - PRS for Music
"Sera Owen is a singer-songwriter from Caernarfon, now living in Cardiff. A recent recipient of a Lyndsey Du Paul PRS for Music prize for emerging women songwriters. She writes and performs in both English and Welsh. Her last album, ‘Little Girl,’ which had Americana and folk influences, received praise from BBC 6 Music – “A beautiful gem of a song” (Chris Hawkins) and Folk Radio UK, among many – “A thoroughly absorbing journey from start to finish.” - Festival No 6
Sera Website: https://www.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/
Facebook: https://www.
Instagram: https://www.
Spotify: https://open.spotify.
Please keep your distance
I don’t want to catch anything from you
and I'm sure you feel the same way
staying indoors like a rained-off
summer holiday but this time
with endless advice on
how to fill our days as if
we can't be trusted to function
outside the tethered thinking
of workplace diktats
I tell you how I will spend my time
I will memorise the confusion
incompetence and untruths
that have led to this moment
while I fashion my response
among the sawdust of my lockdown lock-up
I will weaponise a disarticulated
wooden garden chair leg
convert it into a crude war club
a coup stick for future skirmishes
over toilet paper and chocolate digestives
sand it a little
scrape a chisel along its length
adorn it with smart black Gorilla tape
and a libation of teak oil
a camouflaged and concealed weapon
that still looks like a chair leg
as that was what it was made to be
ordinary domestic now deadly
like any household object
I choose it because its shape presents
itself to me from among
the other fractured wood
the flotsam of my materialism
because I assess that I might need it
to defend myself in the resistance
against the unelected
super rich rulers of the world
the "supremacists"
the dark money and dirty companies
Tony Kendrew is a poet of Welsh ancestry who has made his home in Northern California. In 2014 he completed an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Wales, Trinity St. David, the third oldest institute of higher education in Britain - after Oxford and Cambridge. He continues his connection with Wales as one of the editors of The Lampeter Review. AmeriCymru spoke to Tony about his work and future plans. Visit Tony Kendrew's website here
...
Tony: My mother was Welsh and went to China as a teacher in her late twenties. There she met and married my English father. So not only did I have to figure out where I came from, but my options were on the other side of the world!
The themes of movement and identity have concerned me all my life, and my year at the University of Wales, Trinity Saint David, brought them into focus like never before. So I decided to write as my MA dissertation a series of poems that reflect on the urge to migrate and explore, how that urge was expressed in my own family and life, and how it relates to a sense of place and belonging. There are twenty-two poems, and they take two directions, one towards the history of the Welsh side of my family, arranged chronologically, the other towards the nature of nationality and diaspora in general.
A number of poems tell the stories of particular members of the Welsh side of my family, trying to capture some of the characteristics of Welshness with illustrations of the delights and tragedies of family and emigration. I also touch on the influence of my cultural and genetic heritage on my own life and work.
And though the Welsh word hiraeth does not appear in these English language poems, we could say that the collection is really an exploration of hiraeth in poetic form.
AmeriCymru: Your earlier collection, Feathers Scattered in the Wind draws together reflections on the people and places of Northern California and Wales. Care to introduce that book for our readers?
Tony: I would love to. I’ve been living in Northern California since the 80's. Each time I moved it was to a more remote and beautiful place, until fifteen years ago I found the valley I now call home. All of the places I lived inspired what I suppose we could call nature poetry, though the poems aren’t just descriptive, because I always seem to find a human story hidden in the rivers and forests and deserts. And I don’t mean that my poems tell the story of the people living in those places, but that the places themselves give rise to reflections about what it is to be human. We have been living on earth for a very long time, and I think the landscape is intimately connected with our thoughts and feelings. To give an obvious example, the river: constant but changeable, deep or bickering, “wider than a mile,” you can’t push it, and of course “you can’t step into the same river twice.” And it isn’t just landscape either: sudden encounters with plants and wildlife bring insights of their own. Our minds have been sculpted by nature.
About half the poems in 'Feathers Scattered in the Wind' were written in California. The other half come from Wales. They were my responses to my year living and learning and rambling in West Wales, on the Coastal Path, in the ruins of Strata Florida or the beaches of Ceredigion.
I am, I suppose most interested in the communication of awe. The collection has a number of poems that try to communicate that response to beauty and the ineffable, whether it’s nature, or the effect of a painting on the viewer or a piece of music on the listener.
AmeriCymru: What can you tell us about your experience studying Creative Writing at the University of Wales?
Tony: Well, it was a wonderful experience! I fell into it by a stroke of serendipity, and knew immediately that the teaching style and the faculty at Trinity Saint David, Lampeter, were going to suit me just fine. The personal attention and intimacy of this small school made me feel cared for, and the sessions with poet Menna Elfyn and dramatist Dic Edwards, and regular visits from Wales’ best writers, meant that everything I wrote went under the microscope. Just what I needed! It was a lot of work, but that‘s exactly what I was there for.
AmeriCymru: Care to tell us a little about 'Seven Views of the South Fork River’?
Tony: The South Fork of the Trinity River runs past the bottom of my property and has been my muse for the last fifteen years. It’s designation as a wild and scenic river means it goes up when it rains and goes down when it doesn’t – something that dams and reservoirs have hidden from the experience of a large part of the population. It is an awesome sight to watch the river rise and spread out across the valley. Some years ago I decided to sing the river’s praises with a group of poems describing places along its course. This became 'Seven Views of the South Fork River', which is embedded in the printed collection 'Feathers Scattered in the Wind'. The poems talk about the river in a blatantly metaphorical way!
AmeriCymru: What's next for Tony Kendrew?
Tony: I am currently on the editorial board of The Lampeter Review, the online magazine of the University of Wales Trinity St. David's Creative Writing Centre. It’s terrific to be at the receiving end of great writing and to be in touch with the other editors on the production of the magazine. I also write a regular piece for the magazine, a sort of letter from America, that gives a personal view of the issue’s theme or a literary topic that’s caught my eye.
I have enjoyed producing CDs of my poems and love to hear writers reading their work, but many people prefer to snuggle down with a book rather than hear poems and prose read out loud. So my next project is a book of short stories.
AmeriCymru: Any final message for the readers and members of Americymru?
Tony: I’m delighted to be able to meet with other Welsh Americans via Americymru. As a writer I’ve been a bit of a hermit, so it’s heartening to see these connections being made through that difficult to define something that is our shared Welshness. Cymru am Byth.
Dai Commando looked just like any normal person.
Average height, average weight even average shoe size.
But underneath he was no ordinary G.I. Joe.
You would never hear it from Dai’s own lips, but the regulars in his local public house in Dowlais- the T.A.’s (The Tredegar Arms) would tell you- whilst he may have served in the Royal Marines – ‘He was Made in Merthyr’.
Mainly because he was conceived on top of a wheelie bin behind Wetherspoon’s in Post Office Lane.
Dai Commando turned his I-pad on ready for his 11.00am Zoom Meeting.
It was top secret and confidential stuff.
Punctually was Dai’s middle name and he hated people who were late even more than he hated foreigners- and that was saying something.
After inputting his own version of the Enigma Code into the Apple device, he promptly ate the piece of paper that contained the sequence.
Up on the split screen appeared three men, two of which most people would recognise from television and the other as anonymous as an alcoholic deed poll clerk.
“Good Morning Mr Perkins!” said the figure on the left of the screen.
Dai’s commando training noticed that the background behind this man was very bland indeed.
Magnolia walls and no discernible trace details of the location.
The middle man had a mop of unkempt blonde hair and appeared a little of out his comfort zone.
He was sitting on a green leather bench reminiscent of those that MP’S sit on in the House of Commons in Parliament and immediately sticking out from underneath him was a thick document marked ‘Russian Report’.
The third individual had bulging eyes and looked like a human version of a frog.
Behind the human Freddo was a huge bookcase with an array of books thereon with Mein Kampf, Der Fatherland, Uncle Tom’s Cabin and the Al Jolson Story clearly visible.
“For the purpose of this interview, please refer to us from left to Far Right as Philby, Boris & McLean!” continued the Oxbridge voice.
“So, Mr Perkins…. if that is indeed your real name…the big question is why do you want to register as a spy with MI5?”
Dai Commando had wanted to be a spy his entire life.
Now in one 30-minute interview, he had to justify exactly why that was to people far less qualified than himself.
None of these three had ever waterboarded a prisoner- none of these three had killed a man with his bare hands -nor spent an Arabian night sleeping inside the rotting carcass of a dead camel.
“My name is not important, I just want the opportunity to continue the excitement of foreign travel and the kind of freedom of movement that has been curtailed following the EU withdrawal bill and not to have a 14 day quarantine period just like Pa Churchill…. I want the ‘buzz’ of the chase- but more importantly I want to be licensed to kill like the Russians over Litvinenko or any member of the Saudi Consulate in Istanbul!” said Dai.
Boris interrupted.
“I get aroused by foxhunting too but may I suggest the DWP rather than MI5 if you really want a licence to kill a much greater number?”
“Austerity can only last for so long, before the general public rumble you-I want the adrenaline rush of defending these shores from Foreign influence and carry a knife in London without being stopped and searched every ten minutes!” replied Dai.
“Are you prepared to place a limpet mine on the bottom of a refugee boat in the middle of the English Channel?” asked McLean.
“What again?” replied Dai.
“Do you want me to beat the ‘Living Daylights’ out of George Galloway too?”
“Sounds like my kind of man…your hired… let’s all meet down the Saracen’s Head for a pint then!” said McLean.
“Not so fast…I have a few questions before you begin Putin Britain First!” said Philby with a Freudian slip.
“Why are you dressed as a Babushka woman from the Motherland ?” he continued.
“I am incognito!” replied Dai.
“Great- he can speak French too, pub it is then!” said McLean licking his frog-spawn like lips.
“Whoa, hold your chevaux-what experience had you had in such stealth matters?” asked Philby of the Babushka.
“I served in the Special Boat Service, did two tours of duty in Iraq- I am pictured on the internet- in disguise of course- helping the locals pull down the statue of an evil man with a rope - !” replied Dai.
“In Baghdad?” asked Boris.
“Bristol!” replied Dai.
“I served in Afghanistan too- where I had my leg blown off by an IED-!” said Dai lifting his long hippy skirt to reveal a metal leg and curved Oscar Pistorius scimitar foot and a fine pair of bollocks too.
Dai Commando alright.
The reaction on Boris’s face was priceless, as he recoiled in horror.
“Don’t let this little thing put you off hiring me- this is like a Swiss Army blade and contains a bag of killing tools that Villanelle in Killing Eve would die for!” said Dai Commando.
“See this sonic screwdriver attachment…I once killed a man with it on the Jeffrey Epstein’s ‘Lolita Express’ private jet and then used this handy Dyson attachment to ‘hoover’ up his remains before dropping them Mid-Atlantic into the sea!” boasted Dai Commando looking like a QVC salesperson.
“How did you get on that plane?” Asked Boris....I heard it was reserved for Royalty and had a 14 year old waiting list?”
“The Old Boy Network of course!” replied Dai.
“It was full of shady characters that you expect to see as Bond Villains in Spectre…there was definitely more than an Oddjob or two going on by the cabin crew- ‘bobbing for diamonds’ – after all they do say diamonds ARE forever!”
“I really miss the other Old Boy Network!” sighed Boris.
“But now I have a new born one- year old gargantuan baby and a puppy to support- handy for the election photographs but hard work for Nanny Carrie ever since!”
“Times are hard, with half the Country unemployed after the Pandemic and Brexit fiascos, I can’t even afford to re-join the Bullingdon Club and burn £50.00 notes in front of the homeless anymore on my ‘chickenfeed salary’…I wonder sometimes if it REALLY was worth avoiding the EU Tax Directive after all…I blame David Cameron for his pig’s breakfast and the entire Eton Mess!”
All the while the real Head of MI5- known professionally as Malcolm X- sat silent.
He knew he could kick up a fuss like Rosa Parks on a Cleveland Avenue bus but just like the work in progress on the Civil Service- his secret organisation would be disbanded by the real hand that rocked his cradle- Countryman and Comrade Dominic Cummings.
“Cummings?....is that the Guy who writes for the S*N newspaper on page 5 every week or am I thinking of a different Fifth Columnist? ’
“Out of curiosity… was that Fat Cabbage guy on there?” interrupted Boris nervously.
“Fat Cabbage?” asked Dai Commando perplexed.
“You know.... the one that produced the Bondage Films?” continued Bo Jo.
“ I think he means Cubby Broccoli!” said Philby deciphering another Bletchley Park code instantly.
“I think so….I will check this little black book I copied on my mobile camera-phone lifted from the Maxwell House….let me see in the A-listers we have Allen (Woody), Andrew also filed under H and even more Woody…Bill Clinton, Bill Cosby, Blair…sorry I can’t see any Broccoli….although it appears that some of them did have their five a day and some as many as eight!” replied Dai Commando squinting at the allocated lists of Octopussy.
“Can you turn that phone to the screen?” asked McLean.
Commando Dai being in an interview wanted to give his intended new employers what they wanted to both hear and see.
“I wonder what the phrase had a B.J. stands for?” asked McLean innocently.
“What time does that Pub of yours close?” said Boris trying to change the subject.
“ It’s not in Leicester is it?”
“The Saracen’s Head you mean?” asked McLean thoughts turning automatically to being given head.
“Can we get back to the task in hand Gentleman?” ordered Philby politely.
“So what makes you think you are the best man for the job over Idris Elba?” asked the MI5 Chief.
“This IS a secure link is it Sir?” asked Dai Commando.
“100% British telephone company from Tyneside- the Huawai the Lads network of 5G!” boasted McLean.
“Only our friends at the CIA, Microsoft, Apple, Google and Siri have access to this network- so it is unlikely to be shared anywhere- please be assured- it is as safe as Jennifer Lawrence’s I-Cloud!” said Philby.
“Well I possess a Polonium 210 tipped Umbrella, some Novichok cakes and a phial of Covid 19 that our lab techs created at Porton Down research place to f*** up the Chinese economy!” said Dai Commando.
“I also do the Thunderball lottery religiously every week!”
“Sounds good to me!” said Kermit McLean thin green legs dangling on the stairs.
“Pub anyone?” he continued looking at his Swiss watch and both his British Blue and Red EU passports.
Boris nodded enthusiastically.
“Do I get a certificate marked Cobra meeting for the haters?” he continued.
“One final question- Mr Perkins if I may?” asked Boris.
“How would YOU stop Russian infiltration of the Security Services producing fake election results in the UK?”
“Asking for a friend of course!”
“Read Peter Wright’s banned Spycatcher book- don’t employ people on your staff people who have worked in Russia for three years, don’t except donations from oligarchs for party funds, don’t play tennis against anyone wearing a sickle n hammer tee-shirt instead of a Fred Perry one and make sure the only Computer Haka you allow into the civil service is a Rugby- playing one!”.
“That way just like Jennifer Arcuri you will stay top of the polls and won’t suffer a ‘Skyfall’ replied Dai.
“Employ me because I am not easily shaken or stirred!”
“After all my word is my Bond!”
In the pews
mouths open
to out spew
the hymns
known off by hearts
in heaving chests
the rote
the rota
the cheeks
redenned and
redeemed
corrugated teeth
framed by yellowed collars
and furtive eyes
on servant girls
and recent widows
this interior world is shadow
and that which inhabits
its shade
the weight of the Bible
its brass clasp keeping
the colour pictures
of faraway places tight
until the right moment
the envy
the avarice
so many reputations at stake
in Adam's grove
where Lucifer takes over
the sêt fawr
sitting side by side
with the faithful
as the Word is heard
but no longer received
(sêt fawr-great pew)
