The Old North, still alive as memory even in the fourteenth centuryI have been redirected recently to return to the poetry of Ap Gwilym, the Welsh poet that stands within a European context as much as in a Cymric one. (I am thinking of the work of Chotzen). My reference is to the first few poems of Dafydd Ap Gwilym of the collection Gwaith Dafydd ap Gwilym by Thomas Parry.This places the poet in the traditional fabric of the concerns of 12th and 13th century bardic verse. Among these poems are the ones to Ifor Hael. I shall not be concerned with the historical accuracy of Ifors existence but point to old notions held as best as I am able.It points to the interdependence of poet and patron, their mutual co-existence. As in Taliesin, the patron is unrivalled and seen as a model of excellence. Ifor Hael is compared to the generosity of Nudd, Rhydderch and Mordaf, the three great nobles of Britain. What I find interesting is that Ap Gwilym compares Ifors home to that of neuadd reged ands almost seems to put himself in the role of another Taliesin.O nawdd rugl, neuadd regedBendith Taliesin wingostA bery byth heb air bostA flowing protection, the hall of Rheged, Taliesins blessing, expended on wine will ever endure without a word of boast.Reward from Ifor puts Ap Gwilym into recollection of the Old North as a poetic reference. In the marwnad to Llywelyn we find another reference.Deifr helgud- one who harasses the men of Deira.So Dafydds audience would have been familiar with the transmitted notions of the glory of the Old North, its old concepts of praise poetry, perhaps distant but still somehow preserved among poets, as memory.Ap Gwilym moved on to perfect the cywydd, championing both cywyddau mawl and cywyddau serch, the latter perhaps forming something of a more personal nature though not losing the tint of praise poetry(How far does something remain personal once it becomes public anyway?). The praise poetry shifted from patron to desired lover.It is apparent that even at the time of Ap Gwilym (fourteenth century) the Old North remained as a nod to past glory.Marwnad-an elegy, a lamentCywydd mawl- a cywydd in praise of a patronCywydd serch- a cywydd in praise of a lover cf. RhiengerddCywydd-couplets of seven syllables used within a system of cynghanedd(I do not propose to explain that here). An example is:Gwelais long ar y glas liYn y gwyll yn ymgolli

Who was Taliesin?Two Taliesins emerge within the corpus of modern scholarship. These need to be distinguished carefully.There is the Taliesin who as a figure appears in the medieval welsh tale Chwedl Taliesin, a shapeshifter that Taliesin .But it is the poet who is a professional poet that i am referring to, he who praised his patron, Urien, so prodigiuosly.He lived in the sixthe century and is believed to have originated in Powys.His sphere of operation is quite vast but it is a moot question as to how far the poetry reflects or represents the sixth century bard or how far it suffers interpolation from later interpreters. How does a poem survive for so long without losing its original format?it is certain that cymric had lost its terminations and the system of poetic rhyming-or perhaps chiming would be better-was in place.The medieval cult of Taliesin was a big factor in blurring the two Taliesins. Yet Talisein the professional; poet is my focus and this is the subject.So then a brief, perhaps impressionistic intro.I will continue with this later.Do find it hard to write at a computer...My next blog will look at the distinction between the two Taliesins a little more closely...TaliesinI have said that two Taliesins seem to be apparent within the corpus of texts, one a supernatural being as evidenced in parts of The Myvyrian Archaeology of 1770, the other the professional poet in praise of Urien. It is the latter I refer to from now on.It is clear that Taliesin did not come from Rheged. At the opening of Arddwyre Rheged he clearly states that he is not of Uriens group. His poem to Cynan Garwyn may suggest he came from Powys since Cynan was a king of Powys who had scourged the lands of Brycheiniog.The time in which Taliesin composed his verse was one of both resurgence and British confidence. This is more clearly reflected in his poetry to Urien. Taliesin must have moved from area to area under Uriens aegis, under a marker of confidence. Urien is depicted as a great battle raiser, able to dispense gifts and also perhaps one who knew the value of his bard, as both eulogizer and propagandist. Yet in one poem Taliesin clearly stays at home while his lord fights. Even there Taliesin praises him in Bei Lleas Urien(what if Urien were dead?). The images of Urien, blood stained, are set against the glory of the battle, Uriens ability to despoil and by plunder, offer gifts. This is an important feature of Taliesins pieces.Yet it is not to examine the poems that is the purpose of this writing. It is more to delineate, insofar as I am able, the character of Taliesin. The poems require a longer treatment which may be a point to be developed later.Taliesin was committed to the cause of Rheged. Even when the men of Rheged had fought in vain he commended their bravery in other battles as a springboard to revival of victory. In essence the losses were not looked on as irrevocable but as maybe something to learn from and develop. Thus Arddwye Rheged is a poem that concerns it self with morale.Yet clearly at some point Talieson transferred his allegiance to another, other than Urien, one Gwallawg. Clearly this was not of any comfort to Urien and Taliesin knew of this and in composing Dadolwch Urien he moved to some reconciliation with him As he got older Urien may have handed over some of his lands to his sons.Taliesin sang of British confidence . His mapping of expedition is impressive ; not only are Troon and Ayr mentioned but also Edinburgh, Gowrie and Brechin and Wensleydale in the south. Taliesin knew well what was required of him as poet, extoller and moral booster but was also able to keen on the death of Owain, Uriens son.Urien himself, distanced from his sons was said to have met his end by Morgan , one jealous of Uriens valour. At this point internecine strife between allies-Urien, Morgan, Rhydderch Hen of Strathclyde and Gwallawg gainst Hussa of Northumbria ,broke down. It is interesting that Urien worked with Gwallawg, despite Taliesins defection to that other lord, if indeed it is the same Gwallawg.So then what to make of all this? No elegy for Urien exists by Taliesin so we are left with Urien as a hero shining in valour and with generosity. This still speaks. To me Taliesins poetry is about the relationship between poet and benefactor, ;his peripatetic journeys seems to point to him as one in some ways careerist but we are directed back to Urien since it is he who is the focus of most of Taliesins admirationPerhaps one should now consider the poems them selves. Well seetaliesin 3 sampling the textTo Cynan GarwynCynan, upholding battlea gift gave meWhy should i not praise himhe who gives much land?Quick and humorous without parallelhis hundred velvet robes of same measured cloth anda hundred arm bands to my collectionand fifty brooches too in his measure.A sword with stone beyond priceits hilt from Cynan I hadgenerous to a faultCadell came his army unshakento launch on the Wyespears fallingand bloody red bladetook the men of Gwentto die sorely. He was famed in Anglesey for battlewhen crossing the Menaiwith his horses clattering .At Crug Dyfed he was as Aercolwild, stealing.cattle never seen againremoved.Son of Brochfael had many kingdomsbut wanted still more possessionCornwall to be histheir loss not his concernpain he givesuntil for mercy they squeal.My hope is in Cynanhead of armieswhose flame is seen everywhereas a bonfire in Brychan's landa forming of deafening battle. You headsof kingdoms pity you who fear him Cynana shield to the fighta fiery monsterand as Cyngen before youthe wide kingdom upheld.I heard them speaking of himeveryone in his honour.The full expanse of the worldbelongs to Cynan.Adaptation Iain Williams August 25th 2009 copyrighted sept 2nd 2009

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A Cautionary TaleThe young man hesitated before taking the challenge that Gwyn had offered. The sound of the flute had been moving and spoke of something that touched him but something he could not give full name to. Gwyn sat on his mound, his green silks about him, making his rock a special place.- Here the veil is torn and one can hear such music for ever he saidThe young man stepped into the mist and he danced, oh how he danced, until he felt dizzy with the sound. And they feasted; wine and mead flowed from the otherworld and Gwyn laughed at the young man but not cruelly taking pleasure. Was it the magic mushrooms that grew on the soggy hillsides at Dinas Oleu that had given a portal into this world? He reeled and fell into the trap until the vision faded and he was on the denuded hillside quite alone.Gwyn had changed his appearance. He was no longer shining but appeared in rags.-how do I find my way back into fairyland? ... the young man enquired.-tell no one the King of The Tribe repliedThe young man lacked confidence in the vision and when he went down from the hill he saw The Mawddach slithering behind misty hills as it meandered its way to the heartland. A man passed him-you have the dew on your face. You have been in the land of the younghe said-yesreplied the young man- The young must grow oldsaid the manThe man told him that Gwyn ap Nudd, the King of the Fairies, was a shapeshifter. The young man had betrayed his word.Ever since then the young mans family had kept an iron pot outside the door to prevent intrusion from the otherworld. The young man never found his way back to Fairyland and Gwyn ap Nudd remained a memoryMy response to folk memory and the power of myth. The magic mushrooms did grow on the hill sides above Bermo and were readily used by the resident hippy population. Dinas Oleu lies on a hillside above Bermo and was a place of mystery at least in the minds of older local storytellers, the majority of which I assume to be dead now. Folk memory embellishes of course yet leaves a stain on our native imaginationsand I think this is what I have written about.Iron, according to the Old Folk, was protection against the fairy people.

Pantycelyn was one of the main players in the Welsh Methodist movement.A hymn writer.but that is history.His words ring in my head, a solid reminder, a nod towards recollection to one who lives in a Post Christian world, as I do.I do not know if the poetry inspired the music of the hymns or whether it is the other way round.I only know that through redirection to them I seem to have a recollection of a more personal Christ.About joy Williams is emphatic.it will come with the attainment of heavenIf sorrows in the world to endure until the end, all this shall come to a close within heaven, sadness becomes rejoicing.Os ywn gofidiau yn y bydI bara hyd y diweddO fewn y nef fe dderfydd hynTroir tristwch yn orfoleddHe does not deny sorrow, allows only the hope of heavenWhat is lovely?...he sees the world and it natural features and in it finds his vision of Christ.I am looking across the distant hills surrounding you every hour ..come, my sweet, the hour is lengthening and my sun is almost sinkingRwyn edrych dros y bryniau pellAmdanat bob yr awrTyrd, fanwylyd, maen hwyrhauAm haul bron mynd I lawrYma dymunwn dreuliom hoesO fore hyd brynhawnLle cawn i wylo cariad purYn ddagrau melys iawnHere would I wish to spend my days (literally age),from morning till afternoon where I could weep in pure love of very sweet tears.His vision is that of sorrow transmuted with the attainment of heaven. We weep not in sorrow but with the knowledge of love and there are sweet tears in grasping that truth.Today Pantycelyn speaks of love ,of Christ to me.Pererin wyf mewn anialdir as he wrote elsewhere.I am a pilgrim in a wilderness.His vision helps even now by considering what he wrote though it could be taken to further depths. But there is hope in the reading and in a Post Christian world his lyrics are still relevant.Hope this all makes sense in the midst of wandering thoughts and perceptions

The Pain of LoveAdaptation and abridgment by Iain Williams from Poen wrth garu by Kate RobertsMair slipped down like a feather on to the pavement, not feeling her feet under it. Shehad had her first kiss ever from a boy and the thrill of that kiss remained. She had walkedout with Glyn before and that evening had been the preamble when she listened withinterest and in pity her love had already begun- as he told her of his home that was dirtyand untidy. She admired the lad who struggled to rise above his family situation. Buttonight there was no need to mention this. She had taken him into her heart and shewalked fearless towards her home. Last time she had been like a dog coming home afterbeing on a wicked mission. But tonight her step was light and she slipped into flight like abird and opened her wings as she made for the gate. Then she let them stand still. Hermother was on the doorstep with a fallen face.-Where have you been?She could not give an answer-I want to know where you have beenJust walkingWho with? That boy who belongs to that slut then, Sally Slut. Get into the houseJane Huws wasnt a woman to talk of things like that on the doorstep. She turned herback on her daughter and went straight to the fire and sat on her chair. Mair saw a pieceof haddock that had been boiled and was being kept warm on an iron stove. The butterhad melted and was running into the fish like seaspray on a beach. She saw this clearly.She hardly noticed her father sitting on another chair. He had his head down.Her mother went on-Do you know how much trouble you cause your mam?It was Mair who turned her back now and she went to the lobby and made her wayupstairs. She counted each step as she found her feet on them and noticed each flowerin the centre of the carpets pattern, something she had not noticed that well before. Sheswitched on the light upstairs and turned her chair to look out at the window. Gentledarkness like velvet lay over the garden and the light from her room was casting a bladeof light over it. Mair tried to silence the beat of her heart by sitting still but that wasuseless since her mother's image came to her unwilled. Yet she couldnt imagine how her motherhad come to know about Glyn without she herself having said anything to her in broachingthe subject of him. She had imagined how she would speak in Glyns favour , forge a wayforward and work on her mothers compassion by telling her of his circumstances at homeand his attempts to overcome them. Disappointing, almost fearful it was to see hermothers point of view. She knew her mother loved her and because of that she supposed (naively) that her mother would love those she herself loved.She turned her chair to look on the room.The love between her parents had been stamped on every little thing there, even in the small easy chair she was sitting on. In place of the double bed that had once filled the tiny room was a single one that made the room look bigger. The curtains were blue with pink flowers on them and the walls had been painted in a creamy colour.In the kitchen Jane and Bob Huws were talking in the heat of argument.You were wrong to speak to the girl like that. How can I do other when I see her chasing some neer do well like that?Glyn isnt a neer do well.What else? No difference between the dog and his tail. You cant say that. A dogs tail is different to the rest of him.You cant separate anyone from their familythe boy needs someone to look after him.Why choose our Mair?If Mair marries Glyn, shell have a good lad. Heres a lad who is starting at the bottom but is sure of climbing to the top. He s not good enough for Mair! He is a good lad. He looks after the children when the mam and dad are off gallivanting.Who told you this? Mairs mother asked.Bob Owen who works on the next line and he knows whats what. He said that Glyn came to work with a clean shirt, oddly enough, on a Monday morning a little while back. He had washed it and ironed it himself. Everyone thought the world of him for that, bar one. Sam Ellis made fun of himHe would, the sod.And Jane Huws began to weep. She got up and went to the bottom of the stairs to callMair. When she received no answer she went upstairs and found her daughter sleeping.She prodded her lightly and said with pityMair come and get your supper. Ill boil another piece of haddock for you.Mair got up and followed her mother down, her spirits lifted.---

Kisses in the rainSome thoughts on Welsh love, its expression in writing and song.The man who feels love cannot always express it.I am looking at a few things that have stirred the Cymric imagination and these come from Welshmen who were able to express what they felt.There is a device used in medieval Welsh poetry that is called the llatai. Here a messenger symbol is used to relay love from one person to another through imagination. These symbols may be taken from the natural world and in the craft of Dafydd ap Gwilym we find the poet using everything from a fish to a bird. In this particular quote he uses the image of the male thrush when he imagines that Morfudd, one of his loves is thinking of himPellenig, pwyll ei annwydPell ei siwrnai Ir llatai llwydYma y doeth oswydd goeth GaerAm ei erchi om eurchwaerO stranger his nature is wisdomGrey messenger a long journey has comeFrom my goldengirl at her commandFrom the rich(fine) county of Carmarthen. (my adaptation)But we need not look to structured poetry to find evidence of these messenger symbols. Its there in the folk songs tooY deryn pur ath aden lasBydd imin was dibryderO brysur! Brysia at y ferchLle rhoes im serch yn gynnarOh bird with the blue wingBe for me a lad who is carefreeO haste! hasten to the girlI gave my heart to early(my adaptation)But if the Welshman needs to express his anticipation of love there is also for him a need to express its counterpoint-the sorrow of it. Heres a short poem by John Morris Jones written between the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. This time it is the wind that stands as a dominant metaphor. The wind moaning stirs his recollection of lost love.Cwsg ni ddaw im hamrant henoDagrau ddaw ynghyntWrth fy ffenestr yn gwynfannusYr ochneidiar gwyntCodii lais yn awr, ac wyloBeichio wylo maeAr y gwydr yr hyrddiai ddagrauYn ei wylltaf waePam y deui, wynt , i wyloAt fy ffenestr i?Dywed im, a gollaist tithauUn ath garai di?My adaptation followsNo sleep to come to eyeline tonightOnly tears that fill togetherDoleful wind that continues without respiteAt my window moaning, soft, low, tonightNow breaks a sadder voice and weepsTears heavy with the soundOn the pane the teardrops glisten and steepIn the utter distress this sorrow keepsWhy come you then wind to moanAt my glass known but to me?Tell me did you lose too a love you'd knownWho loved you tenderly?This is rather a free rendering made so that an English Language poem emerges...And finally there is this by Mathonwy Hughes, an example of an englyn, a particular form of short Welsh Language poem whose statement is always pithy.Gwraig rinweddolEr dyfod briw y diwedd-ni roddwydDan briddell ei boneddNa, rhy annwyl ei rhinweddIw gelu byth dan glo beddEven though a wound came at the endShe was not placed under native earthNo too dear her goodnessTo ever be hidden in a locked grave (My adaptation)So then it often rains in Wales but even in those showers Welshmen over time have honed their imagination and taken things from the world around them and used them to express loves anticipation and its sorrow. All things begin and end in time, even love. Let us keep our love spoons bright then!Privilege to shareHwyl pawbOddi wrth Iain/from Iain