| YN EU CIL | ON THE BRINK |
| Menna Elfyn | tr. Elin ap Hywel |
|
A bydd y lleiafrifoedd gyda ni o hyd, yn llesg a bloesg. 'Does dim b  d yma,' meddai'r rhai oedd yn fy nhywys yno, ond myned a wnaethom ar war llwyth, chwilio edau gyfrodedd, eu carthenni braith. Ar un olwg doedd neb adre - hen wreigan yn ei chwman, acen grom o fenyw, yn drwgdybio dieithriaid. Dim ond llwyth ar fryn, llond llaw o genedl; ei hewinedd wedi eu torri yn cau llaw yn dynn - plant yn cadw pellter. Yna'n ddirybudd, agorwyd drws, crochan ynghanol llawr, tân yn mygu, a hithau'n magu. Cyn gadael - daeth ataf â Beibl yn iaith Lat, dechrau darllen hanes yr Iesu a'i rieni'n ffoi. Math o ffoi a wnawn wrth gwrdd â ffydd), ffoaduriaid â’u ffawd ar drugaredd tir diffaith; ei gadael, doler yn ei dwylo, a phris ei llafaredd ar dafod cyfieithydd yn troi'n boer. |
And the minorities will always be with us, faint and tongue-tied. 'There's nothing here,' said the people who were taking me there, but we went all the same, on the trail of a tribe, searching for the thread interweaving their brindled quilts. At first sight, there was nobody home - an old woman, bent over, a circumflex of a woman - suspicious of strangers, only a tribe on a hill a handful of a nation, its nails clipped, closing a hand tightly - the children keeping their distance - and then, suddenly, a door opened - a cauldron in the middle of the floor, fire crackling, arms cradling. Before I left she brought me a Bible in the Lat tongue, began to read the story of Jesus and his parents fleeing. Our meeting with faith leads to a fleeing, our fate is the refugee's - thrown on the mercy of stony ground - I left her, a dollar in her hand the price of her eloquence turning to spittle on the interpreter's tongue. |
Copyright © Menna Elfyn; trans. Copyright © Elin ap Hywel - publ. Bloodaxe Books
 ...buy this book |