GWERIN THE PEOPLE
Donald Evanstrans. Gillian Clarke (from Welsh)
Nid arwyr gloywon monynt,
na mawrfrydig fel yr holl gerwi gynt.
Fe'u gwelaf mewn tafarn,
ar y ffordd, yn y siop a'r ffair;
dynion cyffredin, dan din a daionus;
yn greulon, yn wirion yn aml;
yn ddichellgar a dewr bryd arall.
Hen haid go gyffredin ydynt
o gamwedd a rhinwedd ar eu hynt.

Ond maen nhw'n clebran hen, hen iaith;
baldorddi'n drwsgwl-reddfol o'u boliau
hen eiriau'r gwaed, sôn am chwarae a gwaith;
ynni a sbîd peiriannau;
campau yfed, merched, prisiau'r mart
a'r gweddill dibwys pwysig ...
Maen nhw'n clebran hen, hen iaith:
hŵn na'i hen frenhinoedd,
mor newydd â'r sgandal ddiweddara.
Nid arwyr gloywon monynt,
na mawrfrydig fel yr holl gewri gynt.

Hen rai didaro, dihidio ydynt;
gwddyn, diargyhoediad
o'r pethe dwys a phwysig;
byth yn bybyr fel cynhaliwyr ein hiaith
a'n gwerthoedd, hawdd digio wrthynt.
Nid arwyr gloywon monynt,
na mawrfrydig fel yr holl gewri gynt.

Ond pe baent yn stopio byw;
yn darfod, rywsut, yn y dyfodol;
eu hanian yn dihoeni
a'u teip yn diflannu o'n tir,
byddai hen eiriau gwinau eu gwaed
yn pylu'n eiriau dadlau a dysg
yn unig, yn edwino
a llwydo'n grair diwylliedig;
gwelwi'n sgerbydau o eiriau oer
rhwng cynnwr a brawl y cŵn a'r brain.
Nid arwyr gloywon monynt,
na mawrfrydig fel yr holl gewri gynt.
They're no heroes,
magnanimous as the giants of the old days.
I see them in the pub,
in the street, in the shop, at the fair;
ordinary men, the sly, the good;
the cruel, the simple;
by turn cunning and courageous.
Just the same old crowd
their lives shaped by goodness and sin.

They cleck in the old tongue;
a gabble of gut-talk
in the old blood-words, about work, and play;
the power and speed of machines;
of drinking, women, prices in the mart
and the rest of it something and nothing ...
They cleck in the old, old tongue;
older than ancient kings,
newer than the latest scandal.
They're no heroes,
magnanimous as the giants of the old days.

The couldn't-care-less, the don't-give-a-damn;
tough, unbelievers in
cultural matter, weighty and grave;
not passionate, not defenders of a language
and a way of life, it's easy to despise them.
They're no heroes,
magnanimous as the giants of the old days.

But should they stop living,
become extinct, somehow, in the future,
their nature grow languid,
their kind disappear from the land,
the old red tongue of their blood
would diminish to a language for study and debate,
would dwindle and die,
grown grey as a cultural relic;
a skeleton of cold words
torn between the hounds and the crows.
They're no heroes,
magnanimous as the giants of the old days.

Copyright © Donald Evans; Trans. Copyright © Gillian Clarke
Orig. publ. Cyhoeddiadau Barddas - Barddas Publications; trans. publ. Bloodaxe Books


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