Journal Entries
Abermaw.
Posted Sep 3, 2002
This is part of a cycle of poems I am writing about my county - Merionydd. 'Abermaw' is the Welsh (and thus the proper) name for Barmouth. A place that has become a tourist hell in the summer, yet still retains great beauty and peace out of season. I recommend October as the month to visit. The leaves are turning red and gold up the Mawddach. The weather is cool, often dry and bright.
Blessings,
Matholwch /|\.
Upon the shore, I sit and feel,
The cool breeze upon my brow.
Where Land meets Sea,
And both greet the Sky,
I listen as the spirits dance,
To the songs of my ancestors.
Here the moon-driven sea,
Laps against her mothers feet,
And I sit nestled in her lap,
As pebbles that once were mountains,
Whisper to me of ancient heroes,
Of princes and the lost Cantrefs.
Where Bran watched the fleet,
Of proud Ireland’s King come,
To woo fair Branwen on the shores
Of Dyffren Ardudwy,
Where he gave her to Matholwch,
And sealed his own doom.
Where the last Prince of the free,
Gathered his men, a golden battle host,
To throw down the dark fortress,
Of the Saesneg lords.
Where for a bright moment,
We stood as men beneath this sky.
Here we began a song of hope,
To the heroes of Harlech,
That would carry proud cymric warriors,
Through dark nights under African skies,
And bring Evans 152 back to his farm,
On the slopes of Cader Idris.
Here, on this shore, the songs go on,
Of Gruffydd, and Evans,
Jones and Glyndwr.
The ancestors stretch back behind me,
Into the golden mists of memory,
And I listen, that I might sing for my children.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Sep 3, 2002
Hiraeth.
Posted Aug 29, 2002
Hiraeth is the Welsh word for the yearning for home. It is most often felt by exiles like me (I work in London during the week and am only home at weekends). By the way 'Mawddach' is pronounced 'mao-thack', and is an estuary in southern Gwynedd where I grew up. She is also the spirit of the area and well known to me upon my path.
Blessings,
Matholwch /|
In the city I hear her,
Above the traffic's awful roar,
I hear the seagulls calling,
Over her storm-swept shore.
In the factory yard I see her,
In the corner of my sight,
Mighty Oaks bowing in the wind,
Neath the mountains' awful might.
Mawddach! Mawddach!
I have not forgotten your song.
Mawddach! Spirit of my heart.
I will return afore too long.
Amidst the people I can feel her,
In all the madness and pain,
Her streams murmur softly to me,
To tread her paths again.
In the market I scent her,
Between the exotic and the trash,
Chestnut blossom, Heather bloom,
Salt sea spray and Mountain Ash.
Mawddach! Mawddach!
I have not forgotten your song.
Mawddach! Spirit of my heart.
I will return afore too long.
In a thousand reflected moments,
I see her dance and tease,
Setting the Hiraeth upon me,
So I shall know no ease.
The albums of my distant youth,
Thrown open before my sight,
Friends long gone walk my dreams,
In memory’s golden, dappled light.
Mawddach! Mawddach!
I have not forgotten your song.
Mawddach! Spirit of my heart.
I will return afore too long.
And when my soul can no more be,
Separated from my ancient land,
She will gather up those dreams,
And take them to the verdant strand.
Where wooded hill meets river's edge,
I first drew my sacred space,
Anchored my soul there to the land,
And first gazed upon her face.
Mawddach! Mawddach!
I have not forgotten your song.
Mawddach! Spirit of my heart.
I will return before too long.
The Hiraeth is upon me now,
I will soon be on my way.
The mother of my people calls me,
And for once I shall obey.
Where the sky meets the sea,
And both hold with the land,
I shall draw my circle once again,
And reach out for her hand.
Mawddach! Mawddach!
I will always sing your song.
Mawddach! Spirit of my heart.
I have been away too long.
Discuss this Journal entry [5]
Latest reply: Aug 29, 2002
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