Any suggestions for a Welsh poem for a wedding

[Martin & Sarah]

Hi, we're getting married next month and would like to have a piece of
Welsh poetry or literature read out during the ceremony (the groom's family
are from Porthmadog and are coming all the way to Cambridge to the wedding,
so we thought it would be be a nice gesture).
Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. It needn't be in Welsh (e.g.
Dylan thomas or R.S Thomas have done some great pieces in English) but we'd
prefer it if it was.

Diolch yn fawr

Sarah & Martin

[Elizabeth Styveson-Hoaglander]

Dafydd Price Jones <dafy...@dafyddpj.demon.co.uk> wrote:

>Gofynnodd Martin & Sarah :

>Porthmadog is the birthplace of the poet Eifion Wyn (1867-1926). His
>poem "Yr Hufen Melyn" (The Yellow Cream) is quite amusing, and
>appropriate in parts. It goes after this fashion (Prosaic translation
>follows):

How lovely - and a whole lot better than "There was an old man from
Bedwellty" that I was going to suggest.
ESH

[Dafydd Price Jones]

Gofynnodd Martin & Sarah :
>Hi, we're getting married next month and would like to have a piece of
>Welsh poetry or literature read out during the ceremony (the groom's family
>are from Porthmadog and are coming all the way to Cambridge to the wedding,
>so we thought it would be be a nice gesture).
>Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. It needn't be in Welsh (e.g.
>Dylan thomas or R.S Thomas have done some great pieces in English) but we'd
>prefer it if it was.

Porthmadog is the birthplace of the poet Eifion Wyn (1867-1926). His
poem "Yr Hufen Melyn" (The Yellow Cream) is quite amusing, and
appropriate in parts. It goes after this fashion (Prosaic translation
follows):

Er caru'r fun yn fwy nag un, ni fedrwn
Mo ddweud fy serch na gofyn am ei llaw;
At feudy'r coed ei sto+l dri throed a ddygwn
Bob dydd, wrth no+l ei buchod oddidraw:
Ac fel y doent dan chwarae gylch ei chunnog,
Eu rhwymo wnawn yn ddwyres o dan do;
Dwyres dirion o forynion, duon, brithion, tecaf bro,
O borfa fras y weirglodd las feillionnog,
A Gwen yn godro'r ddeuddeg yn eu tro.

Ar fis o haf, pan o'wn yn glaf o gariad,
Mi glywn y gog yn canu yn y llwyn:
A daeth i'm bryd ei bod yn bryd im siarad
Am wneud fy nyth, fel pob aderyn mwyn:
Eisteddai Gwen gan fedrus, fedrus odro,
A chanu uwch ei ste+n yr hen Ben Rhaw;
Minnau'n gwrando, ac yn gwrido, a phetruso'n hir o draw,
Swyn serch ei hun oedd yn ei llun a'i hosgo,
A'r buchod wrth eu bodd o dan ei llaw.

Eu trin a wnaeth a hel y llaeth i'w phiser,
Cyn imi wybod sut i dorri gair;
O fewn fy mron mi deimlwn don o bryder,
A dim ond un diwrnod hyd y ffair:
Ond Gwen a droes, gan wrido fel fy hunan,
Ac uwch yr hufen melyn gwyn fy myd;
Cefais felys win ei gwefus, wedi ofnus oedi cyd,
A rhoes ei gair y cawn cyn ffair w+yl Ifan
Roi'r fodrwy ar ei llaw, a newid byd.

I loved her more than any other, but
I could not speak that love nor ask her hand;
I bore her three-legged stool to the cowshed in the woods
Each day, while gathering in her cows:
And as they came, playing around her milking-pail,
I would lock them in two rows beneath the roof;
Two gentle rows of virgins, black, speckled, fairest in the land,
From the rich grazing ground of the green, clovered meadow,
Whilst Gwen milked the dozen one by one.

One summer's month, when I was sick with love,
I heard the cuckoo singing in the grove:
And it occurred to me that I'd better start talking
About building my nest, like every gentle bird:
Gwen just sat, so ably, ably milking,
And singing o'er her pitcher an old folk song;
Me, I listened, blushed, and procrastinated at a distance,
The charm of love itself was in her form and poise,
The cows in their seventh heaven under her charge.

She'd handled them, and gathered the milk in her pitcher,
Before I'd worked out the first thing I should say;
Within my breast I felt some desperation,
With only one day left before the fair:
But Gwen she turned, and blushed as red as I did,
And o'er the yellow cream how blessed I was
By the sweet wine of her lips, after so much anxious lingering,
And she gave me her word that, before the midsummer fair,
I could place a ring on her finger, and change my world.

Best wishes for your wedding,
Dafydd.
--
| Dafydd Price Jones
E-bost: dafy...@dafyddpj.demon.co.uk
Dim ond ffw+l sydd yn gofyn pam fod Eifion Wyn|

[Dafydd Price Jones]

>Dwyres dirion o forynion, duon, brithion, tecaf bro,

>Two gentle rows of virgins, black, speckled, fairest in the land,

Correction: Upon reconsideration, I think I'd better translate "morynion"
as "maids", and not "virgins", since we're talking about milk-producing
cows. I don't think "tarw potel" ("bottle bull") had been invented in
Eifion Wyn's day, so those cows were definitely not virgins!

--
| Dafydd Price Jones
E-bost: dafy...@dafyddpj.demon.co.uk

Yn dysgu ffeithiau bywyd yn ara' deg!|

[Dafydd Price Jones]

Mae Elizabeth Styveson-Hoaglander <E...@Blackwood.net> yn
sgrifennu:

>How lovely - and a whole lot better than "There was an old man from
>Bedwellty" that I was going to suggest.

Elizabeth, you can't keep us hanging on like this 8-)%
I won't sleep until I know how that limerick continues - especially if it
does so in English! It's hard enough to find rhymes for "Bedwellty" in
Welsh.

--
| Dafydd Price Jones
E-bost: dafy...@dafyddpj.demon.co.uk

Odl ar gyfer Bedwellty? Well 'ti feddwl am un!|

[Linda K. Sherman]

Dafydd Price Jones wrote:
>
> >Dwyres dirion o forynion, duon, brithion, tecaf bro,
> >Two gentle rows of virgins, black, speckled, fairest in the land,
>
> Correction: Upon reconsideration, I think I'd better translate "morynion"
> as "maids", and not "virgins", since we're talking about milk-producing
> cows. I don't think "tarw potel" ("bottle bull") had been invented in
> Eifion Wyn's day, so those cows were definitely not virgins!

Since they probably didn't do housework, either, you might consider
"maidens" instead of "maids" to avoid having the latter mistaken for its
other meaning.

Lin
--
Linda K. Sherman <lins...@concentric.net>
Welsh-related and other stuff to be found at
http://www.concentric.net/~linsherm

[Dafydd Price Jones]

>Dwyres dirion o forynion, duon, brithion, tecaf bro,
>Two gentle rows of virgins, black, speckled, fairest in the land,

Lin wrote, also wondering how we should translate "morynion" when it
describes milk-producing cows which can't be virgins:

>Since they probably didn't do housework, either, you might consider
>"maidens" instead of "maids" to avoid having the latter mistaken for its
>other meaning.

But "maiden" is a diminutive of "maid", and milk-producing cows are
anything but diminutive! Also, the word, like its German counterpart,
"Ma:dchen", and the Welsh "morwynig", carries with it, even today, a
suggestion of virginity.

Clearly we can't use "old maids", and "women" doesn't fit the bill at all.
What can we say, then? Well, I've heard a lot of people all over the UK
talking to their cows and calling them "genod" in Welsh, and "girls" in
English. Is "girls" getting any closer? Or has the political-incorrectness
of the word when applied to women now killed that suggestion as well?

--
| Dafydd Price Jones
E-bost: dafy...@dafyddpj.demon.co.uk

Ie, wir!|

[Colin Douthwaite]

Dafydd Price Jones (dafy...@dafyddpj.demon.co.uk) wrote:
>Mae Elizabeth Styveson-Hoaglander <E...@Blackwood.net> yn
>sgrifennu:

>>How lovely - and a whole lot better than "There was an old man from
>>Bedwellty" that I was going to suggest.

>Elizabeth, you can't keep us hanging on like this 8-)%
>I won't sleep until I know how that limerick continues - especially if it
>does so in English! It's hard enough to find rhymes for "Bedwellty" in
>Welsh.

OK, I'll have a go...

There was an old man from Bedwellty

Who wasn't renowned for fidel'ty.
Though he still had desire,
Age had dampened his fire,
So he ended up all soft and melty.

or...

There was an old man from Bedwellty

Who was feeling decidedly Celty.
At some ungodly hour
He phoned up Glendower,
And pledged his undying fe-elty.

More ? *8-)

Bye,

[Dafydd Price Jones]

Cyfrannodd Colin Douthwaite:

>OK, I'll have a go...
>
> There was an old man from Bedwellty
> Who wasn't renowned for fidel'ty.
> Though he still had desire,
> Age had dampened his fire,
> So he ended up all soft and melty.
>
> or...
>
> There was an old man from Bedwellty
> Who was feeling decidedly Celty.
> At some ungodly hour
> He phoned up Glendower,
> And pledged his undying fe-elty.

They're good, and satisfy Isaac Asimov's criterion for limericks - they
have to be filthy.
But a big part of me insists that the "ll" sound in "Bedwellty" be repeated
in lines 2 and 5. I can't manage it in pure English, but offer:

There was an old man from Bedwellty

Whose girlfriend once said to him, "Well 'ti (... You'd better)
Dynnu dy drousers (pull off your ... )
A dod ag arousers (and bring some ...)
Cyn gei di ddod 'mewn i'm bed wellt i (before I let you into
my straw bed)

--
| Dafydd Price Jones
E-bost: dafy...@dafyddpj.demon.co.uk

Llangolledig Gyfeiliorn am byth!|