The first scribbles of an idea came at the beginning of my most recent audit of a Welsh reading class at Brigham Young University. OK, so we're reading "Thomas the Train" in Welsh and I have a ways to go. If only I could spend more time in actual application with the language, I know I could pick it up.
My job still takes most of my brain space and there are so many other things that impose on my thinking time. Still, little by little it comes and my Celtic bones take strength from the ancient language of my fore-bearers. This Saxon-English imposed on me is like poison in the blood. Yet I swear the undying language will not cease from the earth as we children of the Black Mountains and Green Valleys strive to keep it alive.
My Welsh Teacher encouraged me last night. It is an odd switch in the brain to turn on foreign language. The workings are strange and course as when I struggle for Cymraeg, it is not my nearly fluent Portuguese that lights up. It is the first foreign tongue I attempted to learn. Yes, Deutsch, the harsh Saxon words fight to come forth. And the sword of my tongue will not rest until it is vanquished.
Here it is. My first poem in Cymraeg. It is appropriately about my Love. And, of course, Rhiannon, as every song should be. (Stevie Nicks got it right.) I [almost] have a rhyme. My rhythm [meter] could use some work. I will not translate here into foul Saxon-speech. You'll just have to do that yourself with Google or something if you are not of y Tylwyth Teg.
-Y Bardd Geraint Fychan
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