Englynion
Samuel Popuolo
The following selections are from what are commonly called the “Saga poems.” The idea had been that these lyric poems (called englynion in Welsh) were part of long stories with the action told in prose sections, but that the prose has been lost to us so that only the poems are left. This story does not strike me as especially feasible, but the lyric poems are certainly part of stories whose full contents have not survived. I suppose my doubt is that there were ever formalized prose sections – more likely if any context was needed, a performer just gave context. The poems are rather like e.g. Ovid’s Heroides. In this first selection, Old Llywarch laments that he has become old – he had at one time many sons (some say 24) all of whom died in battle at his urging.
Y ddeilen hon, neus cynired gwynt,
Gwae hi o’i thynged!
Hi hen; eleni ganed.
Wyf hen; wyf unig, wyf annelwig oer,
Gwedi gwely ceinmyg,
Wyf truan, wyf tri dyblyg.
Ni’m ca^r rhianedd, ni’m cynired neb;
Ni allaf ddarymred.
Wia angau na’m dygred.
Truan o dynged a dynged i Lywarch
Er y nos y’i ganed:
Hir nif heb esgor lludded.
This leaf, the wind carries it to and fro,
Woe to it for it’s fate!
It is old; last year born.
I am old; I am alone, I am wretchedly cold,
After the honorable bed,
I am sad, I am three-pleated.1
No maid loves me, no one approaches me;
I cannot wander to and fro.
Alas that death does not come near me.
Sad the fate which was fated to Llywarch
Since the night I was born;
Long labor without casting off weariness.
This second selection is from the “Saga of Eledd.” Eledd is a princess whose brother Cynddylan has died in battle, which leaves her and Powys without their truest protector. It is unclear in which battle Cynddylan fell, but the cycle of poems about Eledd suggest that he died in an otherwise unknown battle at the river Tern in Shropshire (Welsh Sir Amwythig) – the other source for Cynddylan, a marwnad or death poem, suggest that he was an ally of King Penda of Mercia against King Oswald of Northumbria. In this selection, Eledd mourns her brother through a mourning of his once-bright hall now desolate and run-down.
Stafell Gynddylan ys tywyll heno,
Heb da^n, heb wely;
Wylaf wers, tawaf wedy.
Stafell Gynddylan is tywyll heno,
Heb da^n, heb gannwyll;
Namyn duw pwy a’m dyry pwyll?
Stafell Gynddylan, neud athwyd heb wedd,
Mae ym medd dy ysgwyd;
Hyd tra fu ni bu dollglwyd.
Stafell Gynddylan ys tywyll heno,
Heb da^n, heb gerddau;
Dygystudd deurudd dagrau.
Stafell Gynddylan, a’m gwa^n ei gweled
Heb doed, heb da^n;
Marw fy nglyw, byw fy hunan.
Stafell Gynddylan, a’m erwan pob awr
Gwedi mawr ymgyfrdan
A welais ar dy bentan.
Cynddylan’s Hall is dark tonight
Without fire, without bed;
I weep a while, then I fall silent.
Cynddylan’s Hall is dark tonight,
Without fire, without a candle;
Besides God who brings my sanity?
Cynddylan’s Hall, go without form,
Your protection is in the grave;
So long as he lived, it was not broken-doored.
Cynddylan’s Hall is dark tonight
Without fire, without poetry;
Teardrops wear away my face.
Cynddylan’s Hall, which kills me to see
Without roof, without fire;
My chieftain dead, myself alive.
Cynddylan’s Hall, which pierces me all the time
After the great conversations
Which I saw at your hearth.
This final selection is not able to be tied to any other surviving englynion by a narrative in the same way that the poems in the Old Llywarch or Eledd cycles form a (more or less) coherent story. It seems that a warrior is debating going into battle in winter (winter warfare was unusual in days of yore) perhaps with himself.
Llym awel, llwm bryn, anodd caffael clyd,
Llygrid rhyd, rhewid llyn,
Rhy saif gw^r ar un conyn.
Ton tra thon toid tu tir;
Goruchel gwaeddau rhag bron bannau bre;
Braidd allan orsefir.
Oer lle llwch rag brythwch gaeaf;
Crin cawn, caladf trwch,
Cedig awel, coed ym mlwch.
Oer gwely pysgawd yng nghysgawd iaen;
Cul hydd, cawn barfward;
Byr diwedydd, gwy^dd gwyrawd.
Otid ery, gwyn y cnes;
Nid a^ cedwyr i’w neges;
Oer llynnau, eu lliw heb des.
Otid eiry, gwyn arien;
Segur ysgwyd ar ysgwydd hen;
Rhyfawr gwynt, rhewid dien.
Otid eiry ar warthaf rhew;
Gosgubid gwynt flaen gwy^dd tew;
Cadr ysgwyd ar ysgwydd glew.
Otid eiry, toid ystrad;
Dyfrysynt cedwyr i gad;
Mi nid af, anaf ni’m gad.
Otid eiry o du rhiw;
Carcharor gorwydd, cul biw;
Nid annwyd hafddydd heddiw
Otid eiry, gwyn goror mynydd;
Llwm gwy^dd llong ar fo^r;
Mecid llwyfr llawer cyngor.
Sharp wind, barren hill, hard to find shelter,
Ford corrupt, lake frozen,
A man might stand on a reed.
Wave on wave covers the edge of the land;
Lofty roars before hill-tops
One can scarcely loiter.
Cold the marshen place before a winter storm;
Brittle reeds, thick stalks,
Wrathful wind, trees beardless.
Cold the bed of fish in ice-sheet naps;
Lean stag, bearded reed;
Short days, bent trees.
Snow falls, white the surface;
Not for warriors to their business;
Cold lakes, their color without sunshine.
Snow falls, white rime;
Idle shields on old shoulders;
Enormous wind, frozen grass.
Snows falls on icy summits;
Wind makes bare the tops of fat trees;
Handsome shields on valiant shoulders.
Snow falls, covers the valley;
Warriors rush to battle;
I do not go, a wound does not let me.
Snow falls on slopes;
The horse is a prisoner, the cattle are lean;
There is not the nature of a summer’s day today.
Snow falls, white the mountain slopes;
Bare trees ships at sea;
A coward devises many excuses.
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Notes:
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This stanza is rather hard to translate without explaining what’s not in the Welsh – because he is an old man, Llywarch does not sleep in the place of honor in the hall (i.e. close to the fire), rather he sleeps far away from the warmth of the fire and is “three-pleated” because he is curled up into the fetal position to stay warm. ↩