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FÉILE FILÍOCHTA POEM OF EUROPE 2004Cartref
Yn y prynhawn, aiff allan
i begio’r dillad ar y lein
dan lygadu’r cymylau ar y gorwel.
Yn y ty, gweinydda
ddefod o binio a chlymu,
didoli arian, labelu tuniau, unioni’r stolion,
taenu ac ail-daenu’r bwrdd,
nes bod hyd yn oed y cyllyll
yn dal eu hanadl.
Ar ôl swper, ar ôl y golchi
a’r sychu a’r cymhennu, ac yntau,
erbyn hyn, ar y sifft nos,
oeda ychydig yn y distawrwydd
gan feddwl, tybed
a anghofiodd rywbeth.
Cwyd hosan a’i dal
yn erbyn y golau
gan feddwl, efallai, bod twll ynddi
a gweld dim.
Chwilia’r walydd, yn y drych,
dan y gwely – yn sicr bod twll
yno, rywle,
a’i bod hi’n clywed, trwyddo, y nos yn rhochian.
Home. (Translated into English by Tony Bianchi)
In the afternoon she goes out
to peg the clothes on the line,
casting an eye on the clouds on the horizon.
In the house, she administers
the ritual of pinning and tying,
sorting money, labelling tins, aligning the stools,
laying and re-laying the table,
until even the knives
hold their breath.
After supper, after the washing
and drying and tidying, and he,
by now, on the night shift,
she tarries a while in the silence
wondering if
she forgot something.
She picks up a sock and holds it
against the light,
thinking that perhaps there's a hole in it
and sees none.
She searches the walls, in the mirror,
under the bed - sure there's a hole
there, somewhere,
and that she can hear, through it, the night grunting.
Tony Bianchi (Ist prize Poem of Europe 2004, 1st Prize, Adult, Welsh Category)
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