Garnglottas, Pencaer (2)

Carn Glottas - yn edrych dros penrhyn Strwmbwl / overlooking Strumble peninsula

Mwy o bennillion gan y roces o Garnglottas, Pencaer, – Letys  Heti.
More verses by the lady poet of Garnglottas, Pencaer (near Strumble Head) – Letys Heti.

(cawl = broth)
[Gwreiddiol / original verses              Trosiad diweddar / recent loose translation]

Cawl llaeth a gawd i frecwast
Mae hyn yn eithaf gwir
Cael twymo gawd i ginio
A hwnnw’n mynd yn sur.Cawl maidd a gawd i swper
A hwnnw’n las ei liw
Gwenwynai hwn bob cylla
Oni bai am fendith Duw.

Du yw’r bara prin yw’r menyn
Yn y caws  y mae ceian
Dyna’n brecwast bore Sabath
Cyn y cano cloch y llan.

Peidiwch achwyn daw’n well eto
Fe gwyd yr haul yn uwch i’r lan
Pan fydd pawb sydd ar y ffermydd
Yn cael te a bara can.

Ni chawn lawer gyda ‘Meistres’
Fel gwyr pawb, gyda hi mae’r hawl
Ychydig bach o ochor mochyn
Y mae’n rhoddi yn y cawl.

Peidiwch achwyn, daw’n well eto,
Ni fydd o bwys gan bwy bo’r hawl.
Fe gawn ychydig o gig eidon
Gyda’r mochyn yn y cawl.

Du yw’r bara, twym yw’r cosyn
Prin yw’r menyn yma’n awr
Rhaid i bawb fod ar lewygu
Cyn gall neb rhoi rhain i lawr

Peidiwch achwyn, daw’n well eto
Pan y down  ni’n ôl o’r cwrdd
Fe fydd bara can a menyn
Gyda chace ar y bwrdd.

Milk cawl we have for breakfast
It’s true, at early hour,
Reheated cawl for dinner
That’s almost turning sour.Whey cawl we have for supper
So thin it’s almost blue
Each stomach it would poison
Were God’s blessing not on you.

The bread is black & short of butter
And bitter is the cheese
That’s breakfast, Sunday morning
When the church bell shatters our ease.

Don’t complain, we will rally
And the sun will lift it’s head,
When all workers, not just the farmer
Will have tea and whiter bread.

‘Mistress’ isn’t known for kindness
As you know, she holds the knife.
She decides how little bacon’s
In the cawl, – it’s a tough life.

Don’t complain,  there’ll come a day
When no matter about her
We’ll have beef as well as bacon
In the cawl which we’ll all stir.

Black the bread, sour the cheesewheel,
And the butter’s awful small,
We must all be almost fainting
Just to swallow these at all.

Don’t complain, we will rally,
When from chapel we’ll return
A feast awaits of bread and butter,
Cakes and all, is what we’ll earn.

 

Am gerdd arall gan Letys Heti, gwasgwch yma –
For another poem by Letys Heti, press here –              Garnglottas (3)

 

 

 

No Comments

Start the ball rolling by posting a comment on this page!

Add a comment about this page

Your email address will not be published.