English below.
Termyn hir heb post formel!
Ny allav vy perthi kov a'n diwettha tro may skrifis vy post blog rag ow gwiasva ma. My re dhyllas nebes bardhonegow ha treylyansow dres an misyow (ha martesen bledhynnyow!) diwettha, mes post a'n par ma? Piw a wor!
Hedhyw y feu dyllys gans Governans Kembra bos an alhwedhans omma ow pos ystynnys gans teyr seythen aral, avel gorthyp dhe pandemik durus Kovid-19. Ha kepar ha peub erel y'n wlas (hag y'n bys), skwith ov a'n gortos a-ji oll ma. Ny wrug vy gasa'n chi a-dhia mis Kevardhu yn hwir, ma's godrigans orth shoppa unweyth pub seythen po'm omober a esir gans an governans, hag yma ow fenn kloudyes gans skrinyow ha nowodhow drog.
Ytho, my re dhewisas skrifa a-dro dhe dreylyans a wrug vy delergh yn mis Ebrel warlena, yn kres an kensa alhwedhans kenedhlek, ha kowsel a-dro dhe braga y'n wrug, h.e. Yth esov owth assaya neppyth nowyth omma, yn unn gomprehendya kevrennow dhe folennow war Wikipedya - y fydh an kevrennow ma yn Sowsnek awos nag eksist an folennow yn Kernowek hwath.
An bardhonek ma yw Raglavar - A Viaj an Harz (Almaynek: Vorwort - die Harzreise) gans Heinrich Heine.
Die Harzreise (Viaj an Harz) yw lyver viajya a skrifas gans Heinrich Heine wosa ev dhe gerdhes dre venydhyow an Harz yn 1824. An lyver yw kovadh y gerdh a Göttingen, le may esa studhyer, a-dreus dhe'n Brocken, mena ughella'n gadon, dhe Ilsenberg. Yth yw gwrys a gemyskans a vardhonegow ha skrifow divers a gelm an draow a welas ha'y omglowansow orth rosya'n tir nans yw 197 bledhen. Ny allav onderstondya'n kedhlow a-dro dhe'n dyllans derowel yn 100% ewn, mes y hevel an skrifow dhe vos dyllys avel kevres yn 1826 yn jornal Der Gesellschafter yn 14 rann ha dhana yn Reisebilder. Heine a dheskrifas an ober avel darn hag y hwrug chanjyow dhodho dres y oos, owth addya nebes rannow ha chanjya erel.
Ow viaj personel gans an lyver ma a dhallathas nans yw deg bledhen (moy po le) ha my y'n bennskol yn Bangor ow studhya Almaynek. My a borth kov a redya'n bardhonek a'n raglavar yn unn assaya konvedhes hag omlowenhe'n geryow, kyn nag o perfydh agan Almaynek dhe'n pols na. Yn certan yma ow hopi gans an erva nowyth yn neb tyller yn chi ow dewgerens hwath.
An marth bras, martesen, yw na wortas an bardhonek genev a'n dalleth dhe wir, ny yllis perthi kov a hanow an skrifer hogen! An unsel geryow a wortas y'm penn o geryow ygeri'n tressa gwers: "Auf die Bergen will ich steigen" - Yn lytherennek: "War an menydhyow y fynnav krambla," mes yn ow threylyans, rag gwitha'n rythm ha'n rim: "War an gadon 'fynnav krambla." My a leveris an geryow ma dhe'm honan tro wosa tro, yn hwir hemm a wrug gans linen finek bardhonek aral gans Heine, An Lorelei, y'n keth fordh.
My a dreylyas bardhonek an raglavar y'n kensa alhwedhans, ha my furloughyes hag owth omlowenhe redya y'n lowarth yn howlsplann brav an gwenton. My a brenas kopi kales a'n lyver ha skapya dhe dermyn kyns, ha hemm yw testen geryow Heine. Yn arbennek an geryow a'n raglavar a dreylyas y'm penn vy. I a wrug vy dhe dybi a-dro dhe gerdhes yn tylleryow ow holon war Woon Brenn ha Bre Garn. An gwersyow a gowsis gans ow enev. Y'n keth fordh ha Heine, my a vynnas bos war an mena, ow kweles an bys owth ystyn a-hys ha droppya a'm treys. An omglowans a rydhsys pur ha'n gwyns ow tonsya y'm blew hag erbynn ow hneus.
Ha hemm, ytho, yw prag yth esov ow tybi a-dro dhe'n geryow ma unweyth arta hag owth esedha y'm chi rag an degves seythen (?? ny wonn vy yn poran namoy). My a wel an gewer der ow fenester, niwllaw skav mis Hwevrer, ha hwansa bos yn ughel war dopp hag anella'n awel. Nyns ov certan le may fynnis mos gans an post ma. Skrifa ow thybyansow ha'ga gorra yn plen war skrin dh'aga gweles? Parhap?
My a wra gorfenna martesen gans klypp a'n bardhonek yn y Almaynek derowel. Gwell yw henna es goslowes orth ow lev vy hag ow fugya'n geryow yn Kernowek, po treylyans distyr yn Sowsnek. Kyn nag yw'n gwella lennans, enjoyewgh son hweg an Almaynek. Omgellewgh.
(Y tal an gwydyow dalleth dhe 0:08)
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A long time without a formal post!
I can't remember the last time I wrote a blog post for this site. I've published some poems and translations over the past months (and maybe years!), but a post like this? Who knows!
Today the Welsh Government published that the lockdown here will be extended another three weeks in response to the continuing Covid-19 pandemic. And like everyone else in the country (and the world), I'm fed up of all this staying in. I've not really left the house since December, apart from visits to the shops once a week or my government sanctioned exercise, and my head is clouded with screens and bad news.
So, I've decided to write about a translation I did back in April last year, during the first national lockdown, and talk a little about it. I'm also trying something new here, including links to Wikipedia pages - linsk are in English as no Cornish pages exist for the time being.
The poem in question is Raglavar - A Viaj an Harz (German: Vorwort - die Harzreise; English: Foreword - The Harz Journey) by Heinrich Heine.
Die Harzreise (Viaj an Harz) is a travel book written by Heinrich Heine after walking through the Harz mountains in 1824. The book records his hike from Göttingen, where he was studying, over the Brocken, the region's highest peak, to Ilsenberg. It's made up of a mix of various poems and writings that describe the things he saw and his feelings as he adventured the land 197 years ago. I've found the information regarding the initial publication of these works a little hard to understand, but it seems that the pieces were first published in a serial of 14 parts in 1826 in Der Gesellschafter and then in Reisebilder. Heine described the work as a fragment as he changed it often throughout his life, adding some parts and changing others.
My personal journey with this book started around ten years ago when I was studying German in Bangor university. I remember reading the foreword poem, trying to understand and enjoy the words, although my German wasn't the best back then. I'm sure I still have an annotated copy at my parents' house somewhere.
The big surprise, maybe, is that the poem didn't stay with me from the outset, I couldn't even remember the author's name! The only words that stuck in my head were those from the start of the third stanza: "Auf die Bergen will ich steigen" - Literally: "On the mountains I want to climb," in my Cornish translation: "War an gadon 'fynnav krambla." I repeated these words time after time, I've done this with words from another Heine poem I've translated, An Lorelei.
I translated the foreword poem during the first lockdown, whilst furloughed and enjoying reading in the garden under the spring sunshine. I bought a hard copy of the book and escaped to an earlier time, this, in a way, being the theme of Heine's words. The foreword especially turned in my head. They made me think of walking in my favourite places on Bodmin Moor and Caradon Hill. The stanzas talked with my soul. In the same way as Heine, I wanted to be on the mountain, looking at the world extending ahead and dropping from my feet. The feeling of true freedom as the wind dances in my hair and against my skin.
And this, really, is why I was thinking about this poem again whilst sitting in my house for the tenth week (?? I don't even know anymore). I can see the weather through the window, a light Gebruary mizzle, and want to be high on a summit, breathing the gusts. I'm not sure exactly where I wanted to go with this post. Writing down my thoughts and putting them plainly on the screen to see them? Perhaps?
I'll finish with a clip of them poem in its original German. Better that than listening to my voice faking the words in Cornish, or a meaningless English translation. Although it isn't the best reading, enjoy the sound of the German. Lose yourself.
(The video should start at 0:08)
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