MiSkriBa 2024 - 22 / 04 - Kas Veur an Melyseth ha Gorhes an Lugarn.

 

Hedhyw yth esa hwans dhymm a skrifa bardhonek awenys gen bardhonieth flows Edward Lear ha prompt #MiSkriBa an jydh a brovias an chons perfydh ragov vy dhe wul hemma: skrifa bardhonek hag ynno diw dra dhiwirhaval a wra batalyas. Unweyth arta nyns yw da an traylyans Sowsnek - drog y genev.

Today I wanted to write a poem inspired by the poetry of Edward Lear and the #NaPoWriMo prompt provided the perfect opportunity to do this: write a poem in which two unlikely things have a fight. The translation is, once again, lacking - sorry.

Kas Veur an Melyseth ha Gorhes an Lugarn. "A Woskes teg, a wodhes," yn-medh an Melyseth yn fel, "ass yw ponnek dha wias a wra dha wolow gwann gell." "Ethen hweg, ny gonvedhydh plit ow far vy ha'm eghen, pub prys dha fler y skitydh, an doust a godh yn-kerghyn." "Drog yw genev, a vebel, ny vynnis dha ania po bos ragos jy tebel hepken my owth eksistya." An Goskes a lughesas yn sorr an keskows tomm, "my yw gwell vyth agesos, a afinydh peub? A ny wonn?" Y pasas an botellik, ow trewa sorrvan sordus, "mes nyns os saw faglennik rag redya an romansys!" "Flows pur yw dha eryow," o gorthyp doutus Lugarn, "y'm devnydhir hys nosow dhe witha'n hulla rag garm!" "Wel, ny vern dha dollans y tennav kara war-barth, po golow po duheans yma peub war ow farth." “Ha pandr’a hwer dhis, Woskes, pan verow dha vollen goth? Dhe’n argh y fydhydh towlys,” a hwarthas an Melyseth. “Kepar ha ty, Eylgylghyans, pan vydh gwag dha biben ynn,” yn-medh an Goskes diblans, “genev vyvy yn an bin!” “Fatel yll’ta lawl an ti agan bos ni an keth? Y firydh jy gans envi ha my ow sevel yn seth.” Hag an kopel a dhuryas owth argya'n ti-lett rag bri, gans an bys th'ens ankevys alhwedhys y'n amari.

The Great Battle of the Perfume and the Lampshade. “Dearest Shade, did you know,” said the cunning Perfume, “How dusty is your fabric that makes your light a weak brown.” “Sweet Scent, you don’t get it, the plight of my kind, every time you spray your stench, the dust falls all around.” “My bad, dear furniture, I didn’t mean to upset or be the bad guy to you simply as I exist.” The Shade flashed angrily at the heated chat, “I’m much better than you, Do you illuminate all? I don’t know?” The small bottle coughed, spitting lusty indignation, “but you’re only a pocket torch for reading cheap novels!” “Your words are pure nonsense,” was Lamp’s doubtful reply, “I’m used every night to keep the nightmares quiet!” “Well, I don’t care for you delusion  I pull love together, in light or in darkness everyone is on my side.” “And what will happen to you, Shade, when your old bulb is dead? You’ll be thrown in the bin,” laughed the Odour.  “Just like you, dear Recycling when your small corpse is empty,” said the esteemed Shade, “with me in that bin!” “How can you swear that we are the same? You will look up with envy as I stand tall.” And the pair continued arguing nonstop for fame, by the world they were forgotten locked in the cupboard.