MiSkriBa 25 - 12/04 - An Beder Rann a Devi

Chalenj #MiSkriBa an jydh yw skrifa bardhonek a wra kampollans a unn myth, hwedhel, stori po moy, hag a yssns gwari geryow (a gomprehend rim), a gemysk yeth formel hag anformel, hag usi rennys yn lies darn a wari gen thema. Yma chalenj aral a usya dhe’n lyha unn tybyans tybel - rag ensampel, hwans po tristys po gooth po sians.

An hwedhel a dhewisis o drolla Jan Tregeagle, onan a'n gwella hwedhlow Kernowek genev. Yn hwir, nyns yw homma an kensa tro my dhe skrifa bardhonek a Jan; my a'n gwrug warlena rag MiSkriBa ynwedh!

The #NaPoWriMo challenge of the day is to try writing a poem that makes reference to one or more myths, legends, or other well-known stories, that features wordplay (including rhyme), mixes formal and informal language, and contains multiple sections that play with a theme. An extra challenge is to also incorporate at least one abstract concept – for example, desire or sorrow or pride or whimsy.

The legend I chose was the story of Jan Tregeagle, one of my favourite Cornish stories. Truth be told, this isn't the first time I've written a poem about Jan; I wrote one last year for MiSkriBa as well!

An Beder Rann a Devi 1. Gwakhe "Harow," yn-medh, "rag re dhown yw an poll, Ha dh'y wakhe nyns eus genev saw krogen gen toll." Mes ny yllir tenna a'n brys an tybyansow koll, Rag gwelihes yns avel mollothow yn rol. 2. Staga "Gas vy yn kres," y harm, "a darosvannow dall, Agas keun yw gwynn du ha'gas helgh hir yw kall." Prag y hwovynnir orthyn, ha genen yma mall A'n gweles y'n yfarn gans eseli an vall. 3. Karya "Oi, euthviles owgh, y'm skians 'ma skward kweth, Hwi a vynn vy dhe fyllel ha kemeres ow meth." Y klowyn krodhvolas a'n logh down ha freth, Res y lettya yn straft ha'y witha yn keth. 4. Skubya "Skwith oma, wort'wedh, ha bothellow daswrys, An keth hag an kethsam tewesen vovys." Agan tre yw an tyller may met preder payn klys, Y syns oll bys vykken yn prison henys.

The Four Parts of Growing Emptying “Help,” he says, the pool is too deep, And I only have a shell with a hole to empty it.” But memories of loss cannot be pulled from the mind, As they’re embedded like curses in a list. Sticking “Leave me in peace,” he yells, “blind ghosts, Your dogs are dark white and your long hunt is sly.” Why are we asked, when we are looking forward To seeing him in hell with the members of the plague. Carrying “Oy, you beasts, in my knowledge there’s a fabric tear, You wish me to fail and be ashamed of myself.” We hear a complaint from the deep and eager inlet, It must be stopped forthwith and kept in chains. Sweeping “I’m tired, at last, with blisters undone, The same and identical grain of sand was moved.” Our home is where worry communes with cozy pain, It holds all forever in the prison of age.