IESTYN TYNE

Three Poems

Self-translated from the Welsh (Cymraeg)

cyn

aileni’r lôn dan olwynion, cyn i’r haul
adael olion ei ddychwelyd, cyn chwalu’r
ysbrydion o’r landin, cyn rhedeg dŵr,
cyn llosgi’r croen â mân ddefodau’r dydd;
cyn dwyn diniweitrwydd y gwlith, cyn datod
petalau, cyn saernïo paned, cyn poeni,
cyn tywallt poteli, cyn gweddi, cyn gwaedd
a chyn deall meidroldeb pob golau newydd,
dyma ti. Dyma ti, mor noeth â dydd dy eni,
yn lledu dy lygaid trwy’r porffor dwfn,
yn agor dy ddwylo hyd gilfachau’r tŷ,
yn tyfu’n anferth yn y llonydd anorffenedig,
yn bwrw gwreiddiau i’r distiau astud

yn dechrau anghofio’r wyrth o ddeffro, yn barod.

before

the road is reborn under tyres, before the sun
leaves the marks of its returning, before ghosts
disperse from the landing, before taps are turned,
before the skin burns with the day’s small devotions,
before the morning’s dewy innocence is stolen, before
petals are undone, before coffee, before worry,
before bottles smash in bins, before prayers, before screams,
and before understanding the finiteness of all new light,
here you are. Here you are, bare as the day you were born,
stretching your eyes through the deep purple,
opening out your hands into the recesses of this house,
growing huge in this unfinished silence,
casting roots into the dropping eaves

beginning to forget the miracle of awakening, already.

stafelloedd amhenodol

Yr hyn sy’n aros o hyd yw’r aros, y bobl na chofiaf
eu hwynebau – dim ond eu tymer a’u hystum;
eu haflonyddu a’u llonyddu drachefn, eu siffrwd
a’u mân siarad, eu beiros gwag a’u hembaras.

Pobl fel chdi a fi, yn hanner-byw mewn gofodau
diduedd o olau, a’r dyddiau’n eu gwelwi;
pobl sy’n disgwyl am i rywun alw’u henwau
heb wylio’r waliau rhag eu gweld yn dynesu

heb wylio’r waliau rhag ofn nad ydynt yno,
rhag i’r muriau cadarn droi’n llenni o’n cwmpas,
rhag i’r gwynt ddod ar garlam i rwygo’r ffabrig
a’n gadael yn noeth mewn anadliad lle bu stafell

lle bu syniad am neuadd o gorneli perffaith
i gael trefn ar ein sypiau esgyrn ac eistedd i aros.

rooms: unspecified

What always remains for me is the waiting itself, the people
whose faces I never remember – only their temper and poise,
their fidgeting and settling, their shufflings
and mutterings, their empty biros and embarrassment.

People like you and I, half-living their lives in impartially
lighted spaces, getting paler with each day,
people waiting for someone to call their names
not watching the walls lest they should come closer

not watching the walls lest they should not be there,
lest the stones should become curtains around us,
lest the wind should gallop through, ripping the fabric
leaving us naked in a breath that was once a room

where once was an idea for a hall of perfect corners
to arrange our bundles of bones and sit to wait.

(ar ol Darvish Khan Esfandiyarpour)

Mae gennym oll ein defodau, a thrwy bicselau
chwyddiedig fy sgrin mae bugail mud a byddar
wrth ei ddefodau yntau; yn dawnsio mewn gardd
lle nad oes dim yn tyfu, dim yn tyfu ond
cerrig a llwch. Mae’n symud trwy’i goedlan
o fonion noeth, cledrau’i ddwylo a sodlau’i draed 
yn sibrwd eu hiaith.

Dyma ardd sydd, fel pob gardd, yn gofyn ei dyfrio, 
ac rwyt tithau’n ardd. Mae gen tithau’r harddwch o’th fewn
sy’n achosi i bethau egino a blaguro o blygiadau
diffeithwch.

Yn hwyrach ymlaen, wedi i mi fod allan yn fy ngardd fy hun
yn tynnu chwyn o’r gwely mefus, yn cymryd petalau
marw fesul plwc rhwng bys a bawd, rydw i’n darllen
am yr ardd dywodlyd, am wrthsafiad carregog y defodau
a’i plannodd hi’n deml o esgyrn.

Beth yw gwrthsafiad ond dod allan eto wedi’r hirlwm;
ailddeor trwy haenau o bridd, o bryder
ac wynebu’r byd?

(after Darvish Khan Esfandiyarpour)

We all have our rituals, and through my screen’s
swollen pixels a deaf and mute shepherd
is at his rituals, too; dancing in a garden
where nothing grows, where nothing grows but
stone and dust. He moves through his grove
of bare trunks, the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet
whispering their language.

This is a garden that asks, as all gardens, to be watered; 
and you too are a garden. You too contain the beauty
that causes things to germinate and flourish from the folds
of a desert.

Later on, having been outside in my own garden
pulling weeds from the strawberry bed, plucking
dead petals between thumb and forefinger, I read
of this sandy garden, of the stony resistance in the rituals
by which it was planted, this temple of bones.

What is resistance if not emerging once more from bleakness;
re-hatching through layers of soil, of fear
and facing the world?

Note: This poem was commissioned by Striking Attitudes, a professional dance theatre company making work that celebrates older dancers. Their project, Undercover, explored the impacts of the pandemic and climate change on older citizens.

Magwyd Iestyn Tyne (fo/ei) yn Llŷn ond mae bellach yn byw yn Waunfawr gyda’i deulu ac yn gweithio yn ardal Caernarfon. Mae’n llenor, yn gerddor, yn gyfieithydd ac yn artist. Mae’n gyd-sylfaenydd a chyd-olygydd Cyhoeddiadau’r Stamp, tŷ cyhoeddi Cymraeg annibynnol, gwirfoddol a chydweithredol. Mae wedi pefformio ei waith ledled Cymru a thu hwnt, gan gynnwys rhannu gwaith yn Ne America, Asia, Ewrop ac Affrica. Enillodd Goron Eisteddfod yr Urdd yn 2016 a’i Chadair yn 2019, ac ef oedd y cyntaf, ac un o ddau yn unig, i ennill y ddwy brif wobr lenyddol yn eisteddfodau’r Urdd. Rhwng 2019 a 2023, ef oedd Bardd Preswyl cyntaf yr Eisteddfod Genedlaethol. Gyda Leo Drayton, roedd yn awdur Robyn (Y Lolfa, 2021) yng nghyfres Y Pump o nofelau i oedolion ifanc (ar gael mewn cyfieithiad trwy wasg Firefly yn 2025, ac enillydd gwobrau Llyfr y Flwyddyn a Tir Na N-Og), ac mae’n gyd-olygydd Welsh [Plural] (Repeater, 2022), y gyfrol o ysgrifau am ddyfodol Cymru. Cyrhaeddodd ei gasgliad diweddaraf o farddoniaeth, Stafelloedd Amhenodol (Cyhoeddiadau’r Stamp, 2021) restr fer gwobrau Llyfr y Flwyddyn yn 2022, a chyhoeddwyd trosiad o’r casgliad hwnnw, Unspecified Spaces (Broken Sleep Books, 2023) yn ddiweddar. Mae’i waith wedi’i gyfieithu i nifer o ieithoedd pellach gan gynnwys Gwyddeleg, Almaeneg, Hwngareg, Malayalam, Groeg, Twrceg ac eraill. Ei bamffled diweddaraf o gerddi yw Dysgu Nofio (Cyhoeddiadau’r Stamp, 2023) a ddewiswyd gan Gyfnewidfa Len Cymru ar gyfer y Silff Gyfieithu yn Hydref 2023, ac mae'n un o Gymrodorion Cymru'r Dyfodol 2023-25. Yn 2024, fe’i penodwyd yn Fardd y Dre cyntaf Caernarfon.

Iestyn Tyne (he/his) was raised in Llŷn but now lives in Waunfawr with his family and works from the Caernarfon area. He is a writer, a musician, a translator, artist and editor. He co-founded and co-edits Cyhoeddiadau’r Stamp, an independent and co-operative Welsh language publishing house. He’s performed his work extensively across Wales and beyond, including performances in South America, Asia, Europe and Africa. He won the Eisteddfod yr Urdd Crown in 2016 and the Chair in 2019, becoming the first and one of the only two to have won the two main literary prizes at the event. Between 2019 and 2023 he was the National Eisteddfod’s first poet in residence. With Leo Drayton, he is co-author of Robyn (Y Lolfa, 2021) in the Y Pump series (forthcoming in English via Firefly Press in 2025, and winner of Wales Book of the Year and Tir Na n-Og awards), and is co-editor of Welsh [Plural] (Repeater, 2022), a collection of essays on the future of Wales. His most recent full collection of poetry, Stafelloedd Amhenodol (Cyhoeddiadau’r Stamp, 2021), was shortlisted for Wales Book of the Year in 2022, and was more recently published in English translation as Unspecified Spaces (Broken Sleep Books, 2023). His work has been translated into numerous other languages including Irish, German, Hungarian, Malayalam, Greek, Turkish and others. His most recent pamphlet of poems is Dysgu Nofio (Cyhoeddiadau’r Stamp, 2023), which was chosen for Wales Literature Exchange’s translation selections for Autumn 2023, and he is a Future Wales Fellow for 2023-25. In 2024, he was appointed Caernarfon’s first Town Poet.