Y traethawd buddugol yn nghystadleuaeth Gadair Cymdeithas Madog, Cwrs Cymraeg 2011: Cwrs Cymraeg Dyffryn Shenandoah gan Mochyn Daear (Robert Davis)
Gwreiddyn A Chraig
"Myfi yw'r winwydden," a
"Chwithau yw'r canghennau" oedd
y geiriau oddi wrth Grist.
Ond gyda'r winwydden 'na,
ddim gair o wreiddyn nid oedd.
Ydy gwinwydden yn drist
heb wreiddyn yn angorfa?
Cymharodd Crist ei deyrnas
â had mwstard, sy'n prifio
nes i'r adar bach gyrraedd
a nythu yn ei gadlas.
Ni allaf mo'i ddisgrifio--
Allai coeden heb 'r un gwreiddyn
fyw a ffynnu yn wyrddlas?
Mi welais goeden fel tŵr,
llwyd ei rhisgl a gwyrdd ei dail,
a brifiodd ar ben clogwyn.
Erydwyd y pridd gan ddŵr,
a chraig oedd ei hunig sail.
Mi welais ei gwreiddiau gwyn
fel bysedd esgyrnog gŵr.
Ymysg crwca ganghennau,
dan gysgod y dail gwanllyd,
mi drigodd yr adar llon
sy'n canu i'r cymylau
yn eu lleisiau tlws ynghyd,
hiraethus eu halawon.
Gwrandawais ar eu chwedlau.
Mi glywais chwedl oesol
o hudoles a'i chariad
at hen swynwr o Gymru.
Trawsffurfiwyd ef yn dreisiol
i goeden ddigymeriad,
am ofnodd hi ei golli.
Ar wreidd'n cysgodd hi'n nosol.
O! Mi wnaeth hi resynu
na allon nhw gyd-orwedd,
a gwingodd hi fel mwydyn.
Roedd dagrau yn defnynnu
i lawr y rhisgl, rhwng bysedd
lle llochodd hi ei choeden,
am byth oddi ar hynny.
Mi gafodd hi ei chladdu
o dan goeden ei chariad
ymhlith y gwreiddiau dyrys,
yn ôl ei dymuniad cu.
"Hawdd cymod lle bo cariad"--
Er gwaetha' bod yn amwys,
dyma ei beddargraff hi.
Ar ymyl serth, parhaodd
ei choeden am flynedd maith.
Mi ddaeth stormydd, broch fel draig,
a therrwyn wynt, a chrynodd
y goeden tal yn waethwaeth.
Ond, serch hynny, wrth y graig,
y gwreiddiau a ymlynodd.
Pa beth mwy cryf na'r gwreiddyn hwn
mor gryf â gwreiddiau o faen,
fel gwreiddiau y mynyddoedd?
Pa beth mwy diball na'r crwn
graig, sy'n dioddef heb straen
yng nghraff y gwreidd'n am hydoedd,
sad yn wastad, byth yn dwn?
Mae'r ystyr yn anhydraeth--
Beth alwn gyfryw 'mrwymiad--
gyda'i gilydd, craig a gwreiddyn?
Beth yw'r enw i'w weddu?
Mi alwn gyfryw gariad
gan yr enw hwn: Hiraeth.
Robert Davis
Root and Rock
“I am the vine,” and
“You are the branches” were
the words from Christ.
But with that vine,
there was no word of a root.
Is it sorrow to a vine,
lacking a root to anchor it?
Christ compared his kingdom
to a mustard seed, which grows
until the little birds arrive
and nest within it.
I can’t describe it--
Could a tree without a single root
live and thrive verdantly?
I saw a tree like a tower,
with gray bark and green leaves,
growing at the top of a cliff.
The earth had been eroded by water,
and a rock was its only foundation.
I saw its white roots
Like a man’s bony fingers.
Amidst crooked branches,
under the shade of the delicate leaves,
dwelt the merry birds
who sing to the clouds
together in their pretty voices,
their melodies full of longing.
I listened to their tales.
I heard an ancient tale
of an enchantress and her love
for an old magician of Wales.
He was transformed violently
into an unremarkable tree,
for she feared to lose him.
She slept nightly on a root.
O! how she did regret
that they could not lie together,
and she winced like a worm.
Tears were dribbling
down the bark, between fingers
where she caressed her tree,
and ever after.
She was buried
under the tree of her love
amongst the gnarled roots,
according to her dear desire.
“Reconciliation is easy where there is love”--
Despite being so ambiguous,
This is her epitaph.
On a steep edge,
her tree endured for long years.
Storms came, angry like a dragon,
and a fierce wind, and
the tall tree shook worse than ever.
But, even so,
the roots clung to the rock.
What is stronger than this root,
as strong as roots of stone,
like the roots of the mountains?
What is more unfailing than the round
rock, which suffers without strain
for ages in the grasp of the root,
always solid, never broken?
The meaning is difficult to express—
The foolishness of coveting?
What do we call such commitment—
together, rock and root?
What is the name to suit it?
We call such love
By this name: Hiraeth.
Rob Davis
Cyfieithiad gan / Translation by Rob Davis