The Poetry of Wales

An Introduction to Welsh Poetry. By Gwyn Williams. (Faber. 25s.)

WELSH poetry has a history which goes back to the sixth century, and it remains a part of Welsh life today. During the whole period of Welsh independence the poet occupied a definite and respected place in society. The difficult art is still practised in all classes and areas of Wales. According to Professor Gwyn Williams, "a village as little as Ffair Rhos in Cardiganshire today boasts of several poets, and a man whose farming is criticised by the agri- cultural authorities replies in scathing verse which is repeated in bus and tavern." Professor Williams is, I am afraid, quite right when he goes on to point the contrast by saying: "The ordinary Englishman is shy of poetry and unaware of the qualities that go to the making of a poet."

I must admit to having been almost unaware of the qualities of Welsh poetry before reading Professor Williams' fine and stimulating study of the subject. But Professor Williams has explained its difficulties and revealed its beauties so well that even those who are ignorant of the language will be fascinated by his book. Heis justifiably proud of the achievements of his country, and I confess that he has roused not only my admiration but also my own nation- alistic feelings. All Englishmen who are interested in poetry should read this book; and. I hope and believe that such Englishmen are more numerous than Professor Williams appears to think.

The book is in the form of a historical account of the development of Welsh poetry from the earliest times to the sixteenth century, and is lavishly illustrated by quotations in Welsh. These are translated into a clear and limpid English, which invariably shows that the originals are worth translating and often skilfully preserves some of the intricacies of their pattern. The intricacies are, indeed, very great and the rules for versification more elaborate than anything we have in English. In an extremely interesting appendix, Professor Williams explains these rules and the twenty-four classical metres as laid down in the fourteenth century; also the complicated system or "harmony" of alliteration, rhyme and assonance known as "cynghanned," which has certainly influenced some of our own poets, notably Gerard Manley Hopkins and, one imagines, Dylan Thomas.

Professor Williams has admirably succeeded in finally disposing of what he describes as: " a misconception for which the Romans were griginally respon- sible, but which was fostered by Gray and Miepherson in the eighteenth century, by Matthew Arnold in the nineteenth, and condoned by Lady Gregory and Yeats in their protest against materialism, the view that Celtic poetry consists of the frenzied and extempore out-pourings of long-haired bards against a background of twilight tremulous with inchoate beings of another world. '

He points out that "the discipline of Welsh poetry is the strictest in the known world of literature," and that for those who are observ- ing these strict and complicated rules "it is beyond human ability to rave in an ecstasy."

Instead of this ecstasy he finds that the characteristics of Welsh poetry are "clarity of image, closeness to the physical world and a high degree of skill in the craft of word-using." Indeed he makes it clear that such a sentiment as "Hear the voice of the bard" is more characteristic of the English than the Welsh. English literature also remains bound to its origins in the cultures of Greece and Rome. Welsh poetry is more like Celtic art which, as Professor Williams says, "entwines its themes into a pattern which has hardly any beginning or end and which avoids any central point of interest such as is required to make a composition based on the artistic traditions of the Mediterranean."

The dangers of this method • are in over-elaboration, though even the over-elaboration is often fascinating. Here, for example, is a fourteenth-century "nonsense" verse, no doubt written as a demonstration of a type of the "englyn" stanza and for its phonetic value, something of which, I think, can be perceived even by those who know no Welsh.

" Ysgidie a bratie a brain—a chwthu to

a chathod o Rufain a chelioc mawr a chelain a lleian draw a llwyn drain."

This, being translated, is: " Boots and aprons and crows and a blowing and cats from Rome and a great cock and a corpse and a nun over there and a thorn bush."

Then there are some splendid pieces of invective, again often written to be admired for their metrical skill. One of these is translated as follows:

" Stalk of an old hag, trouser-skinned, gravelly, swine-lousy, rickety old hag, soiled old hag, old hag with a blot on her kitchen, sour-apple hag, a winder of string."

Up to the end of the thirteenth century some of the finest poetry deals with battle (usually the slaughter of the English), though the themes of love and of the physical enjoyment of nature are often interwoven with the theme of war. In 1282 the last independent ruler of Wales, Llewelyn ap Gruffyd, died. Part of the magnificent lament for him is translated here, and seems to me to rank with the very finest poetry of this kind. •

" The heart. is cold under a breast of fear ; lust shrivels like dry branches.

See you not the way of the wind and the rain ? See you not the oaks beat together ? See you not the sea stinging the land ? See you not truth equipping ? - See you not the sun driving the sky ? See you not the stars have fallen 7 "

From this time onwards we hear less of battle and of the princely houses. But the poetry, particularly the love-poetry (which is very often associated with delight in nature), is, as brilliant and distinctive as ever. There are clear surprising images, such as:

" My moon with hair the colour of wine and a skin like a mill-race."

Indeed there is so much variety and such beauty to be found in this long history of a great craft that only a very great number of quotations could give any idea:of the wealth of the material. Through- out it all one is delighted by a vigorous and direct feeling for life, something which springs up in the most unlikely places, as when Llywelyn Goch, in the fourteenth century, addresses a skull, and the skull, so far from properly moralising on the fact of mortality, can think only of its youth, replying to the poet:

" Brown hair in little ringlets, a fresh-hued, smooth, moist forehead, a falcon's eye and fitting brows, a lip familiar with speech, a dear, shapely, fair nose, fair words springing from neat gums, a fine wise tongue, and teeth ; to have, above the trim ground, a girl's faith in a great love, a tryst in a copse of young birch trees, Christ Jesus, and a kiss."