. . . in the booklet of my beloved Penmon album I wrote "for English translations go to myspace.com/lleuwen."
A promise is a promise.
Here goes. . . . .
1. Pererinion ( Pilgrims)
Words by T.Gwynn Jones. Chaired bard in the National Eisteddfod 1902 and pacifist. The words to this song are taken from a poem he wrote for his mate, W.J Gruffudd, with fond memories of their pilgrimage to Penmon, Anglesey.
T.Gwynn Jones was not a passenger. On a Sunday morning some time during World War One, he walked out of some chapel in Aberystwyth 'cause the vicar prayed for British victory.
I love T.Gwynn. I would marry him if he was still alive. Gutted.
2. Dy Gynnal Di
Song for my friends.
It gives permission to cry.
Tears fall like end of summer rain.
3. Fel Storm (Like a Storm)
You love me like a storm
On a warm night in the summer,
And nature is so kind
I feel like the rainbow the morning after.
Promise not to promise but to be as you are forever.
4. Bore Sadwrn (Saturday Morning)
This baby came to me in rainy gray Crewe. I was waiting for a late train and I recorded it into my phone and worked out some chords when I got to wherever I was going.
Another song about running away.
5. Carreg (Stone)
Oh I am feeling like a stone
Stuck inside your shoe
Trying to find my way from here
I am hurting you
Oh I am rolling like a stone
On your finest fields
You held me then threw me
Back into the sea
One year two years three years four years five years twenty million light years more years on top of all those years and years on years on years of
Sand
Sand
Sand
Sand
I am falling like the sand
Clenched inside your fist
You squeeze me
And lose me
Finally free as we're meant to be.
6 Rhosyn Saron
Hymnstress Ann Griffiths recited her compositions to her maid Ruth Evans on their long walks from Dolwar Fach to Bala to attend religious services. Ann died in 1805, and a year later her hymns (from Ruth's memory) were published as "Casgliad o Hymnau" (Collection of Hymns). Ann Griffiths is regarded as the most important female figure in the history of Welsh literature before the 20th century.
English translation by H.Idris Bell.
Lo, between the myrtles standing,
One who merits well my love,
Though His worth I guess but dimly,
High all earthly things above;
Happy morning
When at last I see Him clear!
Rose of Sharon, so men name Him;
White and red his cheeks adorn;
Store untold of earthly treasure
Will His merit put to scorn
Friend of sinners,
He their pilot o'er the deep.
What can weigh with me henceforward
All the idols of the earth?
One and all I here proclaim them,
Matched with Jesus, nothing worth;
O to rest me.
more later. . .