Giles Watson's poetry and prose
Rejected in Llanbadarn
Rejected in Llanbadarn
Passion plagues me to the gills,
Drowned with love for parish girls.
God knows! I have never pulled
A single one. They're appalled
To think of it. On my life,
All reject me: maid, hag, wife.
You should see the bashful blush
I provoke. I sidle, brush
Up against an arch-browed lass,
Call her to my lair of leaves,
And she blenches at my charm.
Why? I don't mean any harm.
I have laboured under love's
Enchantments always: no lives -
Not even Garwy's - are struck
By such bitter blights. I'm sick
To think - they shoo me away
Though I court them two-a-day.
In Llanbadarn, there's not been
A Sunday that has not seen
Me crane my head from some nook
In the church, to sneak a look.
I've spied them - as I sat -
Between the feathers of my hat:
When we are kneeling, praying,
One turns to the other, saying,
"That sallow-faced flirt back there,
With leering look, lanky hair -
He knows mischief! Look askance!
Do not catch his sidelong glance!"
"Is that what the rascal's like?"
The other says. "I'll not look
His way, or hear his drivel!
Lecher! Go to the devil!"
What a shock - to get that curse
When I had hoped to caress
The same lips that spat such spite!
I must give up these dreams, fight
The impulse to care, become
A hermit, be detached, calm -
Dejected. By Christ, I've glanced
One too many times, entranced,
Over my shoulder. I sigh,
Go mateless, my neck awry.
Poem by Dafydd ap Gwilym, paraphrased by Giles Watson, 2013. The church of Llanbadarn Fawr, Aberystwyth, would have been Dafydd's parish church when he was living in Brogynin. Garwy, father of Indeg, was enamoured of Creirwy, and was, in fourteenth century Wales, a stock symbol of helpless love-enchantment. It is likely that in the last line, Dafydd is identifying himself with the Wryneck, a bird of enchantment, so named because of its habit of twisting its neck in seemingly impossible contortions. In modern scientific taxonomy, the Wryneck's generic name is Jynx.
Rejected in Llanbadarn
Rejected in Llanbadarn
Passion plagues me to the gills,
Drowned with love for parish girls.
God knows! I have never pulled
A single one. They're appalled
To think of it. On my life,
All reject me: maid, hag, wife.
You should see the bashful blush
I provoke. I sidle, brush
Up against an arch-browed lass,
Call her to my lair of leaves,
And she blenches at my charm.
Why? I don't mean any harm.
I have laboured under love's
Enchantments always: no lives -
Not even Garwy's - are struck
By such bitter blights. I'm sick
To think - they shoo me away
Though I court them two-a-day.
In Llanbadarn, there's not been
A Sunday that has not seen
Me crane my head from some nook
In the church, to sneak a look.
I've spied them - as I sat -
Between the feathers of my hat:
When we are kneeling, praying,
One turns to the other, saying,
"That sallow-faced flirt back there,
With leering look, lanky hair -
He knows mischief! Look askance!
Do not catch his sidelong glance!"
"Is that what the rascal's like?"
The other says. "I'll not look
His way, or hear his drivel!
Lecher! Go to the devil!"
What a shock - to get that curse
When I had hoped to caress
The same lips that spat such spite!
I must give up these dreams, fight
The impulse to care, become
A hermit, be detached, calm -
Dejected. By Christ, I've glanced
One too many times, entranced,
Over my shoulder. I sigh,
Go mateless, my neck awry.
Poem by Dafydd ap Gwilym, paraphrased by Giles Watson, 2013. The church of Llanbadarn Fawr, Aberystwyth, would have been Dafydd's parish church when he was living in Brogynin. Garwy, father of Indeg, was enamoured of Creirwy, and was, in fourteenth century Wales, a stock symbol of helpless love-enchantment. It is likely that in the last line, Dafydd is identifying himself with the Wryneck, a bird of enchantment, so named because of its habit of twisting its neck in seemingly impossible contortions. In modern scientific taxonomy, the Wryneck's generic name is Jynx.